"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. Any mission. 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't know 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.

His ancestors had put their lives-and they believed, their souls-on the line to fight for their homes, their world, and their freedom. The Maquis were doing the same.

But it seemed to Hawk that Section 31's only apparent guiding principle-to defend the Federation using any means the bureau's unaccountable minions deemed necessary-was flawed. Zweller had just talked about learning from what other decision-makers had done in the past. But without accountability, without laws, what could one really learn?

Hawk signaled for the guard to lower the forcefield, then turned toward Zweller. Hawk did not extend his hand. "You've given me a lot more to consider, Commander."

Zweller proffered his own hand, his expression friendly. "I hope you will consider all that I've said. You seem... unnerved by what I've told you."

Hawk shook Zweller's hand quickly and awkwardly, then turned to step out of the cell. "I'll consider everything before I make up my mind about joining the bureau."

But as the forcefield shimmered into place behind him, Hawk realized that he had already made his decision.

Anarchy was not the equal to ethics and morality and honor. No matter what its ultimate goals. Section 31 was asking too high a price.

After taking off his uniform jacket and tossing it on a chair, Picard was retrieving a fresh cup of Earl Grey tea from the replicator when the door chime to his quarters sounded. "Come," he said to the air, and the door opened. In the hallway stood an uncomfortable-looking Lieutenant Hawk.

"Come in, Lieutenant," Picard said, gesturing with his arm.

Hawk walked in, an awkward expression on his face. "I'm sorry to bother you in your quarters, sir."

"Nonsense," Picard said, sitting down on a nearby couch. Smiling, he gestured toward a chair. "If it weren't for you, I might not even be here. I think that entitles you to at least one interruption." He paused to blow on his tea to cool it as the younger man sat down. "What can I do for you, Sean?"

Hawk looked surprised that the captain had used his first name, but he still seemed to be preoccupied by something else. "Sir, I have something important to tell you. I'm not sure you'll like it. In fact, I'm sure you won't like it."

Picard leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. "What is it, Lieutenant?"

As Hawk spoke, Picard sipped his tea. "A few days ago, I was approached by Ambassador Tabor to join a secret organization within Starfleet. Commander Zweller is a part of it as well. It's called Section 31."

Chapter Eighteen.

Half an hour had passed since Hawk had interrupted Picard's relaxation so completely. The young officer had been telling his captain as much as he could about the conversations he had shared with Tabor and Zweller, with Picard interrupting only to ask pointed questions.

Through his astonishment, Picard was again impressed by Hawk's memory, which allowed him to remember details about the meetings that others might have forgotten. But that admiration was pushed into the background as Picard learned whatever scraps and pieces that Hawk knew about the heretofore secret organization known as Section 31.

Of course, Hawk had no way of knowing that Batanides had already come to him first with her knowledge of the organization and her suspicions. But Hawk's account of his discussions with Tabor and Zweller forced Picard to wonder what more Batanides knew about the group than she had told him; she was in Starfleet Intelligence, after all. And yet, she had seemed so sincere in her surprise over Tabor's and Zweller's actions. And unlike the two men, Batanides had never tipped her emotional hand to Counselor Troi, nor had she roused the suspicion that she might somehow be blocking her thoughts, as Zweller had done.

The captain paced back and forth. Hawk had quit speaking a few minutes ago, and had the presence of mind to stay silent while Picard considered his options. Still, the young man looked at him expectantly, like a child anticipating a scolding.

"Why didn't you come to me with this sooner, Lieutenant?" Picard asked.

Hawk looked down at his feet. "I'm sorry, sir. The ambassador made such a point about this being a top-secret organization. I didn't want to betray that confidence. And I wasn't sure that you didn't already know about it. At first, anyhow. And things got so complicated so quickly. I didn't know who to talk to about it and-"

"Lieutenant, despite Ambassador Tabor's assertion that he was working for the Federation's greater good, did it ever occur to you that he might simply have been a traitor? And that Zweller might be one as well?" Picard was staring down at the junior officer. "What proof did you have that either of them was working in the best interests of the Federation or Starfleet? Especially given all the conflicts their actions have dragged us into?"

"I didn't have any proof," Hawk admitted quietly. "Except that nothing they said seemed wrong, exactly. They had a good answer for everything."

"Most traitors do. But rules exist for a reason, Lieutenant, as do chains of command. That's why-"

"At the risk of getting myself into further trouble, sir," Hawk said, interrupting, "one of the things they pointed out to me repeatedly was how often you and Commander Riker have both broken the rules in pursuit of the greater good." He gulped, his Adam's apple bobbing.

Picard raised an eyebrow and regarded the lieutenant in silence. He considered lecturing Hawk about the unique decision-making skills of senior officers, or discoursing on the sorts of extenuating circumstances that might motivate one to... bend a regulation now and then, when particularly hazardous situations demanded it. But he couldn't.

Because he realized that the lieutenant was absolutely right.

I do sometimes take risks or bend the rules, and damn the admirals. Surely, he always had good reasons to make those decisions. But one man's sound justification was another's bad excuse.

"Sir?" Hawk stood, looking directly into Picard's eyes. "For what it's worth, I did come forward, even if not right away. I suppose I hesitated because Ambassador Tabor had me nearly convinced that the ends can justify a Starfleet officer's means... sometimes. But after talking things over with Commander Zweller, it seemed to me that for Section 31, the ends always justify the means. And I decided then that certain lines should never be crossed."

Picard sighed, smiled slightly, and then clapped one hand on Hawk's shoulder. "That's an important lesson to learn, Lieutenant. And I appreciate your honesty about this matter... and your forthrightness about the example I set for you and the rest of the crew."

"What happens now?" Hawk asked, looking apprehensive.

"To Zweller and Section 31? That remains to be seen. You may have blown the lid off of a conspiracy that will rock Starfleet to its core."

Picard noticed then that Hawk's chin was trembling slightly. "You're concerned about how your own conduct in this matter will look in your service record. Is that it, Lieutenant?"

Hawk nodded, his jaw still shaking. "Yes, sir," he said quietly.

"I imagine it will go something like this," Picard said, his tone soothing. "A special commendation will be placed in your file, noting your meritorious actions during the Chiarosan crisis. And you'll fulfill your duties on the bridge at your next work shift, and the one after that."

Hawk relaxed visibly, but Picard wasn't finished. "At some point, you'll likely have to testify about Zweller's actions before a Starfleet Command tribunal. But I don't expect this to affect your career negatively in any way."

He held his hand out toward the young man. "You've exhibited honesty and bravery throughout this mission, Sean. You made the right choices. All of them. Continue to make them."

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 Enterprise is clear of Geminus Gulf space. The exact coordinates for this meeting will be transmitted to you shortly. You will transport Commander Zweller and all his personal effects-including computer files-to the Tian An Men at 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 Slayton survivors 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 all log material. The matter will be classified until 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. We will contact you when we wish to 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, my hands 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 here until 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 ever cross again after that. Not even Section 31 is invulnerable."

She turned and walked away. Corey's organization had taken her fiance 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.

He had spent the morning organizing the files to be sent over to the Tian An Men along with Zweller, and classifying all the other relevant documents stored within the Enterprise's computer banks. Although he could have assigned the task to Data and gotten it done more efficiently, he preferred to do it himself, though every deletion, transfer, or security classification chipped away at whatever good humor remained within him.

If only there had been some way to read the encrypted information on that Romulan data chip, Picard thought bitterly. At least then, Marta and I would have been able to warn some of Section 31's next targets. Perhaps even set some traps.

Riker had contacted him a short while ago, telling him that the Tian An Men was approaching. The time of the scheduled rendezvous was almost upon them.

Just minutes from now, Corey Zweller will be free. He cursed under his breath.

The ready-room door chimed quietly, then slid open. Vice-Admiral Batanides hesitated for a moment before stepping in. "Good morning, Jean-Luc," she said, moving over toward the replicator.

"Either you have some news of which I'm not yet aware, or you mean that rhetorically," he said, forcing a smile.

She ordered almond amaretto coffee with cream, and then turned toward him as a cup sparkled into existence in the replicator. "No. No good news. And the Tian An Men is almost within transporter range."

Picard regarded her for a moment, his hand to his chin. "Marta, I need to speak with you off the record. Truly off the record."

"Sure, Johnny," she said. She took a seat before the desk, her coffee cup in hand.

He sighed heavily. "I've been running this week's events over and over in my mind. I've been reading and rereading the logs. And I'm still tremendously uncomfortable with Admiral Rossa's orders." He looked her directly in the eyes. "There are a lot of unpleasant consequences associated with this mission that I can accept. I can accept that a sovereign people have elected to reject Federation membership. I can accept that the Romulans have gained three sectors of relatively worthless territory at our expense. I can even accept the fact that we never learned whether Falhain's assassination was the work of Section 31, the Romulans, Ruardh, or even Grelun himself.