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
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
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."