Section 31_ Rogue - Andy Mangels [13]
“A moment, please,” Zweller said, carefully holding the Romulan’s gaze. “About my colleagues-“
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 this Romulan.
“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 really want 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 we expand into the Gulf-or you do. 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