by Peter David
Picard dropped to one knee as the deadly metal arm passed just over his head. At the same time, he yanked from hiding within his environmental jacket a shard of crystal, dark with blood and recently pulled from his own thigh. Vastator was carried forward by the weight of the arm and he overshot his mark. For a split second he was off-balance and vulnerable, and Picard took that moment. The captain swung his arm upward and drove the point of the crystal shard deep into Vastator’s chest.
No blood came out. He might just as likely have hit some sort of circuitry. It didn’t matter. It had the same effect. Vastator stumbled back, making strange, choking sounds, and he tried to bring his mechanical arm up to grab Picard once more. He didn’t even come close. With a groan like a falling tree, Vastator tumbled forward and fell heavily to the floor.
Picard sagged, his energy depleted, and started to pull himself away from the collapsed form of the Borg. And then, to his horror, Vastator started to raise himself, as if doing a push-up. Then he flipped over onto his back, staring up at the ceiling, and his mouth moved, trying to form words. He gasped out in a low, hoarse voice, “Pi—card.”
The captain did not answer at first, and then, trying to overcome the pain, he said, “Yes.”
Vastator’s mouth moved once more and no words emerged. But Picard believed—although he would never be positive—that the words formed on the lips of the Ferengi Borg were Thank you. Then the head of Vastator slumped to one side and didn’t move.
Picard turned and saw, what seemed a mile away, the encasement of Delcara. Biting his bottom lip so hard that he was certain he would chew right through it, Picard hauled himself to his feet, clutching his right thigh with both hands as if he were trying to hold the leg on. He staggered down the aisle, feeling like some sort of crazy groom at a surreal wedding. His bride waited for him, near death, ’Til death did them part.
The ground began to shake around him once more, and the last few steps were desperately hurried. He practically threw himself the rest of the way and landed against the crystal column. It was thicker than any of the slabs, which was why it had survived as much of the phaser pounding as it did. Not enough, though. Not nearly enough.
She was looking at him.
Not her holographic image—she herself. Her luminous eyes were open, staring down at him from a face that was a charred memory of what it had been. There was not an inch of her that hadn’t been damaged. Her skin was broiled black, covered with cracks and rips, lifeblood oozing out. Once the crystal had been a symbol of purity, but now it was smoked and becoming smeared with the thick coagulation of vital fluids. Her long, lovely hair had been burned away, as had her eyebrows. Here and there her flesh and muscle had been so violently scorched that the bone beneath was visible, and that, too, was blackened and splintered. The lips that had once brushed against his forehead had been burned away, cracked and mutilated teeth visible in blackened gums.
She was a ghastly, flame-withered shell of her beautiful self. A single tear moved down her cheek, a crystalline tear, leaving a trail of glimmering hard wetness down her face.
Her ruined jaw moved, but the voice sounded in his head.
Oh my sweet Picard, she said. Look what they’ve done to me.
“The Enterprise,” said Picard urgently. His hands pressed against the crystal. There were cracks through it, but he still couldn’t pry it away. He wanted to touch her. He wanted to cradle her burned and broken body in his arms and brush away her tears. “We can get you back to the Enterprise. We can save you there. We have to.”
And if they can’t, dear Picard? If they can’t? Then I die, and none of it matters.
“They can! But we have to get back to them! My ship needs me! With you or without you, I—”
Your ship is safe, my love. In fact, it has helped me. It has given us the strength we need to do what must be done.
“What are you talking about—?”
And the planet-killer began to move.
Chapter Twenty-three
BOYAJIAN, THE SECURITY GUARD on the Enterprise who was standing outside the brig of Dantar of Penzatti, looked surprised when he saw Lieutenant Worf striding towards him, dragging the woman who had once been a part of the Borg. She was pulling at his grip, but only half-heartedly. With no patience at all, the Klingon stopped at the brig directly across the corridor and shoved her in. Then he activated the force field and turned to the guard. “Make sure she doesn’t go anywhere.”
“Yes sir,” said Boyajian, not fully understanding what had happened. But he knew that look on the Klingon’s face well enough to know that further questions would not be particularly welcome, much less answered. So he kept his peace as Worf turned and hurried back down the hallway.
The woman stood there for a moment, looking confused, and then she went to the bunk at the opposite side of the brig and lay down, her back to the corridor.
But Dantar had seen her brought in, and he began to taunt her loudly. “Hey, Borg!” he shouted. “Remember me? The one whose family you destroyed!”
“Hey! Knock it off,” snapped Boyajian.
Dantar ignored him. “Oh, but you probably wouldn’t. I’m just one of many, and it’s all the same to you, isn’t it. Come in, massacre a few million living, breathing, loving beings, and then move on. All in a day’s work for you.”
Across the way, he could see her shoulders starting to shake, and the sounds of choked sobs. “Oh, am I upsetting you now?”
“Look, I’m warning you,” Boyajian said, even angrier.
“Warn her!” shouted Dantar. “Warn her that I’ll never forget. Nor will the rest of my people! Warn her that if she thinks she’s ever going to go back to some sort of normal life, she can forget it. She has the blood of millions on her hands. Because she was one of them. One of the damned Borg. And no matter what she does, and no matter what she pretends she is doing, she’ll never be able to erase that. It’s too much. It cuts through everything! Do you hear me, Borg? Do you? Never forget! Never forget what you did! There’s your warning! There’s your life! Borg! Monster! Monster beyond imagination, doomed and damned forever and ever—”
The racking sobs grew louder and louder, and Boyajian pulled out his phaser and aimed it at Dantar. “I have never fired on an unarmed prisoner,” he said angrily, “but so help me, I will this time. I’ll put you to sleep until the beginning of the next century if you don’t shut up!”
Dantar stared at him sullenly for a moment, as if trying to decide whether the guard was bluffing or not. Obviously he decided on the latter, for he retreated to the other side of the brig, contenting himself with the sobbing from across the corridor as the beginning of what he hoped would be a long and terrible penance that the bitch woman would suffer for what she had done. However long it was, it would not be enough.
He was disappointed when the sniffling eventually trailed off, and decided that soon he would have to provoke her once more. He hoped they didn’t change her location anytime soon.
Worf made it back to the bridge in record time, but what he discovered there wasn’t especially pleasing. The Borg ship had reappeared on the screen, and Geordi was just finishing saying something about making them mad. The Klingon immediately went to the tactical station, replacing the man who had substituted for him.
Chafin at conn had managed to lift the insensate Data off himself. Having no idea what to do with him, he propped the android back up in his place at ops. It was truly insane. If it weren’t for the sizeable crease in the side of Data’s head, you wouldn’t know there was anything wrong with him as he sat at his post.
“Commander,” said Worf, “energy readings of the remaining Borg vessel are at only twenty-seven percent of norm.”
“It took a hell of a lot out of them,” Geordi said. At that moment the planet-killer swung towards the massive Borg craft, its great maw coming toward it. A beam of glorious blue light emerged from its maw and seized the Borg.
“It’s a tractor beam!” said Geordi. “Delcara is tryi
ng to pull the Borg ship in!”
“Borg vessel is now at thirty-three percent of norm and climbing,” reported Worf. “It is resisting the pull of the tractor beam.”
“If it won’t be pulled, maybe it’ll be pushed,” said Riker. “Mr. La Forge . . . status on deflectors.”
“Fully charged and ready.”
Riker’s face was set. “Set tractor beams for repulse, rather than attract, and aim them straight at the Borg at full power.”
“I can only keep that up for five-point-three minutes before risking power burnout,” Geordi told him. “Also, with the tonnage of the Borg ship, we’ll practically have to be touching them to have any effect.”
“Activate tractor beams while bringing us gradually to within five thousand kilometers. Hopefully, with the combination of the planet-killer’s and our tractor beams we’ll have enough power. Engage.”
“Here’s hoping,” murmured Geordi, and he carried out the command.
The Enterprise shuddered slightly as they approached the Borg ship, doing everything they could to push the ship towards the fate that was awaiting it.
“Why doesn’t the planet-eater fire on it?” demanded Worf.
“The tractor beam probably takes up less energy than that anti-proton blaster,” speculated Geordi. “Must be trying to conserve power.”
The Borg struggled against the pull of the tractor beam, like a spider caught in a web.
“Commander, Borg is locking offensive weaponry on us!” Worf announced suddenly.
“Deflectors on full! Maintain tractor beam!” ordered Riker quickly.
Within an instant the shields were cloaking the Enterprise once more, just in time, as the Borg blast ricocheted off. The tractor continued to push.
And a second later the great starship was joined by another. The Repulse pulled alongside, and although she had depleted mightily her engine stores with the hammering she’d given the Borg before, she still had more than enough to provide additional tractor beam push.
Slowly, inexorably, the Borg ship fell towards the maw of the planet-killer. The flames from the massive doomsday weapon’s conversion engines seemed to lick out hungrily towards the cube, as if it were a child eagerly balancing a tasty sugar cube on its tongue.
And at that moment the Borg ship’s tractor beam lashed out.
“Sir!” called out Worf. “They’ve snagged the Repulse! They’re dragging her in with them!”
“Photon torpedoes and phasers! Fire!”
The weaponry smashed down against the exterior of the Borg ship, blowing pieces into rubble, and still the cube stubbornly hung on to the starship. The Repulse struggled in its grasp, trying to pull away, its entire exterior trembling with the exertion.
“Reverse tractors!” said Riker. “Grab the Repulse! Pull her out of there!”
Instantly Geordi obeyed the command, and a moment later he had the Repulse firmly in the grasp of the Enterprise tractors.
Freed from the pounding of the starship tractor beams, the Borg ship started to surge forward . . .
But it was too late. It was too far into the maw of the doomsday machine, and the planet-killer’s tractor beam dragged it all the way inside. The flames of the engine engulfed it, blasted it apart, and a massive explosion ripped from the heart of the machine, outward. The Repulse, with the aid of her impulse engines, the Enterprise tractor beam, and a healthy dollop of just damned good luck, rode the crest of the blast and hurtled out into space with only some bumps and bruises to show for the experience.
For a brief moment Geordi La Forge thought that was it for the planet-killer. He had studied up on the history of the previous one, once they’d realized what they were dealing with, and discovered that the exploding engines of a starship were enough to put it out of commission.
But his readings quickly told him a different story. This monster was considerably larger and more powerful, and it hungrily digested the raw power that the exploding Borg ship provided it. It feasted, thriving on it. The giant wounds on the surface seemed to be disappearing, and Geordi realized what was happening. The thing was repairing itself.
But it was slow, sluggish, and Geordi said as much to Riker. “Its power levels are rising, but it’s not maneuvering the way it did before.”
“Then what—?”
Riker didn’t get to finish the sentence, because suddenly the planet-killer leaped forward.
“Planet-killer resuming heading, at warp seven!”
“Follow it, warp seven! Engage!”
The Enterprise took off after it, and the Repulse, warp engines exhausted after the assault on the Borg, was unable to follow. So instead they set about rescuing the remaining crew members of the unfortunate Chekov.
As the Enterprise hurtled along behind the planet-killer, Riker snapped, “Try and raise the captain.”
“Nothing, sir,” said Worf.
“We’re still receiving interference with our transporter locks?”
“Yes sir. The vessel is still generating a scrambling field that makes locking on and transporting impossible.”
“Damn,” murmured Riker. “Bridge to transporter room.”
“Transporter room,” came O’Brien’s voice.
“O’Brien, monitor that beast we’re pursuing. If at any point the interference clears and you can lock onto the captain, beam him back immediately.”
“But sir!” said O’Brien with alarm. “We can’t beam him back while in warp unless we’re matching the speed of the other vessel exactly. Otherwise his molecules’ll wind up smeared all over the transporter deck!”
“I know that,” said Riker coldly. “Leave that to us. Bridge out. Geordi, take the conn.”
Geordi was momentarily surprised. He hadn’t been at conn for quite some time, but he immediately understood what Riker wanted—the most experienced available hand in command of the ship’s speed. Data, with his computer mind, would have been perfect. Unfortunately, Data wasn’t even in shape to put his boots on at the moment. Geordi immediately took the position as Chafin slid aside, deferring to the chief engineer.
“Planet-killer moving at warp eight.”
“Match it.”
“Warp nine.”
“Keep up with her, Mr. La Forge, or we’ll lose him,” said Riker.
“Warp nine, sir. With everything we’ve been through, we can maintain this speed for twenty minutes.”
“If I’m not mistaken, Mr. La Forge, that will shortly be moot,” said Riker grimly. And then, under his breath he murmured, “Come on, Captain. Get through to us.”
Picard gripped the crystal encasement that was going to serve as Delcara’s coffin. He looked up at her and could practically sense her life ebbing from her.
He knew what was happening, instinctively, as clearly as if he himself had decided on the course of action. She sensed that she was dying, even if she wasn’t admitting it to herself. And driven by desperation, she was sending her vessel hurtling through space at whatever speed she could muster, trying to accomplish her insane dream.
He pounded in frustration on the crystal. “Delcara, stop! Stop!”
Her voice was barely a whisper in his head. No, dear Jean-Luc. It’s too late for that. I’m going to make it.
“You won’t!”
I will. I must. For them. For me.
“Delcara, you are dying. If you don’t let me get you to the Enterprise, we cannot save you!”
Save me for what? Her voice was like a dying butterfly in his mind. A lifetime of regret? A lifetime of frustration? A lifetime of a mission unfulfilled?
“Enough of your mission!” shouted Picard. “Enough of your hatred and vendetta. Enough! You’ve let it consume you for far too long! Put an end to it!”
That, dear Picard, is what I’m trying to do. And you will be with me.
“Delcara—”
I will avenge the races. The Many. The Many I’ve lost. The Many who cry out. Every shattered dream, every word spoken in hatred, every life lost to sensele
ss violence and cruelty, mine, all mine. So much to do. So much to do. Her voice sounded singsong within his head, as if she were a child speaking. I never realized. I’ve been lazy. So much to do, and who knows what could happen. The Borg first. The Borg now. I do not feel like waiting anymore.
“You don’t feel like waiting because you’re dying! Damn you! Come out! Come to me! You speak of love! Now act from love! Now! Now!”
And those eyes looked at him from deep within the ruined face.
Later. I promise. You and I, together, will do it all later.
“Warp . . . nine-point-two . . . nine-point-four . . .” Geordi was calling it off like a death knell. “I can’t believe this.”
The starfield hurtled past like multicolored strings. God forbid they hit a planet or even an asteroid at this speed. Ships could search for a thousand years and still not find all the pieces of the Enterprise.
“Warp nine-point-six!” called out Geordi. “Maximum rated speed! Danger of coolant overheating!”
The planet-killer showed no signs of slowing.
“She’s at nine-point-seven! Nine-point-eight!”
“Catch up, Mr. La Forge,” said Riker, with a voice so hard he could have driven nails with it.
The Enterprise roared forward, stress on every part of her hull.
No one spoke. They all knew what was happening and what was at stake. And their margin for error had been shredded to ten percent.
In the transporter room, O’Brien’s fingers hovered over the controls, his eyes scanning for some sign, any sign, of life readings from the planet-killer. The scrambling was still in effect, his attempts to lock in continually thwarted. The nightmarish image of Captain Picard materializing in the platform in some hideously demolecularized state would not erase from his mind. He’d seen it happen once, and even now he woke up with cold shakes on occasion at night.
“Come on, Captain,” he said. “A whisper. Something.”
In a way that Picard could not explain, he sensed how fast they were going, and how much faster still they were going to go.
