VENDETTA: THE GIANT NOVEL

by Peter David

  “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 visited 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 flickering corridors and lights of the Borg 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 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-kill
er’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.”

  The Enterprise let fly with the antimatter spread, and it danced across the shielding of the Borg ship, adding to the beam that was being fired from the planet-killer. The Borg’s shields flared up under the increased barrage and they returned fire on the Enterprise. But the starship had already made her move, darting behind the Borg ship, and this time unleashed a full phaser barrage. The phaser beams cascaded off the Borg shields that had been hastily erected to intercept the attack, but . . .

  “Their shield effectiveness is at forty-two percent and dropping rapidly,” Data reported. “The attack by the planet-killer is having substantial effect on the Borg’s ability to maintain a sufficient level of defensive power.” Suddenly Data said, “Sir, the Borg are falling back.”

  “They’re retreating?” Picard was astonished, and it was amazement that was shared by everyone on the bridge. The Borg either destroyed things or ignored things. They did not run.

  But there it was. The Borg ship was dropping back at full impulse, still firing upon the planet-killer, but trying to distance itself.

  Delcara bore down on them, not letting up in her assault. The Borg redoubled their efforts and this time the planet-killer visibly shuddered under their attack. A chunk of the neutronium hull, a substance that was so dense that a phaser against it had the same effect as a lit match, was actually blasted away. It hurtled off into space, but the Borg ship did not have the extra energy available to grab it with a tractor beam.

  The Many screamed within Delcara’s head. They started to lose their focus.

  “No!” Delcara warned them. “This is the way. This is the will. This is what must and will be done. Their shields are nothing against us, my children. We will destroy them. Now. Now!”

  “Now!” said Picard. “Phaser and antimatter barrage, fire!”

  The Enterprise cut loose on the Borg from behind just as the planet-killer fired on the other side. The Borg shields sagged under the increased assault, and they fired upon the Enterprise in the hopes of dispatching the flea so that they could concentrate on the wasp.

  But the flea refused to be scratched. The starship’s shields held, since the Borg were not at full strength. And then the Borg’s shields were shields blown into oblivion by the doomsday device’s beam, which then smashed straight into the core of the vessel.

  The Enterprise came within a hair’s breadth of being wiped out, for almost as fast as Delcara’s beam went in through one side of the Borg ship, it came out the other, transfixing the cube vessel. And the Enterprise was on the other side, directly opposite Delcara. It was only a blindingly fast evasive maneuver executed by Data that prevented the starship from being reduced to scrap.

  The Enterprise dropped back, and the crew watched in shock as cracks ribboned across the surface of the Borg ship. The cube shook, as if in anger or repressed frustration, and an additional surge of power leaped from Delcara’s ship.

  The Borg blew apart, a dazzling burst of light and color. Fragments of the mighty ship hurled every which way, bouncing harmlessly off the Enterprise shields or hurtling away into space.

  The bridge crew looked in astonishment at the sight before them. It had happened so quickly, so easily. Forty ships of the Federation and assorted planetary defenses all had proven helpless against a Borg ship. Yet now the Borg had been blown from space in a few scant seconds of battle.

  A massive cloud of dust and debris hung before them, and then something emerged from the cloud. It was the planet-killer, piloted by Delcara, sailing through it serenely, like a ghost. Random pieces of the Borg ship ricocheted off the enormous vessel, which didn’t even appear to notice.

  Delcara sailed past the Enterprise with no attempt at communication, and simply resumed her course—a course that would take her, eventually and inevitably, into the heart of Borg space.

  “Remarkable,” said Picard.

  Worf was studying the sensors and said, “There is an eight-percent drop in the energy readings of the planet-killer. Also, there is some external damage.”

  “Damage to a neutronium hull,” Riker said, pulling at his beard. “That either says a hell of a lot for the Borg to be able to damage her—”

  “Or a good deal for her ability to withstand the sort of punishment required to damage a neutronium hull,” replied Picard. He hoped that he was able to keep the amazement from his voice. The last thing he wanted his crew to think was that he was daunted, even intimidated, by the level of power that they had witnessed.

  “The planet-killer has resumed course and heading, and is proceeding at warp six.”

  Picard cast a glance at Riker. “The previous planet-killer appeared to have a maximum of warp four.” Riker simply nodded. Picard turned back to Data and said, “Follow her, Mr. Data.”

  “Overtake or intercept, sir?”

  “Just follow,” Picard said. “But put enough distance between us so that we can avoid the subspace interference and get a message out to Starfleet.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Picard stared pensively at the screen, his mind racing, trying to determine the best course of action. “Mr. Data,” he said after a moment, “extrapolating from current course, what will be the next star system the planet-killer encounters? Still the Tholians?”

  Data paused only a moment to check. “Yes sir. It will enter Tholian space in less than three days.”

  “Send a message,” said Picard. “Alert the Tholians that they’re about to have an extremely uninvited visitor.”

  “Captain, receiving an incoming message.”

  “Delcara?”

  “No, sir,” said Worf, looking up. “It’s the Chekov. Captain Korsmo.”

  “On screen.”

  A moment later Morgan Korsmo appeared on the viewscreen. “Picard,” he said with no preamble, “there’s a Borg ship heading your way.”

  “There was,” said Picard. “It was rather handily disposed of by the planet-killer.”

  His eyes widened. “You found it! Word was received from the Repulse that it was heading into this sector. Have you established contact with it?”

  “Yes, we have. It is piloted by a woman named Delcara who has taken it upon herself to rid the galaxy of the Borg.”

  “I applaud her goals, if not her methods,” Korsmo said drily. “Have you told her the Federation security concerns regarding the power of the weaponry at her disposal?”

  “She is concerned only about her objectives,” Picard replied. “I don’t think she gives a damn about whether we approve of her cavorting about the galaxy or not. She’s going to do what she wants, where she wants, and she has the power to back up that philosophy.”

  Korsmo’s face darkened. “That is unacceptable. We have to do something.”

  “I tend to agree,” said Picard. “Now we have to determine what that might be.”

  “We have to show her who’s boss!” declared Korsmo.

  Picard and Riker looked at each other, and then Picard looked back at Korsmo. “The woman has destroyed two Borg vessels, Captain Korsmo, one of them with only a slight bit of help from us. She’s piloting a semi-sentient ship that could swallow the entire currently active fleet, and have room left over for dessert. She has a devastating force beam, a hull our phasers couldn’t possibly penetrate, and a thirst for vengeance that has crossed light-years and centuries. I think she knows who’s boss, Korsmo.”

  Korsmo looked stunned. “Picard, you actually sound intimidated.”

  “Knowing your opponent’s strengths and your own shortcomings isn’t being intimidated, Captain. It’s called knowing where you stand.”

  “Where I assume you stand, Picard,” said Korsmo stif
fly, “is solidly behind the wishes of starfleet. Now obviously, Picard, I can’t issue orders to you. But at present course and speed, we will be able to rendezvous in twenty-eight hours. I want to set up a summit meeting with this planet-killer, and I’ll do it with or without your help. And if they refuse to communicate, I’m going to attack.”

  “That,” said Picard, “would be inadvisable.”

  “It would be suicide,” put in Riker.

  “You seem to have forgotten that it is the decision of the Federation and Starfleet that the planet-killer cannot be permitted to simply gallivant around the galaxy doing whatever the hell it wishes,” Korsmo said tightly. “Not when innocents will be killed. Whether you support that decision or not is completely immaterial. It must be reasoned with or stopped or destroyed. To put it succinctly, we are to stop that thing any way we can. There are no other options. And to be blunt, Picard . . . I thought you had more guts than to let yourself get spooked by some woman with a big ship. Korsmo out.”

  His image vanished from the screen and was replaced by the distant image of the planet-killer, sailing straight towards the space of the notoriously territorial Tholians.

  “Perfect,” said Picard. “Just . . . perfect.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  “PERMISSION TO SPEAK FREELY, SIR?”

  Korsmo looked up at Shelby with only vague interest. He put aside the material he was reading, sat up straighter behind his desk (something he always felt compelled to do in Shelby’s presence, as if she reminded him of some stern schoolteacher) and said, “Granted.”

  “Some hours ago you were in communication with the Enterprise, “Shelby said stiffly. She stood with her feet slightly apart, her hands behind her back. “It seemed to me that you were unnecessarily short-tempered with Captain Picard.”

  “Are we going to go through this again, Commander?” demanded Korsmo. There was something in his voice that indicated that, even though permission to speak freely had been granted, he was not going to tolerate hearing anything he didn’t like. “I respect Jean-Luc Picard. I have told you as much. What do you want me to do, write it in blood?”