Koval looked impatient for a fleeting moment. “ Falhain is having each of them interrogated. They are being held separately. And as far as any of them know, you are receiving precisely the same treatment.”
Zweller was relieved to learn that his cover wasn’t blown, though he knew he would still have to mend his fences with Commander Roget. But even though Zweller appreciated Koval’s professional courtesy, he knew it was never wise to mince words with a Romulan. Especially thisRomulan.
“Thank you,” Zweller said. “May I also presume I have your guarantee that they won’t be injured or harmed in any way?”
Koval paused for a moment before responding. “You have my word. None of the officers we captured will suffer any injury while they are here.” Though his eyes were dilithium‑hard, the Romulan spymaster’s expression was otherwise unreadable.
Then Koval moved on to other matters. “Now let us discuss our transaction. I am prepared to keep my part of that bargain. Are you?”
The list,Zweller thought. Who knew how many lives Section 31 would save by acquiring a list of Tal Shiar agents operating covertly not only within Starfleet, but also in civilian institutions across the Federation?
Zweller nodded. “Of course. With my help, Falhain and his troops will nudge the coming planetary vote on Federation membership to the side of the minority pro‑Romulan factions. Then the Chiaros system will become a Romulan protectorate.”
Koval nodded impassively. “I’m certain that my . . . indigenous clients will be delighted to accept your assistance.”
Zweller kept thinking about the spy list. It would constitute a substantial countermeasure against Romulan espionage, even though the list would almost certainly be incomplete. Koval was no fool, after all. Still, the only cost to Section 31 would be the Geminus Gulf–a few worthless, backwater sectors of trackless interstellar desert. Zweller agreed with Section 31’s higher echelons that they had struck a good bargain.
But still . . .
“I have to ask you, Mr. Chairman . . . Why do you reallywant this system?”
Koval seemed more annoyed by the question than surprised. Zweller doubted whether much of anything surprised him. “Simple survival, Commander. When a state’s boundaries remain static, it will eventually die. Is that not reason enough?”
“If I may say so, the Geminus Gulf hardly seems worth the effort.”
“I could reverse the question, Commander. After all, under our agreements, either weexpand into the Gulf–or youdo. Why should your benevolent Federation begrudge our expansion into an admittedly resource‑poor region? A region which you yourself have called worthless?”
Koval’s eyes flashed with a preacher’s fervor as he continued. “Allow me to speak plainly, Commander. Whether you accept it or not, your Federation is as bent on conquest and assimilation as the Borg collective. Oh, you are quiet about it. You shroud your acquisitiveness behind lofty‑sounding ideals: the vaunted civil rights of your citizens; your renowned respect and tolerance of other cultures; your so‑called ‘Prime Directive.’
“But your Federation has expanded greatly in every direction over the past century. One hundred and fifty worlds. Eight thousand light‑years from border to border. And still you want more. What you cannot conquer with starships you take by subversion. You subtly change the cultures you encounter to suit yourselves. Your alliance with the Klingon Empire is a shining example, Commander. You’ve remade them in your own image.” Koval allowed himself a brief smile. “Why, thanks to the Federation, the Klingons are practically housebroken.”
Zweller chuckled, shaking his head. “I had no idea you were such a political hard‑liner, Mr. Chairman. I had hoped that you’d agreed to cooperate with us because you wished the Federation well.”
Koval’s only response was the small, fleeting smile that played at the corners of his mouth. Then he touched the emblem on his collar, activating a tiny communications unit. “Please inform Falhain that his presence is requested for a high‑level briefing to be conducted with one of our . . . guests.” A deep voice tersely acknowledged Koval’s transmission.
Then, folding his hands behind his back, Koval spoke again to Zweller. “A wise man knows when it is best to allow his adversaries to speculate about his motivations.”
And so does a good spy,
Zweller thought. As a single guard entered the room, no doubt to conduct him to the briefing, Zweller knew with certainty that he had just made a deal with the devil. He only hoped that, unlike Faust, he’d still have his soul after the bargain was complete.
Chapter Two
Captain’s log, stardate 50390.8. Starfleet Command has dispatched theEnterprise to Chiaros IV, the only known inhabited planet in the entirety of the Geminus Gulf–and a world whose future is now uncertain in the extreme. As the Chiarosan electorate prepares to vote on whether to pursue Federation membership or a formal alliance with the Romulan Empire, pro‑Romulan guerrilla groups are attacking the planet’s governmental institutions and civil infrastructure in order to further their cause. This volatile situation could lead to a bloody planetary civil war, disqualifying the Chiarosans for Federation membership–and thereby giving the Romulans control of the Geminus Gulf. My primary mission therefore is to assist the Chiarosan leader, First Protector Ruardh, in maintaining order and ensuring that the referendum on Federation membership proceeds freely and fairly. While in the system, my crew will also make a thorough search for the Federation starshipSlayton, which vanished near Chiaros IV a week ago on the eve of its diplomatic mission there. I agree–
The ready room’s door chime sounded, momentarily interrupting Jean‑Luc Picard’s train of thought. “ Computer, pause log entry,” he said. Shifting in his chair, Picard addressed his visitor. “Come.”
The doors parted with a pneumatic hiss, and a smiling Will Riker entered the room. Picard gestured to one of the chairs in front of the desk. “Have a seat, Number One. I’ll be finished updating my log in a moment.”
As Riker sat, Picard resumed his dictation: “I agree wholeheartedly with Starfleet’s assessment that the only way to assuage the unrest on Chiaros IV is to arrange a negotiated settlement between the government and the dissidents. However, because of my renowned lack of experience in such matters, Starfleet Command is sending us a ‘professional’ diplomat–”
Picard paused again when he saw Riker’s smile expand into an ear‑to‑ear grin. The captain responded with a wry smile of his own. “Computer, pause log entry.” To his second‑in‑command, he said, “You’re quite right, Number One. That won’t do at all.
“Computer, delete the last sentence.”
The computer acknowledged, and Picard continued: “To this end, Starfleet has given overall command of the Chiarosan mission to . . . an expert in the field of interstellar diplomacy.
“Computer, end entry.”
Picard rose from his chair and straightened his tunic. Riker got to his feet as well, his smile persisting. “We’re about to rendezvous with the Thunderchildto pick up our ‘expert diplomat,’ Captain. Has Starfleet Command said yet who they’re sending?”
“No,” Picard said, frankly annoyed at that fact. “But it isn’t the first time a starship captain has been left out of the loop.”
Then he strode toward the door, which parted and admitted him onto the bridge.
“Activate viewer, Lieutenant Hawk,” Picard said, settling into the center seat as Riker took up a position behind the duty station at his right. “Let’s have a look at her.”
Hawk’s fingers sped nimbly across the helm console, his enthusiasm for his job apparent. The dark‑haired young man reminded Picard of a decade‑younger version of his first officer.