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  For Michi, Addison, and Erin, for all the usual reasons.

  HISTORIAN’S NOTE

  This story takes place in late 2386, seven years after the U.S.S. Enterprise-E’s confrontation with the Romulan praetor Shinzon (Star Trek Nemesis) and a few weeks after the Enterprise’s encounter with the Eizand people (Star Trek: The Next Generation—Hearts and Minds). Shaking the very foundations of Starfleet and the Federation is Trill journalist Ozla Graniv’s bombshell exposé of Section 31 and its numerous clandestine activities, including the conspiracy to remove and assassinate Federation president Min Zife in 2379 (Star Trek: Section 31–Control).

  1

  Sitting in the open-air cafe that was one of his favorite destinations in New Glasgow’s arts district, William Ross froze in the act of bringing his teacup to his lips. Suddenly, terrible truths and dark secrets rose from the depths of shadow and revealed themselves.

  “. . . massive release of previously top secret information detailing the actions of a clandestine organization that has operated without oversight or accountability, both within and outside the Federation government, for more than two centuries.”

  The screen mounted to the cafe courtyard’s far wall depicted a dark-skinned woman sitting at a desk emblazoned with the Federation News Service logo. It was obvious from her delivery that she was reading from hastily transcribed notes rather than prepared copy, which would explain the frequent pauses as she glanced away from the pickup to consult whatever padd or other device she had brought with her to the desk.

  Feeling his pulse begin to quicken, Ross lowered his teacup to the saucer on his table. All around him, disparate conversations and other activities faded as other cafe patrons turned from their meals or dining companions to direct their attention to the screen.

  “Known as Section Thirty-One, the group consists of covert agents overseen by civilian Federation officials as well as Starfleet officers, all working beneath the notice of normal chains of command. Supposedly formed more than two hundred years ago with a mission to defend Earth—and later the Federation—from internal as well as external threats, this group has reportedly carried out missions and actions of varying scope, many of which would be considered illegal against Federation citizens or acts of aggression against sovereign governments both friendly and otherwise. The information purports that nearly every Federation citizen for the past two centuries has been under continuous active surveillance, their every action and communication monitored by an advanced artificial intelligence that culls through this collected information, ostensibly searching for patterns or indications of threats. Section Thirty-One agents then acted on that information, to include murdering anyone deemed a danger to Federation or Starfleet interests. Again, all of these actions were undertaken without any form of due process or accountability to higher Federation or Starfleet authority.”

  Ross forced himself to stay in his seat. His eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched as he watched the news anchor once more halt her report. It was obvious she was still processing the information she had been tasked to disseminate. As any good journalist would do in a similar situation, she likely was pondering dozens of questions, all while faced with presenting a calm, composed demeanor to the viewing public.

  So, this is how it ends.

  The thought taunted him. Ross should have known the tranquility he thought he had found after a lifetime spent in service to others—a peace he had not sought yet ultimately decided was the best option not only for him but for his family—would be fleeting, at best. Decisions and actions undertaken with noble intentions in pursuit of what he believed was a greater good, despite the heavy price they exacted on his very soul, were now coming back to collect on debts he owed.

  You knew it would happen one day. You were just hoping you’d die before the bill came due.

  After submitting his resignation to President Nanietta Bacco after she learned of his involvement in removing Min Zife from office, Ross was content to remain retired, enjoying the newfound freedom and relaxing life he found with his wife, Stefana, here on Caldos II. It also meant more time to spend with their son, Zachary. Now a student at Columbia University, Zach made the trip from Earth between semesters and for holidays, during which father and son spent their mornings on the tennis court behind the house. Despite the age disparity between them—nearly forty years, as Zach kept reminding him—Ross still managed to hold his own during their spirited games.

  Their choice of retirement destination saw to it that they and the planet’s other inhabitants largely were spared from the devastating effects of the Borg Collective’s final invasion of Federation space five years earlier. Escaping the Borg’s notice and being spared destruction or heavy damage meant that Caldos was one of a handful of planets chosen to relocate survivors seeking refuge from numerous other worlds that were not so lucky. The influx of tens of thousands of people had not caused the undue burden many Caldos residents feared. With the help of Starfleet and Federation colony support, the refugees had a smooth relocation. New villages and smaller communities were established across the planet, growing and thriving in this new post-Borg reality. Life on Caldos took little time returning to normal.

  All of that, along with the rest of the quiet, happy existence he had finally found after decades in service to Starfleet, was about to be taken from him. What could he do? Ross considered and discarded possible courses of action. After his forced retirement, he thought he might simply disappear into obscurity here on Caldos II. Originally a colony world before becoming a full member of the Federation, the planet offered plenty of opportunity for those seeking a quieter, slower life far away from the normal machinations of twenty-fourth-century politics and other concerns. It was close enough to benefit from regular security patrols and civilian merchant shipping while too distant from anything that might give Starfleet reason to establish a permanent presence here. If this world could not permit him to fade into the shadows of history, where else could he go?

  Nowhere.

  If the news reports were accurate, and Ross knew they were, there was no place for him to hide. He would be found, along with all the others.

  On the viewscreen, the anchor again dropped her gaze to her padd as she cleared her throat. When she returned her attention to the pickup, Ross saw a new, fierce determination in her eyes.

  “Included in the data release is a roster of individuals formerly or currently affiliated with Section Thirty-One. The list is . . . disturbing and includes many familiar names. People we’ve called heroes and saviors of our very way of life. If even a fraction of what’s been documented in this information is true, it indicates a staggering, ongoing violation of our society’s most basic tenets of civil rights and privacy, carried out by some of the very people entrusted to safeguard the society we all hold dear.”

  Once the dust settled and the trials were over and those found guilty—including him—were dispatched to Auckland, New Zealand, or some other penal colony, there would be precious few people to remember or care about the good done by him and uncounted others over the course of generations. Since before the Federation’s founding, even before the first spaceships from Earth traveled beyond the confines of their own solar system to encounter representatives from distant worlds, Ross and others like him had toiled in secret. They had done everything in their power to ensure humanity’s uninhibited idealism and naiveté did not leave it vulnerable to attack or exploitation by some unfriendly power.

  Were many of the choices made and actions taken morally dubious and even illegal? Yes. Ross did not always possess knowledge or understanding of the reasons precipitating those deeds, and in the beginning he questioned the wisdom of the group’s ability to operate with seeming impunity while appearing to violate the very core values they were sworn to defend. Even his military training and tactical experience, along with his preference for viewing many situations through the harsh, stark lens that was required to navigate such situations, had not been enough at first to make him comfortable with some of Section 31’s methods and edicts.

  However, decades in service to the organization, particularly during the Dominion War, had shown him the value of such an entity. Was it susceptible to corruption? Left unchecked and unaccountable, any group or individual ran the chance of falling prey to such darker impulses. While it could not be argued that it had on numerous occasions acted far outside the boundaries of Federation law, the results were indisputable. r />
  Nor could they be hidden any longer, thanks to the efforts and tenacity of Ozla Graniv. Ross was familiar with the journalist’s work, and knew that she had for some time been working to expose Section 31. The results of her tireless efforts—all of the group’s virtuous deeds as well as its sins—now were being broadcast to the known galaxy. Victories once celebrated in silence would be held up for the people to see, and perhaps appreciate just how many times their mundane existences had come within a hairsbreadth of annihilation.

  Of course, they also would learn of the extraordinary measures taken to protect their way of life, but would any of that matter? Ross guessed it would not, and to a point, he understood this reality. Most people, in his experience, tended to view the safeguarding of their liberty and security through filters that allowed them to ignore the often-messy processes that made such things possible. When confronted with the brutal truth of what was required to preserve the society they took for granted, many of those same people found themselves unable to handle such cold, unforgiving reality.

  After everything was said and all its deeds made available for scrutiny by an uninformed and unappreciative public, that would be the legacy of Section 31.

  “William Ross!”

  Jerking at the sound of his name, Ross turned in his seat toward the source of the call to see a pair of Federation Security Agency officers, wearing their familiar gray uniforms, moving from the cafe’s courtyard entry and out onto the patio. The woman who had shouted his name was staring at him as she moved past tables of customers, her right hand resting on the phaser holstered on her left hip. On her right, a tall dark-skinned man was also advancing toward him, though Ross noted that he had moved away from his companion and was now approaching at a different angle, placing himself between Ross and a gate leading from the courtyard to the adjacent sidewalk and street.

  Ross glanced over his left shoulder to where he knew another gate led to a walking path and a nearby park. A second pair of officers in gray uniforms, a human male and a Vulcan female, waited there.

  No way out.

  There was another option. Reaching into his jacket, Ross tapped the communicator badge affixed to his inner pocket. It was not a Starfleet-issue device, and carried a few features not found in traditional units like the one he once wore on his own uniform. He tapped it twice, activating an emergency escape protocol designed to transport him to a safe house. In this case, it was a small cabin in the mountains two hundred miles north of New Glasgow. His getaway was at best a temporary measure, but at least then he would have time to plan his next steps, including what to do about Stefana and Zach.

  Instead of watching the surprised faces of the security officers as he vanished before their eyes, nothing happened.

  What the hell? The answer was simple, of course. A transporter inhibitor. They knew I’d try this. Damn.

  Ross remained in his chair in the cafe courtyard as the woman stopped walking toward him. She drew her phaser and leveled it at him. To his left, her partner mimicked her movements.

  “Remove your hand from your jacket, sir. Do it now.”

  Saying nothing, Ross removed his hand from his jacket, leaving it open with its palm facing the officer. He raised his left hand to show that it, too, was empty.

  The woman waved her phaser’s muzzle, indicating for him to get to his feet. “Stand up, please.”

  Ross rose from his seat as the woman’s companion closed on him and reached for his left hand. He did not resist while the man fastened restraints around his left wrist, then joined his hands together.

  “Admiral William Ross,” said the woman, who now lowered her phaser. “You are under arrest for crimes against the Federation including treason, murder, conspiracy to commit murder, sedition, and conspiracy to overthrow duly elected officials of the Federation government.”

  2

  Keeping her attention on her desktop computer terminal, Alynna Nechayev checked the power setting of the phaser in her hand. The vid feeds showed the locations of what she recognized as a team of Federation Security officers approaching her house from all directions. Dressed in dark clothing as they moved under cover of darkness, they were arrayed in a circle that tightened with every step forward. In ten seconds, agents would be stepping onto her front porch. She glanced at her phaser once more, verifying that the weapon was set to stun before reaching for the communicator badge in her desk’s top drawer.

  Whatever you’re going to do, she prompted herself, it’s time to get on with it.

  On her living room’s forward wall, the viewscreen was displaying a succession of photographs depicting various Federation officials and senior Starfleet officers connected to Section 31, as revealed by Ozla Graniv and her devastating information release. She already had seen pictures of friends and colleagues like William Ross, Tujiro Nakamura, and even the late Owen Paris scrolling across her screen. Additional footage from a news team as well as private citizens showed another fellow admiral, Edward Jellico, being arrested by Federation Security officers.

  Reports of other Section 31 associates being hunted or taken into custody were also coming in from worlds across the Federation, the information gathering faster than the ability of news correspondents to disseminate it. From what Nechayev could tell, it was obvious that agents of both the Federation government and Starfleet were moving with all due haste not just to contain the situation but also apprehend anyone implicated in the scandal before those individuals could evade them. Even though her role with Section 31 was not as intricate or damning as that of some of her fellow Starfleet officers and other associates, Nechayev knew anyone with any connection to the organization would be a target. Even the most benevolent judge, civilian or Starfleet, would see her actions on behalf of the group as nothing less than treason, regardless of motive or justification. That much was evident by the agents now closing in on her.

  Nechayev had no intention of being arrested in her own home.

  A check of her property’s passive sensor system was enough to tell her that in addition to the team of advancing security officers, the unwelcome party had also activated some kind of transporter inhibitor. She determined it to be a portable model deployed about twenty meters from her house, tucked away within a grove of trees in which she had opted to build her home in the Adirondack Mountain region of northern New York. Of course, no one was supposed to know about this place. It was one of two safe houses Nechayev had established years earlier, and she had transported herself here within minutes of seeing the initial news broadcasts detailing the revelations about Section 31. The personal transporter system tucked into a closet of her San Francisco apartment was shielded from scans and kept no logs, so anyone conducting a search would have no means of tracking her from that point. Therefore, that Federation law enforcement agencies had taken so little time to target their search on this location indicated just how much information about her the Section 31 data release had revealed.

  How much more do they know?

  Entering a string of commands to the desktop terminal’s touch interface, Nechayev activated a dampening pulse from emitters situated around her property. It was not a lethal or even harmful strike against her uninvited guests. Instead, the pulse was enough to temporarily disable any electronic devices in a half-kilometer radius, with the exception of anything inside her house. On the terminal, she saw images of various agents halting their approaches, pausing to study their weapons, tricorders, or other equipment they carried. The pulse had worked, as further evidenced by the status readout informing her the transporter inhibitor was now offline. Nechayev knew she had only moments before the agents activated another such device, or simply threw caution to the winds and stormed her house.

  Time to go.

  Phaser still in hand, Nechayev slung over her shoulder a bag she had packed for contingences like this, containing a small assortment of clothing and other items of varying personal and tactical value. Satisfied that she had everything she planned to take with her, she activated her combadge, pressing its faceplate several times in a prearranged sequence. The device offered a reassuring beep, and a moment later Nechayev felt the familiar tingle of a transporter beam coalescing into existence and wrapping itself around her body.