Section 31_ Rogue - Andy Mangels [102]
With a cybernetic whisper, Data loosed the “abort” command into the maintenance channel’s information queue. He watched in contemplative silence as his handiwork propagated itself, copied and relayed through the entire network by dozens of buoys, then by hundreds. The “abort” protocol began working its way toward the singularity’s containment facility, moving at first in a leisurely inward spiral, then taking on increasing urgency.
So far, Data thought, so good.
Then one of the buoys said: No. Immediately, two others rejected the “abort” order as well. An almost defiant refusal swiftly began escalating throughout the network. The inward spiral slowed, then stopped.
Then reversed.
“Uh-oh,” Data said. The warbird Thrai Kaleh lowered her cloak and approached a battered, lifeless asteroid orbiting at the fringes of the system. This far out, all the violence of the Chiarosan sun fit neatly into a deceptively placid pinprick of light. Koval stood in the vessel’s control center, observing the Federation shuttlecraft that was keeping station nearby. According to the sensors within the lumpen planetoid, the shuttle had come out of warp at the system’s edge nearly three hours earlier. Koval had no doubt that Commander Cortin Zweller was aboard the little craft-and that the Section 31 agent hoped to hold him to his part of their original bargain. Koval had no objection to doing just that. After all, a list of soon-to-be-purged Tal Shiar operatives wasn’t worth the smallest fraction of the Geminus Gulf’s true value. And with the formal announcement of the Empire’s acquisition of the entire region now only minutes away, Koval was more than happy to conclude his deal with his Federation counterpart; magnanimity after such a decisive victory cost very little. Over his centurion’s objections, Koval had himself and a pair of low-ranking Romulan soldiers beamed into the small habitat module built deep into the asteroid’s nickel-iron interior. Moments later, Koval was standing in the cool confines of one of the Tal Shiar’s small but richly-appointed safe-houses, his guards standing quietly alert behind him. At the opposite end of the chamber, Commander Zweller and a silver-haired woman in a Starfleet uniform shimmered into existence. Koval and Zweller briefly exchanged pleasantries, and Zweller introduced the woman as Marta, his assistant. Silently noting the lieutenant’s pips on the woman’s collar, Koval nodded courteously to her. It took Koval a moment to place her face, but he quickly recognized her as an important admiral attached to Starfleet’s principal intelligence-gathering bureau. Batanide, he thought. Or is it Batanides? Regardless, she was one of several Starfleet Intelligence operatives whose dossier was familiar to him. Koval surmised that she might not appreciate the extent of her notoriety, and that she had removed her true rank insignia in the hope of obscuring her identity and avoiding capture. He turned his attention back to Zweller, and noticed a slight discoloration along the side of the human’s face. “Your escape from the rebels appears to have been rather more perilous than I thought, Commander,” Koval said. “One would think your Federation doctors would have repaired your injuries days ago.” Zweller put a hand to the remnants of the bruise on his cheek, then smiled. “Oh, you mean this. It happened on the way out to the asteroid. It’s an amusing story, really.” He paused for a moment to look significantly at his ‘assistant.’ “I fell down. Marta, make a note to have that shuttle’s artificial gravity generator checked as soon as we get back to the Enterprise.” “Yes, sir,” the woman said, her tone almost surly. Humans, Koval thought. They say we are difficult to understand. The Romulan walked to a table in the center of the room and lifted a clear decanter in which a pale, aquamarine-colored