Star Trek - TNG - Vendetta

by Peter David

  Tholian Webslingers, as the main ships had

  been nicknamed by the crew of the Chekov, leaped

  forward and encompassed the planet-killer. It was

  hundreds, perhaps thousands of times larger, but this did

  not daunt the Tholians. They were nothing, if not

  determined, and their ships began to weave their

  webline around the stationary planet-killer. The

  mammoth machine, for its part, appeared to totally

  ignore them, instead consuming the last portions of

  what had once been the outermost planet.

  Within seconds the first strands had been strung,

  and inside of five minutes the planet-killer was

  completely enmeshed in the elaborate, glowing

  blue force strings of the Tholian web. The

  tractor field was designed to leach off the energy

  output of whatever it had surrounded and use that

  energy to feed the web itself. It was an elegant and

  brilliant design. The more energy the entrapped

  vessel expended, the faster the web absorbed it

  and the stronger the web became. So, the stronger the

  victim, the tighter the bonds that it created around

  itself.

  The Chekov hung back, reluctant to start

  firing for fear that they might accidentally hit a

  Tholian ship. The Tholians were testy enough as it

  was, and despite Korsmo's original

  intentions to the contrary, the Tholians had informed him

  in no uncertain terms that the starship was to stay the

  hell out of it. For added emphasis, one of the

  ships had taken a few pot shots at the

  Chekov, shots which had bounced harmlessly off the

  shields. It served merely as a warning, but one that

  the Chekov took quite seriously.

  The web closed around the planet-killer, and the

  Tholians congratulated themselves on their

  victory. The planet-eating vessel was

  obviously so petrified by the Tholian might that

  it was too afraid to fire so much as a

  single shot.

  Their rejoicing lasted exactly nineteen

  seconds, at which point the planet-killer opened

  fire with its massive anti-proton beam. The

  web flashed, energy running up and down its

  entire length, charging and crackling. Two of the

  Webslingers had not yet disconnected and were fried

  instantly, and moments later the entire web began

  to shrivel and spark. The web was designed

  to absorb energy output, but it couldn't even begin

  to cope with what the planet-killer was dealing it,

  and a few blazing seconds later the Tholian

  web fell and burned away.

  The Tholians, desperate now, opened fire,

  and the Chekov joined them, launching photon

  torpedoes, phasers, and a full antimatter

  spread. The planet-killer fired back

  intermittently, picking off ships here and there as

  if it were more of an exercise in marksmanship than

  a serious offense. It didn't need to mount one.

  The ships arrayed against it didn't stand a chance.

  The planet-killer then turned in leisurely

  fashion, ignoring the attempts to slow it down,

  and started on a direct course towards the

  Tholian homeworld.

  It was at this point that the Enterprise showed

  up.

  Yes, sang the Many. You see they wanted

  to hurt us. They are evil. They care for no one

  and nothing except themselves. They deserve to die.

  Delcara felt her defenses weakening. It

  made so much sense, really. She could intuit so

  much of the discordance that was part and parcel of the

  galaxy. There was so much chaos, so much evil. Not

  just the Borg, but everywhere. Yes. Yes, the

  Tholians had committed great harm. She sensed the

  truth of the telling. There had been raids. There

  had been attack s on neighboring star systems.

  There had been extremely variable borders so that

  passing ships could be salvaged on the flimsy

  excuse that Tholian space had been violated.

  Yes, there was the truth, clear now as light,

  guiding as a beacon, sending her toward the

  homeworld.

  The planet-killer howled through space,

  closing. Not too far away, the great sun of the

  Tholian system crackled in space, uncaring

  of the fates of those planetary bodies that orbited

  it. Whether the second planet away--

  the Tholian homeworld--survived or was

  extinguished was of no interest. The star would go on

  for a million years, and that was all that mattered.

  Tholian ships rose up to meet the threat and

  were smashed without hesitation. The planet-killer

  paused, ignoring the scraps of ships that floated

  past it, the crushed bodies of the Tholians whose

  life flames had been snuffed out. It ignored

  as well the frustrated attacks of the Chekov,

  which meant well. Delcara sensed that, and for that

  reason she would destroy the Chekov only as an

  absolute necessity.

  Twenty seconds to being within range of the

  homeworld.

  Eighteen seconds, seventeen, and it hung

  there, large and inviting. Its surface was hot,

  at least 200 degrees Fahrenheit, and it was

  about to get hotter. The intensity of the heat would

  serve the planet-killer well. Would put a

  fire in its belly.

  Fifteen, thirteen seconds, and the

  planet-killer was closer and closer. Eleven

  seconds ...

  Nine ...

  And out of nowhere, there was the obstruction.

  "Eight seconds until collision," Data

  said tonelessly.

  The planet-killer loomed larger and larger on

  the screen. Picard sat in his command chair, gaze

  riveted on the approaching instrument of doom.

  When he had ordered an intercept course,

  everyone on the bridge had seen the madness of it.

  Picard was interposing his ship, and the lives of

  everyone aboard, between the Tholian homeworld and the

  oncoming planet-killer.

  The Tholians were no friends of the Federation;

  indeed, they were more terrorists than anything else.

  They were notorious troublemakers. They had

  refused to aid in the allied defense mounted

  months ago at Wolf 359 against the Borg, and

  indeed had made it clear that they wouldn't have shed a

  tear if Earth and the entire Federation had been

  absorbed by the power of the Borg. In fact, the

  flagships of the Tholian fleet had been busy

  threatening the Enterprise before the planet-killer

  had blown them out of space.

  Nevertheless, when Picard had issued the order that

  would very likely cost them their lives, it had been

  followed with utter confidence and discipline.

  Their lives and their dedication had been pledged

  to Picard, and they would fulfill that no matter

  what.

  If only it weren't on behalf of the

  Tholians, Worf thought sourly.

  "Seven," said Data, "six, five ..."

  Five seconds, and the planet-killer would either

  smash right throug
h the Enterprise, or unleash its

  deadly beam to destroy the planet, and the

  Enterprise would be right in the way and cut

  to pieces, or the vast maw of the planet-killer,

  which was fast approaching them, might simply

  swallow them whole.

  Of all the options under consideration, survival

  didn't seem to be among them.

  Delcara saw, or sensed, or somehow knew,

  that the Enterprise blocked their path. The ship

  had been perfectly placed--there was no way

  to get at the planet without destroying the starship.

  "Picard," she whispered.

  He does this to challenge you, cried the

  Many. He thinks you won't destroy him. He

  thinks he will triumph. Kill him.

  Obliterate him and take the world. The world is

  ours. We want the world. We hunger for the world.

  "But Picard risks his life to save them. That

  must say something for them," said Delcara

  desperately.

  It says he is a fool. It says you

  give your love to a fool instead of us. We

  want the planet. It's ours. Give it to us.

  Give it. Give it!

  The Enterprise hung there, glistening, white,

  a sacrifice.

  Give it! cried the Many.

  "Picard!" cried the One.

  "Three," said Data.

  The Enterprise did not budge.

  The doomsday machine did not slow down.

  On the bridge of the Chekov, the crew

  looked on in horror.

  "My God, he's committing suicide," said

  Korsmo.

  Shelby shook her head desperately. "He

  must have something. Some trick. Something."

  "Fire phasers!" shouted Korsmo, but they were

  out of range. They were going to be too

  late.

  "Two," said Data.

  Picard gripped the arms of his chair firmly.

  Riker's back stiffened, his bearded chin jutting out

  defiantly. Troi was at peace. Worf was

  disappointed that they weren't firing, even though it was

  pointless. Data obliquely wondered if, should

  he survive the impact when the ship was smashed

  apart, would he then float in space, inseparable from

  other debris and ignored, but conscious and aware?

  "One," said Data.

  They were looking straight down the mouth of the

  planet-killer. The flames of hell danced

  deep within it, damned souls welcoming

  newcomers. The heat was overwhelming, the heat was

  everywhere ...

  The heat was gone.

  "Son of a bitch," whispered Korsmo, staring

  in disbelief. "He's got to be the luckiest

  bastard in the cosmos."

  "The planet-killer has veered off," Data

  said as calmly as if announcing a routine

  mid-course correction.

  The engine of destruction was heading away from the

  Enterprise, faster and faster, as if anxious and

  desperate to put as much distance between itself and the starship

  as possible. And its course was taking it straight

  toward--

  "The sun. The planet-killer is on a

  collision course with the Tholian sun," Data

  said.

  The picture on the viewscreen immediately

  changed to accommodate the new direction. And there

  was the planet-killer, dwindling against the fiery

  face of the Tholian star. Its vas was nothing

  compared to the giant sun that it was charging, looking as

  helpless against the white inferno as the Tholian

  ships had looked mere moments ago.

  "The gravity of the star is pulling it in," said

  Data.

  Slowly Picard got to his feet, unable

  to believe what he was seeing. "Delcara," he

  whispered.

  In the Ten-Forward lounge, Guinan saw and

  whispered the same thing.

  Smaller and smaller it became, and

  smaller still, and Picard imagined that he could hear

  screams in his mind, and one of the voices screaming

  was his. Tractor beams were useless. Everything was

  useless. She was going to die for some inexplicable,

  hideous reason, and there was nothing he could do.

  A ship that could swallow planets whole

  looked pitiful and insignificant against the sun,

  and then it looked like nothing. It plunged,

  lemming-like, right into the heart of the star, into a

  furnace with the power and heat of a hundred million

  nuclear explosions, and vanished.

  A silence fell upon the bridge, an awed and

  somewhat confused hush. Most of the bridge crew

  sensed that something more had happened here than they could

  understand.

  Picard slowly sank into his command chair as

  if the air had been let out of him. Troi

  looked to him with grief and sympathy, but the

  captain said nothing. He just stared fixedly at the

  Tholian star, oblivious of all else.

  "We are being hailed by the Chekov," Worf

  said, uncharacteristically subdued.

  Picard didn't reply, but simply inclined

  his head slightly. Worf put it on audio, and

  Korsmo's voice came on with a brisk,

  "Picard? You okay?"

  "All hands safe here, Captain," said

  Picard. Whatever he was feeling, he was

  internalizing it completely, but he sounded much

  older. "And yourselves?"

  "We're all sound here. Damned lucky that

  monster ignored us."

  "That monster," said Picard, "committed

  suicide rather than harm this ship. So do not--"

  "Captain!" Worf said suddenly.

  Picard and Korsmo spoke in unison.

  "Yes?"

  "Sensors are detecting--"

  "Oh my God," came Korsmo's voice.

  And now Picard and the rest of the bridge crew

  saw it as well.

  The planet-killer ripped free from the far

  side of the sun, undamaged, unslowed. It

  picked up speed with every passing second, glowing

  white hot and then cooling as it pulled away from the

  star, further and further into space, further and

  further from its pursuers, and within seconds it had

  leaped into warp space and was gone.

  The two starships, and the remaining Tholian

  ships, sat there in space, as silent as

  the void that surrounded them. It was finally Korsmo

  who broke that silence, as his sarcastic voice

  sounded on the Enterprise bridge.

  "Well, Picard," he asked, "any other

  bright ideas?"

  GRAND FINALE

  Chapter Eighteen

  The star had been left far behind, but the anger still

  remained. The Many were furious.

  You tried to hurt us, they cried. You

  tried to kill us!

  "No, my children, my loves," said Delcara,

  feeling very tired. "I knew that we would

  survive. I knew that we are great. I knew

  that our power and strength would enable us to survive even

  the raging heart of a star, for our heart rages far

  more."

  You risked us rather than the Picard.

  "Yes!" said Delcara, her fury brimming

  over. "Yes, and I would do so again. We are

  joined, Picard and I,
in ways that I can neither

  explain nor understand. We shall always be together, although

  fate decrees that we must be apart. And I would not

  be the instrument of Picard's destruction. You must

  accept that."

  We do not like it.

  "You do not have to like it," she told the Many. "But

  accept it."

  They were silent for a long moment.

  Is our vendetta not important to you? Is

  our love not enough for you? they asked. We love

  you as he never can. He is mortal. He is

  meat and he will die and rot. We are forever. We

  can love you forever. The Picard cannot offer that.

  "No," she said softly. "No, he cannot.

  Mortal love is so transient. If I have

  learned n othing else in my long life, I have

  learned that. I have lost so many. Children, mates. So

  many."

  Not us, Delcara, said the Many. Not us.

  Not ever.

  "Not ever," she said.

  Shall we go faster, Delcara? We can go much

  faster, you know. Faster than even the ships of the

  Picard could follow. Our upward speed has not

  been measured. If you wish us to--

  "Our present speed is satisfactory,"

  she said. "We have all the time in the universe, my

  children. Let us savor the revenge and conserve our

  resources."

  You do not wish to hurry, accused the Many,

  their voices becoming shrill once more, because you do

  not wish to leave the Picard behind.

  "Perhaps," she sighed. "That may well be.

  If so, it is my desire, and you will honor it,

  my loved ones. You will honor it."

  We will always do as you wish, Delcara, said

  the Many. But there was something in their voice that

  Delcara found disturbing. Something very unpleasant.

  An ugliness, an unquenchable thirst for revenge

  that even she felt was disquieting. And perhaps the most

  disquieting thing about it was that she saw the thirst, more and

  more clearly, in herself.

  Deanna Troi sat across from Reannon

  Bonaventure in the latter's stark and functional

  quarters. She held the woman's hand in her own

  and stared deeply into her eyes, looking beyond those

  eyes, deep into the mind.

  "Reannon?" she said softly. "I am

  beginning to get a sense of you. You are hiding, like a

  frightened child, afraid to come out. Your soul is a

  terrified and vulnerable thing, virtually destroyed

  by the Borg. But you can rebuild it. With love and