Star Trek - TNG - Vendetta

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Star Trek - TNG - Vendetta Page 12

by Peter David


  dreaded and final visitor.

  Riker was a long-time, seasoned professional.

  He remembered the first time he had beamed down

  into the middle of a disaster area. Orion raiders

  had attacked a Federation outpost. He was fresh

  out of the Academy, confident in his training and

  certain that he could handle whatever he was confronted

  with. When he had materialized on the surface

  of the outpost, he came to the immediate realization that he

  was standing in something warm, with an overwhelming smell.

  He looked down and saw his left boot astride

  some sort of pink tubing. Suddenly, he realized

  that it was, in fact, the lower intestines of a

  disembowled victim of the raiders, the rest of the

  victim lying nearby with a bleak expression on his

  dead face.

  It was Riker's first direct experience with the

  brutality that sentient beings could inflict on each

  other. It was also his first direct experience with

  completely losing control, as he doubled over and

  vomited up his lunch in front of fellow

  crewmembers. He still remembered being bent over,

  his back trembling, staring in humiliation at the

  mute testament to his inexperience. And then he

  felt the reassuring and yet firm pat on the

  shoulders of his commanding officer. "We've all been

  there," said his CO, and Riker felt a little

  better, but not much.

  Since then Riker had developed a veneer of

  detachment. That part of him that was horrified by what

  he witnessed was buried far, far within him, where it

  could not possibly interfere with his ability

  to function as a Starfleet officer. In a way the

  thought that he could just take his emotions and put them

  on hold, and not be affected by what he saw, was a

  frightening one. How easy was it to take that one step

  further and detach oneself from the concerns of humanity

  altogether? were the Borg an inhuman race apart, or

  were they the logical and inevitable destiny of

  humanity?

  Riker promptly decided that he would make

  himself nuts if he allowed his thoughts to continue in that

  direction. "Spread out," he said. "Lend aid

  where you can. All medical personnel are to stay in

  constant touch with Doctor Crusher and, Doctor,

  I want updates from you every half hour." She

  nodded in quick agreement and moved off. Geordi,

  Riker, and Data headed off in another

  direction, accompanied by Selar.

  As they moved through the devastation, they were

  surrounded by cries of "Help me," and moans,

  and words of encouragement and support from the

  Curie teams. Every so often Riker spotted one

  of the Enterprise personnel as well. He

  nodded in approval. Crusher had displayed her

  customary efficiency in deploying her people.

  Geordi was scanning the ground, the buildings,

  the very air around him with his VISOR. Data was

  studying his tricorder readings and then paused a

  moment over one patch of ground. "A Borg

  soldier died here," he announced.

  "Died, or whatever the hell it is they do,"

  said Riker. He had witnessed the phenomenon himself

  enough times A downed Borg soldier lies

  insensate, and then another Borg comes along,

  removes some pieces of his circuitry, and the

  fallen Borg self-destructs into ash.

  Geordi, sensing trace readings through his

  VISOR, commented, "And over there too," and he

  pointed. "These people didn't go down without a

  struggle."

  "I'm detecting life readings from that

  direction," said Selar, studying her medical

  tricorder. The Vulcan medical officer

  pointed just off to the west. "One individual.

  Vital signs are low, and fluctuating."

  The away team moved off in the direction that she

  had indicated. Within moments they were walking down a

  street that was filled with the same sorts of crumbled

  buildings and debris as all the others they had

  passed.

  Geordi's VISOR and Selar's tricorder

  detected him at roughly the same time, and together

  they pointed and said, "There."

  There was a mound of dirt that had been obscuring

  the body and when they got there they found out why. It

  seemed as if someone had been in the process of

  burying this particular member of the Penzatti. A

  very shallow grave, not more than a few inches

  deep, and a couple feet around, had been dug.

  The Penzatti was a male and was lying on his

  stomach, halfway in, face to the side.

  Jammed into the back of his belt were two

  Penzatti blasters. The Penzatti's antenna

  was twitching ever so slightly as Selar ran her

  tricorder over him.

  "Alive. Just barely." She pulled a hypo

  from her medkit and injected it into his upper arm.

  "That should stabilize him. He has a broken

  leg, multiple contusions and

  abrasions."

  Riker started to reach for him to turn him over, and

  Selar said sharply, "Moving him in any way would

  be most unadvisable, Commander."

  Immediately the first officer withdrew, chagrined that he

  had forgotten that most elementary of first aid

  procedures. At that moment, however, the

  Penzatti moaned softly and half lifted his

  head himself.

  The first person he saw was Data.

  He gasped and tried to reach around for his

  blasters, but he had no strength. When he

  realized this, when he realized he had no

  defense, his head dropped back down into the dirt

  and he moaned softly.

  "I am not here to harm you, sir," said Data

  calmly. "I am with Starfleet."

  "You're safe now," affirmed Riker.

  The Penzatti did not lift his head. Instead,

  he said softly, "Safe," and then he started

  to laugh. It was a low and ugly sound, a sound of

  bitterness and derision that grew louder and louder,

  practically a demented cackle.

  "Sir," began Riker, "we're from the

  Enterprise ..."

  He wasn't heard. The Penzatti was laughing

  even more loudly, gasping out, "Safe! Safe!"

  as if it were the funniest thing he'd ever heard. And

  then his laughter began to subside, replaced

  by choking sobs, and he skidded from giddiness to misery

  and hopelessness, all within a few seconds.

  Selar was monitoring his vitals, waiting for

  them to stabilize, and ministering to his leg as she

  did so. She was a cautious medical

  practitioner, and she disliked having to move a

  patient whose lifesigns were fluctuating, if she

  didn't have to. The transporter had an effect

  on the bodily system, that much was certain. For a

  healthy individual, that effect was negligible.

  But for someone in bad shape, it could be a shock that

  could send a patient into critical condition. She

  was certain that with a couple of minute's work, she could

&n
bsp; stabilize the patient to ensure a safe trip.

  "What's your name?" asked Riker.

  "I am ..." He seemed to pause to try and

  remember. "I am Dantar. I was Dantar the

  Eighth. Now I am Dantar the Last. All

  I am and will ever be, in that one, useless name."

  "It looked like someone tried to bury you,"

  Geordi said.

  "Dantar the most useless," said Dantar. His

  voice was eerily singsong. "Dantar whose family

  died, a few yards away, and he couldn't help

  them. Couldn't help them."

  "He did that himself," said Selar, in

  response to Geordi's comment. "His

  fingernails are encrusted with dirt and sludge.

  He tried to bury himself."

  "You tried to dig your own grave?" asked

  Riker, horrified and curious at the same time.

  "There is no point in my continuing to live,"

  said Dantar. "I have nothing. It's simply time

  for me to crawl into my grave and rot there. There's

  nothing. Nothing."

  "What did you see?" asked Riker. "Who

  attacked?"

  "Commander, now may not be the best time," began

  Selar.

  But Riker cut her off sharply. "When it comes

  to the Borg, Doctor, we never have any idea just

  how much time we have."

  "The Borg," said Dantar distantly. "Is

  that what they're called? Those pale creatures with

  machines for souls. One went into my house. It

  killed my little girl. It killed my family.

  Borg."

  "Someone stopped them," said Riker urgently.

  "Someone fought them and stopped them and destroyed their

  ship. Did they send down any ground troops?

  Did you see anyone besides the Borg?"

  "Yes. Yes, I did."

  "Who?" asked Riker.

  "I saw Death," said Dantar, as

  distractedly as ever. "She was standing right over there,

  sweeping through my family. Holding the glowing

  orbs of their souls in her hand and then smothering them.

  Then she glided across the street ... she seemed

  to walk, but you couldn't hear her footfall. And

  she went from one person to the next." Tears began

  to roll down his face. "I tried to persuade her

  to take me. Tried to put myself into a grave so that

  she would know. But she ignored me."

  "Dantar," began Riker.

  But Dantar wasn't listening. "You know ...

  our culture has always depicted Death as a

  grim, fearful figure. Dark. Hideous, with a

  skull face. Skeletal."

  "As has ours, frequently," said Geordi.

  "But she wasn't. I was very surprised," said

  Dantar. His voice seemed to be

  fading, exhaustion paralyzing his ability to think.

  As if from far away, he said, "She was a very young

  girl. With a white dress, skipping. And she was

  smiling. You know why that is, I think?"

  "Why?" said Selar. She was preparing to order

  Dantar beamed up to the Enterprise. She was

  satisfied that his lifesigns were stable enough now that he

  could handle the transporter with no danger. "Why

  is that?"

  He looked thoughtful. "I suppose she

  simply likes her work. In such dangerous times,

  that's nice to see. Don't you think?"

  After Dantar and Selar had returned to the

  Enterprise, Riker said thoughtfully, "He said

  a Borg soldier went into his house over there.

  Let's check it out. Perhaps someone even

  survived." He took a step in that direction and

  then paused and removed his phaser. He looked

  significantly at the others. "Just in case

  there's a Borg in there."

  "Couldn't be," said Geordi. "Their ship was

  destroyed. If their ship goes, they go. Their

  link is severed."

  "If there's one thing we shouldn't be doing, it's

  underestimating the Borg," Riker warned him.

  "That's a good way to achieve early and terminal

  unemployment."

  "I catch your drift, sir," said Geordi,

  pulling out his own phaser. Data did

  likewise.

  Slowly they approached the house, noting that the

  roof had caved in, and the chances of anyone

  surviving were nil. There was also an unpleasant

  smell, that same smell that brought back to Riker

  memories of that awful first time he had seen death

  on a large scale. Now he shoved it away,

  determined to ignore it. He was far more than he

  had been that day. And in some ways, he thought, far

  less.

  Geordi peered in through the darkened doorway,

  taking in the carnage. It was times like this that made

  him glad that--despite the dazzling abilities

  of his VISOR'-AUGMENTED sight--he could not

  really "see." He shook his head and said,

  "There's a lot of dead people in here, Commander."

  Riker was checking his tricorder. "Not picking

  up any life." In a way, he was relieved.

  He didn't really want to have to look at them.

  It wasn't going to do the deceased any

  good, and it sure wasn't going to help his peace of

  mind. "Let's go."

  But Geordi put up a hand. "Wait. I'm

  getting something. Not a life form, but ... something."

  Double-checking his tricorder, Riker said,

  "Whatever you're seeing, it's still not picking up.

  Are you sure your VISOR isn't

  malfunctioning?"

  Without glancing back, La Forge said

  calmly, "Are you sure your eyes aren't

  malfunctioning?"

  "Just a suggestion, Mr. La Forge," said

  Riker. Privately he thought it interesting that,

  even after all this time, Geordi La Forge could still

  be a bit sensitive about his eyesight.

  With a sly imitation of Picard's accent,

  Geordi said, "Noted and logged." Then, all

  business, he said firmly, "It's over there."

  He was pointing toward a pile of rubble in a

  corner of the room. The three men immediately went

  over to it, trying not to think about the bodies they were

  stepping over. Riker had to force himself to look

  away from the horrific sight of a small girl,

  her skull clearly crushed, in the arms of her mother

  who had died mere seconds later. They reached the

  pile of rubble and started to pull away, to get

  to whatever the devil it was that Geordi had

  detected.

  Riker lifted off one huge chunk of

  debris, turned back to get another one, and

  jumped back with a start.

  He was staring down the business end of the deadly

  metal appendage of a Borg soldier.

  "La Forge! Data!" he shouted. "Watch

  it!"

  He waited for something to happen--for

  electricity to shoot out, or the pincers to grab

  at him. But nothing occurred.

  Now Data and La Forge were at his side.

  "What is it?" asked Geordi.

  "It's a Borg," said Riker grimly. "A

  Borg that survived its ship being blown up."

  "Just like you said, Commander," admitted Geordi.

  While not allowing the seriousness of the situation

 
to escape him, Riker permitted a grim smile

  and said, "That's why they pay me the big money,

  Mr. La Forge."

  "I had presumed that a larger salary," said

  Data, "was due to higher rank, seniority

  ..."

  "Not now, Data," sighed Geordi.

  Immediately disposing of the train of thought, Data

  promptly switched gears to the other. "It would

  explain why the tricorders don't read the

  Borg soldier. The Borg do not seem

  to register as individuals. Apparently, that is

  a result of their uniformity of nature."

  "Is it going to attack?" asked Geordi.

  "They have a tendency to ignore most things unless

  directly threatened," said Riker. "But this one

  is buried. I'm not sure how it'll react.

  And I'm not taking any chances." He tapped his

  communicator. "Riker to security."

  "Security," came the deep voice of

  Worf.

  "Worf, you and two security men, down to these

  coordinates, fast," ordered Riker. "We

  may have captured a Borg soldier."

  "Proceed with extreme caution, Commander,"

  Worf warned him.

  "That's why we're calling on you, Mr.

  Worf."

  Data and Geordi were hard at work clearing off

  the debris from the rest of the Borg warrior.

  Data uncovered the soldier's face and stared

  intently into the eyes. "The Borg does indeed

  appear alive, Commander," he said after a moment's

  study, "but would appear to be in some sort of

  "pause" mode, as if awaiting new

  instructions."

  "I just don't get it," La Forge was saying.

  He pulled off a large piece of planking and

  shoved it aside, reaching for another. "How could he

  have survived being severed from the Borg central

  command?"

  "Captain Picard did," pointed out Riker.

  His head snapped around as he heard the familiar

  hum of the transporter that told him Worf and the

  security team had arrived. He nodded

  approvingly to himself. Less than thirty

  seconds. No one could accuse Worf of taking

  his time.

  "Captain Picard had already been separated from

  the Borg at the point of the ship's detonation,"

  Data explained. "As a result, he was able

  to survive. Since we can assume that that was not the

  case with this individual, there must be some other

  reason."

  Geordi was staring intently at the just-uncovered

  other arm. "I think I found it. And

  you're not gonna believe it."

  Worf marched in with the back-up team, Meyer and

  Boyajian. He was all business. "This is the

 

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