eliminate them somehow, then we will have created a
race specifically to die en masse. What
does that make us?"
"People trying to survive," said Geordi.
"Has the council considered the fact that if the
Federation is wiped out by the Borg, then all our
high-minded principles won't matter a bit?
I'd like to see how quickly some of those council
members would change their minds if they'd
been aboard the Enterprise, staring down the
sights of Borg weaponry."
"For what it's worth, some members of the
council agree with you, Mr. La Forge," said
Riker. "Enough to cause some fairly lively
debates, from my understanding. But until the council
gets it sorted out and comes to an agreement one
way or the other, there's a hold on developing
Nanites for protection against the Borg." He
leaned forward and said, "Look, Geordi--if the
Nanites rights argument rubs you the wrong way,
try this ..."
Riker paused to take a sip of his drink, but
Geordi was so frustrated that he didn't trust
himself to speak. Riker continued, "There's also the
concern that it's too much like germ warfare. Once
released, there's no guarantee that the Nanites
might not turn on us. We might wind up with
something just as dangerous as the Borg. Would you be
willing to take that risk?"
"Risk the Nanites versus risking the
Borg? Yeah. In a minute." Geordi shook
his head. "I still think it stinks, Commander. If the
Borg could be put out of commission by the Nanites,
then we should do it."
"Geordi," said Data thoughtfully, "there was
discussion given to the notion of replicating me. The
purpose was exploration. But what if Starfleet
advocated the idea of creating a race of beings--
beings who thought and felt, and seemed indistinguishable
from me--for the sole purpose of sending those beings off
to fight a war? Would that be acceptable to you?"
Geordi frowned. "Well ... no."
"Why not?"
Geordi called into his mind's eye the
image of Data--or how he perceived Data--
numbering in the thousands, armed with heavy-duty
weaponry, slogging through some marsh somewhere in some
godforsaken world. Or a shipload of Datas
flying in!combat, secure in the knowledge that if the ship were
destroyed and all hands died, it wouldn't ...
matter.
"Because you deserve better than that," said
Geordi softly.
"And are the Nanites any less deserving?"
asked Data.
Geordi sighed heavily. "I suppose not.
But still ... it's frustrating to have the ability
to solve your problems right there, in your hand, and
you--"
"Can't make the fist?" offered Riker.
"Yeah. You can't make the fist," said
Geordi.
Riker held his glass up and, in an overt
effort to change the topic and tone of the conversation,
announced in stentorian tones, "What see I
before me but an empty glass. That, gentlemen,
is an abysmal state of affairs that cannot be
tolerated." He turned toward the bar behind which
Guinan customarily stood. ...
Except the Ten-Forward hostess wasn't
there. Riker glanced around to see where she might
be, and then he spotted her on the far side of the
room.
She was sitting by herself.
For some reason this looked odd to Riker, and he
tried to figure out why. Then it came to him--
he'd never seen her sitting by herself. Usually she
stood behind the bar, and on those occasions when she was
sitting, it was always across a table from someone else.
She would be there listening in that way she had, taking
in what was being said and dispensing advice in that calm,
matter-of-fact manner that always made it seem
absurd that you hadn't solved your dilemma yourself.
Not this time, though. She was seated in a corner,
staring out a viewing bay at the passing stars. There
was something wrong with her. If Riker had been
possessed of psychic powers, he might have said that
something was dampening her aura.
He stood and said, "Excuse me a moment,"
toyed for a moment with the notion of mentioning his concern about
Guinan to Deanna, or perhaps to Picard, who had
such a long-standing relationship with Guinan--a
relationship murky in its origins.
No. He was here. She was here. And a friendly
chat was no more than a friendly chat. Perhaps even
Guinan had the right to be just a little down in the mouth
for once. But she'd been there for him enough times, and
he felt it incumbent upon him to return the
favor.
He walked across Ten-Forward and stood next
to Guinan. She didn't appear to notice him
at all. That immediately turned the alarm level up
a notch for Riker. Guinan noticed everything.
"Guinan?" he said.
She glanced up at him wanly. "Hello,
Commander."
"Do you mind if I--" He gestured to the
empty seat opposite her. She
inclined her head slightly and he sat. "Is there
a problem?" he asked.
She smiled, but the smile didn't touch her
eyes. "Isn't that usually my line?" she
asked.
"Times change," said Riker. "People change."
"Some do," Guinan replied, and then paused.
"Others stay the same." She stood and it was with
some visible effort, leaning on the table for
support.
Her clearly enervated condition now brought
Riker to his feet, and he promptly dispensed
with the pleasant demeanor of concerned friend. That he
most certainly was, but now, first and foremost, he
was an officer of the Enterprise, and he knew an
ill crewman when he saw one. "Guinan, what
is going on with you? You look weak as a kitten."
"I haven't been ... resting well," she
said. "That's all. Nothing to concern yourself about.
I've had a lot on my mind."
"I think you should consider sharing it with someone. If
not me, then Captain Picard, or Counselor
Troi."
"It's ..." She took a deep breath, as
if incapable of finishing the sentence with the air she had
in her lungs. "It's nothing that can't be ..."
Her eyes seemed to glaze over, her voice
trailing off in mid-sentence. "Guinan!" Riker
said sharply.
She turned towards him, acting as if his
voice had come from a long distance, and then she
pitched forward into his arms. Her arm swung
loosely down and knocked a stray glass off a
table.
Immediately everyone in Ten-Forward was on their
feet. Guinan had been the rock of the
Ten-Forward lounge. To see this happen to her was
absolutely staggering.
Riker caught her with one arm
and with his free hand
tapped his communicator. "Riker to sickbay!"
he said rapidly and, without waiting for the
acknowledgment, said, "Guinan's passed out. I'm
bringing her down. Have a team ready."
"Guinan?" came the incredulous voice of
Bev Crusher. The sense that she had of Guinan
was the same as everyone else's, namely that she was
somehow immune from whatever frailties might
plague humans. "Guinan passed out?"
Clearly, she wasn't sure she'd heard
correctly.
"We're on our way. Riker out."
Riker swept her up in both arms and was
amazed at the total lack of weight. It was like
lifting paper or the wind. Guinan was muttering
under her breath now, as if her mind were far away.
A couple of syllables, over and over, not making
any sense. ...
He didn't have time to stand around and try
to decipher it. Instead, he turned and ran with her
to the door, Geordi and Data right behind him.
Several concerned crewmen started to follow, but
Geordi stopped them with a sharp, "We don't
need a mob! Stay put."
The crewmen did as they had been ordered, and as
the doors hissed shut, they started talking
excitedly amongst themselves. They were all
tremendously concerned, because everyone was extremely
fond of Guinan, and no ne of them wanted to think that
she had come down with anything serious. But so little was
really known about her that no one could really be certain
just how serious "serious" was.
The Ferengi ship approached the three
massive objects that lay before them with extreme
caution. They waited for some acknowledgment--verbal
communication, an assault--something. But there was
nothing. It was as if the Borg didn't know they were
there, or simply didn't care.
Turane studied the surface of the ships
carefully. They were solid, unknowable, and yet they
seemed to pulse with a life all their own. "Keep
us steady, helm," he said softly.
The helmsman muttered a brief
acknowledgment, but he was also mentally cataloguing the
wives (most of them his) he would never see again,
the various properties and holdings that he would never
enjoy, and the various rivals that he would never have the
opportunity to kill.
"There seems to be no way in," said
Martok, studying the schematics that the sensors were
feeding him.
Daimon Turane stroked his chin thoughtfully and
ran a finger absently across his sharp teeth.
"Something that huge? And it has no shuttle
bay?" he said thoughtfully. "No loading dock?
Nothing?"
"Nothing, sir."
Turane nodded briefly and then said,
"Hailing frequencies."
"Hailing frequencies open, sir."
Turane raised his voice slightly as he
announced, "This is Daimon Turane of the
Ferengi. Am I correct in assuming that you are
the entities known as," and he paused thoughtfully,
as if straining to remember their name. Always better,
when commencing business dealings, to let the opposition
know that they were barely worth your time. "Known as the
Borg?" he finished after a suitable amount of
hesitation. He was rather pleased with himself. He had
spoken with just the right amount of nonchalance and
casual boredom.
There was no reply.
He frowned and a Ferengi frowning was no
prettier than a Ferengi smiling. "Are you the
Borg?" he demanded again.
The three massive ships remained in stony
silence, uncommunicative, unknowable. For all
that they seemed interested in the Ferengi craft, the
Borg might as well have been great chunks of
floating, lifeless rock.
Turane sensed the cold disdain that was radiating
from his crew. "Martok," he said with barely
concealed anger, "ready a landing party of myself,
medical officer Darr, and two security men."
"Are you sure that's wise, Daimon?" asked
Martok.
Turane spun and faced him, his anger at the
eerily silent Borg, at his brother, at his
entire situation in this godforsaken nowhere area of
space--all of that spilling out at his first officer.
"I don't give a damn whether it's wise
or not! It's what I'm going to do! Do you have a
problem with that?"
In contrast to the fury of his commander, Martok was
surprisingly quiet. "No, Daimon."
"Good." His anger still barely in check, he
said, "The cube in the middle. Scan it. Find
the source of peak energy emissions and prepare
to beam us over."
"Yes, Daimon."
Daimon Turane started for the door and paused
only to say, with triumph lacing his voice, "This
is the dawning of a new age for the Ferengi!"
"As you say, Daimon," said Martok. He
sat quietly thoughtfully, as Daimon Turane
walked off the bridge, shoulders squared,
confident in his ability to pull off one of the greatest
deals of their time.
The moment he was gone, Martok looked around
at the rest of the crew. There was unspoken
sentiment in their eyes. Indeed, the sentiment did
not have to be spoken. They all knew what was what,
and they all knew how long they would be stuck out there
if Daimon Turane were in charge.
"He's insane," said the helmsman finally.
"The reports we've heard of the Borg ...
it's like trying to reason with a black hole. He's
risking all of us. We should be getting out of here.
This is not profit. This is suicide."
Martok nodded slowly. "Trust me, my
friends," he said with a hiss, "I am watching out for
all of our safety. And if I see that safety
jeopardized ... I will take appropriate
steps. I will take them ... very, very soon."
Guinan had been whisked into a back examination
room the moment that she'd been brought down
to sickbay. Riker, Data, and Geordi started
to follow automatically out of concern, but Crusher
put up a firm hand. "She's my patient,"
she said in no uncertain terms. "I don't need
an audience."
"Will she be all right?" asked Geordi.
"I'm a doctor," said Crusher primly,
"not a psychic. Which reminds me," and she tapped
her communicator. "Crusher to Troi. I've
got Guinan down here in sickbay and I'd like you
on hand."
"On my way," came Deanna Troi's
concerned response.
"Why Deanna?" asked Riker in
surprise.
Crusher raised an eyebrow.
"Doctorstpatient confidentiality, Commander.
Or to put it in a slightly more earthy context
None of your damned business." With that she turned
and entered the examination room, the door sliding
shut behind her.
Seconds later the sickbay doors opened,
admitting D
eanna Troi and, right behind her,
Jean-Luc Picard. Deanna glanced around, and
before Riker could get a word out, she headed straight
for the side examination room, as if guided by a
beacon. Without a word, she entered and then was cut
off from view as the doors hissed shut once more.
"What happened, Number One?" said Picard
with urgency. "Did she give any warning--?"
"Nothing," Riker told him. "She seemed very
distracted, and then she was in the middle of a sentence
and just keeled over. I picked her up and
brought her straight down here."
Picard looked understandably concerned. He and
Guinan had some sort of history together. Guinan
had hinted at it but not gone into it, and Picard had
remained resolutely tight-lipped, as he did
about almost everything. The depth of that history, and of his
feelings for her, was as much a mystery as was Guinan
herself.
"Did she say anything?" asked Picard.
"Anything at all?"
Riker ran through his mind the mutterings that
Guinan had uttered while he had cradled her in
his muscular arms. "It was something like ...
"vendor." Over and over again."
"Vendor?" and Picard frowned. He paced
briskly, his hands behind his back. "Vendor? Are
you sure?"
"As I said, Captain, it was difficult
to make out."
"But why would she be talking about a salesman of
some sort?" Picard shook his head. "It makes
no sense."
"It obviously made sense to Guinan. She
was very insistent about it."
"Then we'll simply have to wait here until
she's recovered enough to tell us what she meant,"
said Picard. He glanced around at his senior
officers. "I see no need for all four of us
to be waiting here."
Data inquired politely, "Will you be leaving,
sir?"
Picard gave him an icy look, and Riker
stepped in quickly. "I think we should be minding the
bridge, Mr. Data. Come along."
Obediently, if uncomprehendingly, Data
and Geordi followed Riker out, leaving Picard
alone in the sickbay. In the corridor
Geordi said, "Whatever there is between the captain
and Guinan, he obviously wants to keep it
private."
"And we'll respect that, Mr. La Forge."
"No question."
"If the captain has anything to tell us, he
will."
"No question." And then, after a moment of thought,
Geordi added, "Of course, until such time that
the captain chooses to tell us, we're all going