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.
"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