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.”

“You and Tabor were working to undermine the referendum so that the Chiarosans would vote against Federation membership on Chiaros IV. And ever since the escape on the scoutship, you’ve avoided telling me the truth as to why.”

Zweller sighed. “It was concluded privately by many Starfleet higher‑ups that Chiaros IV wasn’t valuable enough–or politically stable enough–to fight over. Especially not when you consider what the Romulans offered us in exchange for our withdrawal from the system.”

“Which was?”

“Extremely important information. Data about most of the Romulan spies working within the Federation and Starfleet.”

Hawk was suddenly extremely uncomfortable with what he was hearing. “You came here to trade an entire star system–and its people–for some ephemeral information? You lost a ship, risked all of our lives–”

Zweller rose as he spoke, his tone more strident. “None of that was part of the plan! The Slaytonwas destroyed, apparently, because she stumbled onto the secret the Romulans were hiding.” His voice softened. “I told you what my initial mission was. My own secondary objective was to help Falhain and his Army of Light in their struggle against Ruardh. Her regime is brutal by anysociety’s standards. In my judgment, my aiding her opponents was compatible with Section 31’s plan for Chiaros IV and the Geminus Gulf.”

“But in doing so, you were helping the Romulans!”

Zweller smiled slightly. “Not exactly. Falhain’s rebels were anti‑Federation already, and weren’t terribly open to persuasion. Most of them saw us as friends of their enemies, after all. At least until I aided them in their struggle for freedom. Given some time, though, more of them might have come around. Even the Chiarosan electorate might be friendlier to the Federation later on–especially once they’ve experienced a few years of Romulan oppression firsthand.”

“That’s an awfully big ‘might be,’ ” Hawk said.

“Yes. More than likely they’ll first begin to fight against the Romulans,” Zweller said, sighing. “A long shot? Maybe. But they’ve been beating the odds just by evolving on that gods‑forsaken planet. And perhaps having to face an enemy like the Romulans will do more to unite the squabbling Chiarosan tribes than their world’s harsh environment ever did.”

Hawk gathered his thoughts for a moment. “You know that if you and Tabor had succeeded in your mission withoutall these complications, the Romulans would have gained control of the Geminus Gulf andthe singularity. So who would have been guilty of making a mistake then?”

“And if there hadn’tbeen a singularity, I’d be getting pats on the back for the benefits my mission brought to the Federation.” Zweller gave a slight smile, but ultimately looked uncomfortable.

“Nothing in the universe ever travels in a straight line, Mr. Hawk. Even planets move in ellipses. You can’t predict exactly what’s going to happen when you’re on a mission. Anymission. All you can do is make the best decision you can with the facts you have on hand. It’s always easy to criticize others’ decisions after all the information has come to light . . . once you’ve learned what they didn’tknow at the time.”

Hawk stood and looked at Zweller, considering the motives of the man who stood before him. Though he felt that the commander was telling him the truth, the situation still unsettled him greatly. He wasn’t reassured by Zweller’s circuitous thinking.

Hawk’s eidetic memory brought Ranul’s words flooding back to him: 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.