Текст книги "Section 31: Rogue "

Автор книги: Andy Mangels

Соавторы: Michael Martin
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Текущая страница: 17 (всего у книги 19 страниц)

“Corey, I understand that without the rule of law, the universe is even more dangerous than any adversary even the most paranoid Section 31 agent could ever imagine.”

She fell silent then, staring hard at him for what seemed like an eternity. Then he saw the anger in her eyes slowly draining away, to be replaced by something else entirely. Was it pity?

The thought rankled him. He glanced away from her under the pretext of monitoring the helm panel. A glance at the chronometer reminded him that he might as well call the Enterprise–and finally learn whatever fate had befallen Johnny’s captured Romulan scoutship.

Batanides evidently had just had the same thought. “Do you think Jean‑Luc made it?”

Zweller wanted to say something hopeful, though he truly didn’t feel that way. It wasn’t that he lacked faith in Picard’s abilities; it was simply that he knew very well that when Koval wanted someone dead, that was the way that person usually ended up.

“I suppose there’s only one way to find out,” he said, then touched a control, opening a channel to the Enterprise.

He was surprised and pleased to see Picard’s face appear on the viewscreen. Zweller noted that his old classmate looked haggard and tired. He was dressed in a robe and appeared to be speaking to them from his quarters.

“You’ve looked better, Johnny,” Batanides said, grinning slightly.

Picard smiled weakly in response. “A lingering aftereffect of winning a brawl against a subspace singularity. It’ll pass. How did yourmission go?”

Zweller held up the data chip, displaying it triumphantly. “The only downside, in case you haven’t heard already, is that all Federation personnel are now considered personae non grataanywhere in the Geminus Gulf.”

Picard hesitated for a moment before answering. “I’m already well aware of that,” he said finally. “But I don’t think the Romulans have any cause for celebration, either. Without the subspace singularity, they no longer have any rationale for being here.”

As Picard signed off and the craft approached the aft shuttlebay, Zweller smiled. Everything was going to work out well after all–despite the fact that the singularity’s destruction could be as big a loss to the Federation as it was to the Romulans. But with the singularity gone, the Romulans would probably abandon the Geminus Gulf of their own accord soon enough, and Section 31 would be waiting patiently. By that time, the Chiarosan people would surely see the Romulans for the devious manipulators they were, and would welcome the Federation with open, triple‑jointed arms. A full investigation of Ruardh’s pogroms would almost certainly result in her ouster, if that result wasn’t imminent already. Peace might come to Chiaros IV at last.

Zweller leaned back in the copilot’s seat, his fingers laced behind his head. Yes, everything was working out very well indeed.

Still, he avoided looking at Batanides for the rest of the flight.

As Batanides and Zweller stepped from the Herschelonto the Enterprise’s main shuttlebay, the admiral wasn’t surprised to see Dr. Crusher and Captain Picard–the latter now dressed in a light‑duty uniform–already waiting there to greet them. What the admiral didfind surprising was the pair of brawny security guards who stepped forward, bracketing Zweller and taking him into custody.

“Thanks for saving me the trouble,” Batanides said to Picard as she confiscated the data chip. Zweller seemed remarkably unconcerned about what was happening.

“If you’re thinking of using the information on that chip against us, you might as well not bother,” Zweller said as one of the guards manacled his wrists and the other scanned him for weapons, finding none. “I’m the only one aboard this ship who knows the encryption key.”

Damn!she thought, gripping the data chip tightly. She knew that the xenocryptography specialists in Starfleet Intelligence could no doubt crack Corey’s encryption key, given enough time. But by then, the data chip’s contents would most likely be useless.

“I’m sorry I’m forced to do this, Corey,” Picard said in staid tones. “But you have deliberately interfered with the internal affairs of a sovereign government. Your actions demand a trial before a general court martial, which you will face after we remand you into the custody of the nearest starbase.”

“You’re assuming, Johnny,” Zweller said, his expression enigmatic, “that we won’t have any unscheduled detours between here and there.”

Batanides was once again struck by Zweller’s unaccountable calm. What was he up to?

As the guards escorted Zweller away, Batanides listened to the sound of their bootheels reverberating across the cavernous shuttlebay. A deep chill slowly ascended the length of her spine as she contemplated Corey’s words, and wondered just how long his rogue spy bureau’s reach really was.

In the meantime, Picard and Dr. Crusher had walked a few paces away, apparently conferring privately about something urgent. The doctor seemed to be greatly concerned about the captain’s health, and indeed, he appeared slightly unsteady on his feet. After a quick exchange of tense whispers, Crusher strode toward the exit and a careworn Picard returned to the admiral’s side, a resolute expression on his face. Batanides couldn’t help but notice that neither of them appeared satisfied with the outcome of their deliberations. She wondered why it was that ships’ doctors always treated their captains as though they were delicate Barkonian glass sculptures.

Maybe it’s because captains always seem to think they’re made of neutronium.

Her rumination was interrupted by the sound of Will Riker’s voice, which issued from Picard’s combadge. “Riker to Picard.”

“Go ahead, Number One,” the captain said.

“Three small ships on approach from Chiaros IV, and Ruardh’s flagship is among them.”

“Ruardh was evidently quite serious when she demanded that we hand over Grelun,” Picard said as he began walking quickly toward the corridor. Batanides fell into step beside him.

“It certainly looks that way, sir,” Riker said. “They should be in weapons range in just under six minutes.”

“We’re on our way. Picard out.”

After they entered a turbolift, Batanides realized that her old friend was staring inquisitively at her.

“Something on your mind, Johnny?”

“Probably the same thing that’s on yours,” he said, placing one hand against a wall to steady himself. “Given the distinct possibility that Ruardh may attack us, do you believe that I should surrender Grelun to her?”

She genuinely wasn’t certain about that anymore. The Chiarosan people had been so thoroughly misled already by the machinations of both the Tal Shiar and Section 31 that almost any course of action now seemed hopelessly muddled. Despite the antipathy she had harbored toward the rebels in the immediate aftermath of the battle in HagratИ, she was no longer prepared to hold them entirely responsible for Aubin Tabor’s death. It was now obvious to her that Chiaros IV’s treacherous political landscape was no longer a clear‑cut matter of interstellar law and Starfleet regulations.

“Cooperating with a legitimate, sovereign government is one thing,” Batanides said. “But kowtowing to a Romulan puppet regime is quite another.”

Picard nodded. “I agree completely.”

“One other thing still concerns me, though,” she said, leaning against her side of the turbolift as the illuminated deck‑markers sped past.

“What’s that?”

“I wonder just how far Ruardh is willing to go in order to capture Grelun.”

“Let’s hope we won’t have to find out,” Picard said gravely. “Because a war with Ruardh . . .” Though he left his words hanging in the air, his meaning was abundantly clear.

A war with Ruardh could escalate very quickly into a war with the Romulans,she thought, chilled to the marrow by the very notion.

Chapter Seventeen

Looking up from tactical, Lieutenant Daniels announced “Admiral on the bridge.”

Riker, Troi, K’rs’lasel, and Rixa had all risen from their seats. As Picard followed Batanides out of the turbolift and onto the bridge, he was greeted by an unaccustomed sight. Grelun, who stood in the center of the room, favored the admiral and the captain with a quick nod, then returned to his visual inspection of the bridge, his crystalline eyes apparently drinking everything in.

“What is this man doing on the bridge?” Batanides said sternly. Picard gathered that she thought that a man whose people had just voluntarily entered the Romulan Star Empire ought not to have the run of the Federation’s flagship. He had to concede that she had a point.

“I understand your apprehension, Admiral,” Troi said in placating tones. “But I can assure you that Grelun poses no threat to us now.”

“Nor have I been unsupervised,” the Chiarosan said, baring his razor teeth in a vaguely disquieting smile. Picard found Grelun’s presence and bearing impressive, to say nothing of his immense size. He probably could have brushed the bridge’s vaulted ceiling with his fingertips had he extended his arms fully above his head.

Picard turned toward Riker. “Have the Chiarosan ships contacted us yet, Number One?”

“No, sir. But I don’t think it’s any mystery why they’re here.”

Ruardh wants Grelun, and very badly,Picard thought. He reflected uncomfortably on Grelun’s petition for political asylum, a request which he was bound morally, ethically, and legally to honor. Even if First Protector Ruardh–or her new Romulan masters–decided to play rough.

“Let’s have a look at them, Mr. Daniels,” Picard said, seating himself in his command chair. Three rather beatup looking Chiarosan spacecraft, each of them about the size of a Starfleet runabout, appeared on the viewer. They were approaching the Enterpriseat a leisurely pace, the nearest of them now lying some thirty thousand kilometers off the starship’s port bow.

“Give me a tactical appraisal, Number One.”

“Sensors show nothing but simple disruptors and lowpowered deflector shields,” Riker said as he took the seat to Picard’s right. “They wouldn’t stand a chance against us in a real firefight.”

“They might not have to,” Picard said soberly. “ Especially if they’re being backed up by a cloaked warbird.”

“Hail them, Mr. Daniels,” said Riker. A moment later, the image of the approaching Chiarosan ships was replaced by a pair of dour faces. One belonged to a Chiarosan female, whom Picard immediately recognized as Senator Curince. He had last seen her two days ago, when First Protector Ruardh had made her initial demand that Grelun be remanded to government custody. The other visage belonged to a young and supremely confident‑looking Romulan. His gray uniform and the insignia on its collar testified that he held the rank of centurion.

Why bother keeping the Romulan diplomatic corps around when the military can simply take over?Picard thought, struggling to keep his expression carefully neutral. To Curince, he said, “It would seem that the balance of power has shifted somewhat today, Madame Senator.”

She bared her teeth, perhaps in a smile, or perhaps not. “I shall not play games with you, Picard,” she said, purring the words as if she were some great predatory cat. “Grelun must come with us.”

“He has asked for political asylum,” Picard said. “And until and unless he withdraws that request, he will have our protection. I cannot allow First Protector Ruardh to execute him.”

The Romulan interposed himself into the conversation. “Ruardh undoubtedly wouldhave him executed. However, Ruardh no longer enjoys the autonomy she once did.”

Picard wasn’t the least bit sorry to hear that. He smiled with grim amusement.

Curince addressed Grelun directly. “Where would you go if you could go anywhere you willed, Grelun? What would you do?”

Grelun’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “I would go back among my people,” he said after a deliberate pause. “I would gather the Army of Light about me and strike like an avenging hammer at those who murder our children.”

“In other words,” the Romulan said, “you would bring order to what is now in terrible disarray. You ought to know that the Romulan Empire abhors disorder.”

“I don’t understand this,” Riker said, frowning. “Are you saying that you wantGrelun to go back to commanding a guerrilla army?”

“If a large asteroid were headed for your homeworld,” the Romulan said, “would you want to splinter it into millions of small, uncontrollable missiles? Or would you instead seek to keep the object in one piece and modify its trajectory?”

Picard glanced inquisitively at Troi, who was standing on the bridge’s port side. “He’s telling the truth,” she said. “The Romulans see the rebel movement as becoming far more dangerous in the absence of coherent leadership.”

Almost inaudibly, Riker quoted, “ ‘Keep your friends close. But keep your enemies closer.’ ”

“Grelun,” Curince said, her manner softer now. “Will you come with us?”

“I believe that it was the Romulans who destroyed the Army of Light’s principal stronghold,” Grelun growled. “They have given me little cause to trust them.”

The Romulan spread his hands, no hint of confirmation or denial in his voice. “Whoeverdestroyed your base, did they not give your soldiers sufficient warning beforehand for a general evacuation? Come now, Grelun. You are well aware that trust has nothing whatsoever to do with any of this. You want to return to Chiaros IV. You can do so either as Ruardh’s condemned prisoner . . . or you can allow the Empire to return you to your ragtag rebellion.”

Grelun stood in silence for several minutes, staring down at the carpet. His impossibly limber fingers flexed unconsciously as he considered the centurion’s offer. Finally, he drew a deep breath and said, “I will accompany you. Willingly.”

Apparently satisfied, the Romulan signed off without another word.

The Chiarosan turned to face Picard and Riker. “This is the best solution, although I trust the Romulans little, and Ruardh’s lapdogs less.”

“You could stay with us,” Riker offered.

“No. Your Federation’s appetite for conquest and penchant for self‑serving trickery makes you little different than the Romulans.” He paused for a moment, before adding, “Were it not for the actions of several of your crew, my opinion of you would be lower still. But you have shown me respect and mercy, even in apparent defiance of your own Federation’s directives.”

Picard nodded slightly at the compliment as he stood and faced the Chiarosan. “Before you leave, Grelun, promise me one thing.”

“You have restored my life to me, Picard. Ask, and if it is within my power, I will see it done.”

“Find a way to bring an honorable peace to your world,” Picard said. “Your people stand at the threshold of a new age in your history, and only one thing can hold you back–the fighting that you do amongst yourselves. You know that it cannot continue indefinitely. Sooner or later, both sides will have to learn to forgive the past, and then move forward if your people are ever to build a future.”

And handing the First Protector her walking papers might be a good place to start,he thought.

“Your people haven’t always made war on each other,” Troi said gently to the Chiarosan. “Perhaps you can make such horrors a thing of the past.”

Grelun did not move for several long seconds. Picard thought that he looked like a man who was being asked to cut off his own head. But the Chiarosan also appeared to realize that he had a great deal to think about.

“Perhaps,” he said after a protracted silence. Turning to face Picard, he said, “Perhaps, one day, peace willcome to pass.”

After Riker had escorted Grelun from the bridge, Picard sank back into his command chair and sighed wearily. “Take us back into Federation space as soon as the transporter room confirms Grelun’s beam‑out,” he said to the conn officer. “Warp nine‑point‑two.”

Even at that speed,Picard thought, this part of the Geminus Gulf is still six days out of Federation space.

Picard wondered how long it would be before the Romulans abandoned this place, once they determined that their precious subspace singularity was beyond recovery. And if the Chiarosans would then ask him to return–not to help mediate their internal conflicts, but to inaugurate their entry into the Federation as a peaceful, unified people.

Hawk saw the shape silhouetted in the bedroom doorway and recognized it as his partner. He heard a tentative voice, whispering, “Sean?”

“I’m awake, Ranul,” he said, shifting backward to a seated position against the bed’s pillows. “I’ve just been taking some quiet time.”

The Trill sat down on the edge of the bed, tentatively. He had given Hawk his space during the last several days since their quarrel. Hawk knew it wasn’t fair to keep Ranul at a distance, physically or emotionally. He leaned forward and enfolded Ranul in his arms. “I’m sorry,” he whispered into his ear, feeling Keru’s beard tickling his cheek.

After a few minutes went by, Hawk leaned back again, but he took Ranul’s hand in his own.

“So, after saving the universe, defeating the Romulans, and escaping with all your limbs intact, what are you gonna do for an encore?” Ranul’s voice took a slightly higher tone, and Hawk knew that his lover was smiling at him in the dark.

Hawk snorted a laugh, and squeezed Ranul’s hand. It’s now or never,he thought. As jocularly as he could, he said, “I dunno. I was thinking about joining a rogue intelligence organization within Starfleet that goes around the rules to accomplish its goals.”

“What?” Even in the dim light, Hawk could sense the look of confusion on Ranul’s face.

Sighing heavily, Hawk leaned forward again, coming closer to his partner. “You know all that stuff I was talking to you about before? The classified stuff?”

“Yeah.”

“I need to make a decision about it.”

“What do you mean?” Keru asked.

“This needs to stay between us for now, Ranul.” Hawk saw Keru nod in the dark, and continued speaking. “I was approached by Ambassador Tabor to join a secret organization within Starfleet. They’re like Starfleet Intelligence, but more proactive. They respond to threats against the Federation by any means necessary, even if it means going around every law we have, even the Prime Directive. If I’m to believe what Tabor told me–and what Commander Zweller said later–this group is responsible for saving a lot of lives, and for keeping a sometimes toofragile peace when less decisive authorities refuse to act.”

Ranul put his other hand on top of Hawk’s. “Why do they want you?Would you have to . . . leave the Enterprise?”

“I think they want me because of my eidetic memory, but it could be because of my piloting skills, or something else entirely. And don’t worry. Nobody has asked me to leave the Enterprise.I’m assuming that I would be their agent on this ship.”

“A spy, in other words.”

Hawk was uncomfortable, but he didn’t sense that Ranul was prejudging him. “No . . . maybe. I think they feel that they need someone on this ship who can work for them– who is working withthem. You know as well as I do that the Enterprisegets itself caught in the middle of a lot of turmoil. And those sorts of situations are their specialty.”

“If this organization is so secret, and they want an ‘agent’ on board, how do we know there isn’t one here already?”

Hawk thought for a moment. That hadn’t occurred to him. “I guess we don’t,” he finally offered.

Keru opened his mouth to speak, then shut it again with a sigh. “You remember how I lost my family,” he said at last.

Hawk nodded. Keru’s father, stepmother, and teenage sister had been living in a settlement on Hakton VII, a planet in the Federation–Cardassian demilitarized zone. Then the Federation signed a treaty with Cardassia in 2370, effectively abandoning several Federation colonies to the Cardassian Union’s tender mercies. Many settlers had refused to relocate, not wanting to leave their homes and lands behind. A few months later, the Keru family was among those reported killed during an unprovoked raid on the settlement, following reports of anti‑Cardassian factions stockpiling weapons there.

Ranul continued speaking, his voice taking on a slightly bitter edge. “I think that the Federation was wrong in giving its citizens a choice between giving up their homes and accepting Cardassian rule. When they chose to stay, our government deserted those people, knowing that they probably wouldn’t survive.” He paused for a moment and ruffled the back of Hawk’s hair. “I don’t have to remind youwhat was lost in the conflict with Cardassia, Sean.”

Logan,Hawk thought glumly. And four other Academy classmates. Gone forever because the Cardassians breached the warp core on theBarbados.

Hawk put his hand up to his partner’s cheek, and felt a tear there. Ranul had been close to his family, and invoking their memories now must have struck him hard. But Hawk felt pain as well. Logan had been Hawk’s firstlove, and if their assignments out of the Academy hadn’t forced them apart–or if Logan had gotten his transfer before the destruction of the Barbados–they might still be together. And he never would have met Ranul.

So, perhaps some good has come from the pain?He had never considered it that way.

Ranul sniffed, and turned to look at Hawk. “Didn’t you once tell me that some of your ancestors fought in the Martian Revolution?”

Hawk nodded and smiled. “Native Martians prefer to call it the War for Martian Independence. And yes, I’m descended from some of the freedom fighters. They were New Reformationists–religious pacifists–so they were among the last people to join in the war. A few of them even fought at Gundersdotter’s Dome and helped turn the tide for Martian sovereignty.”

“So, you know what theydid,” Ranul said. “They set aside their stated principles in order to achieve a higher goal. Mars gained its independence, even if blood was spilled on both sides.”

“I’m not convinced that Section 31 is always working toward the higher goal though, Ranul.” Hawk looked his lover in the eyes, dark pools on the shadowed face.

“I guess if I were in your situation, I’d ask myself where this organization stands on situations of ethics and morality and honor. And if what you feel about Starfleet and its ideals is compatible with that answer.” Keru looked down, his voice barely louder than a whisper. “I know that Ithink the Federation made a mistake in the past. And that mistake cost me my family. Do I think that the Federation and Starfleet alwaysmake mistakes? No. Do I think Starfleet’s leaders and officers are fallible? You bet I do.”

He paused, and added, “But I’ve never worked under a leader who was acting against what he felt was ethical and honorable.”

Hawk leaned forward, and hugged Ranul tightly again, less sure than ever which way to proceed.

The door opened in front of Hawk, and he stepped inside. The officer standing near the console toward the center of the room stiffened slightly, looking at him. Hawk handed him a padd. “I need to speak with Commander Zweller. Here’s my authorization, from Commander Riker.”

The guard studied the padd’s screen for a moment, then gestured toward one of the recessed detention cells across the room. “He’s over there. Are you going to be long? You want a chair?”

“No. Actually, I’d prefer to talk to Zweller inside, if you don’t mind.”

The guard raised an eyebrow, glanced down at the padd again, and nodded. “Okay. If that’s what you want. I’ll keep an eye out for trouble.”

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.”