Star Trek - TNG - Vendetta

by Peter David

  tricorder readings, and placed his hand flat against

  one of the pillars. His reflection seemed to reach

  back at him. The pillar was warm to the touch, as

  if it were throbbing with life of its own.

  "Incredible," he whispered.

  From all around her, Troi sensed life. It was

  like nothing she had ever felt. The walls, the

  floors, the ceilings, wherever they might be--they

  were completely encompassed by emotions. She told

  this to Picard, and then added, "They seem--harnessed

  somehow."

  "Imprisoned?" asked Picard.

  "No. No, utilized, and willingly. As if

  ... as if the ship is being driven by pure will

  power."

  "It is being driven by more than that," said Data,

  consulting his tricorder once again. "These

  crystalline structures are actually power

  cells that harness all matter of energy

  physical, kinetic, electromagnetic."

  He paused, checking further. The neutronium

  hull had made sensor readings extremely

  difficult, but now that they were within, he was absorbing

  the information as quickly as possible--which, for Data, was

  quite fast indeed. "My interior readings are

  confirming what Geordi was hypothesizing. The warp

  drive technology would seem to generate different

  fields from that of the Enterprise. There is a

  variant level in harmonic resonance that enables

  this vessel to warp the fabric of space with greater

  energy efficiency and speed." He turned towards

  Picard. "It is not dissimilar from Borg

  technology--indeed, it may even be more

  efficient."

  "The Borg are always speaking of absorbing

  technology," murmured Picard. "The

  implication is that they develop precious little of

  their own."

  "Of course they don't," said Guinan, staring

  at her reflection. She adjusted her hat.

  "Creation of new technology comes from imagination.

  You have to dream before you can do. Since the Borg have

  no imagination, they are limited in their capacity

  to invent."

  "And it is possible that the Borg have realized

  that," Picard said slowly. "We wondered why their

  priorities appeared to have changed. Why they

  seemed interested not only in human technology,

  but also in interacting with humanity. Is it possible

  that they have come to realize the limits to their

  development, and want to tap into the human

  capacity for invention in order to expand themselves?"

  "It could be a very intriguing hypothesis," said

  Data. "The centralized Borg mind may

  easily be capable of analyzing its own

  shortcomings. They may wish to harness the creative

  ability of the human mind. Intriguing. When you

  represented the Borg as Locutus, you referred

  to me as a primitive artificial organism,

  despite my own ability for invention."

  "Obviously they have come to value the human

  ability to think, as it pertains to their attempts

  to improve themselves, while realizing the limits of

  mechanical life." He glanced at Data.

  "No offense."

  "None taken," said Data calmly. "None

  is possible."

  That was when Deanna Troi screamed.

  Immediately the others were next to her, as Deanna

  was staring at a crystal wall. She was pointing in

  confusion and said, "My face ... I saw my

  face and then it was ... someone else's. Not just

  someone. A hundred someones, or a thousand ..."

  She seemed genuinely rattled, but calmed

  down when Guinan rested a hand on her shoulder.

  She shook her head to clear it and then said, "I'm

  sorry. I was startled."

  "Very human of you," said Data consolingly.

  "That was the Many."

  They turned to see Delcara standing in front of

  them. Picard was taken aback, for he had not seen

  Delcara earlier in the holodeck, and she had

  deteriorated even further than when

  Guinan had last seen her. Troi gasped as

  well. Data merely aimed a tricorder at

  her.

  Her hair was now a filthy white, and every

  visible inch of her skin was wrinkled. She was

  smiling, but it was with a death's-head rictus of a

  grin. Her eyebrows had actually converged,

  creating a single dark and foul line of hair across

  her face, casting her once-lovely eyes

  into permanent shadow. She was hag-like, stooped

  shouldered, the very structure of her face changing.

  Her brow hung forward, Neanderthal-like, and when she

  tilted her head slightly, contemplating them, she

  looked like a gargoyle.

  And insanely, she appeared oblivious of her

  appearance. It was as if somewhere, somehow, deep within

  her, there was still the purity of spirit. An innocence, a

  naivete that was simply unaware of what was

  happening to her. As if the heinous intentions

  pervading her had simply been layered onto her

  without touching the inner spark that once had been a

  simple, loving woman named Delcara. A

  woman who knew nothing of hatred and vengeance, but

  only love.

  The woman whose inner beauty had once been

  revealed, for only a moment, to a cadet named

  Jean-Luc.

  Picard stepped forward and his hand passed through

  her. "Still a hologram, I see."

  "Still a captain, I see," replied

  Delcara. "You were a leader of men even when I

  first saw you. How little things change."

  "Delcara--" began Guinan.

  But Delcara waved her off with a brief,

  angry gesture. "I brought you here because you

  refused to understand," and her voice was laced with

  barely controlled frenzy. "I brought you here

  to make you understand. I cannot go back to the way I

  was. There is nothing left for me. Come."

  She turned away before they could say anything and

  strode down the corridor that seemed to stretch

  endlessly before them. Picard immediately fell into step

  behind her, as did the others. They were amazed at the

  silence around them. Within the Enterprise, there was

  always some sort of background noise. The steady

  humming of the powerful engines, the noise of servicing

  being performed on thousands of standard automatic

  computer systems--always something.

  Not here, though. Within the heart of the

  planet-killer, all was silence. Even

  their boots made no noise, for the crystalline

  walls and floors seemed to absorb all the

  sounds.

  They turned a labyrinthine corner and stopped.

  Thus far they had been surrounded by towering

  pillars and, far above them, tubings and crossways

  that seemed to be channels for the pure power that

  coursed through the entire structure of the

  planet-killer. Now, however, they were faced with a

  single long, stretching corridor, lined with row upon

  row of odd slabs, each one freestanding, about

  seven feet high
and positioned at roughly

  45-degree angles to the wall. And at the end

  of the corridor was a single column that stretched

  upward, the top of it out of sight.

  The hologram of Delcara walked toward it with

  measured steps, and then stopped. It turned and

  faced Picard and the others.

  "Now do you understand?" she said.

  Inside the crystalline column, held upright

  like a fly in amber, untouched by the corruption and

  beauty-destroying brush of vengeance-obsession, was

  the pure and unscathed body of Delcara.

  On the bridge of the Enterprise Worf

  suddenly looked up. "Sir, long-range

  sensors are detecting three vessels

  approaching at warp seven, heading

  three-two-two Mark nine. At present

  speed, they will be here in seventeen minutes."

  "Borg?" said Riker tonelessly.

  "I believe so, sir."

  "Alert the captain. Tell the landing party to be

  prepared to beam aboard."

  "I am not able to raise them on the

  planet-killer, sir," said Worf after a

  moment, and anticipating Riker's next

  statement, he said, "and the field of the ship makes

  it impossible to lock onto their readings."

  "So we can't beam them back if Delcara

  doesn't want us to," said Riker.

  "Terrific. Engineering," snapped Riker, "how

  long before you have that warp bubble formulation into the

  emergency generator?"

  "About another fifteen minutes, Commander,"

  came Geordi's voice.

  "Sensors say that you're officially cutting it

  close, Mr. La Forge. The Borg will be here

  in seventeen minutes."

  "If there's one thing I hate, it's spare

  time," said La Forge.

  "There won't be much to hate here. Step on

  it."

  "Yes, sir."

  "Sir," said Worf with undisguised

  surprise, "we are receiving an incoming message

  from the Borg ships."

  "Announcing the joy of their arrival, no

  doubt," said Riker. "Is the Chekov getting

  the same thing?"

  "They indicate that they are, sir."

  "Seems the Borg are having no trouble

  cutting through the subspace interference that thing out there

  generates," observed Riker. "On screen,

  Lieutenant."

  The planet-killer vanished, and the last thing they

  expected to see appeared on their screen.

  At first glance it was a Borg, but only at

  first glance. His head was shaped differently, the

  visible portion of his flesh and bone in the

  distinctive shape and size of--

  "A Ferengi?" said Riker in surprise.

  "Is that a--?"

  "It appears so," said Worf, no less

  astonished.

  The Ferengi Borg paused a moment, as if

  allowing the humans to digest the full impact of

  his presence. Then he said, "I am ...

  Vastator. Vastator of the Borg."

  Riker started to identify himself but then he heard

  another voice over the channel. "This is

  Captain Morgan Korsmo of the starship

  Chekov." Riker promptly kept silent--

  technically, Korsmo was the ranking officer

  present and was the proper one to be in communication

  with the Borg. Not that Riker was especially thrilled

  about that idea.

  "Vastator of the Borg," continued Korsmo,

  "you are in Federation space. I am ordering you,

  under my authority as a Starfleet captain,

  to return immediately to your own quadrant."

  "Your orders are of no interest," said

  Vastator, and then, incredibly, his voiced

  acquired the silky subtlety of a Ferengi.

  "We are prepared, however, to deal."

  Riker looked at Worf and mouthed the word,

  Deal?

  "What sort of deal?" came Korsmo's

  voice.

  "We have learned of the power of the weapon that you are

  presently near. It poses a threat not only

  to the Borg, but to yourselves. We will destroy the

  weapon, and you will not interfere. In exchange, we

  will not destroy you." It was bizarre to see the

  Ferengi speaking without the usual sneer.

  "No deals," said Riker sharply.

  He was astonished when he heard Korsmo's

  sharp rebuke of, "Commander, I am in charge

  here."

  "The Federation does not deal with terrorists,"

  said Riker. "You said so yourself, sir."

  "This is not terrorism. This is negotiations

  with a threatened race."

  "The Borg are not threatened, Captain," said

  Riker tightly. "By and large, they do the

  threatening."

  "You need not decide now," said Vastator

  calmly. "You have sixteen minutes to choose.

  Ultimately, your choice will be of no relevance

  to us. Only to yourselves." With that, the Borg cut the

  communication.

  The image of the Borg was immediately replaced by that

  of Korsmo, who looked angrily at Riker.

  "I don't appreciate your interference in those

  discussions, Commander."

  "The Enterprise is not going to stand aside and

  let the Borg destroy Delcara's vessel."

  "Oh no?" snapped Korsmo.

  "No. That ship hurled itself into a sun rather than

  destroy us. I hardly think the Borg would be that

  considerate."

  "And have you given thought, Commander," said Korsmo

  icily, "as to what happens if Delcara does

  manage to destroy those Borg ships and continue

  unmolested. Within a week's time she will be

  intercepted by the fleet I warned you of. You yourself

  predicted major casualties for such a

  battle. The word "massacre" was voiced, as

  I recall. If we have a chance of stopping her

  here, either by standing aside or even attacking her

  ourselves, we save the lives of countless members of

  Starfleet in a future battle. Are you

  willing to be responsible for their lives,

  Commander?"

  "And what do you think the Borg will do if they

  destroy her," shot back Riker, trying his

  damnedest to keep his tone on the positive side

  of insubordination. "Turn around, head back

  home and leave us?"

  "Perhaps. Perhaps they will continue into the heart of

  Federation space. And ships will assemble to meet

  them, and at least our two will be around to be part of that

  assemblage. We can't guarantee the same thing

  if we attack them here and now. And perhaps they can be

  negotiated with. This incorporation of a Ferengi would

  indicate a willingness to bargain on the part of the

  Borg."

  "You can bargain with the devil, Captain

  Korsmo," shot back Riker, "but you always wind

  up on the wrong end of the deal."

  "That, Commander, is your opinion. It is mine

  that when the Borg show up, we will not fire unless

  fired upon, and we will do nothing to defend the

  planet-killer. Furthermore, if the

  planet-killer is in dire straits, we will do

  what we can to aid in her destruction. Her
<
br />   existence poses too much of a threat.

  Furthermore, Commander," he went on before Riker

  could get a word out, "since I am the ranking

  officer present, you will follow my wishes as per

  Starfleet regulations. Is that clear, Commander?"

  "Your wishes are very clear, Captain. But

  you're forgetting one thing. Captain Picard and the

  away team are aboard the planet-killer."

  There was a chilling pause. "I've forgotten

  nothing, Commander Riker. And Captain Picard was

  aboard the Borg ship, as Commander Shelby has

  told us on so many occasions, when you gave the

  order to fire on it. Picard's continued presence

  among us has more to do with Borg technology than

  with your concern about the ultimate safety of your

  captain. So don't get on your high horse with

  me, Mr. Riker. You've established that you know

  how to make the tough decisions. Now be so kind as

  to allow me the same courtesy. The bottom line

  is this Starfleet's orders are clear. They

  want the planet-killer stopped. The Borg are

  going to stop them. Therefore, we will permit the Borg

  to do that. For all we know, it may be the first step

  to making peace with the Borg."

  "Your interpretation of Starfleet orders--"

  "Is the only one that counts, Commander," and he

  stressed the last word to underscore the rank

  difference. "Chekov out."

  And with that final admonishment, the Chekov

  blinked out.

  "Keep trying to raise Captain Picard,"

  said Riker tonelessly. He stood and walked

  towards the viewscreen, as if he wished

  he could reach through and lift the away team right out of the

  planet-killer and deposit them safely aboard

  the Enterprise bridge.

  And when he spoke next, it was with the tone of

  someone who was speaking to himself--but, for benefit of the

  crew. "I refuse to interpret orders in such a

  way," he said succinctly, "that it means standing

  aside and letting the most monstrous beings we've

  ever encountered destroy both our captain and the only

  weapon that has a hope of defeating them. And if

  that's what Starfleet does intend, they can come and

  explain it in person. In the meantime, that

  interpretation can go hang." And you will too,

  Riker, unless you're damned lucky, he added

  silently.

  He turned to Worf. "Go to red alert. All

  hands to battle stations." He paused, as if for

  dramatic impact. "Tell the crew to prepare

  for one hell of a fight."