by Generations
He sighed, fished a tiny chip from his pocket, and handed it to her. "This contains all the information you'll need to build a trilithium weapon," he said, as WEtor greedily seized the deadly gift and gazed down at it with glistening, predatory eyes. "It's been coded. Once I'm safely to the surface, I'll transmit the decryption sequence to you... not before." "Mistress!" the helmsman cried abruplly. "A Federa. tion starship is entering the system!" "What?" Indignant, Lursa leaned forward, clutching the arms of her chair. "On viewer." On the small, dust-covered screen, a grainy, not-quite- focused image of a starship wavered into view. The Enterprise, Soran knew instinctively.
The helmsman swiveled his great, dark head to peer over a leather-clad shoulder at his mistresses. "They are hailing us." Lip curling, WEtor growled two syllables in Klingon; her command was followed instantly by the sound of a ~ familiar voice on the intercom.
"Klingon vessel," Picard said, and Soran closed his eyes. There was strength in the captain's tone now; he had mastered his sorrow, and become the adversary Soran had feared he might. "We know what you're! doing, and we will destroy any probe launched toward the Veridian star. We demand that you return our chief engineer and leave this system immediately." Soran felt a surge of wild, dark rage, the same fury he had experienced more than a century before toward the Borg. The situation was no different now: Picard was trying to steal Leandra and the children from him a second time.
All compassion fled Soran's soul. He woulckdo what- ever necessary--would gladly strangle Picard, the entire Enterprise crew, with his own hands--if it would help him return to the place he now thought of as home.
Soran pulled out his watch with fingers that trembled faintly, glanced at its implacable face, then snapped it shut.
He turned to the Duras sisters. "There's no time for this. Eliminate them." B'Etor gaped at him as though he were mad. "That is a Galaxy-class starship! We are no match for them." Soran took a deep breath to calm himself, to dissolve the frustration that threatened to devour his reason. He would not yield. There was a solution, and he would find it, if he could manage to slow his racing thoughts.
With a burst of inspiration, he pulled La Forge's optical prosthesis from his pocket, and held it before the curious women like a prize.
"I think it's time we gave Mr. La Forge his sight back.... "
On the Enterprise bridge, Picard paced as he waited for the Bird-of-Prey's reply.
"Maybe they're not out there," Riker said.
Picard kept his gaze fixed on the main viewscreen, on the darkness and stars that somewhere hid an aging vessel. "They're just trying to decide whether a twenty- year-old Klingon Bird-of-Prey is any match for the Federation flagship." Beside him, Troi said softly, "Or perhaps they're on the surface.... "
Picard glanced at her. It was a possibility that had occurred to him; one that added an element of difficulty to their current predicament.
It was underscored when Worf turned from the helm to face him. "Sir... according to my calculations, a solar probe launched from either the Klingon ship or the planet's surface would take eleven seconds to reach the sun." He paused. "However, since we do not know the exact point of origin, it will take us between eight and fifteen seconds to lock our weapons on to it." Picard gazed at him grimly, but said nothing.
"That's a pretty big margin of error," Riker said softly.
"Too big." Picard took another restless few steps, then swiveled toward the helm. "How long until the ribbon arrives?" "Approximately forty-seven minutes, sir," Data re- plied.
The captain released a silent sigh of frustration. "I have to find a way to get to Soran.... "He remembered the look of desperation in the scientist's eyes--one close to madness; yet there had still been reason, there, too.
Instinct said that Soran was not a willing murderer; and if Guinan had managed to adapt to life outside the nexus, then perhaps Soran could be persuaded as well.
It would not be easy. Picard had studied the scientist's biographical information; his young wife and children, all killed by the Borg. Indications were that the Borg had interrogated Soran briefly before the scientist escaped; cause enough, the captain knew, for madness... and for a reason ~o think he could get through to the scientist.
He understood what it was to lose one's family in a brutal instant--and what it was like to have one's mind, one's person invaded by cold-blooded force.
He started as the helm beeped a warning.
"Captain," Worf said, "Klingon vessel decloaking directly ahead. They are hailing." On the viewscreen, a patch of velvet blackness wa- vered, then transformed itself into a Bird-of-Prey.
"Onscreen," Picard ordered.
As he watched, the vessel vanished, replaced by the toothily smiling images of Lursa and WEtor.
"Captain." Lursa's tone was one of feigned warmth.
She leaned forward in her chair, her long dark hair streaming down onto metal-and-leather warrior regalia.
"What an unexpected pleasure." Picard felt his expression harden. "Lursa, I want to talk to Soran." Her smile grew coy. "I'm afraid the doctor is no longer aboard our ship." "Then I'll beam down to his location," Picard coun- tered. "Just give us his coordinates." WEtor spoke, with the same unctuous, faintly mock- ing tone as her sister. "The doctor values his privacy. He would be quite... upset if an armed away team inter- rupted him." The captain hesitated no more than a second. He had hoped to beam down armed and with communications intact, so that he could inform the Enterprise of the prohe's location--but if that was not possible, then he had no choice but to trust the instinct that said he would be able to stop Soran on the planet surface. "Very well," he told the sisters. "I'll beam to your ship and you can transport me to Soran."
"Sir." Riker turned toward him, urgent. "You can't trust them. For all we know, they killed Geordi and they'll kill you, too." "We did not harm your engineer," Lursa retorted, with such indignation that Picard believed her. "He has been our guest." Riker faced her, his expression cold, mistrustful.
"Then return him." "In exchange for what?" B'Etor demanded.
Data looked up at the captain, his expression eager.
"Me, sir." Picard ignored him. "Me," he told the Klingon wom- en. "If you let me speak to Soran." He knew at once from their sudden, startled silence that his offer would be accepted. They glanced at each other, trying to mask their enthusiasm; B'Etor leaned over and quickly whispered something in Klingon to her sister. Lursa nodded thoughtfully, then glanced back at the screen.
"We'll consider it a prisoner exchange." "Agreed," Picard said with relief, ignoring the look of disapproval on Will Riker's face. The screen darkened, then once more displayed the image of the Bird-of-Prey.
Picard turned and headed for the turbolift.
"Number One," he said, "you have the bridge. Have Dr. Crusher meet me in transporter room three." He left swiftly, before Riker could protest further, with determination and an odd sense of destiny.
TEN
In the humid, overheated cabin, Geordi leaned heavily against the back of his chair and awaited Soran's return.
The nanoprobe's grip on his heart left him nauseated, slightly breathless, perspiring; sweat trickled down his forehead and stung his sightless eyes.
He could not quite figure the scientist out. Soran seemed mercurial, unpredictable. When the interroga- tion had first begun, Geordi felt certain it would end in his execution. Soran's voice held an edge of anger, pain, an undercurrent of mad desperation that said he would do anything, anything to get what he wanted.
Yet there had been genuine compassion in his tone when he said, I'm not a killer, Mr. La Forge. And in the middle of the torture, the pain had suddenly stopped.
Geordi had survived the crushing agony by forcing himself to mentally count the seconds. He had lost track somewhere after nine--when he had suddenly been overwhelmed by pain and the terrifying conviction that Soran had been wrong, that he was in fact dying. He struggled for oxygen, heard himself gasping like a strug- gling fish, drowning
in an ocean of air. His consciousness flickered, and in his agonized, dreamlike state, he be- came strangely aware that Soran sensed what he felt; that Soran knew, and could not bear it.
The torment abruptly ceased. Thirty seconds, Soran had said. But the pain had stopped somewhere around fifteen.
Geordi had lifted his head, forgetting in his pain-filled haze that he was blind, that Soran still had the VISOR.
Like I said, he had croaked, I don't know anything beyond what I've already told you.
Soran had not replied. In the silence Geordi had heard the scientist rise, then stand for a long moment before turning and leaving the cabin.
Maybe he had had a change of heart. Or maybe he simply didn't have the stomach for torture and had gone to get someone else. Or maybe.
Geordi sighed and let his head 1oll to one side. No point in speculating. Either he was going to die or he wasn't. The thought frightened him--but at the mo- ment, he was too exhausted to waste much energy on worrying about it. So long as Soran left the nanoprobe alone.
He straightened as the door slid open with a groan, and listened intently as two--no, three pairs of footsteps thudded against the metal deck. One pair stopped in front of him; two behind, on either side.
"Mr. La Forge." Soran's voice neared until Geordi could sense the scientist standing directly in front of him. Soran's tone was brisk, hurried. "As much as I've enjoyed our little visit, it's time to part. Stand, please." Geordi rose unsteadily to his feet; huge, warm hands grasped his arms just above the elbows and steadied him while another pair of hands pulled soft cloth over his head. His tunic; his arms were guided into the sleeves, and then another pair of hands placed something cool and metal over his eyes.
He blinked and touched a hand to his VISOR as the world came suddenly into focus. Soran was smiling, his blue-gray eyes bright not with desperation, but with maniacal anticipation. Even the lines and shadows be- neath his eyes seemed to have lessened, making him appear a younger man. "Now, if you would be so kind as to come with us..." He gestured toward the door. Geordi swiveled his head, and saw that he was flanked by two towering guards, their bronze skull ridges terminating in shaggy, waist-length manes of dark hair. "Klingons," he whis- pered, and turned to gaze at his surroundings as the guards pushed him toward the exit. "This is a Klingon ship.... " The quartet entered a cramped, dimly lit corridor.
Soran strode in front of them, his attention focused on the hand that held the antique timepiece. "Very astute, Mr. La Forge," he murmured with a distracted, irritable air. "They do give a very thorough education at Starfleet Academy, don't they?" Soran's intensity had so escalated that Geordi feared for a moment that he was being led to his execution; but they soon entered a transporter room.
Soran stepped first upon a pad and uttered a single command: "Energize." One of the guards stepped behind the console and complied. Geordi tried to peer over his shoulder in hopes of spying the coordinates, but the second guard stepped behind him, blocking his view.
The transporter whined shrilly; Soran's image began to dematerialize, then reappeared with a sputter of sparks. The scientist's features darkened with rage as the guard furiously worked the console controls. Soran's form once more wavered, then dissolved, but not before Geordi read the word on his lips: Imbeciles.
Then he was shoved upon a pad himself. The Klingon vessel faded from view and was replaced by the sleek, gleaming bulkheads of the Enterprise. Geordi got the faintest impression of Captain Picard dematerializing beside him, and then he was stepping forward and sinking to his knees in front of a waiting Dr.
Crusher....
On the surface of Veridian III, Picard gazed up at the lilac sky and thought of Eden before the creation of humankind. No sound of aircars, of industry or voices, no sight of cities or ships streaking toward the horizon; the only sounds were the stirring of small mammals in the lush foliage, of birds singing high and sweet, the only sights those of clouds, mountains, ancient trees.
He stared down and saw that he stood on the dusty clay surface of a plateau ringed by greenery. Before him, a large scaffolding had been erected against a single towering rock face--the only sign of humanoid distur- bance.
On instinct, he turned and saw Soran gazing calmly at his antique pocket watch. The scientist closed the time- piece, put it away, and smiled thinly at Picard.
"You must think I'm quite the madman." He seemed outwardly composed, but there was a hint of volatility in the way the corners of his lips trembled slightly, a hint of pain in his eyes.
Picard drew in a breath, hesitated, then yielded to the truth. "The thought had crossed my mind." Soran's blue eyes hardened faintly, though the smile did not change. "Think whatever you like, Captain." He turned and began to move away, toward the scaffold.
Picard took a step. "Soran... I understand you were interrogated by the Borg." His body did not turn, but his head jerked back sharply to regard the captain with dark suspicion. "What concern is it of yours?" "I... have had experience with the Borg myself." Picard hesitated, choosing his words carefully not just for Soran's sake, but for his own; speaking of the experience, even with trusted friends, still did not come easily. He could see that his words, his intensity, had impressed Soran. The scientist stared, frowning, as the captain continued: "They captured me. Made me one of their own. Used me against the Federation..." He paused at the painful memory. "The experience nearly destroyed me. But I survived. I had help... good friends.... "He took another step toward Soran and held out an arm. "Soran... don't let what happened to you destroy you. We can help--" Such potent bitterness swept over the scientist's face that Soran could not entirely repress a grimace. "I appreciate your concern, Captain. But this has nothing to do with destroying myself. Quite the contrary, in fact." He gathered himself, managed another unheartfelt smile. "Forgive me ifI don't respond to your emotional plea. You see, I don't quite believe that you've shown up because you're overwhelmed by concern for me. The only possible reason you're here is that you're not entirely confident you can shoot down my probe after all. So you've come to dissuade me from my horrific plan." He paused for emphasis, then said, with heavy irony: "Good luck." He turned his back to the captain and strode confi- dently toward the scaffolding.
Picard moved to follow. A bright flash blinded him, slammed him flat on his back against rock-hard clay, shoved the air from his lungs. He gasped, struggling for an instant to catch his breath, then sat up slowly and blinked until his vision cleared.
A forcefield, of course; but it had just as quickly disappeared from view, invisibly surrounding Soran-- and, Picard suspected, the scaffolding. The captain pushed himself to his feet and carefully made his way to what he hoped was the field's edge.
Beyond, Soran confidently ignored him, frowning up at the sky and then down at a padd nestled in his palm.
Picard kicked dust, and watched it glimmer briefly as the field repelled it. He was determined to get to Soran--if not through his words, then somehow, through the field.
"You don't need to do this, Soran," he called. "I'm sure we could find another way to get you into this nexus." The scientist did not reactmmerely stood, pale and black-clad like a mourner, with his back to Picard, and concentrated on the data cupped in his hand. He pressed a few controls... and Picard started as a small probe launcher decloaked near the scientist.
Soran moved calmly to the launcher, stepped up to its control panel, and began to work. With a tone as dispassionate and detached as one scientist explaining to another how to operate the panel, he said, I've spent eighty years looking for another way, Captain. This is the only way." He hesitated, then angled his narrow face toward Picard; an honest grin played at his lips. "Of course, you could always come with me. You fancy yourself an explorer. Here's a chance to explore some- thing no human has ever experienced." Picard's tone frosted. "Not if it means killing over two hundred million people." Soran recoiled as if struck. So, Picard thought. I've struck a nerve.
But the scientist quickly hid his discom
fort; the calculated, calm expression descended once more over his features. "As you wish," he said lightly, and turned back toward his padd.
"Soran..." Picard let his voice and features soften.
"I know that you lost your wife and family to the Borg; I know what it is to lose family, to feel lonely. You're not alone in that. But fleeing to the nexus isn't going to bring them back--" Soran looked up with angry swiftness, his pale face flushed incarnadine. "You're wrong, Captain. You haven't been there; you haven't the slightest idea what the nexus is, what it's capable of. Everyone you've ever lost, Captain--you can have them all back. And more." "So that's why," Picard whispered. "You're going to get them back. You would do anything, kill anyone, to get them back." The scientist said nothing; only gazed at Picard for a fleeting second with an expression of utter vulnerability, then quickly turned his face away.
"I wonder," Picard said slowly. "Did your wife Leandra know that she married a man who was capable of mass murder?"
Soran did not glance up from his console; but Picard saw something dark and ugly flicker across his profile.