change my mind ..."
"I will have them prepared," said Worf, and with each
word dripping menace, he added, "just ... in ...
case."
The medtechs were hauling the unconscious
Dantar back up onto a bed and securing him.
Beverly Crusher stood over the unmoving form of
Reannon. She was still blank-faced, staring up
at the ceiling now. She gave no indication that she
was remotely aware of what had happened to her,
or where she was, or who she was. Then Beverly
looked back at the unconscious form of
Geordi La Forge.
"Not one of the more auspicious starts to a
project," she said to no one in particular.
"Vendetta." Guinan nodded slowly,
stroking her chin.
Picard, Troi, and Guinan had gone
into Guinan's small, functional office just off
to the side of Ten-Forward. Guinan was standing,
looking thoughtful and circling the room.
"Vendetta. Yes. Yes, that could have been what
I was saying."
"And the significance of it?"
She shook her head. "I don't know."
Picard looked at her with raised eyebrow.
"No idea?"
She spread her hands wide. "Guesses.
About a dozen, any of which might be accurate, or
might be even more confusing. I wish I knew."
"And what I told you just now, about the experience
I had when I was in the Academy?"
"I'm as mystified as you, Captain," said
Guinan. She looked from Troi to Picard and then
back again. "It may very well be that whoever, or
whatever, was in your vision back in the Academy
is somehow connected to my collapse, but
I can't say for certain."
"Can you say anything for certain?"
"Yes." She frowned. "Whatever is behind all
this, sooner or later, is going to show itself. And then
we can all stop guessing."
Picard nodded slowly and then stood. "All
right. Thank you for your time, Guinan. If ..."
"Captain." Guinan's voice, her whole
demeanor, had suddenly changed. "Captain,
wait, there's something I'm not telling you."
He was stunned, as if slapped in the face.
"Guinan," and the shock in his voice was evident.
"In all the time I've known you, our relationship
has been based on honesty. I can't believe
there's anything you wouldn't share with me. Especially
if it's important. And most especially if
lives are at stake."
"It's not something I discuss lightly,
Captain," she said. For the first time that he could
recall, she turned her back to him as if she
couldn't bear to look at him. Her arms were
folded, and she was staring down at her feet, as if
trying to determine the best way to proceed. "I
don't know for sure," she said. "That's the
absolute truth. And I didn't want to bring
it up unless I did know. It's a rather ...
painful topic, and personal--one that I didn't
really want to share if it could be avoided." She
turned to face Picard. "But I owe it to you, out
of respect for our relationship and our friendship,
to tell you anything that could be of help."
She sat down behind her desk, interlacing her
fingers. She paused a long moment, appearing
to gaze long and hard into herself. She almost seemed
to be casting her mind back. Picard and Troi
stood respectfully silent.
"I think," she said slowly, "that the woman who
is causing all this, the woman whom you faced that
night in your dorm room, Captain, is named
Delcara."
"Delcara." The name meant nothing to Picard.
Odd. He'd always thought, in the back of his mind,
that if he'd ever met her, ever learned her name,
there would be a dazzling flash of understanding, or
something. But there was nothing. It was just a name, three
syllables. "Delcara. And she has reason
to hate the Borg?"
"Ooooohh yes," said Guinan. "Some very good
reasons."
"And you know her," said Troi.
"You could say that," Guinan said dryly. "You
see, Delcara is my sister."
Chapter Ten
Captain Morgan Korsmo was awakened by the
alarm of the red-alert siren that came in tandem with the
urgent call on his communicator. Korsmo was
one of those people who took no time at all to awaken,
said, "Korsmo here."
"Captain, you'd better get up here," came
Shelby's voice, very controlled, almost
passionless, and yet projecting a clear
undercurrent of alarm. "Long-range sensors have
detected--"
"The Borg?"
"Yes, sir."
For one moment unwanted thoughts flashed through his
head. Thoughts of, At last! I'll get to show
what I can do against those monstrosities! I'll
show that Picard isn't the only one who can hold
his own against those mechanized bastards. But these
musings were immediately replaced by concern over his ship
and his crew. They had to come first, no matter what.
"Alert Starfleet Command immediately. I'll be right
up."
In record time Korsmo was striding out onto
the bridge, his practiced gaze taking in all
tactical readouts. Shelby rose from the command
chair and took her usual station as Korsmo
dropped into place. "Sensors on maximum.
Status report."
"Shields on full," reported Peel from
tactical. "Weapons batteries fully
charged. All stations report ready."
"What've we got?" asked Korsmo,
studying the screen. The stars shimmered ahead,
racing past, whatever their sensors had detected not
yet in visual range.
"One ship," said Peel, "matching exactly
the configurations of the Borg ship that attacked
several months ago. Moving at warp seven.
Present course and heading will take it--"
"Toward Penzatti," said Shelby. Korsmo
shot her a curious look.
"No, ma'am," said Peel, after a moment.
"It seems bound in the direction of the Kalish
system."
"That's in the general direction of
Penzatti, but still ..." Korsmo's voice
trailed off. "Helm, bring us around in an
intercept course at warp seven."
"Course plotted and laid in," said the
helmsman.
"Lay on," said Korsmo, and the ship immediately
angled directly into the path of the oncoming Borg
ship. "Give me a direct line to the Borg
ship. I'm going to warn them off."
"We're going to warn them?"
He glanced at Shelby. "Problem with that,
Number One?"
"Captain," said Shelby firmly, "with all
due respect, we don't have the firepower
to back up that warning. Our weapons won't even
slow them down."
"If you don't mind, Number One, I'd like
to test that for myself."
"Here they come," said Peel.
Sure enough, sailing toward them on the screen
at warp seven was the familiar cube of the Borg
ship. It seemed like nothing so much as an
unstoppable Juggernaut, ready to run over
anything in its path.
"No response on any hailing
frequency," reported Peel.
"We will intercept in thirty-five seconds,
sir," came the report from Hobson at conn.
"Repeat warning," said Korsmo firmly, "that
they have already established themselves as a hostile force
... that if they do not break off from their present
course and return our communications, we will have no
choice but to regard this as an act of aggression and
take appropriate measures."
Shelby forced herself not to shake her head in
disbelief. Korsmo talked a good game, she'd
give him that. But he was still acting as if this were a
normal foe that he was up against. He had no
real comprehension, despite everything, of just how
powerful the Borg were. Perhaps no one could, unless
they'd experienced it firsthand. She just hoped they'd
live to remember the experience.
"Still no response."
"Mr. Peel," said Korsmo after a moment,
"fire a warning shot directly in their path.
Let them know we mean business."
"Firing phasers," said Peel.
The phasers' beams lanced out across space,
cutting right in the way of the Borg ship. To all
intents and purposes, a line had been
drawn, warning the Borg to proceed no further.
The Borg crossed it with no hesitation, and
shot straight towards the Chekov.
"Collision course!" shouted Hobson.
And on top of Hobson's warning came
Korsmo's order of "Hard about, maximum
warp!"
The Chekov responded immediately, angling down
and away, and the Borg ship hurtled past without
slowing down.
"Bring us around," ordered Korsmo, his hands
gripping the arms of his chair so hard that his
knuckles were white. His voice was laced with
fury. To be beaten, or outwitted, or
outmuscled, those he could handle. But no one, not
Borg nor Romulan nor anybody, simply
ignored him. "Catch up with her, Mr.
Hobson."
The mighty engines of the Chekov shot the ship
forward as if from a slingshot. On their screen the
Borg ship was still barreling forward, unaware or
uncaring of their presence.
"Wherever they're going, they're in one hell of a
hurry," observed Shelby.
"They're at warp eight," confirmed Peel.
"They're pulling away from us."
"Take us to warp eight," ordered Korsmo.
"Peel, target their primary energy emission--
fire!"
The Chekov fired, phasers fully armed, and
struck the Borg ship, playing across the surface
and scoring it severely.
"Any effect?" asked Korsmo.
"Nothing appreciable," said Peel. "And the
damage that they did sustain is being repaired--
almost instantaneously."
Korsmo turned towards Shelby. "You're the
expert on these things, Shelby. Do they have a weak
point?"
For a fleeting moment Shelby was reminded of the
old story about the baseball player--the one who
came up to bat three times and hit a double, a
triple, and a home run. When he came up
to bat for the fourth time the pitcher was pulled in
favor of a new, fresh pitcher. As they passed
each other, the new pitcher asked the departing one,
"This guy got any weaknesses?" And the losing
pitcher said dourly, "Yeah, he can't hit
singles."
"The only weaknesses," she said, "are
within their own mental structure. In terms of
outside attack, they are virtually
impervious."
"How do we get inside that structure?"
She did not smile. "Willing to have yourself
"borged," Captain?"
"They're at warp eight-point-five," said
Peel. "They've fully repaired damage."
"Match their speed."
The Chekov roared into warp
eight-point-five, and that brought an immediate call from
the engine room. "Captain," warned Engineering
Chief Polly Parke, "any speculation as
to how much speed you'll need?"
"Stoke the furnace, Mister Parke,"
Korsmo warned her, "because we may need everything
you have. Bridge out. Peel, arm full torpedo
and phaser array. We're going to get their
attention if ..."
"It kills us?" offered Shelby. "Captain,
respectfully state that this is not the proper
course."
"Suggestion noted. Mr. Peel, fire."
Once again the phasers played across the
surface of the Borg ship, accompanied by an
array of photon torpedoes. The attack lit
up the darkness of space, a dazzling display of
firepower.
The Borg slowed long enough to fire back one
shot, just one.
It struck the Chekov with furious power, and the
ship was rocked by the force of it.
"Damage reports coming in from all over the
ship!" shouted Hobson. "Shields at fifty
percent!"
"The Borg ship is pulling away,"
reported Peel.
"Pursue it."
"Captain ..." began Shelby.
But he cut her off with a curt, "Not now!
Hobson, divert all power to engines. Don't
lose that ship!"
"They're back at warp eight and increasing."
"Pace them."
"Engineering to bridge. Captain, we're
leaking--"
"Plug it!" he told her fiercely.
"Whatever it is, Parke, fix it, and keep warp
speed coming. We're not going to lose those
bastards!"
Shelby looked at Korsmo as if seeing him
for the first time. The fury radiating from him was filling
the bridge, poisoning the atmosphere.
"Captain," she said with as much calm as she could
muster, "the upward limits of Borg speed have not
been measured."
"We'll measure them now. Helm, overtake
them. Warp nine."
Moving at speed that could take the ship across the
Terran solar system in twenty-six seconds,
the Chekov started to close the gap.
"The Borg have effected repairs," Peel
said once again. "They are increasing speed to warp
nine-point-two."
"Warp nine-point-two, helm. Bridge
to engineering."
"Engineering," came Parke's voice. She was
clearly annoyed, but that wasn't going to deter her
from following business. "Captain, we're
presently at nine-point-two. That's maximum
speed."
"That's normally maximum speed, Mister
Parke," replied Korsmo, putting on an
air of coolness that he did not feel. "We may
need more. Depends on our friends out there."
"I haven't got much more to give, Captain,"
she warned. "Systems are o
n overload now.
Under normal circumstances--"
"These are far from normal. Transporter
room, get ready to receive a landing party."
"Landing party?" said Shelby.
He turned towards her. "I've read all
your reports, Commander," he said. "Once we
get aboard that ship, the Borg will tend to ignore
anyone there."
"Have ignored in the past, Captain, yes,"
affirmed Shelby, "but that doesn't mean they'll
continue to do so."
"We're going to overtake. Get in
transporter range and board them," said
Korsmo firmly.
"I would not advise that."
"Did I ask for your advice, Commander?"
There was dead silence on the bridge, the stinging
question hanging in the air. "No, sir, you did not,"
Shelby said after a moment, "but I thought it best
..."
"I'll remember that."
"Sir, they're at warp nine-point-six,"
reported Peel. "We're still not within
transporter range."
"And we've got all available energy
siphoned to the warp engines," added Hobson.
"Captain ..."
"Go to warp nine-point-six."
Shelby closed her eyes, imagining she could
feel the shuddering protest of the starship as the ship
upped her speed to 1,909 times the speed of
light. The maximum rated speed, the ship could
handle warp nine-point-six, theoretically, for
twelve hours. In terms of practicality, the
Chekov would probably tear herself to shreds long
before that happened.
"Structural stress increasing by a factor of
two," said Hobson, as if reading a death
sentence.
"What effect is this speed having on the
Borg ship?" demanded Korsmo.
"No visible or detectable effect on the
Borg," Peel informed him after a moment. And
then, knowing the effect it would have on Korsmo, he
said quietly, "Borg have gone to warp
nine-point-nine."
Again there was a deathly silence on the bridge.
When Korsmo spoke, it was a whisper. "Warp
nine-point-nine."
This is insane! Shelby thought, but she said
nothing.
"Warp nine-point-nine," Hobson said
slowly, every syllable hanging in the air.
"Engineering to bridge."
"I was expecting your call, Mister Parke,"
said Korsmo mirthlessly.
"Sir, this is beyond my control," she said.
"At warp nine-point-nine, the engines will shut
down automatically after ten minutes. Whatever
you're going to do, do it now, or do it in the
afterlife."
"Captain, they're pulling away from us," said