She paused, then said softly, “And gargoyles.”
“But if gargoyles were supposed to protect us, then why did I fear them?” Picard asked. “Was that genetic too?”
“Perhaps,” Guinan said. “The wrong kind of protection can also be devastating.”
He smiled at her. “You say that for a reason.”
She smiled back, like a small child caught in a forbidden act. “You know me too well, Jean-Luc. Yes, I say that for a reason.”
“This war talk bothers you as well.”
She nodded. “Make certain you’re going into this properly. Don’t fight them just because they terrify you. And don’t make up the purpose of their mission here. You don’t know yet why they’re here.”
“I’ve tried to negotiate,” Picard said.
“Really?” Guinan asked.
“Guinan, I’ve spoken to them twice. I’ve told them who we are.”
“They know that, Jean-Luc. They terrorized your people once. They learned about the Federation the last time they came through here. Telling them who you are is not negotiating.”
He took a sip of the tea. “You’re right,” he said, “we need to speak from a position of strength.”
She shook her head. “That’s not what I’m saying at all. You need to make a good faith effort with them. You need to find a peaceful compromise, and offer it—with your whole heart.”
“My heart hates them, Guinan. You’ve just said that’s bred into me.”
“So is battle lust, Jean-Luc. I have never seen that overtake you.”
“A rational man overcomes his heritage?” Picard said, with only a bit of irony.
“In a word.” Guinan was not smiling. She meant it. She meant it all.
Then Riker’s voice broke the silence in Ten-Forward. “Captain Picard to the bridge.”
“Acknowledged.” Picard looked at Guinan. Then he reached out a hand and clasped hers. “I value your wisdom, old friend,” he said, and left.
* * *
As Picard entered the bridge, he saw Riker and Data leaning over the science console.
“Sir,” Riker said, coming to attention. “The wormhole has changed.”
Data hadn’t stopped monitoring the screen. Picard’s stomach clenched. The light lingering taste of the Earl Grey tea turned sour in his mouth. He wasn’t ready for this, not so soon after the discussion with Guinan. He wanted time to think about what she had said.
Time was the only commodity he lacked.
“Analysis, Mr. Data.”
“The size of the wormhole has increased by fifty centimeters. It is expanding at a rate of one centimeter every thirty seconds.”
Picard couldn’t see the change in the wormhole, but he knew that Data’s statistics were always accurate.
“I am afraid, sir,” Data said, “that the energy output is also increasing, and at a much more rapid rate. Also, the area around the wormhole shows a slight drop in mass.”
“Are you getting other readings?” Picard asked. “Do we have any indication that more ships are coming through?”
“No direct indications, sir,” Data said. “But these readings match the readings recorded by Brundage Station in the hours before the first ships arrived.”
“The five Furies ships,” Riker said, “have moved a slight distance away from the mouth of the wormhole to be out of range of the dropping mass.”
“That makes sense,” Picard said.
“If the pattern follows the one observed earlier,” Riker said, “a Furies ship will be able to pass through within six hours.”
A ship. Or a fleet of ships?
Picard held himself rigidly, unwilling to let any emotion show. Six hours. Six hours to control his own fears, his own heritage, and the future of his galaxy.
“Have we had word from Mr. La Forge?” Picard asked.
“Yes, sir,” Riker said. “He believes that if we alter our shields on the subspace level, we might be able to block the Furies’ interspace beam completely.”
“Did he give you a timetable?”
“He hoped to have it finished by now, sir.”
Picard turned. “Engineering?”
“Go ahead, Captain,” La Forge’s voice came back strong.
“Are you ready to test your block?”
“Yes, sir. We are implementing it now.”
“Good work,” Picard said.
As he spoke he could feel the deeper level of fear easing and flowing away, like water down a drain. The relief was almost measurable. He glanced around. He could see that the other members of the bridge were feeling the same way.
He turned to Data. “See that Mr. La Forge’s schematics for blocking the Furies’ beam are sent to the incoming starships.”
“Aye, sir,” Data said.
“Sir.” Worf’s voice was filled with that deep control he had only when a situation was dire. “Two of the Furies ships are breaking away from the others and heading this way.”
“Red alert.” Picard swiveled on one foot and gazed at the large screen. Three ships remained in position while two others streaked across the darkness toward the Enterprise. He didn’t want to face the Furies. Not now, not ever. But at least for the moment he was facing them with his fear controlled and his crew alert. At least now they had a fighting chance.
“All hands, battle stations.”
He turned and sat down, staring at the screen as the two ships approached. So they were going to try to knock them out before the rest of the help got here. Well, let them try.
“Hail them, Mr. Worf.”
“Sir, they are going into attack position.”
“Hail them, Mr. Worf.”
“Aye, sir.”
The ships continued forward at their steady pace. The other three ships did not move.
Picard licked his lips. They tasted faintly of Guinan’s tea. He had promised her he would try. He was trying now.
“Sir, they are not responding,” Worf said.
“Captain, they’re emitting their own interspace fear beams,” Riker’s voice said calmly. “Almost as if they are trying to increase the intensity of their main beam.
“I do believe,” Data said, his gaze on the screen, “that such beams count as an attack in accordance with Starfleet Regulation Four dash—”
“I am aware of the regulations, Mr. Data,” Picard said. He gripped the arms of his chair. “Mr. Worf. Have you finished your study of the original Furies ships’ ability to take energy from an opponent’s weapons?” Picard knew the answer to the question, but he wanted to run through the drill just to clear the final doubts from his mind.
“Yes, sir,” Worf said. “Adjustments have been made to all our phasers and photon torpedoes using the records of the original battle. The energy bursts from both weapons will be phased to not allow their absorption.”
“So they will not be helped by our firing on them?” Picard asked, not taking his gaze away from the quickly approaching ships on the screen.
Worf grunted, then said, “They will not, sir.”
“Then, Mr. Worf,” Picard said, staring at the screen, “target phasers. Full spread. Fire when you are ready.”
“Yes, sir,” Worf said.
And the Enterprise rocked from the first impact of the Furies’ weapons.
Chapter Fifteen
THE AIR WAS WAY TOO HOT. Deanna had to breathe through her mouth in order to get any air at all. Things coated her tongue and slid down her throat.
Small, slimy things.
Living things.
She tried to spit them out, but couldn’t. Part of her craved them, needed them, like she needed the air.
Concentrate, Deanna, her mother said.
Go away, Mother, I’m sleeping.
One should never cling to sleep, dear, when one is having a nightmare.
Deanna peered at the screen in front of her. The Enterprise was a small disk in the distance, its main section a thin line beneath the saucer. It seemed insignificant.
She hoped.
Deanna.
Leave me alone, Mother.
I will not, darling. You know I hate to see you upset.
Mother, you never even notice when I’m upset.
I feel your pain as if it were my own, my child. Wake up, now.
A bead of sweat ran down her cheek, and onto her lips. She licked it away, and something small with legs climbed down her throat.
She choked.
Coughed.
Opened her eyes.
Into Beverly Crusher’s.
She felt the thread of worry pass through her even as Beverly covered the feeling with a smile.
“Glad to see you awake.”
“Mm,” Deanna said, not quite willing to say anything yet. The dream still felt close, too close, as if it weren’t a dream at all. If she concentrated on it for a moment, she would know what she had missed. Something, something important…
“Nightmare?”
Deanna nodded. Beneath Beverly’s worry, Deanna felt other emotions swirling, both nearby and far. Fear. Terror. Deep, deep horror. Red hot, burning, able to dissolve her if she let it.
The dream dissipated. “What happened?” she asked, breathless with the emotions swirling inside.
“The Furies sent an interspace beam at the ship—”
“‘Carrying terror on its wings,’” Deanna said.
“What?”
Deanna shook her head. “Just something I dreamed.”
“No dream,” Beverly said. “An attack through interspace. It overwhelmed you. I found you just in time.”
Deanna remembered removing her comm badge, making instructions to the computer, heading toward the bridge—and nothing else.
Except her mother’s voice.
“My mother’s not here, is she?”
“No,” Beverly said. “Why?”
Deanna shook her head. An old terror, that of her mother knowing everything. “These fears people are feeling, they’re deep, aren’t they?”
“Too deep,” Beverly said. “I’ve managed to block the worst of it, and Geordi has developed a screen to block the beam, but we don’t know how long that will last.” She looked up, checking the medical panel over Deanna’s head.
Deanna wanted to ask her what she saw, but her mouth was dry. The emotions swirling underneath were growing. She could feel them below a haze, as if someone had laid a gauze blanket over them.
“Your levels are rising again. I’m going to have to sedate you, Deanna.”
“But you woke me, didn’t you?”
Beverly nodded. “As things eased. I needed to ask you a question. Then I’ll put you back under, deep enough to block the empathic response until you can gain a little more strength. You just need the time.”
Deanna could isolate the fears now. Lieutenant Kobe was nearly paralyzed with fear. Ensign Mael was barely containing his deep horror. And someone nearby was losing his mind to terror. She glanced over her shoulder at a man she didn’t recognize, unconscious on the next bed.
“He’s dying,” she said.
“I know,” Beverly said. “Sedating him doesn’t seem to help. The dreams keep coming to him. Waking him is worse.”
Deanna clenched her fists. Even with this blocked level of emotion, she could feel the tide rising, feel it slowly sweep over her. “What’s your question?” She had to know before she was unable to think clearly.
“I don’t know how to help him, Deanna. He’s dying, and there’s no physical cause.”
“Who is he?” she whispered.
“Lieutenant Young.”
“The man who saw the Furies firsthand?”
Beverly nodded.
He was drowning in terror. She could feel it. He had nothing to hold, nothing to keep him from sliding deeper. “Wake him,” she said, her voice shaking with the power of his emotion.
“But waking him makes it worse.”
Deanna shook her head. “He has to know he’s safe. You have to make him feel safe. If you don’t, you’ll lose him for sure. Do anything you can, but make him feel safe.”
Beverly’s concern was clearly growing. She obviously knew that Deanna was losing control. “What about you, Deanna? Is that how I help you?”
Deanna shook her head. “My world is different from his. Dreams can be deadly for him; he’s subject to the images within his mind. I can’t block his emotions—anyone’s emotions—in this conscious state. That’s why I passed out.”
Beverly reached to the small table beside her. She removed a hypospray. “I’ll sedate you again, if that’s what you want.”
Deanna nodded. “Wake me if you need more help. I think I will get stronger quickly.”
“I’ll do what I can,” Beverly said.
She placed the hypo near Deanna’s neck, and paused as Riker’s voice echoed throughout sickbay: “Battle stations. All hands to battle stations.”
After a moment the ship rocked from an impact. Beverly lost her balance, clutched the table, and stayed upright. Deanna clung to the side of the diagnostic table. Waves of fear flooded through her, but she fought to stay conscious.
She had to. Just for a moment.
She remembered what she had learned in her dream.
“Beverly, tell the captain—” The fear levels were growing within her. She could no longer separate out who felt what emotion. She frowned, losing her train of thought.
“Tell him what, Deanna?”
Tell him. Ah, yes. She made herself concentrate on her own words. “Tell him that the Furies are as afraid of us as we are of them. They fear us because they think we’re the ones who condemned them to hell.”
Beverly looked surprised, but Deanna didn’t have time to say any more. The black wave was coming over the top of her. She brought a hand up, reaching for the hypospray.
Beverly understood and gave her the shot as terror flooded through Deanna.
Then the silent, peaceful blackness took her. And this time she welcomed it.
* * *
The Fury ships streamed toward the Enterprise. Dr. Crusher’s potion and Geordi’s screens must have worked, because Riker felt the usual adrenaline rush that he always felt before a battle, and nothing else.
No terror.
He knew the Enterprise was a match for at least one of those ships, and if they were expecting the crew to be frightened, it would be a match for both ships.
The photon torpedoes soared toward the Fury ships. The ships split, one going above and one going below the Enterprise, firing as they went. Riker grabbed the edge of his chair, bracing for impact.
The ship rocked, and the lights flickered for just a moment. Picard stood as if the shot had made him angry.
The photon torpedoes hit one of the ships and missed the other. The bright red flash left a black scar on the ship’s front.
“Status, Mr. Data,” Picard snapped.
“The shields are holding,” he said.
“But they are fluctuating, sir,” Ensign Eckley said.
“The ensign is correct,” Data said. “Their weapons are apparently designed to disrupt the frequency of our shields. This is something new.”
The ships were circling around, as if they were animals stalking their quarry. Riker watched them closely, looking for any detail that would help them win this battle.
“Can you modify the shields, Mr. Data?” Picard asked.
“No, sir,” Data said. “I believe this type of work must happen in engineering.”
Picard hit his comm badge. “Mr. La Forge—”
“I’m on it, sir,” La Forge said.
The ships had turned. “Captain, they’re coming around for another attack run,” Riker said, his voice firm.
“Mr. Worf—”
“Photon torpedoes locked on target, sir,” Worf said.
“Fire!” Picard said.
This time, the torpedoes streaked toward the ships, maintaining their locks. They hit with such impact that both Fury s
hips rocked and went off course. None of the energy of the strikes was absorbed. In fact, it seemed just the opposite, as if the Fury ships were somehow increasing the impact of the weapons against their sides.
“Bull’s-eye,” Riker said. He felt almost an extra sense of joy.
“Excellent, Mr. Worf,” Picard said. “This time, lock on to the tail section. That appears to be their engines.”
“It is, sir,” Data said.
“Locked,” Worf said.
“Fire!”
The torpedoes shot across space toward the still-recovering ships.
“Sir,” Data said, “our shields are at fifty percent. They’re failing on decks six and seven.”
“Mr. La Forge?”
“I know, sir. Give me ten seconds.”
“You have five,” Picard said.
“Aye, sir.”
The torpedoes hit their marks again, but for a moment nothing happened. Riker held his breath, hoping. Then a bright red glow mushroomed off the first ship’s engines.
It was like watching an electrical storm over the surface of the ship. The flashes and red glow kept feeding back and forth, from the front of the ship, then to the back.
Faster and faster, the flashes across the face of the Fury ship increased until finally the ship spun for a moment like a top, completely out of control; then it exploded.
The explosion caught the other ship, and it spun away, firing as it went. The shots flew wild, scattering into space.
Worf grunted. The sound was full of Klingon satisfaction. Riker felt like grunting as well. But he kept his gaze on the other ship. Picard was watching too, an unreadable expression on his face. It was as if he was warring with himself; partly pleased, partly dismayed at the turn of events.
Riker felt only pleasure at the victory.
“Mr. Worf,” Picard said, his voice displaying none of the conflict that reigned in his face. “Lock photon torpedoes on the remaining ship.”
“Locked, sir.”
Riker smiled. Worf had responded so quickly he must have had the lock on before Picard told him to.
“The ship is moving away from us,” Data said.
Riker clenched his fists. Shoot them anyway, he wanted to say, but the words went against all his training. They were coming from deep within, from a part of himself he had never met before. From the part the Furies had tapped with their fear weapon.
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