by Peter David
dreaded and final visitor.
Riker was a long-time, seasoned professional.
He remembered the first time he had beamed down
into the middle of a disaster area. Orion raiders
had attacked a Federation outpost. He was fresh
out of the Academy, confident in his training and
certain that he could handle whatever he was confronted
with. When he had materialized on the surface
of the outpost, he came to the immediate realization that he
was standing in something warm, with an overwhelming smell.
He looked down and saw his left boot astride
some sort of pink tubing. Suddenly, he realized
that it was, in fact, the lower intestines of a
disembowled victim of the raiders, the rest of the
victim lying nearby with a bleak expression on his
dead face.
It was Riker's first direct experience with the
brutality that sentient beings could inflict on each
other. It was also his first direct experience with
completely losing control, as he doubled over and
vomited up his lunch in front of fellow
crewmembers. He still remembered being bent over,
his back trembling, staring in humiliation at the
mute testament to his inexperience. And then he
felt the reassuring and yet firm pat on the
shoulders of his commanding officer. "We've all been
there," said his CO, and Riker felt a little
better, but not much.
Since then Riker had developed a veneer of
detachment. That part of him that was horrified by what
he witnessed was buried far, far within him, where it
could not possibly interfere with his ability
to function as a Starfleet officer. In a way the
thought that he could just take his emotions and put them
on hold, and not be affected by what he saw, was a
frightening one. How easy was it to take that one step
further and detach oneself from the concerns of humanity
altogether? were the Borg an inhuman race apart, or
were they the logical and inevitable destiny of
humanity?
Riker promptly decided that he would make
himself nuts if he allowed his thoughts to continue in that
direction. "Spread out," he said. "Lend aid
where you can. All medical personnel are to stay in
constant touch with Doctor Crusher and, Doctor,
I want updates from you every half hour." She
nodded in quick agreement and moved off. Geordi,
Riker, and Data headed off in another
direction, accompanied by Selar.
As they moved through the devastation, they were
surrounded by cries of "Help me," and moans,
and words of encouragement and support from the
Curie teams. Every so often Riker spotted one
of the Enterprise personnel as well. He
nodded in approval. Crusher had displayed her
customary efficiency in deploying her people.
Geordi was scanning the ground, the buildings,
the very air around him with his VISOR. Data was
studying his tricorder readings and then paused a
moment over one patch of ground. "A Borg
soldier died here," he announced.
"Died, or whatever the hell it is they do,"
said Riker. He had witnessed the phenomenon himself
enough times A downed Borg soldier lies
insensate, and then another Borg comes along,
removes some pieces of his circuitry, and the
fallen Borg self-destructs into ash.
Geordi, sensing trace readings through his
VISOR, commented, "And over there too," and he
pointed. "These people didn't go down without a
struggle."
"I'm detecting life readings from that
direction," said Selar, studying her medical
tricorder. The Vulcan medical officer
pointed just off to the west. "One individual.
Vital signs are low, and fluctuating."
The away team moved off in the direction that she
had indicated. Within moments they were walking down a
street that was filled with the same sorts of crumbled
buildings and debris as all the others they had
passed.
Geordi's VISOR and Selar's tricorder
detected him at roughly the same time, and together
they pointed and said, "There."
There was a mound of dirt that had been obscuring
the body and when they got there they found out why. It
seemed as if someone had been in the process of
burying this particular member of the Penzatti. A
very shallow grave, not more than a few inches
deep, and a couple feet around, had been dug.
The Penzatti was a male and was lying on his
stomach, halfway in, face to the side.
Jammed into the back of his belt were two
Penzatti blasters. The Penzatti's antenna
was twitching ever so slightly as Selar ran her
tricorder over him.
"Alive. Just barely." She pulled a hypo
from her medkit and injected it into his upper arm.
"That should stabilize him. He has a broken
leg, multiple contusions and
abrasions."
Riker started to reach for him to turn him over, and
Selar said sharply, "Moving him in any way would
be most unadvisable, Commander."
Immediately the first officer withdrew, chagrined that he
had forgotten that most elementary of first aid
procedures. At that moment, however, the
Penzatti moaned softly and half lifted his
head himself.
The first person he saw was Data.
He gasped and tried to reach around for his
blasters, but he had no strength. When he
realized this, when he realized he had no
defense, his head dropped back down into the dirt
and he moaned softly.
"I am not here to harm you, sir," said Data
calmly. "I am with Starfleet."
"You're safe now," affirmed Riker.
The Penzatti did not lift his head. Instead,
he said softly, "Safe," and then he started
to laugh. It was a low and ugly sound, a sound of
bitterness and derision that grew louder and louder,
practically a demented cackle.
"Sir," began Riker, "we're from the
Enterprise ..."
He wasn't heard. The Penzatti was laughing
even more loudly, gasping out, "Safe! Safe!"
as if it were the funniest thing he'd ever heard. And
then his laughter began to subside, replaced
by choking sobs, and he skidded from giddiness to misery
and hopelessness, all within a few seconds.
Selar was monitoring his vitals, waiting for
them to stabilize, and ministering to his leg as she
did so. She was a cautious medical
practitioner, and she disliked having to move a
patient whose lifesigns were fluctuating, if she
didn't have to. The transporter had an effect
on the bodily system, that much was certain. For a
healthy individual, that effect was negligible.
But for someone in bad shape, it could be a shock that
could send a patient into critical condition. She
was certain that with a couple of minute's work, she could
&n
bsp; stabilize the patient to ensure a safe trip.
"What's your name?" asked Riker.
"I am ..." He seemed to pause to try and
remember. "I am Dantar. I was Dantar the
Eighth. Now I am Dantar the Last. All
I am and will ever be, in that one, useless name."
"It looked like someone tried to bury you,"
Geordi said.
"Dantar the most useless," said Dantar. His
voice was eerily singsong. "Dantar whose family
died, a few yards away, and he couldn't help
them. Couldn't help them."
"He did that himself," said Selar, in
response to Geordi's comment. "His
fingernails are encrusted with dirt and sludge.
He tried to bury himself."
"You tried to dig your own grave?" asked
Riker, horrified and curious at the same time.
"There is no point in my continuing to live,"
said Dantar. "I have nothing. It's simply time
for me to crawl into my grave and rot there. There's
nothing. Nothing."
"What did you see?" asked Riker. "Who
attacked?"
"Commander, now may not be the best time," began
Selar.
But Riker cut her off sharply. "When it comes
to the Borg, Doctor, we never have any idea just
how much time we have."
"The Borg," said Dantar distantly. "Is
that what they're called? Those pale creatures with
machines for souls. One went into my house. It
killed my little girl. It killed my family.
Borg."
"Someone stopped them," said Riker urgently.
"Someone fought them and stopped them and destroyed their
ship. Did they send down any ground troops?
Did you see anyone besides the Borg?"
"Yes. Yes, I did."
"Who?" asked Riker.
"I saw Death," said Dantar, as
distractedly as ever. "She was standing right over there,
sweeping through my family. Holding the glowing
orbs of their souls in her hand and then smothering them.
Then she glided across the street ... she seemed
to walk, but you couldn't hear her footfall. And
she went from one person to the next." Tears began
to roll down his face. "I tried to persuade her
to take me. Tried to put myself into a grave so that
she would know. But she ignored me."
"Dantar," began Riker.
But Dantar wasn't listening. "You know ...
our culture has always depicted Death as a
grim, fearful figure. Dark. Hideous, with a
skull face. Skeletal."
"As has ours, frequently," said Geordi.
"But she wasn't. I was very surprised," said
Dantar. His voice seemed to be
fading, exhaustion paralyzing his ability to think.
As if from far away, he said, "She was a very young
girl. With a white dress, skipping. And she was
smiling. You know why that is, I think?"
"Why?" said Selar. She was preparing to order
Dantar beamed up to the Enterprise. She was
satisfied that his lifesigns were stable enough now that he
could handle the transporter with no danger. "Why
is that?"
He looked thoughtful. "I suppose she
simply likes her work. In such dangerous times,
that's nice to see. Don't you think?"
After Dantar and Selar had returned to the
Enterprise, Riker said thoughtfully, "He said
a Borg soldier went into his house over there.
Let's check it out. Perhaps someone even
survived." He took a step in that direction and
then paused and removed his phaser. He looked
significantly at the others. "Just in case
there's a Borg in there."
"Couldn't be," said Geordi. "Their ship was
destroyed. If their ship goes, they go. Their
link is severed."
"If there's one thing we shouldn't be doing, it's
underestimating the Borg," Riker warned him.
"That's a good way to achieve early and terminal
unemployment."
"I catch your drift, sir," said Geordi,
pulling out his own phaser. Data did
likewise.
Slowly they approached the house, noting that the
roof had caved in, and the chances of anyone
surviving were nil. There was also an unpleasant
smell, that same smell that brought back to Riker
memories of that awful first time he had seen death
on a large scale. Now he shoved it away,
determined to ignore it. He was far more than he
had been that day. And in some ways, he thought, far
less.
Geordi peered in through the darkened doorway,
taking in the carnage. It was times like this that made
him glad that--despite the dazzling abilities
of his VISOR'-AUGMENTED sight--he could not
really "see." He shook his head and said,
"There's a lot of dead people in here, Commander."
Riker was checking his tricorder. "Not picking
up any life." In a way, he was relieved.
He didn't really want to have to look at them.
It wasn't going to do the deceased any
good, and it sure wasn't going to help his peace of
mind. "Let's go."
But Geordi put up a hand. "Wait. I'm
getting something. Not a life form, but ... something."
Double-checking his tricorder, Riker said,
"Whatever you're seeing, it's still not picking up.
Are you sure your VISOR isn't
malfunctioning?"
Without glancing back, La Forge said
calmly, "Are you sure your eyes aren't
malfunctioning?"
"Just a suggestion, Mr. La Forge," said
Riker. Privately he thought it interesting that,
even after all this time, Geordi La Forge could still
be a bit sensitive about his eyesight.
With a sly imitation of Picard's accent,
Geordi said, "Noted and logged." Then, all
business, he said firmly, "It's over there."
He was pointing toward a pile of rubble in a
corner of the room. The three men immediately went
over to it, trying not to think about the bodies they were
stepping over. Riker had to force himself to look
away from the horrific sight of a small girl,
her skull clearly crushed, in the arms of her mother
who had died mere seconds later. They reached the
pile of rubble and started to pull away, to get
to whatever the devil it was that Geordi had
detected.
Riker lifted off one huge chunk of
debris, turned back to get another one, and
jumped back with a start.
He was staring down the business end of the deadly
metal appendage of a Borg soldier.
"La Forge! Data!" he shouted. "Watch
it!"
He waited for something to happen--for
electricity to shoot out, or the pincers to grab
at him. But nothing occurred.
Now Data and La Forge were at his side.
"What is it?" asked Geordi.
"It's a Borg," said Riker grimly. "A
Borg that survived its ship being blown up."
"Just like you said, Commander," admitted Geordi.
While not allowing the seriousness of the situation
to escape him, Riker permitted a grim smile
and said, "That's why they pay me the big money,
Mr. La Forge."
"I had presumed that a larger salary," said
Data, "was due to higher rank, seniority
..."
"Not now, Data," sighed Geordi.
Immediately disposing of the train of thought, Data
promptly switched gears to the other. "It would
explain why the tricorders don't read the
Borg soldier. The Borg do not seem
to register as individuals. Apparently, that is
a result of their uniformity of nature."
"Is it going to attack?" asked Geordi.
"They have a tendency to ignore most things unless
directly threatened," said Riker. "But this one
is buried. I'm not sure how it'll react.
And I'm not taking any chances." He tapped his
communicator. "Riker to security."
"Security," came the deep voice of
Worf.
"Worf, you and two security men, down to these
coordinates, fast," ordered Riker. "We
may have captured a Borg soldier."
"Proceed with extreme caution, Commander,"
Worf warned him.
"That's why we're calling on you, Mr.
Worf."
Data and Geordi were hard at work clearing off
the debris from the rest of the Borg warrior.
Data uncovered the soldier's face and stared
intently into the eyes. "The Borg does indeed
appear alive, Commander," he said after a moment's
study, "but would appear to be in some sort of
"pause" mode, as if awaiting new
instructions."
"I just don't get it," La Forge was saying.
He pulled off a large piece of planking and
shoved it aside, reaching for another. "How could he
have survived being severed from the Borg central
command?"
"Captain Picard did," pointed out Riker.
His head snapped around as he heard the familiar
hum of the transporter that told him Worf and the
security team had arrived. He nodded
approvingly to himself. Less than thirty
seconds. No one could accuse Worf of taking
his time.
"Captain Picard had already been separated from
the Borg at the point of the ship's detonation,"
Data explained. "As a result, he was able
to survive. Since we can assume that that was not the
case with this individual, there must be some other
reason."
Geordi was staring intently at the just-uncovered
other arm. "I think I found it. And
you're not gonna believe it."
Worf marched in with the back-up team, Meyer and
Boyajian. He was all business. "This is the
