Star Trek - TNG - Vendetta

by Peter David

  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,"

  without even looking at Geordi and Data. He

  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