"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
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."