Star Trek - TNG - Generations

by Generations

  The captain pressed harder.

  "When you tucked your children into bed... do you suppose they ever suspected that their father would one day kill millions as casually as he kissed them good night?" At last Soran stopped his work and looked up. For an instant his eyes were still vulnerable, haunted by memo- ries. Picard felt a stirring of hope. And then the brittle- ness ascended upward from the scientist's hollowly smiling lips to his eyes.

  "Nice try," he whispered huskily, then turned back to his work.

  In the instant he woke to darkness, Geordi La Forge was seized by the unreasoning fear that he was back on the Klingon Bird-of-Prey. Soran was waiting for him in the silence laced by the ship's rumbling and the inces- sant ticking of a clock, and this time, all compassion was gone from the scientist's voice as he said, I'm afraidyour time is up, Mr. La Forge. Let's try for the full six minutes, shall we?

  Geordi opened his eyes with a gasp--which evolved into a relieved sigh when he saw himself surrounded by the familiar sight of the Enterprise sickbay. He blinked to clear the last vestiges of the dream.

  He had been frightened while aboard the Bird-of- Prey--but the pain and Soran had been a distraction.

  Now that he was safe, the danger he had been in began to hit home. He could have easily been killed.

  He banished the thought as Dr. Crusher leaned,

  smiling, over the biobed, and draped her auburn hair over an ear. "How're you feeling?" He returned the smile as he realized that, physically, he felt ready to return to work. "Just fine." She nodded. "Don't worry, there's been no permanent damage. There's only been a little arterial scarring and some myocardial degeneration. I've removed the nanoprobe and I think you're going to be fine, but I want to run some more tests." "Thanks, Doc," he said, and pushed himself to a sitting position. He could tell from her voice and expres- sion that he was all right and that she was, as usual, simply being very cautious.

  The doctor moved away to reveal Data, who had been standing behind her.

  "Data!" Geordi grinned. He had intended to ask whether the emotion chip had been removed--but the question was unnecessary. The android's eyes were troubled, his expression one of concern, mixed with remorse. "So--you didn't remove the chip after all?" "No. It was fused into my neural net. Removing it would be quite complicated--so I am attempting to deal with the emotions." Data sighed heavily. "It has not been easy. I have been very worried about you, Geordi." "It's okay." Geordi spread his arms wide. "I'm here, and I'm fine." "It is more than that." Data paused, then lowered his head. "I let Soran kidnap you. I could have prevented it, but I did not. And if you had died--" "But I didn't, Data. It's over, and I'm okay." The android glanced up, his expression miserable. "I am sorry I let you down, Geordi. I have not been behaving like myself lately." Impulsively, Geordi reached out and gave his friend's hand a pat. "No, you haven't. You've been behaving like a human." He paused. "I understand. When Soran tortured me, I was afraid. Dying is a very scary thing, Data. It's normal to fear it." The android tilted his head in a puzzled gesture that reminded Geordi so much of the old Data that he smiled. "I agree," Data said, thoughtful. "But before I had the chip implanted, it would have made no sense to me." He paused. "It still makes no sense, even though I have experienced the emotion. What is so terrible about simply ceasing to exist?" Geordi shrugged. "I don't know. Fear of the unknown, maybe... or maybe it's just that our instinct to live is so strong." "But this is terrible," Data said. "I am designed to outlast everyone aboard this vessel, yet I am terrified at the thought that, eventually, one day, I will... cease.

  And that I must lose all of my friends." He shared a meaningful look with Geordi. "How do you bear it?" He did not answer immediately. "We don't have much choice, I guess. And... to be honest, most of the time we try not to think about it." He hesitated. "But maybe we ought to. It'd make us appreciate each moment--and our friends"--he smiled at the android, and reached again for his hand--"a lot more." And as he watched, the expression of dismay on Data's face slowly metamorphosed into a smile.

  "I have established the link," the navigator, Qorak, said.

  B'Etor shared a swift glance with her sister and smiled with relief. Until this moment, she had not trusted Soran too far; too much kindness lurked behind the madness in his eyes. Yet his intensity attracted her--despite the fact that he was a puny human, a race she had never found attractive. Physically, Soran was no exception; he was lean, wiry, short by Klingon standards. But there was something intriguing about him: the bright silver hair, cropped short, the translucent skin, the pale-colored eyes.

  Those eyes... they held an intensity she had rarely seen, even in the most determined of Klingon males. His eyes had blazed with it when he had struck her on the bridge. She respected that intensity--for she knew few that shared it, except for herself and her sister. Her life, her being, was consumed by one passion: seeing the Duras family restored to power. Now, with Soran's help, she would see that passion consummated. And more: With the trilithium weapon, the sisters of Duras could conquer far more than the Klingon Empire that was their birthright. With such power, the entire galaxy would soon be theirs.

  She had come close to killing Soran when he had struck her; but even in her anger, she was forced to bear grudging admiration for anyone who dared lash out at her on the bridge, in full view of her soldiers.

  She hoped she could trust him. For if not, despite her attraction, she would personally see to his death.

  "Put it onscreen," Lursa ordered.

  WEtor held her breath. Static filled the viewscreen, then cleared gradually to reveal... white. Nothing but white, and for an instant, she felt a stab of fury: Soran had lied, had betrayed them.

  And then she released her breath, gently, as she realized they were staring at a ceiling on the Enterprise.

  B'Etor's grin returned as, beside her, Lursa said softly, "It's working.... " "Where is he?" B'Etor demanded.

  As if in answer, a human's face loomed large on the screen. A woman, with a face so pale and smooth, it seemed to B'Etor naked, unfinished as a gestating child's. The woman leaned over the link, smiling with abnormally even, tiny teeth, her long, fine hair hanging forward in a shining curtain.

  B'Etor recoiled with a grimace. "Human females are so repulsive.... " The woman began to speak silently. Lursa and B'Etor watched as the woman withdrew; soon the strange- looking android with the golden eyes appeared. He, too, silently mouthed words--and then the woman returned, and began to perform what appeared to be medical tests, until B'Etor shifted restlessly in her chair and mumbled an epithet beneath her breath.

  Even so, she and her sister continued to gaze at the screen. Too much--the entire galaxy--was at stake to let vigilance lapse. At last the view switched from the sickbay to the Enterprise corridors. B'Etor felt a surge of hope... until the scene shifted to that of a luxurious cabin, and a private head. Soon the two sisters were staring at cascades of running water.

  "He's taking a bath," Lursa growled.

  B'Etor stared in irritation at the screen as a pair of dark feet suddenly peeked out from beneath sloshing water. She turned to her sister. "I thought he was the chief engineer." "He is," Lursa replied disconsolately.

  "Then when is he going to engineering?" B'Etor fell silent as Lursa struck her arm with the back of a hand to get her attention, then gestured toward the screen. The view had suddenly changed again, to one of mists and fog. B'Etor leaned forward, expectant, as a dark hand appeared from beyond the mist.

  Then wiped away the fog to reveal La Forge's unself- conscious reflection.

  She fell back in her chair and howled in frustration.

  On a different bridge, Will Riker was feeling no small amount of unease as he gazed at the Bird-of-Prey on the viewscreen. He understood Picard's reasons for wanting to beam down to Veridian III, but he in no way trusted the Duras sisters. Not that he feared a direct attack--the Klingon ship was no match for the likes of the Enterprise --but he knew Lursa and B'Etor were capable of great treachery. And
he could not shake the nagging premoni- tion that something was amiss, something was about to go terribly wrong--and not simply with the captain.

  Perhaps Deanna sensed it, too--or maybe she simply sensed his own discomfort. Either way, he was aware of her dark eyes studying him with an expression of con- cern; he did not meet them, but focused his attention on Worf, who studied the readout on his monitor with a decided frown.

  "Any luck, Mr. Worf?." He leaned over the console.

  The Klingon shook his head. "No, sir. I am still unable to locate the captain." Riker turned as the turbolift doors slid open. Data stepped forward onto the bridge and headed for his station. The android's mood had changed radically from the last time Riker had seen him. Data's lips curved upward in a faint grin; his posture was straight, his step buoyant.

  "Data," Riker said. "The sensors can't penetrate the planet's ionosphere; there's too much interference. Can you find another way to scan for life-forms?" Data settled behind his station and glanced up at his commanding officer; his grin broadened. "I would be happy to, sir. I just love to scan for life-forms." He set at once to work, ad-libbing a merry little song: "Life- forms... tiny little life-forms... where are you, life- forms... ?" Riker's lips parted in aghast amazement, he dared not turn round, for fear of catching sight of Deanna's eyes.

  But his gaze accidentally met the Klingon's, who shot him a look of such long-suffering martyrdom that Riker looked away quickly, before he erupted in laughter.

  Atop the dusty plateau, Picard moved warily, giving an occasional surreptitious kick and noting where the pebbles bounced off the field's perimeter. Overhead, the sky still shone brightly with the Veridian sun--but not, the captain feared, for long, Soran bent, utterly ab- sorbed, over the launcher's control panel. If he was not stopped soon-- "Soran," he said loudly; the scientist did not look up.

  "I can see that despite everything, you still possess compassion. You could have killed my engineer--" Without taking his focus from his task, Soran inter- rupted harshly. "I didn't have the time." "I don't believe that." Picard took a few more steps around the field's perimeter, managed another swift, unnoticed kick. Dust and pebbles collided with the field in a colorful burst of sparks, then fell to the sand. "It would have been just as easy to kill him as let him go.

  Soran... you had a wife, children. They died in a senseless tragedy. Can't you see that you've become what you most despised? What you're about to do is no different from when the Borg destroyed your world. Two hundred thirty million wives, husbands, children..." Keeping his attention focused on the launcher con- trols, the scientist at last replied--with such soft, cool detachment in his voice that Picard shuddered inwardly.

  "You're right," Soran said. "And there was a time when I wouldn't have hurt anyone. Then the Borg came... and they showed me that if there is one constant in this universe, it's death." He paused to key in a command, then continued in the same even, conversational tone.

  "Afterward, I began to realize that none of it mat- tered. We're all going to die anyway. It's only a question of how and when. You will, too, Captain. You might contract a fatal disease... you might die in battle..." He lifted his face and fixed Picard with a gaze that pierced to the captain's soul. "... or burn to death in a fire." Despite himself, Picard froze. Soran stepped down from the launcher and moved closer until he stood just on the field's other side.

  "You look surprised," he said softly. "But you shouldn't be. I've been to the nexus, Captain. I know things about people." He leaned closer, his eyes bright with the desperate intensity Picard had first seen in Ten-Forward; his voice dropped to just above a whisper.

  "Aren't you beginning to feel time gaining on you? It's like a predator. It's stalking you. You can try to outrun it with doctors, medicines... new technologies. But in the end, time is going to hunt you downmand make the kill." As he finished, his lips twisted with bitterness.

  Picard lowered his gaze. Impossible to deny the truth of Soran's assertions; he felt the same bitterness himself, the same anger at the patent unfairness of death. He struggled to find a counterargument--but the words he chose seemed to him meaningless, clich6s. "We're all mortal, Soran. It's one of the truths of our existence." "An ugly truth," Soran said passionately. "A hideous truth." He paused; the anger began to ease from his features, to be replaced by dawning exhilaration. "What if I told you I found a new truth..." "The nexus," Picard said.

  Soran's swift smile was an affirmation. "I've spent the last eighty years speaking to other Lakul survivors about their experiences in it, researching it, trying to under- stand it. Time has no meaning there," he said, with a simple wonder that erased all trace of darkness from his features, his eyes. "The predator has no teeth. Think of it, Captain... the curse that has plagued the entire universe since the beginning of life--gone. No more death, no suffering..." He gazed, expectant, at the sky, his face suddenly luminous with sunlight and hope. And then he turned his back on Picard and hurried back to the probe launcher.

  Picard watched with a sense of defeat. He could argue no further with Soran's murderous logic; his only course lay in finding a way inside the forcefield. He glanced once more at Soran, whose attention was entirely fo- cused on the launcher control panel, then began to pace along the field's perimeter.

  He had not gone far when he spied an unusual formation within a dusty red mound: over eons, wind and water had burrowed through the ancient stone to sculpt an almost perfect archway--an opening, Picard judged, just large enough for a man to squeeze through.

  He stared at the daylight beyond; if, by chance, Soran had failed to notice the gap, and hadn't accounted for it when programming the forcefield.

  Casually, Picard bent down to retrieve a pebble and tossed it in Soran's direction. The field flashed on, revealing something that filled Picard with sudden hope: The field extended to the top of the mound, and no farther. The archway was unshielded.

  As if sensing danger, Soran glanced up at the crackling sound. "Careful, Captain. That's a fifty-gigawatt forcefield. I wouldn't want to see you get hurt." Picard's lips thinned at the irony in the scientist's tone; if all went as Soran planned, the captain would be destroyed by the ensuing shock wave. "Thank you," he replied coolly, and waited for Soran to look back down at the controls before arming himself with pebbles.

  On the Bird-of-Prey's bridge, B'Etor sat scowling at the viewscreen, which revealed a roving view of the Enterprise's corridors. She glanced up as her sister, who had given up in impatience and left the bridge, returned.

  Lursa followed her sister's gaze to the screen. "Where is he now?" "I don't know," B'Etor snapped. "He bathed... now he is roaming the ship.... He must be the only engineer in Starfleet who does not go to engineering!" Lursa sat beside her with an unhappy groan. As she did, the view on the screen shifted as the engineer rounded a corner... and moved past a small bulkhead sign marked ENGINEERING.

  B'Etor leaned forward eagerly in her chair. "Finally!" They watched as the engineer approached another human--a uniformed male, who stopped and initiated a conversation. B'Etor frowned, trying to read the hu- man's lips. Her skill in speaking Standard was formida- ble, and she was able to make out the words "diagnostic" and "generators." The view shifted again, this time to something that took B'Etor to the edge of her seat: A bank of monitors, and beside them, a large graphic of the Enterprise. Then once more, the view began to pan to the left.

  "That's it!" Lursa swiveled and grasped her sister's wrist. "Replay from time index four-two-nine." B'Etor's fingers flew swiftly over the controls on her console arm. The image on her small monitor and the main viewscreen reversed itself to show the bank of monitors and the graphic diagram of the starship.

  Lursa touched the diagram on B'Etor's small console screen. "Magnify this section and enhance." B'Etor worked once more, enlarging the view of the Enterprise graphic. Lursa leaned forward until her face was a handsbreadth from the console arm, and read aloud, squinting. "Their shields are operating on a modulation of two-five-seven point f
our.... " She rose, her face flushed, and gazed into B'Etor's eyes with triumph.

  "Adjust our torpedo frequency to match," B'Etor called out, her voice rising with excitement. "Two-five- seven point four!" She returned her sister's exultant smile; for with those words, she had just secured the destruction of the Enterprise, and victory for the house of Duras.

  ELEVEN

  "Sir." His cheerful expression now replaced by one of concern, Data swiveled toward Riker. "I am detecting an anomalous subspace reading in Main Engineering. It may be--" Riker never heard the rest. The ship reeled hard to port, slamming him against the arm of his chair. He held on, managing to turn his head to look at the screen, where the bright glow of the most recent blast was fading to reveal the Bird-of-Prey against the backdrop of Veridian III. As Riker watched, another brilliantly shin- ing torpedo emerged from the Klingon vessel and streaked relentlessly toward the Enterprise.

  He barely had time to brace himself before the next one hit--with such thunderous force that when it ended, he felt amazed the hull above them had not been sheared in two.