Star Trek - TNG - Vendetta

by Peter David

  "You're saying you don't know how you feel about

  her appearance?"

  He arched his eyebrows. "You're saying that you do

  know how I feel?"

  "You are most ambivalent," she admitted.

  "That, in and of itself, is disconcerting for you. You

  dislike not knowing your own mind."

  "It's called mixed feelings, Counselor,"

  he smiled, although the smile did not seem to touch

  his eyes. "It's not something I tend to indulge in

  all that often."

  "If at all," she said.

  "If at all," he agreed. "I have something

  of a reputation for singlemindedness. It's a

  reputation that I prefer to live up to."

  "How do you feel about this woman? This

  Delcara?"

  He considered it, trying to put into words the

  emotions that were rolling through him. Images danced

  through his head, visions of a time past, and of a face and

  voice that had haunted him all these many years.

  "For so long," he said slowly, "the events that

  had occurred in my youth were so confusing to me. Such

  a--" and he paused, "such a bizarre night of

  recollections. I was truly unsure whether they

  had happened to me or not. There was a certain

  romance to that entire incident. I am not

  by nature, Counselor, a romantic person.

  And I do not have an overabundance of such

  memories. So to discover that what

  occurred had its basis in reality has me

  somewhat unsettled. You see, I'm not certain

  whether I'm pleased or disappointed."

  She smiled. "The magic loses its luster

  when you discover it was done with mirrors."

  "Precisely. Even so, if I am

  to believe her story, there is a certain degree

  of "magic" involved. She spoke of being

  drawn across a galaxy to me, of "sensing" my

  existence somehow. Now you must admit there is not a

  great degree of scientific basis for such things.

  Do you believe all that is possible,

  Counselor? That some mysterious fate, or power

  beyond our understanding, could have bound us together somehow?"

  She shrugged her slim shoulders. "I

  certainly have firsthand knowledge of such occurrences,

  Captain. After all, I had a fiance who

  painted portraits of a woman he did not know.

  No one was more surprised than he when she showed

  up, virtually out of the blue, with a sense of him that

  was on par with his awareness of her."

  "Yes. Yes, I had forgotten about that,"

  admitted Picard. "At the time, I must

  admit, I had grave doubts about the validity

  of all of it."

  "I know you did," smiled Troi. "You

  considered the possibility that it was somehow all an

  elaborate ruse on my fiance's part."

  "You were aware of that?" he asked with surprise.

  "You said nothing to me of it."

  "There was nothing to say. You were--and are--a

  rational man, and in that instance you were being faced with

  extremely irrational, even impossible,

  circumstances. It was natural for you to believe

  what was to you the far greater likelihood that some

  sort of deception was at hand."

  "Yes," he admitted. "But since it seemed

  that everyone was doing as they truly wished, and since

  I had no real proof other than my own inbred

  skepticism, I kept my peace on the

  subject. And now ..."

  "Now your skepticism is challenged once

  more," said Troi. She hesitated. "Do you love

  this woman, Captain?"

  "Love her?" Picard looked amazed that she

  would ask.

  "Yes. Do you?"

  He gestured in a touchingly helpless way.

  "I don't even know her."

  "Sometimes that's beside the point."

  "Not to me."

  "There is such a thing as love at first sight."

  "Nonsense. The notion is as absurd as

  ..."

  "As faster-than-light travel? As

  instantaneous transport? As an android wishing

  to be human? As feelings linking you to another

  individual, even though a galaxy may

  separate you?"

  He sat back in his chair and sighed. "You

  know," he said grudgingly, "you missed your

  calling. You should have been a lawyer."

  She smiled at his mild discomfiture. "Why

  do you think I'm called Counselor?"

  Suddenly Troi's eyes widened.

  "Captain! She's moving off!"

  Picard spun in his chair and saw that Troi was

  correct. Quite without warning, the ship that was

  Delcara's home was suddenly in motion, pulling

  away from the Enterprise with speed that was amazing,

  considering its massiveness. Picard's practiced

  eye told him that she was moving at full

  impulse power.

  He leaped to his feet just as he heard the

  summons at the door of the ready room. He

  started forward and snapped out a quick, "Come."

  The door opened and Riker was standing there, arms

  behind his back, seriousness in his demeanor.

  "Captain, the planet-killer is--"

  "On her way, yes, I saw," said

  Picard. "Lay in a pursuit course

  immediately."

  "It's not just that. Long-range sensors have

  picked up a new visitor. A Borg ship--

  on an intercept course with the planet-killer."

  Chapter Fifteen

  Picard stepped out onto the bridge, the

  uncertainty and confusion of his recent discoveries

  falling away from him. Romantic notions and

  half-memories of his youth were somewhat disturbing

  to him. But a crisis, an emergency into which he was

  thrust--these were things he understood. Picard disliked

  intangibles, particularly when they impaired his

  ability to do his job.

  When encountering an unknown ship, Picard never

  immediately assumed any sort of alert status other

  than employing his own native caution in an

  unfamiliar situation. It did not

  create a good first impression to be bristling with

  weapons and have one's shields firmly in place.

  That made it seem as if the Enterprise was

  perpetually ready for war, hence, extremely

  warlike. First would come efforts to establish

  communications, talk with their new acquaintances, and

  make all the normal overtures of

  diplomatic interchanges.

  However, when encountering a known hostile such as a

  Ferengi or a Tholian, Picard would order a

  yellow alert. There were certain races which considered

  it a sign of weakness, even stupidity, if you

  approached them with anything less than full

  defensive fields in place. They would either

  take advantage of you or even display their

  disdain for you by immediately attacking, on the assumption

  that you were ripe for conquest.

  When the Borg came on the scene, however, there

  was room for only one way to proceed.

  "Red alert," snapped Picard.

  Immediately the red-alert klaxon sounded the ship.

  All personnel moved with prac
ticed efficiency

  to their battle stations. The shields leaped

  into existence, and the weapons batteries were charged up

  and brought on line.

  "All stations report ready, Captain,"

  Worf informed him. There was pride--even something that

  could pass for excitement--in his deep Klingon

  voice. As well as he performed his normal,

  day-to-day duties, there was clear anticipation

  within him whenever a crisis presented itself. "We

  are presently in pursuit of the

  planet-killer."

  "Time to the interception of the Borg ship?"

  It was Data who spoke up. "At present

  course and speed, five minutes, twenty-one

  seconds."

  "Give me a channel to the planet-killer."

  After only the briefest of pauses, Worf

  said, "Open."

  "Delcara," said Picard. "There is a

  Borg ship approaching."

  This time there was no preamble. The holographic

  image of Delcara snapped into existence on the

  bridge. Her arms were folded, her bearing almost

  regal, and there was a startling calm about her.

  "Yes, I know."

  "They are a most formidable adversary."

  "As do you, I have firsthand knowledge of that, dear

  Picard," she said. "I know what they can

  do. And they know what I can do."

  "Yes, and that knowledge of you is shared among them,"

  Picard said. He had risen from his seat and

  crossed the bridge to stand directly before her.

  "Whatever success you had with them before, you cannot

  assume that it will be quite so easily repeated. This

  time they will be ready for you."

  "And if they were ready for a black hole," she

  said, "would that make them any less likely to be

  crushed once they passed the event horizon? I

  think not. Knowing of me and being able to handle me are

  two wildly different things. The former may be

  likely, but the latter--I think not. Now,

  sweet Picard, I suggest you stay back ...

  and stay out of trouble." And with that, she vanished.

  "Patronizing woman," Worf observed with

  clear annoyance.

  "Alert Starfleet of the Borg's presence."

  This time there was a longer pause, and then Worf

  said, "Unable to comply."

  "What?" Picard turned towards the Klingon.

  "What's wrong?"

  "Subspace interference, presumably

  generated by the planet-killer. It's been

  present ever since we first encountered the vessel.

  I was able to pierce it to establish local

  communications, but I am not succeeding for any

  long-range messages."

  "The Borg are now within visual range,"

  Data reported.

  "On screen."

  The image of Delcara's ship cutting through

  space was immediately replaced by another, even more

  ominous, sight--a single Borg ship slicing through

  the ether.

  Upon seeing it, Picard felt a momentary

  chill cut through to his spine. It was a most

  unexpected and unwelcome feeling. The last thing

  he needed to do was freeze up due to the trauma that

  the Borg had inflicted upon him. His crew was

  looking to him, dammit, to him. He could not allow

  himself to be paralyzed by recollections of the

  horrors that the Borg had vis ited upon him.

  Riker was saying something, he suddenly realized.

  As much as Picard hated to admit that he wasn't

  listening, the last thing he wanted to do was take a

  chance on missing something important. "I'm

  sorry, Number One, what was that?"

  Without missing a beat, Riker said, "Shall we

  prepare for saucer separation,

  Captain?"

  "No time, Number One. Besides, at this point

  I wouldn't want to leave a saucerful of crewmen

  vulnerable to the Borg and only capable of

  impulse power, would you?"

  "Not if it can be helped, sir."

  "One minute to Borg interception," reported

  Data.

  "All hands stand ready," said Picard. He

  dropped into his command chair and braced himself,

  physically and mentally, for what was to come.

  They think they can stop us.

  Delcara smiled. Her children were eager, their song

  a loud and excited harmonic. "We will show them

  otherwise, won't we, my children."

  They cannot stop us. Nothing can stop us.

  "Nothing can. We are great. We are powerful.

  We are the spirit of vengeance. We are the widow to the

  cosmos. We are Vendetta."

  We are strong, and we are right, and we will

  triumph.

  "All glory to us," said Delcara. "Let's

  get those soulless bastards."

  The Ten-Forward lounge had cleared out the moment

  the red-alert siren went off. Guinan stood

  alone, gazing out the front of the Enterprise.

  She saw in ways that others couldn't, and she

  beheld the great planet-destroyer that was piloted

  by her sister, and beyond that, the foe that was about to be

  engaged.

  "Caution, little sister," said Guinan softly.

  "Please ... be very, very careful."

  "We are being hailed by the Borg, sir,"

  Worf said, not without a touch of surprise.

  Picard straightened his jacket, buying himself the

  bare seconds he needed to compose himself and

  prepare to face the beings that had so devastated his

  life. "On screen," he said, the words sounding

  leaden in his throat.

  A Borg soldier appeared on the screen, the

  flickering corridors and lights of the Borg

  vessel behind it. When its voice sounded, however,

  its mouth did not move. Instead, the voice

  seemed to come from all around it. "You will surrender

  your vessel to the Borg," it said simply.

  "This," said the Captain, "is Jean-Luc

  Picard of the--"

  "We are aware of your identity," and the Borg

  paused, "Locutus."

  The name, that hideous name, hung there, as frightening

  as the bizarre intimacy of being on a first-name

  basis with the Borg.

  Picard slowly rose to his feet, his deep

  and abiding fury at what had been done to him going

  a long way to overcoming the pulsing fear that had first

  grabbed him when the Borg appeared on the screen.

  "Locutus," he said in no uncertain terms,

  "is dead."

  "Death is irrelevant," the Borg

  replied. "Locutus is irrelevant.

  Another spokesman is being prepared."

  Picard looked at Riker, whose face

  mirrored the shock that was in his captain's.

  "Another?" he whispered to Riker. Riker

  shrugged. Picard turned back to the Borg and

  said, "What spokesman are you referring to?"

  "Your inquiries are irrelevant," said the

  Borg. "We will absorb this other vessel, and

  then we will absorb you. Prepare to be

  assimilated by the Borg."

  "Prepare to eat phasers," muttered Worf,

  so softly that none could hear him.

  Without another word the Borg soldier vanished

&
nbsp; from the screen, to be replaced by the image of the

  Borg ship.

  "Captain, the Borg have engaged the

  planet-killer," Data reported.

  "Hold our position," said Picard. He

  tried to sound neutral and dispassionate as he said,

  "Let's see what she can do."

  Delcara's ship angled toward the Borg, its

  great maw open and wide as if eager to receive it.

  This time the Borg ship did not even allow

  Delcara to get within striking distance. They opened

  fire with increased intensity, endeavoring to core out

  a piece of the planet-killer. Once they had

  done that, they reasoned, they would be better able

  to analyze it and then proceed with the assimilation of the

  weapon that had so handily destroyed an earlier

  Borg vessel.

  The beam struck the planet-killer, and the ship

  appeared to shake ever so slightly, as if startled

  by the force of the power that it was encountering. Astoundingly,

  carbon scoring appeared across a portion of its

  neutronium hull.

  We hurt! cried the voices in

  disharmony. They hurt us!

  "Steady, my children," said Delcara. "They but

  startled us. Scratched us. They cannot harm us. They

  cannot succeed. Feel me, my children, and all that I

  have to offer you. I am your vessel through which the power

  flows."

  Her eyes were closed, her lips slightly

  parted, and she felt all the minds, all the souls

  of the haunted ship flowing into her. She was the

  nexus, the focal point. Through her poured the

  hearts and minds and fury of the long-dead race,

  channeled through her drive and energy. Theirs was the

  will, hers the way. Theirs was the way, hers the will.

  They were interchangeable. They were as one. They were

  Vendetta.

  The ship gathered strength, as if blood were

  rushing through it and energizing it, building to a

  climax, and then, abruptly, a staggeringly

  powerful beam ripped from deep within its bowels,

  lancing from the ship's maw.

  It struck the Borg ship ...

  ... and coruscated off a force field.

  "The Borg shields are holding against the

  planet-killer's force beam," said Worf with

  unabashed astonishment.

  And now Data spoke up. "Sensors read the

  beam as pure anti-proton. Borg shields

  are beginning to show signs of strain."

  "Let's see if we can strain them a bit

  more," said Picard. "Launch antimatter

  spread, and then bring us about at full impulse,

  course four-oh-three Mark eight."