by Peter David
flow around him, and I rode those waves to him and,
ultimately, to you. And if he wishes to speak with
us, then I will speak with him. It will cost you nothing.
You, whose souls cry out for justice, must understand when
I do something that is just."
The Many were silent for a moment, and then
they said sullenly, We understand. You do as you
wish. But their voice held no enthusiasm.
Geordi walked down the corridor, one arm
hooked around Reannon's flesh-and-blood
elbow. She stared straight ahead as always,
unaware and uncaring of the looks that she received from
Enterprise crewmembers as they walked past.
Geordi was very much aware, however, of each
sidelong glance, each additional step that was taken
by a crewman to distance him from the specter of a
Borg soldier. Their reactions angered the
normally easygoing engineer all the more.
"This is some ship, isn't it, Reannon?"
he said to her conversationally. "Only commissioned four
years ago. It's the best ship in the fleet, and
that's not just my being bost. I can back it up with
facts. Would you care to see them, Reannon?"
"She doesn't care to see anything."
The voice came from nearby, low and hostile and
familiar, and Geordi kicked himself inwardly for
being so overly attentive to Reannon that he
hadn't paid attention to the fact that his little walking
tour of the Enterprise had taken them right past the
brig.
Dantar stood within, kept there not only by a
formidable force field, but by the additional presence
of a glowering security guard. He did not,
however, seem in any particular hurry to go
anywhere. Instead, he leaned against the edge of the
doorway, just beyond the point where he would activate
the field, and said, "She's not even a living being.
She's just a thing, and a murderer."
For a moment Geordi almost ignored him, but then
his anger boiled over. Stabbing a finger at
Dantar, he said, "She's a victim, just the
same as you. She didn't want or ask for this.
If she fully understood what she did to your
family, she'd be as grief-stricken as you are."
"Oh, really," said Dantar, his antennae
twitching in what appeared to be amusement. "You
think that."
"I know that."
"You know what, Federation man? I don't care
about that. All I care about is what she and her
stinking kind did. All I care about is the idea
of my fingers around her throat. That's all that
matters to me."
Geordi shook his head and pulled on her arm.
"Come on, Reannon."
They went off down the hallway, with Dantar
crying out behind them, "I'll get you! You hear me,
you Borg bitch? I'll get you! I got your
arm, and if I have to take you apart one piece at
a time, I will get you!"
Geordi practically threw her into a
turbolift and snapped, "Engineering." He
turned to Reannon and said, "You'll like
engineering."
Nothing.
"Lots of machines. And the engines throb with this
sort of deep thrum thrum sound. It's really
fantastic."
Nothing.
He took her by the shoulders. "Reannon, are
you in there? Are you hearing me at all? Come on,
I know you're there. Some part of you is hearing me.
Some part of you wants to come back. I know it. I
asked Counselor Troi earlier, and she said she
still didn't feel anything from you, but I do. I know
you're there. I know it. Come on out. Please."
He took her hand and placed it against his
VISOR. "See? See? Mechanical parts,
just like you. It doesn't make me a soulless thing.
It doesn't mean you have to be that way, either. Come
on back, Reannon."
Nothing.
His fist thudded softly on the wall of the
turbolift even as it slowed and then opened onto
the corridor leading to engineering.
Deanna Troi was standing there, arms folded,
waiting for them. "Geordi," she said. She
seemed more formal than usual.
"Counselor," he replied. He tilted his
head slightly. "Can I help you?"
"The question is, can you help her?" and she nodded
her head towards Reannon.
Geordi looked from the Borg woman
to Troi. "Counselor, is everything okay
with this? I mean ... you seem ... I don't
know ..."
"Oh, it's nothing." She waved it off, and then
her face fell slightly. "No, it's something."
"Care to come into my office?" said Geordi.
"It's been seeing a lot of action today."
Moments later Geordi, Troi, and
Reannon were in the engineer's office. Reannon
stood with her back to them, staring blankly out at the
view of the engine room that was presented to her.
"I suppose I'm just frustrated,"
said Troi. "I hate to admit it. Commander
Riker would say," and she drew herself up archly,
"that I'm too aristocratic to be troubled by such
things."
"No!" said Geordi in mock horror.
She smiled. "I'm afraid so." Then her
smile faded. "I feel as you do--that Reannon
needs help. I find it terribly, terribly
frustrating that my empathic powers don't
substantiate that belief. When my powers aren't
functioning, I feel as if my effectiveness is
halved, even quartered."
"Yeah, I know," said Geordi ruefully.
"I recall you did have some problems with that when you
lost your empathic abilities. But I would
think, Counselor, that that would have been a learning
experience."
"Oh, definitely," Troi said with a trace
of self-mockery. "I learned I'm a complete
witch when my empathy is useless."
"Counselor!" said Geordi, amused. "Such
language."
"One can't be honest with others unless one is
honest with oneself," said Troi. "In a way I
envy you, Geordi. In this instance you are just as
qualified, if not more so, to try and get through
to Reannon. I've had some sessions with her. I
have to say that my frustration level is much higher
when I can't get through to someone on the most basic
mental level. Since you're not accustomed
to dealing with people that way, your patience is greater."
"Yeah, well, even my patience is getting
a little strained," admitted Geordi. "I--"
And he suddenly looked up. "Hey. Where'd
she go?"
Troi turned and saw, as had Geordi, that
Reannon had vanished from where she'd been standing.
Geordi stood quickly and exited his office,
Troi right behind him. He glanced around quickly and
then pointed, "There! She's up there."
High above the deck stood Reannon,
climbing the catwalk that led up to the area of the
matter injector. She was moving with grim-faced
&n
bsp; determination. Ensign Barclay tried to block
her way, and she shoved him aside with her
mechanical arm without so much as a thought and kept
moving.
Then Geordi saw a familiar figure with
gleaming skin coming up behind her. "Data," he
breathed.
Data, for his part, was pursuing Reannon.
She had stopped where she was and was staring out across the
vas of the engineering room. She seemed
hypnotized by the catwalks, by the power of the
engines, and by the gleaming metal that surrounded her
on all sides.
And Deanna Troi staggered slightly.
Geordi noticed it and, despite his concern over
Reannon, immediately switched gears and went to the
Betazoid counselor. He supported her,
making sure she didn't fall over as she
locked into ... something. "Counselor!" he
said.
"My God," she whispered. "She's
remembering."
Reannon stood high on the catwalk,
transfixed. Her entire body seemed to be
quivering. Data was getting closer, within twenty
feet of her. She didn't even seem to notice
him.
"Fear," said Troi, as if her mind were
elsewhere. Her eyes were wide and keyed in on
Reannon. "She confronted something vast, something
throbbing with power and life ... It was gargantuan
... She was surrounded, hemmed in, trapped,
trapped, oh God, Geordi, trapped ..."
Data was within ten feet now, and in a calm,
precise voice, he said, "Miss
Bonaventure. I am Commander Data. We
met previously."
Her head snapped around, and she focussed on
him for only the second time since she'd come
aboard. There was something in her eyes akin to stark
terror, and she looked like a trap doe.
"Captain Picard asked me to work with
Lieutenant La Forge on progressing with your
reclamation," Data said politely. "It would
seem my arrival here is most timely. It is not
completely safe for you to be up here, and if you would
accompany me, perhaps we could interact on a more
meaningful level. Would you be interested in learning
to tap dance?"
She stepped back, flattening against the wall.
Her mouth moved, but no words came out.
He was within five feet of her, three, and then
he reached out toward her. "Miss Bonaventure,
it would be best if--"
She lashed out with her mechanical arm, moving
at incredible speed, and she snagged Data by the
wrist. She twisted and yanked with all
her strength and Data's arm came out.
He stepped back in surprise, the empty
sleeve of his uniform flapping almost comically.
"Now, Miss Bonaventure, that was--"
She screamed.
It was primal, incomprehensible. There were no
words, just hysterical and terrified howls, and then
she came in fast, swinging the arm like a club .
Data brought his remaining arm up, blocking the first
blow, but Reannon reversed and swung upward,
catching Data across the face and sending him
tumbling back onto the platform.
He skidded, automatically trying to grab the
railing with the arm that was no longer there. He grabbed
out with his good arm, trying to haul himself up, and
Reannon stood over him, shrieking and yowling,
smashing him around the shoulders and back with his own
arm. Her strength was manic, augmented by the power of
her mechanical arm and the sheer energy of her
hysteria. Data started to get up and was knocked
flat again, and she started kicking furiously,
endeavoring to knock him off the catwalk to the
floor of the engine room far below.
And then the whine of a phaser blast sliced through the
air. Reannon staggered back, slamming against the
wall. She was still standing, but her consciousness had
already fled her and slowly she sank down. Within
moments she was lying on the catwalk, out cold.
Data looked down and saw, far below, Worf.
The Klingon security officer, having arrived in
response to an emergency call from La Forge,
was standing with his phaser angled upward. Now, though,
he was lowering the weapon and calling out, "Are you
all right, Commander?"
"Other than the fact that I appear to have been
disarmed, I am functioning quite well," Data
called down. "Excellent shot, Lieutenant.
It would appear that my attempts to communicate with
her were not proceeding well."
"Phasers are the universal communicators,"
rumbled Worf, holstering his.
Moments later Data was on the main floor of
engineering, and Reannon's unconscious form was
being carried into Geordi's office, under close
guard from Worf. Geordi, for his part, was busy
reattaching Data's arm. "It would seem,
Geordi, that we are making progress."
"Progress?" said Geordi. "She tried
to kill you."
"I would surmise," Data said after
a moment's thought, "that in her confused state, she
thought I was a Borg, and reacted accordingly."
"Data's right," agreed Troi. "Emotional
response as dramatic as that can only be
considered progress."
"Yeah, well," Geordi observed
ruefully, "a little more progress like that, and we'll
be able to sell Data for scrap parts."
The three vessels had come together, proceeding
along the course that the planet-killer had
determined for itself, but only at one-quarter
impulse power--a comparative crawl.
Picard and Riker stood in the transporter
room, as O'Brien's confident hands moved over
the transporter controls. "The Chekov is
signalling that they're ready for transport,
Captain," he said.
"Energize," Picard said, drawing himself up
and, as was his habit, smoothing his jacket.
The transporter shimmered, and moments later
Captain Korsmo and Commander Shelby appeared
on the platform.
"Captain. Commander," said Picard, nodding his
head slightly to each. "Welcome aboard the
Enterprise. Commander, I might add,
welcome back."
"In many ways she never left, Picard,"
said Korsmo, stepping down and extending a hand.
As Picard shook it firmly, Korsmo
continued, "She speaks of you almost constantly."
"The captain exaggerates," said Shelby,
smiling. "It's good to see you looking so well,
Captain. And you're looking fit, Commander."
Riker smiled. Once he would have sworn that,
given the opportunity, he'd just as soon pop
Shelby one in the jaw as look at her. Now he
found himself surprisingly pleased to see her again.
Funny, how coming through a crisis together, and in one
piece, could forever alter the way one viewed
someone. "The position of first officer obviously
agrees with you, Commander."
; Very loudly and very deliberately, Korsmo
cracked his knuckles. "Now that we've gotten
all the niceties aside, not to mention displaying
our thorough knowledge of each other's rank, why don't
we get down to business. Where's this Delcara
person, Picard?"
"She will come," said Picard. "I communicated
our desire to meet with her."
"Did she respond?"
"Not directly, but--"
"Then how the hell do you know she's coming,
Picard?" said Korsmo impatiently. "What
the hell kind of show are you running here?"
Riker frowned, looking from one captain to the
other and then at Shelby. She seemed to be
shifting uncomfortably in her boots, clearly not
any happier with Korsmo's attitude than was
Riker.
With a soft voice that hinted at danger,
Picard said, "Her response, Captain, is
clearly affirmative because she has dropped out of
warp space upon the convergence of our two ships.
She's packing enough firepower to turn both our
ships into free-floating molecules. She
doesn't have to talk to us, Morgan. She
doesn't have to do a damned thing she doesn't
want to do, and the sooner you realize that we're
walking on eggshells with her, the better off we will
all be. Are we clear on this?"
Korsmo raised an eyebrow but merely
looked bemused. "Quite clear. Lead on,
Jean-Luc."
Picard did so, Korsmo taking care to match
his stride and even managing to be a half step
ahead of him. The two first officers hung back
as if by unspoken agreement, and when the two commanding
officers were out of sight, Riker and Shelby slowed
even more.
"What's his problem?" said Riker with no
preamble.
At first she considered making a strident
protest of Korsmo's attitude, but Shelby
realized that there was no point to it. "He's jealous
of Picard," she said.
"Jealous?"
"Apparently, they were very competitive back in
their Academy days," she said. She spoke in a
low voice, as if concerned that her voice might
carry. "He envies Picard's status, and the
way he's viewed throughout Starfleet."
"Korsmo's record is very respectable,"
said Riker in confusion. "Medals and commendations, and
command of the Chekov, which is hardly a garbage
scow."
"But it's not the Enterprise," she said, which
Riker had to acknowledge with a nod. "And, when all
is said and done, he's not Captain Picard.