Destiny: The Complete Saga: Gods of Night, Mere Mortals, and Lost Souls

by David Mack

  “Easy,” Hernandez said. “I imagine I’ve already done it.”

  They arrowed through the center of the ship’s brewing thunderhead, and an eye of calm swirled around them as they passed. Then they were near the top deck of the ship, and a dampener-secured platform equipped with transporter-pattern enhancers hove into view.

  “Ten seconds,” Kedair said. “No pressure.”

  Hernandez alighted on the platform, leaned forward, and shrugged Kedair off her shoulder. Catching the wounded woman with one arm, she tapped her combadge with her free hand. “Hernandez to Aventine! Two to beam up!”

  “Energizing,” replied a transporter chief over the comm.

  Kedair clasped Hernandez’s arm. “In case we don’t make it,” she said, “nice try.”

  The paralyzing embrace of the transporter’s annular confinement beam found them, and the tenebrous steelscape of the Borg ship began to fade behind a glittering veil—then a flash turned everything white.

  * * *

  The Borg scout ship vanished from the Aventine’s main viewer in a fiery blue detonation.

  Dax paced in quick steps behind Lieutenant Kandel, manic with anxiety. “Tell me we got them,” she said, pestering the tactical officer for the third time in fifteen seconds.

  From the other side of the console, Bowers tossed a sidelong frown in Dax’s direction. “And you wonder why I don’t let you go on away missions.”

  Pressing herself against the tactical panel beside Kandel, Dax said to Kandel, “Report, Lieutenant.”

  The Deltan woman finished reviewing the data on her screen in a calm, unhurried manner, looked up at Dax, and said, “Transporter Room Two confirms Captain Hernandez and Lieutenant Kedair are aboard. The lieutenant is being rushed to sickbay.”

  “Where’s Captain Hernandez now?”

  Kandel nodded at her companel. “In the transporter room.”

  “Patch me through to her,” Dax said. She waited for Kandel to confirm that she had opened a channel, and then she said, “Captain Hernandez, this is Captain Dax. Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine, but I need to meet with you, alone, right now.”

  Bowers glanced at Dax, as if she needed reminding of the damage her ship had just taken and the dire need for repairs and a new plan. “Can this wait an hour, Captain? We have a lot—”

  “Right. Now. In my quarters.”

  The vehemence of Hernandez’s demand left Dax taken aback. She twitched her eyebrows at Bowers, who shrugged in return.

  “All right, then,” Dax said. “I’m on my way.”

  * * *

  The door to the VIP guest quarters opened at Dax’s approach, and she entered unannounced. A few paces into the compartment, she saw Hernandez leaning against the bulkhead.

  Hernandez regarded Dax with a dour frown. “You’re the second captain to barge into my quarters without knocking today,” she said. “Doesn’t Starfleet teach courtesy anymore?”

  “My ship, my rules,” Dax said. “Besides, you made it pretty clear—on an open channel—that you were in a hurry to see me.” Spreading her arms in a sarcastic pantomime of openness, she added, “Well, here I am. Talk.” She folded her arms across her chest while she waited for the other woman’s reply.

  As she meandered toward Dax, Hernandez wore a troubled look. “Bear with me, Captain,” she said, her voice quieter than it had been. Her shredded uniform hung loosely on her slender frame. “What I need to tell you is vital, but it’s hard for me to come at a problem straight. After eight hundred years with the Caeliar, keeping secrets becomes a virtue.”

  “I understand,” Dax said. Hernandez stopped a mere arm’s length in front of her. Looking more closely at her, Dax saw that despite the youthful appearance of her face and physique, Hernandez’s eyes possessed an ancient light. It was a curious trait Dax had seen in joined Trills with very old symbionts.

  Rubbing her palms slowly against each other, Hernandez said, “I read everything in your files about the Borg before I went to that ship. I thought I was ready for whatever I’d find. I was wrong.”

  “If you’re blaming yourself over what happened during the counterattack, don’t,” Dax said. “As far as I’m concerned, you deserve a medal for saving three of my officers—especially going back for Kedair like you did.”

  Hernandez averted her eyes and stepped away from Dax, toward the windows that looked out on the deceptively placid starfield. “I’m not talking about what the Borg do,” she said. “I’m talking about what they are. I wasn’t ready to believe it.” Her voice fell to a hush, and Dax inched closer behind her to listen as she continued. “I was expecting a group mind, but that’s not really what the Borg is. It’s one mind, one tyrant consciousness enslaving all the others. What it does to individuals is beyond cruel—it’s sadistic, barbaric. And it’s so … empty. It’s a hunger void of form, a frozen pit that can never be filled, no matter how much it eats—and the larger it gets, the more it wants.”

  She looked at Dax. “It was like a melody I’d heard before, but now it was changed—darker, more dissonant. Instead of uniting the minds, the way a conductor guides the musicians in a symphony, it buries them, makes them into mute spectators, while it uses their bodies as tools. It’s like a prison of lost souls, with trillions of beings chained to the will of something that doesn’t even know what the hell it wants.”

  “Sounds like a bad Joining,” Dax said. Noting Hernandez’s uncomprehending head shake, she added, “Sometimes, when a Trill symbiont is incompatible with its new host, it creates a persona so terrible that the only proper response is forced separation.”

  “That about sums it up,” Hernandez said. Sorrow darkened her expression. “The worst part is how familiar it felt.”

  Suspicion percolated in Dax’s gut. “Familiar?”

  Stepping away, perhaps hoping to insulate herself from Dax with a bit of distance, Hernandez said, “I first noticed it a few hours ago, after the boarding teams contacted us. When we lowered the dampening field, I was able to sense one of the dying drones on the Borg ship in the same way that I used to be able to sense the Caeliar. And when I was inside the Borg ship and it regained full power, it was like I was back in Axion.”

  Dax kept a wary eye on Hernandez. “Is that all?”

  “It’s just the beginning,” Hernandez said, stopping at her quarters’ wall-mounted companel. She activated the screen with a gentle tap. It was crowded with multiple side-by-side windows of information—starmaps, ships’ logs, and more.

  “Records from Voyager and the Enterprise-D both suggest the origin of the Borg is somewhere deep in the Delta Quadrant,” Hernandez said. Swapping one starmap for another, she continued, “When the Caeliar homeworld was destroyed, the event created a number of passages through subspace—the tunnels you and your people were trying to shut down. Those were the stable ones.”

  A diagram of a subspace passage took on a distorted twist. Hernandez explained, “Some of the tunnels cut through time as well as space; that made them unstable, and they collapsed shortly after the Erigol cataclysm, from which only three Caeliar city-ships escaped.” She drew bright, straight-line paths across the starmap with her fingertip. “One of those passages tossed the city of Axion deep into the Beta Quadrant, about eight hundred and sixty-odd years ago. A second one threw the city of Kintana into another galaxy at the dawn of time.”

  “And the third city …?”

  “Mantilis,” Hernandez said, inscribing another line across the map, from the Azure Nebula to the Delta Quadrant. “Several members of my landing party were trapped in that city when it vanished. Until now, the Caeliar believed that Mantilis was lost or destroyed in some distant past. Now, based on my analysis of Borg nanoprobes and my own experiences with the Collective, I have a new theory. Through some kind of botched version of the process that made me what I am … they became the Borg.”

  Dax approached the companel to study the data up close. She imagined the horrified reaction it would provok
e in Captains Riker and Picard—and likely in any human who was made aware of it. The origin of the Borg was a tragic confluence of long-past human actions and errors. “Are you sure about this?”

  “Positive,” Hernandez said.

  Shaking her head as a frown creased her brow, Dax said, “According to Captain Riker, we wouldn’t stand a chance against the Caeliar, so why are you acting like this is good news?”

  “Because now I know which of the Borg’s weaknesses we can exploit,” Hernandez said. “And if Caeliar technology made the Borg, maybe it can un-make them, too.”

  22

  Riker was waiting for the punch line. Still grappling with disbelief, he said, “The Caeliar created the Borg?”

  “I don’t think it was intentional,” Hernandez said. She stood, attired in a new Starfleet duty uniform, in front of the companel in the Enterprise’s observation lounge and faced Riker, Dax, and Picard. Nodding at the side-by-side images displayed on the screen behind her, she said, “The similarities between Borg nanoprobes and Caeliar catoms are too profound to be coincidence. But they’re not obvious, because their exterior configurations are completely different, and inside, in their cores, the nanoprobes have been badly corrupted.”

  Picard sat at the head of the curved table on Riker’s left, his countenance stern as he listened to Hernandez. “Your evidence is compelling, Captain,” he said. “But how does this knowledge help us or the Federation in the time we have left?”

  Across the table from Riker, Dax folded her hands on the table in front of her and said, “We have a plan.”

  “You had a plan several hours ago,” Picard replied. “It nearly cost Captain Hernandez her life.”

  Dax bristled. “It also saved five planets and cut the Borg invasion force in half.”

  “But if the Borg had assimilated her Caeliar technology—”

  Riker interrupted, “They didn’t, and there’s no point arguing about something that didn’t go wrong. We need to plan our next move, not dissect our last one.” Realizing that he had only added to Dax’s smug air, he looked at her and continued, “But the limited success of one reckless plan doesn’t mean we should embrace another.” With the room’s tensions balanced, he added, “That said, we should at least hear what they have in mind.”

  “Very well,” Picard said. He looked at Dax and waited.

  Dax volleyed the expectant look toward Hernandez and said, “It was your idea.”

  “It’s simple,” Hernandez said to Picard and Riker. “We need to prevent the Borg from attacking any more planets and put them in a position where we can deal with all of them at once. I’m proposing that we end their invasion by luring them all back here to us, in deep space.”

  Picard telegraphed his skepticism with one arched eyebrow. “And how, precisely, do you propose that we do so?”

  Dax interjected, “By tempting them with the one kind of bait they can’t resist: the Omega Molecule.”

  Riker asked, “How are we supposed to create one without any boronite? Replicators can’t make it, and the nearest source is over two hundred light-years away.”

  Hernandez said, “We’re not going to make Omega Molecules, we’re going to bring them to us. More precisely, we’re going to make the Caeliar bring them to us, by persuading them to move their city-ship here from New Erigol.” She reached over to the companel and keyed in some new commands. An image of an Omega Molecule appeared on the screen. “After I came back from the Borg ship, I remembered reading in your files that the Borg worship ‘Particle 010’ as a symbol of perfection. I knew there was something familiar about it, so I bypassed your security protocols and accessed your data on the molecule. When I did, I knew where I’d seen it before, and it all made sense.

  “The Caeliar power their city with an Omega Molecule generator,” Hernandez continued. “All the energy they harness from the shells around their planet and its star is used to mask the OMG’s emissions. If I can get them to bring Axion here, free of that shielding, it’ll be like a beacon for the Borg. They won’t be able to resist it.”

  Grim-faced, Picard replied, “And once the Borg armada converges on us … what then?”

  “We let the Caeliar deal with them,” Hernandez said.

  Picard got up from the table and paced away, visibly agitated. “Your last plan was reckless,” he said to Dax. “This one is insane. Have you considered the risks? Never mind the damage the Borg could do if they assimilate Caeliar catoms. What if they gain control of an Omega Molecule generator? They’d have unlimited power to wreak havoc throughout the galaxy—and beyond. And if they were to lose control of the generator, an Omega Molecule explosion of that magnitude would destroy subspace for millions of light-years in every direction. Warp flight as we know it would cease to exist in this galaxy and several others.”

  Dax replied, “Yes, it’s dangerous. We know that. But it’s not like we have any better options. It’s the best chance we have of stopping the Borg while there’s still something left of the Federation to save.”

  “There are other options,” Picard said. “We haven’t tried using thalaron weapons against the Borg, and there’s every reason to think thalaron radiation will affect the drones the same way it affects all other organic matter. If Commander La Forge can rig our deflector to emit a large enough thalaron pulse, we could wipe out the entire Borg armada.”

  Riker shot a dubious look at his former captain. “That’s what Starfleet said about the transphasic torpedo, and the Borg have already adapted to that. Hell, for all we know, the Borg already have a defense against thalaron radiation.”

  “Perhaps,” Picard said. “But we have to try, and it might buy us the time we need to organize and fight back.”

  “It’s too late for that,” Hernandez retorted. “We’re long past settling for half-measures and stopgaps. We need to end the war with the Borg, Captain—and we need to end it now.”

  Leaning forward, Riker said, “I’m not convinced thalaron weapons are the best choice. Once that technology’s unleashed, it’ll be impossible to contain ever again.” Looking at Dax and Hernandez, he continued, “But I also think we’re forgetting one important fact about the Caeliar. First and foremost, they’re isolationists, and just as important, they’re pacifists. Not only will they not use force against the Borg, they might prevent us from defending ourselves.”

  Hernandez shook her head. “No, you’re misreading them. They may be pacifists, but they’re not suicidal. They won’t let the Borg assimilate them or hijack their technology.”

  “What makes you so certain they could stop them?” asked Picard, his voice rich with cynicism. “I read the report you gave to Captain Riker. A squad of MACOs from your ship got the better of the Caeliar in 2168 and destroyed one of their cities. I guarantee you, the Borg will pose a far deadlier threat than your ship’s military company.”

  “The MACOs took the Caeliar by surprise,” Hernandez said, a deep bitterness infusing her words. “The Borg won’t.”

  With sharp suspicion, Picard said, “What if they sympathize with the Borg?”

  “I think that’s unlikely,” Hernandez said.

  “But not impossible,” Picard countered. “You said yourself that Caeliar technology was the likely foundation of the Borg’s nanoprobes. What if the Caeliar see the Borg as a kindred race?”

  “Actually,” Dax said, “we’re counting on it.”

  Riker and Picard exchanged befuddled stares. Then Riker said to Dax, “Come again?”

  “No offense, Captains,” Dax said, “but we—and Starfleet—have been pursuing the wrong strategy against the Borg. We’ve tried to match strength with strength, violence with violence. We keep getting suckered into battles of attrition we can’t win.”

  Hernandez added, “The key to securing the Caeliar’s help is to change our mission. Instead of destroying the Collective, we should liberate it. The Borg don’t need to be wiped out, they need to be saved. The Caeliar can help us do that.”

  “Are y
ou mad?” Picard said. “The Borg are laying waste to worlds, and we need to save them?”

  “I’m disappointed,” Hernandez said. “You, of all people, should know this. You were assimilated and came back; you know from experience what it’s like to be smothered in that nightmare. Now imagine trillions of beings like yourself, all trapped in that hell. They’re slaves, Jean-Luc, and we might have the power to release them.”

  Dax added, “I think that as Starfleet officers—as sentient beings—we owe it to them, and to ourselves, to at least try.”

  Picard turned away and stared out a window at the stars. “As you pointed out so eloquently, Captain Dax, we hold the same rank. I can’t compel you not to pursue this course of action.” He looked over his shoulder at her and Hernandez. “You ignored my advice before, and I expect you’ll do so again. So be it.”

  “If only it were that simple,” Dax said. “Unfortunately, this time, I actually need your consent.”

  Picard turned back to face the other captains. “Why?”

  “Because we need your help,” Dax said. “The Aventine’s subspace transmitter got fried when the Borg hit us with our shields down, and Titan’s transmitter is too badly damaged to be repaired in time.” She traded dismayed looks with Hernandez and added, “Our only hope of contacting the Caeliar is to reconfigure the Enterprise’s transmitter to create a subspace microtunnel, through which Erika can link with their gestalt.”

  Frowning, Picard returned to the table and rested his hands on the top of his chair. “So … if I refuse, this plan cannot proceed?” Dax and Hernandez nodded. “Then consider it vetoed.”

  The two women looked dejected, and Riker knew how they felt. He was certain something was wrong with Picard. In as diplomatic a tone as he could muster, he said “Captain Dax, Captain Hernandez, would you give us the room, please?”

  Dax got up from her chair as Hernandez switched the companel screen back to its standby mode. The two women left the observation lounge. After the door hushed closed behind them, Riker reclined his chair a bit and let the silence weigh on himself and Picard, to see if his old friend and former commander had any desire to elaborate.