sort of easy familiarity that she never would have
tolerated when she first came aboard the
Enterprise. But her time on board that ship had
taught her a great deal about relating to people
and judging them. The idea that she had first assessed
William Riker as someone who was incapable of
making big decisions--shortly before he'd been
forced to make nothing but big decisions--had brought
into question for her much about the way she went about things.
"When I was a kid," she said, "there was this
stupid joke that the other kids would tell endlessly
at my expense. They'd always make sure I was
in earshot, and then they'd say loudly, "Knock
Knock." And another would reply, "Who's
there?"' And they go back and forth with "Shelby."
"Shelby Who?"' "Shelby--"'"
"Coming 'round the mountain when she comes?" said
Hobson. There was curt laughter from another
officer who quickly cut it off.
"Yes," said Shelby, slightly irked. "So
there I was, and all that went through my head was,
"Shelby coming 'round the mountain for the last time."
Stupid. You think about stupid jokes from
childhood, or a date you won't be able
to keep, or paperwork that still needs to be done--
everything except the idea that you're about to die.
Riker even started to order the collision. He
got half of the word engage out, and then the call
came up from sickbay. And within seconds after that
call--had to be seconds, because that's all we had
--they had ordered the Borg to shut down via a
link they'd established through Picard. Picard
masterminded it, told them what to do, even though he
was still in the power of the Borg. He put them
to sleep ..."
"Undoubtedly he got to read them his
third-year paper on Reversal of Hyperspace
Overdrive," said the captain. "That put the
entire Academy graduating class into a coma."
Shelby looked at him with open surprise.
"Captain! Really! How you could insult
Captain Picard--"
The captain slowly circled his bridge which was
feeling smaller by the minute, truth be known,
chewing on his lower lip and fighting down the traces
of envy that he so hated. He managed to force out a
short--almost avuncular--and almost convincing laugh.
"Captain Picard and I go way back,
Number One. Back to when he was Cadet
Jean-Luc Picard, and I was Cadet
Morgan Korsmo. So, I'm entitled.
Believe me, I have nothing but admiration for the
man. I mean, let's face it, the man was almost
nothing but Borg implants, am I
right?"
"That's a fairly accurate assessment,"
admitted Shelby.
"Well, Commander, put your mind at ease.
I will be the first to admit that Jean-Luc Picard
is more of a man when he's only half a man
than most men are when they're intact.
Satisfied?"
"Yes, sir," said Shelby.
Captain Korsmo shook his head in silent
wonderment. That was the kind of man Picard was.
He inspired fierce loyalty even in those
individuals who had been with him only a short
time. Korsmo wondered whether he would ever be
capable of commanding that sort of devotion from his people.
There was a sharp beep from behind him and his
tactical officer looked up in response.
"Captain," said the tactical officer, Peel,
"I have contact with the Enterprise, as you
requested."
"Excellent," said Korsmo. To the
surprise of the other bridge crew, who were
usually privy to just about any discussion that took
place--the Chekov had, by design, a very
relaxed and congenial atmosphere--Korsmo
headed for the ready room. "I'll take it in the
ready room. Number One, with me, please."
Shelby nodded quickly, falling into step behind him.
She knew what the story was--Korsmo had
brought her up to speed as soon as he had gotten
word from Starfleet over the incident on the homeworld
of the Penzatti. But it had been Korsmo's
express wish that it not be discussed with the rest of the
crew.
As Korsmo had himself, many others on the
Chekov had lost friends and loved ones in the
massacre at Wolf 359. The last thing they
needed to hear, he felt, was that the triumph which had
been achieved at such terrible cost was so
temporary a measure. The last thing they needed
to hear was that the Borg were coming back--indeed, had
already returned, it seemed.
And he wasn't going to tell them until he
absolutely had to. He just hoped that it wouldn't
be too soon.
Or too late.
All of Picard's officers had assembled in
the briefing room, and Picard gave a quick nod
of appreciation that they had pulled themselves
together so quickly. It was, in fact, exactly
what he would have anticipated. He expected the
world of them and had yet to be disappointed in their
ability to deliver it.
Riker sat opposite him, once again
employing his customary trait of having turned the
chair around and straddled it. Data was to the left,
Geordi on the right, both back in Starfleet
uniforms and giving no sign that, mere minutes
before, they had been gallivanting about the Spanish
countryside. Deanna Troi was just now entering,
smoothing out her hair. Picard took some
measure of enjoyment in that there were certain
universal constants, one of them seemingly that it
always took women longer to make themselves presentable
than it did men.
Worf sat at the edge of the conference table--a
slight distance away. It was a subtle separation,
but one that Picard had noticed with consistency. As
close as he felt to this particular group of
humans, Worf still possessed an unshakable
standoffishness.
Or perhaps it was good, old-fashioned Klingon
caution Never discount the possibility that an
apparent friend might be an enemy in disguise.
Considering that the Enterprise had dealt, on a
number of occasions in her long history, with
impostors, that might not be an inappropriate
attitude for the head of security to have.
Closest to Picard sat Beverly Crusher.
Normally a very outgoing woman, she had been
somewhat quiet lately. Picard wasn't
entirely surprised. She had known the departure
of her son, Wesley, for Starfleet
Academy, was inevitable. Inevitability,
however, did not necessarily mean one would be
prepared. Picard knew that she was missing
Wesley something fierce, for when he had gone, he
had taken with him the last physical reminder of
her late husband, Jack. All she had for the
rest of her life now was memories, and oftentimes
memories were just not enough
.
Now, though, was not the time to dwell on it.
"On screen," said Picard sharply to the air.
In response to his command, an image
appeared on the conference room communications
screen. Picard's lips twitched in amusement
as he saw the now-rather-jowly face of Morgan
Korsmo appear on the screen. He remembered
the Academy days, when Korsmo could
eat anything and never gain weight. Clearly those
days were past. Also, his formerly jet-black hair
was now shot through with gray. Time, the great
leveller.
"Korsmo," said Picard.
"Picard," replied Korsmo, with that same
slightly insouciant tone that Picard remembered
all too well. "Still bald, I see."
Riker and the others looked at Picard with open
amusement. Picard, utterly nonplussed,
replied, "The years and pounds have obviously
caught up with you."
"True. I'm fat and you're bald. Of
course, I can always lose weight," pointed out
Korsmo.
There was a slight chuckle from Beverly.
Picard resisted glancing at her, for a look from
him might have stilled her. Frankly, it was worth
a laugh or two at his own expense just to get a
smile out of her.
"Captain," said Picard, softly but
firmly. "You always were one to try to put as much of a
gloss on bad news as possible. It is
painfully clear to me that you are now trying to delay
the inevitable--that being the purpose of this
communique. What's happened?"
Korsmo gave a brief nod in
acknowledgment. "And you, Picard, always liked
to cut through the bluster and get straight to the point.
How comforting to know that neither of us changed.
Unfortunately, neither have the Borg."
"The Borg?" Picard said the words a bit
too sharply, a bit too quickly. Mentally he
chided himself for it. Ha d any of his people noticed that
edge in his voice? His quick glance caught
Deanna studying him with those luminous and
sympathetic eyes. He had a feeling he'd
probably be hearing from her before too long. He
straightened his uniform top, rather unnecessarily,
and leaned forward, fingers interlaced. "When and where?
How soon can we expect their attack?"
"To the former, the target was the Penzatti
homeworld. A rescue operation is already in
progress, but Starfleet wants you there as
well, and as soon as possible, in case the
Borg return. We will be rendezvousing with you
there, but it's going to take us the better part of a
week. Starfleet wants the closest ship there
immediately."
Wants us there as what? Cannon
fodder? flitted through Picard's mind. As quickly
as that thought came to him, he dismissed it. Now was not
the time. The time would never be, actually. "Mr.
Data, how long--?"
"At warp six, eighteen hours."
"Warp six-point-five, then. Make it so."
Riker leaned forward and said, "Captain
Korsmo, with all due respect--and sounding
somewhat brutal--why are we being dispatched to the
Penzatti world? If the Borg have been and gone,
then Penzatti is a lost cause. We should be
moving to intercept the latest Borg incursion."
"Commander Riker is correct," agreed
Picard. "We've seen the Borg's handiwork
before. Frankly, I'm amazed at the mention of a
rescue operation. I wouldn't assume there would be
anyone or anything left to rescue. What is the
Borg's present heading?"
"To hell," said Korsmo. He seemed quite
pleased about it.
"We can but hope, Captain," said Picard.
"The question still remains--"
"No, you're not following me, Jean-Luc,"
Korsmo said. "The Borg who were attacking the
Penzatti were destroyed before they could finish the
job. Oh, ninety-five percent of the planet
is gone. But that leaves five percent more than
has ever survived before."
Picard was still digesting the earlier sentence. "The
Borg were destroyed?"
"By a starship?" asked Geordi.
"Klingons," said Worf firmly. "Klingon
warships must have come in response to--"
"Not a starship," said Korsmo. "Not
Klingons, either. We don't know what or who,
gentlemen. That is one of the things I'm hoping your
people can determine once you arrive. Early
reports are that the Borg were attacked by someone
or ... to be overly melodramatic--some-thing,
and were utterly destroyed."
"A power of that magnitude," said Data
thoughtfully, "would be a devastating weapon against the
Borg."
"Or," said Worf darkly, "against us."
"Exactly," Korsmo affirmed, "what
Starfleet is concerned about."
"Concerned?" said Crusher, her eyebrows almost
meeting the top of her head. "This seems like a
godsend! The Borg massacred forty ships and
almost made the Enterprise number
forty-one, before we defeated them by the skin of our
teeth. And someone, somewhere, comes along with the power
to stop them, and all you're concerned about is making
sure they don't turn that power against you. Lives
were saved! Who knows how many more might be?"
"No one is disputing that, Doctor," Picard
said, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "The question that must be
asked, though, is whether the power--whoever or
whatever it was--that destroyed the Borg
our side ... or because the Borg were simply the
first available target."
"In other words, we might be next," said
Worf.
"Precisely," said Korsmo. "We need
to find out as much about this new player as we can. With the
investigation time you'll be getting, you'll
doubtlessly become the experts on them before long.
We of the Chekov, of course, have the resident
expert on the Borg on our staff. When we
rendezvous with you at the Penzatti, she will be
surveying the site to get as much of a line on the
Borg as she can."
On cue, Shelby stepped into the range of the
communications screen and nodded with familiar ease
in the direction of the Enterprise crew.
Smiles were reflected on the latter's faces,
the widest of which was Riker's.
"We heard about your new post. Good to see you
in the first officer's position you so coveted,
Commander," said Riker.
"I can't think of another officer in the fleet
who's more deserving," affirmed Picard.
Shelby inclined her head slightly in
acknowledgment and said gravely, "Neither can I."
Then she smiled in open acknowledgment of her
tongue-in-cheek self-importance. "Actually,
Starfleet tells me this is, in all
likelihood, a temporary assignment. With the
Borg threat far from over, I nev
er know where
I'll wind up next."
"Which is not to be construed," Captain Korsmo
put in, "as her doing anything other than a
totally exemplary job for us."
"We certainly would have expected nothing
less," Picard said. "Captain--what is
Starfleet's position if we are to encounter the
individuals who are responsible for the destruction
of the Borg ship?"
"The position is that you do your damnedest
to keep yourselves in one piece. That's the top
priority. Establish communications if at all
possible, but whatever you do, don't engage them in
combat in any way. Anyone who could mow down the
Borg is going to make short work of you. Do you
think," Korsmo said with exaggerated stiffness,
"you'll be able to keep all that straight, Picard?
There's a lot to remember, after all."
Picard shook his head in amusement. "Same
old Korsmo."
"Same old Picard. Pity. And there was so
much room for improvement. See you at
Penzatti. Chekov out."
After the screen blinked out, Picard slowly
surveyed the faces of his people. Despite all the
difficulties the Borg had given them,
despite the way that the power balance seemed to have
shifted yet again and put the Enterprise on
less firm footing, his crew seemed no less
determined, no less confident. He would have
expected nothing less of them, nor anything less
of himself. Hopefully, he would be able to keep up
under the weight of those expectations.
"You all know your assignments," he said
crisply. "I know that you'll carry them out with the
efficiency to which I've become accustomed. That's
all." He stood, as did the others, and walked
out of the conference room before anyone could say another
word.
Picard, in his ready room, looked up at the
sound of the chime. "Come," he said, knowing already who
it would be before the door even opened. Sure enough,
in strode Counselor Troi, who stood in
front of him expectantly, with folded arms.
"You look as if you're waiting for the show to start,
counselor," he observed, with a hint of
amusement.
She got down to it immediately. "I sensed great
ambivalence on your part concerning the Borg. More so
than towards the unknown entities who are
potentially more of a threat."
"Ambivalence? In regard to beings who carved
me up like a slice of beef?" said Picard, again
more sharply than he would have liked. He closed his