But Section 31 was another matter. Its whole purpose was to find back-channel solutions to matters too sensitive for overt Federation intervention. Surely with Harris’s backing, and the help of good people like Antonio Ruiz, Tucker could organize a local resistance, maybe even suborn M’Tezir officials willing to stage a coup against Maltuvis—ideally one leading to his arrest and imprisonment, but Tucker would take what he could get, given how many other lives were at stake. In the meantime, a small team of section operatives under his lead could infiltrate M’Tezir and sabotage their military buildup, possibly staving off an invasion of the Global League. No doubt Harris would have some suggestions of his own, and Tucker was eager to hear them.
But his hopes fell the moment he decrypted the message and saw the solemn look on the older operative’s face. “Mister Sims. I appreciate your zeal to come to the aid of the Saurian people. I can’t disagree with your outrage at the current situation, and I share your concern for the lives on the ground.
“However . . . the sad reality is, these matters are not our responsibility.” He held up a hand, anticipating that Tucker was about to talk back to the recording. “I know what you’re going to say. You’ve been living among those people for weeks now, and you want to help them. But our organization has a clearly defined purpose, and that is to protect the best interests of the United Federation of Planets.” He sighed. “And sometimes, the best way to do that . . . is to do nothing. As things stand, M’Tezir is continuing to supply vital mineral resources to the Federation—indeed, now that Maltuvis controls them all, he’s given us an even better deal than before.”
Tucker threw up his hands. “Sure, to bribe us into leavin’ him alone!”
Harris had continued speaking under him: “And yes, of course he’s done that to buy our complacency. I don’t like being manipulated any more than you do,” the career manipulator added without visible irony. “But there’s more at stake here. If we stir things up too badly, if Maltuvis suspects the Federation or Starfleet of taking any action against him, then not only could we lose the resources he provides, but he could decide to share them with the Klingons or the Orions instead. And then how many people—Federation citizens included—would suffer?”
Harris leaned forward and gazed intently into the pickup. “This is what we do, Mister Sims. We make the cold calculations, shoulder the ugly choices, so the rest of the Federation can sleep at night. If you had any illusions about that, I suggest you leave them behind on Sauria. Because we need you back here, where you can do some good.”
A pause. “And if you’re considering some noble gesture like going rogue and staying there to help . . . don’t. Not only would you have no support from us, but we’d be obligated to actively work against you to preserve the steady flow of trade. And we have a zero-tolerance policy toward operatives who go off the reservation. I trust I make myself clear.
“Come home. Right away. That’s an order. That’s your duty . . . to the Federation.”
Tucker seethed as he deleted the message from the system memory, wishing it were on some disk or cartridge he could smash. “Come home where I can do good, right—just sit and watch and do nothing!” Do nothing while a world is threatened with tyranny . . . because we care more about dilithium and duranium.
Is that what I signed up for?
• • •
Tucker found Antonio Ruiz in a sauna bar in Lyaksti’s capital—a pale, touristy imitation of the ones in Narpra, according to Tony, but the closest thing he could find. But Ruiz showed no inclination to go back to the saunas, although he’d clearly been at the bar for a fair amount of time already. Tucker had a long way to go to catch up, but he was willing to try. “I’ll have what he’s having,” he told the bartender.
“Al, how ya doin’?” Ruiz slurred.
“Not great,” Tucker said. “I’ve been recalled. That is . . . I got a new job assignment. I’ll be leaving tomorrow night. Goin’ back to the Federation.”
“Is that so? Hunh. So much for Mister Bond. I guess it’s right what they’re sayin’—the Feds won’t lift a finger to help. Even unoff-unofficially.”
Tucker shrugged. “I just got a new job, is all.” He tried to put in as much apology as he could without giving anything away. Then he blinked, struck that such a thought had made sense to him before he’d even had anything to drink. Was that what this job was doing to his way of thinking?
“Well, fine. Be that way.” Ruiz scoffed. “Me, I got recalled, too. No more alien miners allowed in the mines, no more plague to volunteer for, so the company’s shippin’ me out to an Earth colony. Zavi . . . Zavijavijavi . . . something. Five.” He chuckled, leaning in conspiratorially. “But you know what? I’m not going! I’m gonna stay right here. I’m gonna continue the work you got me started on. I’m gonna raise a fuss, I’m gonna make people see what Malthuselah-two-bits is up to, I’m gonna start a damn revolution if I have to!”