Relief showed on Hawk’s face. “Thank you, Captain.” They shook hands firmly, then disengaged.

On the table, Picard’s combadge chirped, and Data’s voice filtered out of it. The captain was relieved that his android friend had recovered so completely from the aftereffects of the raid on the subspace singularity, and whatever injuries the Romulan security AI had inflicted upon him.

“Captain,” Data said, “there is a Priority One message for you from Starfleet Command.”

“I’ll take it here, Mr. Data.” He turned to Hawk with a slight smile. “We’ll talk more about this later.”

“Yes, sir,” the lieutenant said, then strode swiftly to the door.

Picard had donned his jacket before sitting behind his desk. He touched a small contact and its small screen lit up. On it was Admiral Connaught Rossa, whom he hadn’t heard from in years.

“Admiral Rossa. It’s good to see you, sir. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Rossa clearly wasn’t in the mood for the usual pleasantries. “It’s my understanding that you have detained a Commander Cortin Zweller for various actions concerning this sordid liaison between the Chiarosan rebels and the Romulans.”

“Yes, sir. We are transporting him to Starbase 424, where he will be bound over for trial.”

“That won’t be necessary, Captain. Instead, you will rendezvous in four days with the U.S.S. Tian An Men,just as soon as the Enterpriseis clear of Geminus Gulf space. The exact coordinates for this meeting will be transmitted to you shortly. You will transport Commander Zweller and allhis personal effects–including computer files–to the Tian An Menat that point.”

Picard was jarred. After an almost imperceptible pause, he said, “May I assume that Vice‑Admiral Batanides from Starfleet Intelligence will accompany the commander?”

“No. But after the rendezvous, you may continue on your heading for Starbase 424. Admiral Batanides and the remaining Slaytonsurvivors will be ferried from there to their next destinations.”

“Admiral, I must tell you that there are some very . . . unusual aspects to the charges against Commander Zweller.” Picard shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

“As I said, Captain, you will transfer all files about this to the Tian An Men.This includes alllog material. The matter will be classifieduntil such time as we contact you again.”

“I will gladly make myself and my officers available to testify at the court‑martial proceedings and–”

Rossa seemed annoyed. “Captain, perhaps I’m not making myself clear enough. Wewill contact you when we wishto hear from you. It is doubtful that charges will be brought against the commander–”

This time it was Picard’s turn to interrupt her. “What? He allied himself with anti‑Federation forces, aided in the abduction and incarceration of fellow Starfleet officers, and conspired with the Romulans! And I’m certain that’s only the tip of the iceberg!”

The admiral’s voice was sharp. “I’m sure we’ll be able to decide for ourselves the truth about Commander Zweller’s actions. Certainly, he was instrumental in revealing the atrocious war crimes being committed by a potential ally to the Federation, the Chiarosan government.”

“Admiral, there’s a great deal more going on here than you think.”

“Captain, I’ll allow for some small amount of insubordination from you, given the lateness of the hour. But I trust I needn’t remind you of Starfleet’s chain of command.” She straightened in her chair, extending one hand toward the panel on the desk in front of her. “You have your orders. They are not open to discussion.”

The image of Rossa vanished, replaced by the seal of the Federation. Picard gritted his teeth, fuming.

He slammed his hand down onto the comm panel. “Picard to Batanides.”

“Go ahead.”

“Marta . . . We need to talk.”

* * *

Standing beside Picard in the passageway outside the brig, Batanides could scarcely believe what she was hearing. But the way things had gone on this mission, nothing was a complete surprise to her anymore.

“I’ve got a bit more pull with the brass hats than most starship captains do, Johnny,” she said, her voice lowered. “Rossa might outrank me, but I promise you–I won’t let this rest.”

“I didn’t expect that you would, Marta. But at the moment, myhands are officially tied.”

“I wouldn’t have expected this of Rossa. She’s been in Starfleet a long time.” Batanides had worked under the admiral on several earlier occasions.

Picard exhaled, shrugging slightly. “Let’s give her the benefit of the doubt. We don’t know if she’s a part of this organization, or one of the people who help hide its existence. Or if she’s only following orders she’s been given by others.”

“No, we don’t know,” Batanides conceded grumpily. She gestured to the door of the brig. “Shall we get this over with then?”

They entered the brig, and Picard told the guard to wait outside, just beyond the outer door, to give them some privacy. The captain accessed the controls from the guard’s console, bringing the security forcefield down. He and Batanides then stepped to the entrance of Zweller’s cell, staying just outside it.

Their old friend looked up, a half‑smile on his face. “Johnny. Marta. Have you finally come to your senses and decided to let me out of here?”

Batanides glared at him, but it was Picard who spoke. “Why the skulduggery, Corey? And why don’t the rules apply to you and your unit?”

“Oh, please, Johnny, let’s not get into more endless debates about following the rules. I’m not that much different from the two of you when it comes to defending the Federation. These philosophical arguments about who’s right or wrong are getting old. You have your methods, and they generally work. But when they don’t . . .” Zweller spread his hands in the air, as if allowing sand to slip between his fingers.

Batanides spoke up, her shoulders straightening. “Commander Zweller, you appear to have friends in high places. Captain Picard has been ordered to release you to another ship’s custody four days from now, no questions asked. And Starfleet Command isn’t exactly champing at the bit to haul you before a court‑martial.”

“Well, that’s certainly good news, Marta,” Zweller said, brightening further. He stood. “Being punished simply for doing the right thing wouldn’t be quite fair, now would it?” He turned toward Picard. “So, am I free to go to my quarters?”

Picard gave Zweller a soulful look, then turned on his heel. “I think given the circumstances . . . I’d feel much safer if you stayed hereuntil your transfer to the Tian An Men.”

The captain withdrew to the security console, leaving Batanides alone with Zweller. They stood staring at each other. Batanides looked into the eyes of her friend, but couldn’t find the man he used to be anywhere in them. All she saw was darkness.

He moved his hand as if to touch her on the shoulder. The forcefield crackled into place–she wondered if Jean‑Luc had chosen that precise moment for effect– and Zweller withdrew before he could touch it. “Marta, I’m sorry that–”

“You may be free to go in a few days, Corey,” she said, interrupting, “but God help you if our paths evercross again after that. Not even Section 31 is invulnerable.”

She turned and walked away. Corey’s organization had taken her fiancИ from her, and then one of her oldest friends.

It had much to answer for.

Chapter Nineteen

Jean‑Luc Picard was not one who brooded often–if he did, he wouldn’t admit it to others–but today, his mood was as black as obsidian. After Hawk’s confessional visit, Admiral Rossa’s orders, and his brief confrontation with Zweller, sleep had been coming only fitfully. The stress and fatigue of the last several days–to say nothing of his brush with death on the subspace singularity mission–had taken their toll.