by Peter David
“Where the Borg are,” said Picard.
She nodded. “Where the Borg are,” she confirmed. “Now, the Shgin were a warlike race, so when they first encountered the Borg, they loved the challenge. They welcomed the foe.” She pursed her lips. “They lived to regret it. Or rather, they didn’t live to regret it. The Borg massacred them as thoroughly as they did anything and anyone else. Delcara had a mate and two children. All were lost. Delcara and a handful of others escaped the Borg destruction, and over the years, the rest of the Shgin died until only Delcara was left. She wandered the galaxy, alone, lost. Either she found planets that were uninhabited, or else once-populated worlds that had been ‘visited’ by the Borg. By the time we found her, she had been alone for many years. The solitude, the horror of that aloneness, weighs heavily on one. It took us a long time to draw her out of the emotional cocoon that she had created around herself. I had a hand in that—a considerable hand, really. Delcara and I became close friends—close enough to be bonded in a relationship approximating what you would call ‘sisterhood.’ During that time Delcara learned our ways. The ways of peace and attention to emotions and to listening. She even fell in love with one of my people, and they married. And then . . .”
She paused, and it was obvious. “The Borg attacked,” Picard provided.
Guinan nodded. “The Borg attacked,” she affirmed. “They slaughtered so many of my people, including Delcara’s new mate. When I found Delcara afterwards, I had to drag her away from the broken body of her lover. The screams,” and she touched her fingers to her temples, “the screams live on to this day.”
“The poor woman,” whispered Troi. “To lose all her loved ones . . . twice . . . to the Borg . . .”
“It consumed her,” said Guinan. “Totally. I tried to get her to stay with me, but she wasn’t the woman I’d known. She’s become dark, forboding, and all the beauty of her was blackened and blasted by the horror and the loss and the helplessness. She disappeared, years ago, and I never had any idea where she went.”
“I think,” Picard said slowly, “that I’m starting to get a damned good idea.”
At that moment his communicator beeped and he tapped it. “Yes.”
“Sir,” came the deep voice of Worf, “we have received a number of communiqués relating battles and encounters—both with the Borg, and apparently with the entity which Captain Korsmo and Commander Shelby credited with the Borg destruction here at Penzatti. Shall I—”
“Tell Mr. Data,” Picard said abruptly, “that I wish to meet with him immediately. Then in fifteen minutes I want all senior officers in the conference room. Guinan, you too.”
“Captain, the messages—”
“We’ll hear them then, Mr. Worf.”
“Yes, sir.”
Picard turned towards Guinan and Troi the moment the communication was cut. “I’m fairly certain I can sum them up without hearing them. And that summation is that a war that is hundreds of years old may be coming to a head—and we’ll all be caught in the middle.”
Once again the senior officers were grouped around the conference table, except the tension level in the room had increased substantially.
They had just spent the past several minutes hearing report after report, message after message. A huge, planet-devouring ship. A mysterious woman from Guinan’s past. An attacking Borg ship. Picard’s heart had jumped when he’d heard about the individual battles that the Chekov and the Repulse had faced. How many more were going to die until this business was finished? he wondered bleakly. How many comrades dead? How many bodies buried, ships lost. How much was it going to take to stop the madness once and for all?
The same thoughts were going through Riker’s mind, particularly when he’d heard about Shelby’s vessel locked in combat. He’d grown to like her, even become fond of her . . . at least, as fond as one could become of a woman whom he’d wanted to belt at one time.
“You seem distracted, Number One,” Picard said suddenly.
Riker looked up, feeling momentarily embarrassed, as if he’d been caught flatfooted at school. “I was just thinking, Captain,” he admitted, “of when I had the power of Q. I gave it back to him, secure and confident that I didn’t want or need it. When I think that I had the power, at my fingertips, to stop a race like the Borg with a passing thought. . . .” He shook his head. “The lives I could have saved. The good I could have done. To be able to eliminate the Borg . . .”
“Or the Romulans,” observed Troi, pointing out the danger of such thinking. “Or the Tholians.”
“Or the Klingons,” added Worf darkly.
Riker looked from one to the other. Then he allowed a small smile. “Hard to tell where to draw the line, isn’t it.”
“Sometimes the best way to deal with drawing a line,” said Picard, “is refusing to take the marker when someone offers it to you for the purpose of drawing.” He shook his head. “There’s no point dwelling on the past, Number One, except in those instances in which it can be of service to you. Like now.”
He stood, his fingertips resting lightly on the conference room table. “I believe I know how all of this relates to one another. It’s part speculation, part theory, with a dash of guesswork, but I’m reasonably certain we have a workable hypothesis here. Mr. Data was kind enough to work out some of the schematics for me as well, based on historical records.”
He walked over to the computer screen, and a chart of the galaxy materialized on it, divided into quadrants. The Alpha and Beta quadrants, comprising the lower half of the circle, glowed in dark blue. The Gamma quadrant, entirely unexplored space, was deep black. The Delta quadrant was also black, since the majority of it was unexplored, but a U-shaped red curve delineated that area known to be Borg space. The territory of the UFP, the Klingon Empire, Romulan space, and approximate limits of explored space, were likewise demarcated in red.
“An uncertain amount of time ago,” began Picard, “the Borg first began their rise to power in the Delta Quadrant. Whether they originated from outside the galaxy, or somehow evolved from machines, or were a sentient race that embraced machines, all of this is uncertain. But they encountered resistance from a great and mighty race, name unknown. Possibly the race that was known as the Preservers, who seem to have ‘seeded’ countless planets with humanoid life and then disappeared.”
“Certainly being wiped out by the Borg would explain that disappearance,” said Riker.
Picard nodded and then continued, “For argument’s sake, we’ll call them the Preservers, even if they were not. The war between the Borg and the Preservers went on and on, and the Preservers were losing. But while they fought the Borg in the Delta Quadrant, they were also busy in a place as far from the scene of battle as they could be. You see, they were developing a new and powerful weapon, and wanted that weapon to be created as far from the Borg as possible. It was not a weapon that was intended to be used. It was a weapon of last resort, a weapon of revenge, should the Preservers be ultimately defeated. A weapon that could conceivably lay waste to a large portion of the galaxy. But better that, they reasoned, than allowing the Borg to continue their conquest unabated. The Preservers, or whoever, felt that they were the last, best hope of the galaxy, and if they fell, then nothing else mattered.
“But while they worked on creating their ultimate weapon, they first created a prototype. They created —this.”
On the screen appeared a vast spaceship, with a huge maw and a body that trailed off in a vague cone shape.
“In comparison to the projected final product, it was simplistic,” said Picard. “But deadly, nonetheless. Perfectly designed for use within the galaxy, for it would devour planetary masses for the purpose of fuel. It was eminently logical. After all, the Borg left behind lifeless balls of rock in their wake. So a weapon was developed that would, in a beautiful twist of irony, use those ‘lifeless’ planets as fuel. They would use the waste matter that the Borg left over against them.
Riker frowned. “I know that
thing. That’s . . .” he snapped his fingers to jog his memory. “The planet-killer! The doomsday machine that the original Enterprise faced! We learned about it in the Academy.”
“So did we,” said Picard. “Neutronium hull, a beam of anti-proton, consuming planets . . . I’m almost embarrassed we didn’t think of it earlier.
“What I believe happened next is that the Preservers, or whoever created it, received word that the war was going badly, indeed, that it was hopeless. So they launched the planet-killer prototype while continuing to work on the final version which was considerably bigger, more powerful, faster . . .”
“How much faster?” asked Geordi.
Picard spread his hands. “Logs of the original Enterprise would indicate that the planet-killer never exceeded warp four. I would suspect that the final version would have to go considerably faster to have any hope of catching up with a Borg ship.”
“But how can you be sure the planet-killer was created as an anti-Borg weapon?” asked Geordi.
“We projected back along the original planet-killer’s path, just as the crew of the first Enterprise did,” said Picard, and obediently the overview of the galaxy reappeared, this time with a broken line cutting across the Alpha and Beta quadrants. “Science officer Spock projected that the planet-killer’s rather straightforward path of attack meant it originated from outside our galaxy. It did. I surmise that it was created beyond the galactic barrier, in a space station or artificial city. Projecting the planet-killer’s path forward, Mr. Spock discovered that the machine’s course would take it straight towards Earth. Also correct. Look, however, at the direction it would have gone, and the ultimate destination it would have found, had it not been deactivated.”
The glowing line ran straight and true, slicing directly into the heart of the Delta quadrant.
“Borg space,” said Riker.
“Right down their throats,” agreed Geordi.
“It would have taken the planet-killer, at the speed it was going, hundreds of years to get there,” said Picard. “Possibly they didn’t intend it to actually be launched, but they obviously felt they had no choice. Besides, they reasoned that if the Borg continued their conquest, they would undoubtedly run into the planet-killer halfway.”
“But the original Enterprise killed it,” said Riker.
“That’s right. Ironically, the Enterprise NCC-1701 defeated a weapon that was created to defeat beings that the Enterprise NCC-1701-D is forced to face.”
“Terrific,” said Geordi. “But what else could they have done?”
“Nothing else,” said Picard. “Now, here’s the rest of it. The final version of the planet-killer was never launched. We don’t know the reason. Perhaps they hit some sort of technological snag. Perhaps they simply decided to flee the area of the Milky Way galaxy altogether.”
“Or perhaps,” said Guinan, “they’d created a weapon so powerful, that they were concerned it would be an even greater menace than the Borg.”
“That’s a cheery thought,” said Geordi.
“So it was never launched,” said Picard. “And it floated here, beyond the edge of our galaxy.” The captain tapped it on the computer screen, “unmoving, abandoned, forgotten. Until it was discovered by a woman with a vendetta. A woman who wanted to destroy the Borg and would allow nothing to stand in her way. A woman named Delcara. She got to the ship, activated it, and is now heading towards Borg space. She encountered the Borg ship here at Penzatti and demolished it. She then ran into the Repulse, and overcame it. According to the Repulse, it looked like this.”
The planet-killer that the Repulse had fought and lost appeared on the screen.
Deanna Troi gasped, her mind reeling against it, and the others looked at her immediately. “Deanna—?” said Riker.
“I know it somehow,” she said. “I . . . I saw it, but I can’t remember . . .” She closed her eyes, clearly straining as if she were trying to browbeat her mind into doing her bidding. “That shape, and those spires . . .”
“Counselor Troi, what do you remember?” said Picard urgently. He made no effort to mollycoddle her. He’d seen, in recent days, how poorly she took to treatment such as that, especially when she was feeling confused or out of sorts.
“I . . .” She shook her head. “I can’t recall. That dream I mentioned earlier . . . there was a flash of that machine’s overall shape. But I can’t remember more. I’m sorry, Captain.”
“It’s all right. I suspect we’ll be having more than enough personal experience with it.”
“Captain, are you saying that the Earth is in direct danger, as it was when the original planet-killer was en route?”
“Curiously, no. If you’ll note here, this new device seems to be following an elliptical path.” Another glowing line appeared and Picard’s finger traced the line. “It starts at the same point, but curves around our sector. Still, there are sufficient populated areas that concern is warranted. Mr. Data, I want course set for the Kalish star system, the last known location of the planet-killer that the Repulse encountered.”
The officers looked at each other for a moment in surprise, and finally Riker said, “Captain, shouldn’t we wait here, as per instructions?”
“I’ve already sent word to Starfleet and expect permission momentarily,” said Picard briskly. “There is no point to the Enterprise remaining here. We will continue to treat the Penzatti who are aboard, but awaiting the Borg return here is futile. They will not return here until they have dealt with the planet-killer, for they will most certainly recognize its origins and suspect its capabilities. It will be a threat that they cannot allow. Therefore, wherever the planet-killer is, that’s where they will be headed as well.”
“Captain, how do we know that for certain?” asked Crusher.
He turned and looked at her. “Because,” he said grimly, “if I were a Borg, that’s what I would do.”
Picard was in the ready room, staring out at the rapidly receding Penzatti homeworld. At the sound of the chime at the door, he said, “Come.” The total absence of sound after the door had opened immediately told him who had entered without his needing to turn around to confirm his deduction. “Yes, Guinan?”
She folded her arms and said, “Interesting theories you provide, sir. But I’m surprised you didn’t happen to mention back there the other reason you want to head off the planet-killer.”
He stared at his reflection in the window. “It poses a threat to life and limb. It is an artifact from an ancient race. It laid waste to a starship without any appreciable difficulty. It represents a significant defense and offense against the Borg. And Starfleet, through Captain Korsmo, has already expressed interest and concern about it. I don’t see what more reasons one needs.”
“Oh, those are plenty of good reasons,” agreed Guinan. Then her voice dropped slightly, the light, bantering tone disappearing. “But there’s one reason that’s a little better, isn’t there? Her. Because somehow she has taken over that . . . that thing out there. The reason it’s giving the Terran system a wide berth is because she’s controlling it somehow. Maybe she’s even inside it. And you’ve been thinking about her, had her rattling about in the back of your mind, for decades.”
He was silent for a long moment. “We’re connected somehow, Guinan,” he said. “In a way I don’t even know that I understand. She knew to find me. Now I have to find her. I have to know . . .”
“The unknowable?”
He shrugged. “Whatever I can learn.”
“At least we don’t have to worry that your judgment is clouded.”
He turned and gave her a firm, even scolding, look. “Nothing could ever do that.”
“I’ve learned, Captain, that it’s never safe to say never. Because nothing,” she said ruefully, “has a nasty habit of becoming a very, very large something.”
Chapter Twelve
GEORDI LA FORGE KNEW that they had a few hours yet before arriving at the site of the battle between the Repulse and the p
lanet-killer. The engines were operating smoothly, and all systems were on line and functioning at peak levels. So he felt no guilt in going down to sickbay to spend some time with the woman who’d once been known as Reannon Bonaventure. He even had a plan that he had already put into operation, because he was certain that there was a woman inside there—a woman who could be reached, and was somehow aware of what had happened to her. A woman that, in some way, he could help.
Bev Crusher, however, was hesitant when she saw the chief engineer enter sickbay. “Look, Geordi,” she began.
“I know what you’re going to say, Doctor,” he said, “but you have to let me try. I know that I can help her.”
“How do you know for certain?” She stood before him, arms crossed, body language virtually shouting, Do your best to convince me, but I’m not buying it.
“I don’t know for certain,” admitted Geordi. “But every time you work on a patient, do you know for certain that you’re going to be able to save him?”
“Reasonably sure, yes.”
“But not one hundred percent.”
She rolled her eyes impatiently. Geordi didn’t see that, of course, but he detected an annoyed flickering of her electromagnetic aura. “Of course not, Geordi. Nothing is absolutely guaranteed in this galaxy.”
“So don’t you think I should be allowed the same leeway of uncertainty that you have?”
Crusher chuckled slightly. “What is it with you, Geordi? Why all the interest in her?”
“Call it instinct, if you want, Doctor. I know what it’s like to be in need. Besides, I’ve been studying about her career, about her personality. She was one hell of a character. She deserves better than this.”
“All right, all right,” sighed Crusher, knowing that sooner or later she was going to bow to the inevitable. “I had a feeling I wasn’t going to be able to resist you. I’ve explained to the Penzatti the situation with her and they’ve promised me that they will restrain themselves in her presence.”