<Completed> Section 31: Origins - Short Story

[Mairead]

Part 1: The Good of the Many
[2161: Federation Day: Starfleet Headquarters, San Francisco]
The office was dark, providing vivid contrast for the fireworks that blazed across the sky in exaltation. Shadows moved within, one standing and one sitting. The one who stood walked close enough to the window to be bathed in green light from a series of chrysanthemum bursts. "They're right to celebrate," he said. His human features took an odd cast, as if he were ill. He was tall and slender, and would have looked young in the diffused light if not for the way his hair was thinning. "I wasn't sure this day would ever come. We had so many differences to reconcile."
"Indeed. We may speak of infinite diversity in infinite combination, but the truth is we are at ease only with the diversity we recognize. Still, it is a noble endeavor." There was just a trace of irony in her voice.
"Noble." He stared out, watching a palm tree of golden light grow upwards. "Too noble. It won't work."
"No. It won't."
"Sevok and Bergstrom are genuinely good men. They have no conception of evil."
"True. Nor do they comprehend that at times evil can be defeated only by its own methods."
The man raised a glass to his lips and tossed back its contents, then moved away from the window to a cabinet hidden in the wall. With one touch, a panel slid back and revealed a fully stocked wet bar. He picked up a decanter and refilled his glass. "Are you sure you don't want anything? This is twelve-year-old single malt. One of Earth's great contributions to the galaxy, along with Shakespeare and jazz."
"Water will suffice."
He shrugged. "Your loss." After a quick sip he said almost angrily, "They've tied our hands, T'Leya. That damn Charter with its rights and ideals won't let us do what needs to be done. What in the hell were they thinking? Have they forgotten their history? Do they think that the Eugenics Wars ended because Khan Noonian Singh got bored?"
"They think that the example they set will be sufficient to persuade others of the moral correctness of their position." Still sitting, T'Leya indulged her emotions enough to shake her head. "Sevok has always been blind to this aspect of nature. He sees the universe - what is your idiom? Through rose-colored glasses?"
"Yeah. You're his sister, I guess you'd know."
"Unlike him, I have always been keenly aware of dangers inherent in evil. That is one of the things I like most about you humans - somehow you manage to recognize evil without necessarily succumbing to it. You have no idea how rare that is." She stood, little more than a slim silhouette. "That is why I have come to you tonight, Desmond. I have a proposition to discuss."

[Mairead]

"Oh?"
"In this new space fleet they have proposed, you will be in charge of Intelligence."
He held himself still, not betraying his surprise. The appointment hadn't been made public yet; not two other people knew about it other than himself, and Sevok was not one of them. Yet this woman had been surprising him since they first became friends. "Yes, I was told this afternoon."
"Intelligence is vital to the protection of our Federation. We will have many enemies at first, some from without, but at first our greatest opposition will come from within. You will have the network and the infrastructure to identify those threats."
"Yes," he said cautiously.
"And some of those threats will be within the bounds of lawful conduct or beyond the jurisdiction of the Federation."
"Such as Wilkie Rogers." He could not keep the bitterness out of his voice.
"An excellent example. As long as the new Federation Council supports a free press, Mr. Rogers is well within the law to issue his vitriolic criticism."
She walked closer to the window, and the light gave her features clarity: delicate bones, elegant ears, and a mouth firm with determination. He thought she was the most beautiful woman he had ever known. "However, you and I both recognize the danger he poses. He is, at this moment, a greater threat to the existence of the Federation than the Romulans and their allies. He is a cancer that will eat away the foundation we need to establish."
"Do you think I don't know that? He'd be laughable if he didn't make himself sound so reasonable." He walked over to his desk and picked up a stack of padds. "He's got influence, he's got support and he's got the forum to get his subversive ideas into the mainstream. And he knows how to play the game. He will push as far as he can, but he will never actually break the law."
"And if left untouched, he will foment dissent and distrust among the Federation worlds." She turned just as the sky turned crimson behind her. "It would be better for us all, Desmond, if he were eliminated."
Silence hung between them for a long time, long enough for the sky to darken to burgundy and then black again. Finally he said, "I thought Vulcans abhorred violence."
"We do. That does not mean we cannot recognize its uses."
"What you're suggesting is ... surprising."
The sky was suddenly bright again, this time lit with lasers of white and gold that created the sudden illusion of a halo around T'Leya's head. He could see something like amusement in her eyes. "Don't tell me you haven't considered it yourself."
"Perhaps I have," he admitted, "but it isn't possible. The Admiralty would never approve the use of Starfleet resources for ...this activity."
"Murder. Let us be honest about our intentions. We are discussing the murder of an individual who poses a significant threat to the security of our fledgling alliance."
"All right. Admiral Powell sure as hell isn't going to authorize the use of Starfleet resources for a murder. If it became public, it would undermine everything we stand for."
T'Leya folded her arms together and smiled. It was almost imperceptible but he was certain he saw it. "Then your objections are based on the consequences of getting caught, not on the act itself."
"I've conducted covert operations before," he said. His voice sounded harsh, even grating. "I don't like them. But they are necessary."
"Agreed. The resolution of your dilemma, then, is to be certain that there are no consequences."
He poured himself another drink. "I'm getting the feeling you have something specific in mind."
She came over to the bar and stood directly in front of him. "Section 31 of our new Federation Charter empowers Starfleet to 'protect the Federation from its enemies, within and without.' I believe there is a way to do that without appearing to compromise the values of the Charter."
"And that is?"
"A small and secret group of officers who believe in the Federation's ideals enough to sacrifice their own. These officers would be directed by someone with access to enough data to see the big picture, isn't that how you say it? They would exist in such secrecy that not even they know who else serves in the same capacity."
"A secret police," he said bluntly.
"An elite force," she corrected. "You would have to recruit very carefully for this job, Desmond. I've no doubt you can easily find trained killers. We need more than that. We need people who would never dream of the kind of deception and violence that will be required of them, but for the threat to the Federation. Indiscriminate killers cannot be trusted. This group must be wholly dedicated to our cause. They must believe in the ideals of the Federation so passionately that they are willing to sacrifice anything, even their souls, to save them."
He took a large gulp of scotch. A hundred objections presented themselves in his mind and screamed for attention. All he said was, "Powell won't sanction it. Neither will Bergstrom or Sevok if they find out."
"There is no need for them to know," she said serenely.
"Powell is Chief of Operations. Sevok is the President of the High Council and Bergstrom is President-Elect. I have a feeling they would disagree with you."
"It is for their own protection. This force must be clandestine, or you are correct, the mere fact of its existence will undermine the Federation. It is enough if one admiral knows, and can direct resources accordingly." She glanced at the bar. "I believe I will try a glass of that scotch now."
He poured a generous fingerful into a glass and handed it to her. "I'll say this, T'Leya, you've got brass ones."
Her eyebrow shot upwards. "I do not understand the metaphor. I will assume it was a compliment."
"Yeah. Here's to you." He clinked his glass against hers.
"No. Let us drink to the Federation." She sipped slowly but betrayed no reaction to the taste of the liquor. "My brother is a man of great vision, Desmond, as is your Pers Bergstrom. Men with a great vision of the future often look beyond the realities of the present. They - and their vision - must be protected."
"The dichotomy doesn't bother you?" he asked curiously. "That to protect that vision, we must violate it?"
"The good of the many outweighs of the good of the few or the one. What we few do is for the greater good."
He glanced outside. The fireworks had ended. "Come on, we need to get to the reception. They'll notice if we arrive late."
"Yes. We will talk more of this later."
They left his office and headed for the elevator. A rating from Security in full dress uniform pulled himself to attention as they approached. "Admiral Paris, Ambassador T'Leya."
"At ease, Crewman." Des slipped his identicard into the security reader. "Did you see the fireworks?"
"Yes, sir." He glanced toward a window to his right.
"Quite a show, wasn't it?"
"Yes, sir. It's a great day, sir."
"Indeed." Des looked closely at the young man and realized that he was very young, certainly not yet twenty-five. "Celebrate tonight, son. Tomorrow we start protecting the future."
The young man smiled. "I like the sound of that, sir."
The elevator doors opened, and Des gestured T'Leya to enter first. He turned back to the crewman. "As well you should. Isn't that why Starfleet exists?"

[Seven of Nine]

That is a very interesting start. I like it.

[Mairead]

Thank ya muchly. Part Two is on it's way

[Mairead]

Part 2: The Good of the Few
[2218: Starfleet Headquarters, San Francisco]
"You're drunk."
Admiral Nigel Forsythe, head of Starfleet Intelligence, looked up at T'Leya of Vulcan and smiled serenely. His clipped Eton tones were not slurred in the slightest as he spoke. "Madam, I am not. However, I fully intend to rectify that situation."
To prove his point, he downed the contents of his glass and left his desk in the general direction of the hidden wet bar. He brushed against a chair and stumbled slightly but managed not to fall. Lifting a crystal decanter, he examined the amber liquid it held. "Where are my manners? Would you care for a glass, Madam Ambassador?"
"No, and you should not have any more. Even under these circumstances, Admiral, people will question why you are indulging. I have never seen you drink before."
"These circumstances." He laughed harshly and filled his glass. "What a pleasant euphemism. Our colony on Varna has been destroyed by the Klingons. Two of our best ships are limping home with their proverbial tails between their legs and two others have been blown to bits. Over five hundred thousand people are dead and one of them ... one of them is my son. I think people will understand if I get stinking dead drunk."
T'Leya inclined her head. "I heard that your son was on the Onizuka. I grieve with thee."
Forsythe stared at her. "Spare me the empty platitudes."
"My sorrow is genuine."
He laughed again. "Vulcan sorrow. Kill them, then apologize for it."
"We did not kill them, Nigel. The Klingons did." She crossed the room and took the drink from his hand. "This will not help anyone and could do a great deal of harm."
When she stood this close, he was reminded uncomfortably of how tall she was. He was of less than average height to start with, but she towered a good ten centimeters above him, forcing him to look up at her. "You haven't changed," he said abruptly. "You look just the same. Wise as Athena, and as untouchable as Artemis. Except we weren't so wise this time, were we? We should have told them. We should have warned them."
"We have been through this before. If we had shared the information we obtained about the Klingons, we would have had to explain how we came by it and that would reveal our existence. We could not permit that to happen."
"So we sacrifice a colony and two ships instead. Siobhan Paris was on the Armstrong, did you know that? Just transferred there as CMO last month. It was a promotion for her."
"Yes, I know."
His eyes narrowed as he studied her reaction, and he thought he had scored a hit but couldn't be certain. He could never be certain with T'Leya. "Des must be spinning in his grave, knowing that we let his granddaughter walk into a deathtrap."
"Admiral Paris would have been the first to recognize the necessity, and I am surprised that you do not. There is an example from your own history - Coventry, I believe."
"Wha-what?"
"During your second world war, the allies obtained information in advance of planned attack on one of their cities. Coventry, it was called. However, if they had taken any steps to prevent the attack or protect the city, the enemy would have realized that the Allies had deciphered its codes. It was a choice: maintain the strategic advantage of the broken codes or sacrifice the city."
"Oh, god." He suddenly felt ill, and sat down gracelessly. "You can't compare this to Coventry."
"Of course I can. Our operatives spent months gathering data about this new race. We recognized the threat they posed immediately, but you know as well as I do what would have happened if we had turned the information over to Starfleet."
"They'd have been prepared."
"Improbable. Given the current leadership of the Federation Council, they would have attempted to make diplomatic contact. The Klingons would have used the opportunity to assess our capabilities. If they reacted as they did with the Korvallans, they would have prolonged that opportunity to gather their own intelligence before striking." She gave him a long, cold look. "The attack might have been deferred but nothing more. And if deferred, it would have been far more aggressive and far more damaging because they would have obtained vital strategic information about us."
"You can't know that."
"It is a predictable outcome based on the data."
"The data. We captured a Klingon officer from Korvallis, T'Leya. We used extra-legal methods -no, no sugar-coating- we tortured him and drugged him to extract information and then we killed him. And then -" his voice broke into a sob. Perhaps he was drunk after all. "And then we didn't tell anyone and my son is dead."
She said nothing, and the only sound in the room was his wretched breathing as he struggled to regain control of himself. Then she went back to the wet bar, picked up the decanter and filled a new glass. Without a word she handed it to him.
He took it gratefully and finished half of it in one gulp. "We can't go on, T'Leya. We've stretched Section 31 farther than anyone ever intended. It's time to stop."
"I disagree."
"That's too bloody bad!" Infuriated, he jumped to his feet. "We don't have the right to play God. Who are we to decide who lives and who dies? Who are you?"
A second, then another passed before she answered. "I am the one who protects the Federation from its enemies. The burden is mine, as it always has been."
He started to answer, but suddenly it felt as if his head were going to explode. A pain as sharp as a knife stab seared from behind his left eye all the way to the back of his skull. The vision in his left eye blurred, then turned to a gray shimmer. "God. Something's wrong - something -"
His hands flew to his head and pressed, as if to hold his skull together. "Help - help me -"
He twisted his head so his right eye could see her. She was standing still, her serene expression unchanged. "You -" he gasped. "You did this-"
Then his head truly did explode, a shower of white light and searing pain, and then there was nothing.
T'Leya regarded the body on the floor for almost ten seconds before she bent to pick up the glass that had tumbled to the floor. With no sense of urgency, she slipped the glass into a deep pocket of her robe and went to the wet bar. She picked up Nigel's first glass and placed it on the floor where the other had fallen.
Only then did she go to the desk and open the comm system. "Lt. Decker. Please come in immediately."
She stepped aside as Forsythe's aide came into the room. When he saw the Admiral lying on the floor, he ran and knelt beside the body. He checked the pulse, then looked up. "He's dead."
T'Leya nodded. "I suspect he suffered a vascular event in his brain. We were talking and he suddenly complained of extreme pain in his head, then he collapsed."
"Oh my god," Decker said. He was breathing hard and almost hyperventilating. "What do I do?"
"Call the Medical Department. I believe Dr. Jennings is on duty this evening; I spoke with him earlier. He will take charge of the situation."
"Yes, yes of course. Thank you ma'am." Hands shaking, Decker accessed the comm system on the Admiral's desk and reached Jennings in Medical. "Can you come right away, sir? I think Admiral Forsythe is dead."
"He was deeply grieved by the death of his son and the attack on Varna by that new race - the Klingon Empire," T'Leya offered. "He seemed to blame himself. He was very emotional."
Over the comm link, Jennings swore. "Damn fool. He always took things too hard. I'm on my way."
Decker was now shaking visibly. "I can't believe it. I've only been on the job three days, and this happens. I can't believe it."
"Yes. It is most unfortunate. The Federation has lost a loyal servant." She glanced at a chronometer. "Lieutenant, I realize the timing is inopportune, but I must return to the Vulcan Embassy. My sister's son is arriving tonight to assume diplomatic duties and I must be there to greet him. You may reach me there if I am needed. Tell them I am with Sarek, the new attach�."
"Ah - sure. I mean, of course, ma'am."
"Please convey my condolences to Admiral Forsythe's wife. This is indeed a difficult day for her."
"Yes, ma'am."
She started to leave, but then stopped and turned. "He served the Federation well for many years. It is a pity that today's events affected him so greatly."
"That's what made him a good officer. He really cared."
T'Leya nodded. "You are quite correct. I fear he cared too much for his own good." Then she turned, and walked away.

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