The Enterprise
-i-
EVERY SO OFTEN, PICARD THOUGHT, EVENTS OUT-STRIPPED arguments.
This was one of those times.
The screen in the conference lounge showed a horrifying struggle that Picard was in the process of replaying. There was the valiant Thunderchild, doing its level best to pull free of the overwhelming power of the Borg cube, and failing utterly to do so. The same individuals whom Picard had summoned to the earlier conference were watching now, plus Seven of Nine and Ambassador Spock. Whereas the looks of concern, anguish, sympathy, and outright horror played out upon the faces of Picard’s crew, Spock and Seven kept expressions that were carefully neutral. No, not just neutral, Picard realized. Seven looked as if she was analyzing what she was seeing, while Spock merely appeared interested. Picard suspected that whatever Spock might be allowing to show on the surface, it didn’t accurately represent what was going through his head. With a Vulcan, though, who could ever know for certain what that might be?
“What’s the origin of this transmission?” asked Geordi. The screen had frozen on the final, chilling image of the Thunderchild’s tail end being drawn into the cube.
“Unclear at this time,” rumbled Worf. “The signal was sent on a broad subspace wave with no carrier or point of origin attached.”
“How is that possible?” said Leybenzon.
“It’s possible,” Kadohata replied, “if the sending vessel is accustomed to keeping a low profile. Might be a trader in illegal products, a smuggler…”
“Which could mean that what we’re seeing is faked,” said Crusher. “Do we know for sure…?”
Geordi was shaking his head. “We know. We’ve been over every centimeter of it. As far as our instruments can determine, it’s genuine.”
“But how?” asked Crusher. “How could this be? Are the Borg capable of…of what we just saw?”
All eyes automatically turned toward Seven. She did not answer immediately, giving the matter a moment’s more thought. Finally, she said, “It is not the typical manner in which the Borg assimilate that which interests them. But it is the…next logical step.”
“Next logical step?” echoed Geordi.
“Evolution, Mister La Forge,” Spock said quietly. “You are witnessing the next step in the evolution of a life-form. Clearly they have developed a far more efficient means of accomplishing their typical goal of assimilating that which they need or desire.”
“By eating it?” asked Crusher.
Spock gave her a curious glance. “It is the customary method for humans, is it not?”
“Yes, but our ships don’t eat things.”
“That is because your ship exists independently of you,” said Seven of Nine. “Borg cubes do not enjoy that separation.”
“You’re saying they’re alive? The Borg cubes are alive?”
“Yes, Doctor Crusher,” said Seven. “And in the case of this particular cube”—she looked to the one on the screen—“it is hungry. The cube has apparently taken on for itself the Borg imperative to assimilate and has translated that imperative into a means of execution that is consistent with its biological structure. It has never happened before. Then again, no Borg cube has ever been created outside of the Delta Quadrant or been subjected to the stress that the Enterprise’s previous attack inflicted upon it. Evolution is the by-product of necessity, and survival is the overwhelming imperative for all living things. I believe what you are seeing here is the result of those two drives combined. The cube has evolved in order to survive.”
“And the Thunderchild,” Spock said coldly, “will be merely the first victim.”
“The second,” said Picard, who had remained silent until that moment. He pointed at the screen, at the image of a small vessel in front of the Borg cube. “That science vessel, registry indicates it to be the Einstein. Apparently it’s acting in concert with the Borg cube.”
“A Judas goat is the old term,” said Leybenzon, nodding. “The Thunderchild must have thought the Einstein was serving as an escort. It helped take the ship off guard. Who knows what happened to the crew.”
“I believe we can take an educated guess,” said Seven.
“But that’s not going to keep working for them,” Kadohata observed. “Word is out. This was a broad-range message; we’re not the only ones who have it. Everyone must have it by now.”
“It merely verifies,” Spock told her, “what was already known to us: that the Borg represent an immediate threat to the security of the Federation. An attack is imminent and inevitable.”
“You know this,” T’Lana finally spoke up, “because of the mind-meld you engaged in with Seven of Nine.” Her voice sounded vaguely critical, and it was not difficult for Picard to discern why that would be.
Spock, unperturbed by her tone, simply said, “Yes.”
The mind-meld had been the launch point of the entire meeting. Picard had summoned his staff to the conference lounge and laid out for them exactly what had transpired. Spock had informed them that Seven of Nine was correct. He had determined via a mind-meld that Kathryn Janeway was not only in distress, but that the Borg were aware of Seven’s knowledge and were doubtless going to act on it. Before the discussion had gone any further, the emergency transmission had come in and—because of its urgency—the bridge had forwarded it immediately to the conference lounge so that Picard and the senior staff could see it and act on the new information.
“Well, then,” said Leybenzon, “it’s fortunate that we’re en route to Earth. If Earth’s security is threatened…”
“That is actually what I gathered you all here to discuss,” said Picard.
That brought everything to a halt. “There is something to discuss?” said Leybenzon. “If Earth is going to be attacked by the Borg…”
“You will not be able to stop this vessel with the resources currently at your disposal,” Spock told him.
“With all respect, Ambassador, that’s not our call to make. Our orders…”
“I am aware of our orders, Lieutenant,” Picard reminded him. “But there are other considerations.”
“We must consider the logical progression of events,” said Spock, easily ignoring the tension in the air. “We are obviously not the only individuals who have received this transmission. Doubtless other Starfleet vessels—even Starfleet Headquarters—will be informed of this turn of events. I am quite certain that, even as we speak, a fleet is moving to intercept.”
“If that’s the case, we should—” Kadohata began.
Spock didn’t let her finish the sentence. “They will fail,” he said.
“You don’t know that. You can’t.”
“He does,” Seven of Nine assured her. “And they will. They will resist, but it will prove futile.”
“Resistance is never futile,” said Leybenzon.
“That’s enough of that, Lieutenant,” Picard snapped at him.
“Captain, she’s saying that we should just give up without a fight!” said Leybenzon.
“She is saying,” Spock replied, “that if we are to fight, then we should do so in a manner that will enable us to win.”
“Am I correct in assuming,” Worf asked, “that there is a manner you would suggest that would ensure victory?”
“‘Ensure’ is not a logical word. We are dealing with far too many variables. However, there may well be a means of evening the odds.”
“And that would be…”
Rather than replying, Spock turned to Picard and waited patiently. Picard appreciated the respect for decorum that Spock was displaying. The ambassador had already spoken to the captain at length about his thoughts on the matter, but he was waiting for Picard to lay it out for his people since he, Spock, was not a member of the crew.
“The planet killer,” Picard said.
There was a moment’s hesitation as what he had just said filtered through the minds of his crew. “Of course,” murmured Crusher.
“Of course?” echoed Kadohata. “I don’t understand. Are you referring to…”
“The giant planet-eating device, a weapon of planetary destruction, that we encountered a couple years back,” Geordi La Forge said. It didn’t surprise Picard that Geordi was the one who was explaining it to Kadohata—and, by extension, to T’Lana and Leybenzon, since they had not been part of the Enterprise crew when that entire sorry incident had occurred. “It was huge. Vast. It was a semisentient device…”
“In that respect, not unlike the Borg cube,” Seven of Nine observed.
“…that had been created by a long-gone race as a means of combating the Borg. It was piloted by a woman named…” He paused, trying to recall.
“Delcara,” Picard said softly.
“Right. Delcara. Thank you, Captain,” said Geordi. “She had gotten her hands on it and was intending to use it to go to the heart of Borg space and annihilate them once and for all. It was around the same time that we also encountered a female Borg…Reannon was her birth name.” He looked at Seven. “In some respect her history wasn’t all that dissimilar to yours. At the time we met her, we had never encountered a female Borg before. In fact, there were some so-called Borg experts who asserted that there was no such thing as a female Borg.”
“That is ridiculous,” said Seven. “That would make no sense. Who would postulate such an absurd notion?”
Geordi shrugged. “Go argue with self-proclaimed experts. Anyway, like you, she was separated from the Borg collective. Unlike you…” His voice trailed off.
“It did not end well?” asked Seven.
“No. It didn’t.”
Seven said nothing.
Picard picked up the narrative when Geordi became silent. “There was a great battle, and Delcara and her planet killer were instrumental in the destruction of several Borg cubes.”
“What became of her?” asked Kadohata.
“She…disappeared,” said Picard. “In her single-minded urge to reach Borg space as fast as possible—to satisfy the desires of her vendetta against the Borg, who had wiped out everything she knew—she propelled the vessel beyond any speed that known physical laws would permit. We do not know with certainty what happened to her.”
“Our theory,” Geordi said, “is that she became trapped in a sort of repeating loop. A living example of Xeno’s paradox, infinitely halving the distance between her and her destination but never able to achieve her goal.”
“So she’s gone, is what you’re saying,” said Leybenzon.
“To all intents and purposes, yes.”
“Then I don’t understand. Why are we talking about her? About this? If we don’t have access to her—”
“She may be gone,” Spock said, “but the predecessor is not.”
That drew confused looks to the Vulcan, who looked in turn to Picard. Picard nodded, indicating that Spock should take up the lead in telling the other officers what was going on.
“The Enterprise upon which I served encountered a planet killer that was somewhat similar to Delcara’s, albeit smaller. It was a prototype built—we believe—as a test model for the ultimately much larger device. The legendary Preservers, we have speculated, were responsible for both. The actual incident occurred on stardate 4202.9, when we encountered a number of planets in Star System L374 that had been obliterated by a force beyond anything that our technology at the time was capable of. We tracked it and discovered a device that Captain Kirk referred to as a ‘doomsday machine.’ We managed to destroy it by means of piloting the Starship Constellation into the heart of the planet killer and detonating the engines.”
“Destroyed? Then…I’m sorry, but I’m not following,” Leybenzon said with barely restrained exasperation. “If it was destroyed, and the larger version is lost to time and space, then what are we talking about here?”
“I apologize if my phrasing was imprecise,” said Spock. “‘Deactivated’ is more accurate. The power center of the planet destroyer was quelled by the detonation of the Constellation’s engines, but the hull remained intact. The device was subsequently towed to the Yard: Starfleet’s alien technology research station. There it was thoroughly analyzed by the Starfleet Corp of Engineers. The process took more than a year. After that, the custody of the ship was transferred to the Starfleet museum at Epsilon Sigma V.”
“Trophy World?” asked Crusher.
“That’s the popular nickname for it,” said Geordi.
“I was there once. It’s amazing.”
“It is indeed fascinating,” Spock told the doctor. “And, I am told, a popular tourist attraction.”
“With a great gift shop,” said Crusher. When everyone stared at her, she said defensively, “What? I’m not allowed to buy stuff?”
“But if the S.C.E. has already been over the planet killer, then I’m still not seeing the point,” said Leybenzon.
“The point, Lieutenant,” Picard said, “is that time has passed. No one has investigated the status of the planet killer in some time. We had been under the impression that the Borg cube was dead. That has proved not to be the case. It is entirely possible that the planet killer is not, in fact, dead, but rather dormant. Waiting for the proper individual, or the proper circumstances, to be reactivated and pressed into service.”
“That, Captain, is not logical,” T’Lana said. “That is, at best, a leap of faith. There is no evidence before us to indicate that the planet killer is anything other than a lifeless hulk.”
“It may not be logical,” Spock said, “but it remains a logical alternative to suicide. That is what a direct attempt against the Borg cube would represent.”
“We don’t know that,” said Kadohata.
“I believe that we do.”
“We need to fight them! To go home, to—”
Spock indicated the image on the screen with a nod of his head. “Between the evolution of the Borg technology and the guiding presence of Kathryn Janeway, the Borg represent a threat that cannot be overwhelmed by a single ship, or even a fleet. The only technology specifically designed to combat the Borg is the most logical option for us to pursue. Otherwise the Federation, and Earth, will stand no chance…”
“And whose fault is that?” asked T’Lana quietly.
Spock turned his level gaze upon T’Lana, but it was Picard who said, “I beg your pardon?”
There was danger in Picard’s voice, but T’Lana didn’t back down. “The ambassador undertook a risky and ill-advised mind-meld with Seven of Nine. He did so to pursue your agenda, Captain, that was predicated on trying to prove that you knew better than Starfleet Command. In so doing, he connected with the Borg collective and set the events into motion that resulted in the destruction—or absorption, if you will—of the Starship Thunderchild. Had he not embarked on the aforementioned course of action, a course that you encouraged, Captain, to justify a possible insubordination, then the crew of the Thunderchild might be alive.”
Worf was on his feet. “I recommend,” he said, his voice rumbling, “that you apologize to the captain.”
“Number One,” Picard said sharply.
T’Lana ignored him. “Will the captain apologize to Starfleet? Will he apologize to the husbands and wives and children, parents and loved ones, of the Thunderchild crewmen who will never be returning home? I made no decisions that cost lives. He did. It was a decision that was enabled by Ambassador Spock and that resulted from the precipitous actions of Seven of Nine. Where are their apologies?”
“That is enough,” Picard snapped.
Immediately T’Lana fell silent, but she did not look away from Picard’s angry stare.
Picard leaned back in his chair and let out an exasperated sigh.
Seven spoke then. She came across as if she were sounding the death knell of the Federation, and yet did so in the same flat, slightly disconnected manner with which she always spoke. “From what I have seen, and from what I know of the Enterprise’s offensive capabilities, attempting to confront the Borg cube itself will serve no purpose except to guarantee that we meet the same fate as the Thunderchild.”
“We do not know that for a fact,” Worf said firmly.
Picard could see the Klingon bristling over the notion of turning away from a battle, even one that seemed hopeless. Slowly Seven nodded. “That is true. It is impossible to know something as a fact before it has transpired. One can, however, allow for great likelihood. The great likelihood, in this instance, is that you will all be assimilated. I think it safe to say that none of you are desirous of that outcome.”
They all exchanged looks.
“Captain,” Geordi said, “with all respect, putting aside that we’re under orders to return to Earth…”
“Orders that are predicated on the notion that Seven of Nine is delusional, something we now know is not the case.”
“Granted,” said Geordi, “but…I have to agree with Worf. If Earth is going to be subject to a Borg attack—and that’s looking fairly likely from what you’re saying—then I, for one, think our place is between the Borg and our homeworld. Heading to Trophy World on the off chance that we can fire up a relic and turn it against the Borg—that’s a hell of a lot to base a course of action upon. It’s possible that, while the Borg cube was able to take out a single vessel, an armada stands a far greater chance.”
“That was certainly the case last time,” Beverly reminded Picard, “and our ship was the one that turned the tide. Who’s to say that it wouldn’t be the case this time as well?”
Picard shifted his gaze to the newer members of the crew.
“I think you know my opinion on this already,” said Leybenzon.
“I’m with the lieutenant,” said Kadohata. “We have to help the Fleet.”
“Your deaths,” Spock said quietly, “will help no one. If you truly wish to help the others, then your preferred course of action is to acquire a weapon that the Borg will not be prepared to counter.”
“That is true,” said Seven. “They have fought starships before. They are prepared, they have evolved, and they will adapt. And you will die.”
“As will you,” pointed out T’Lana. “Is that not a possible factor in your advice?”
“I will not die,” Seven said simply. “The Borg queen, who was once Kathryn Janeway, will see to that. I will be assimilated. I will become what I was: a creature of dispassion, with no care for humanity or emotion.” She tilted her head and regarded T’Lana thoughtfully. “That will be your fate as well.”
Very slowly, feeling as if the weight of the universe was upon him—which it might well have been—Picard said, “With the evidence at present before us, I have to believe that we should indeed continue on our current course.” He turned to Spock and said, “I am sorry, Ambassador.”
“As am I,” Spock said without hint of rancor. “One hopes that we will not both have cause to be sorrier.”
“If you wish, I can arrange to have you return to Vulcan in a shuttle…”
“If it is all the same to you,” replied Spock, “I would just as soon stay aboard the Enterprise.”
“Why?” Kadohata asked curiously.
“My people were present upon Earth at the dawn of your spacefaring age. I was, naturally, unable to observe it. At least I will be able to observe the end.”
There seemed to be no more to say after that.
-ii-
Spock had not been the least bit surprised when T’Lana had shown up at his quarters. Seated cross-legged on the floor—surprisingly limber for a Vulcan of his years—Spock looked up at her with his eternally calm demeanor and waited for her to speak.
“I…feel the need to apologize to you,” T’Lana said.
Cocking an eyebrow, Spock replied, “For what reason?”
“I believe I may have treated you…unfairly.” She took a step toward him. “It was inappropriate for me to blame you for what transpired with the Borg cube and the Thunderchild. Any one of a number of circumstances could well have set the same chain of events into motion. Simply to assume that you are the root cause of the annihilation of the Thunderchild…it was inappropriate and I am…”—she hesitated, having trouble forming the unfamiliar word—“sorry.”
He nodded slightly, accepting it, and then simply looked at her.
“Well,” she said, wondering if she should bow or genuflect, and settled for the simple Vulcan salute.
Before she could leave, however, Spock said, “In answer to your previous question, I was not offended.”
“Previous question?” She wasn’t sure what he was talking about. “What previous question?”
“Your curiosity over how I dealt with having my advice ignored when I knew it was steeped in logic and that the wrong decision was being made.”
That gave her pause. “This…this is a very different circumstance.”
“The unwise person is always able to see the differences in circumstances. It is only the wise person who is able to see the similarities. Which, I find myself wondering, are you, Counselor?”
“I prefer to think of myself as a wise person, Ambassador,” she said, her back stiffening.
“We all do, Counselor,” remarked the ambassador. “We all do.”
Then he closed his eyes, indicating that he was entering a meditative state. T’Lana wanted to stand there, to continue to argue with him, but it didn’t seem as if it would serve any purpose. With a frustrated shake of her head, she turned and left his quarters.
-iii-
Leybenzon let out a heavy sigh as he flopped onto his back. His regular workout in the recreation room—a series of extremely challenging calisthenics, followed by a half hour of martial arts kata—left him lying on the mat, his shirt soaked through with sweat. “I’m getting too old for this,” he muttered.
An amused voice said, “Getting old beats the alternative, doesn’t it?”
He looked up and saw Miranda Kadohata, dressed in workout clothes, standing over him.
“I suppose.” He propped himself up on one elbow. “I guess I have to give Picard credit.”
“Oh, really? What do you have to credit Picard for?”
“Well, for a minute there, I thought he was going to run counter to Starfleet orders. Plus I thought he was ready to abandon the Federation during a potentially huge conflict. It’s good to know that he listened to us and—”
“Zel, you know I respect the hell out of you, but don’t be an idiot.”
“What do you mean?” he asked, feeling defensive.
“He didn’t listen to us. It was the opinions of La Forge, Worf, and Crusher—those were the opinions that matter. If they’re in accord with him, it absolutely doesn’t matter what you or I or T’Lana says. He’s going to do what he feels like doing, and damned be the consequences.”
“I think you’re wrong.”
“And I know I’m right.” Her tapered Asian eyes—which formed such a marked contrast to the European shape of her cheekbones, thus serving as a physical notice of her mixed ancestry—narrowed. “You just wait. Wait until there’s some new conflict and they side with him in violation of Starfleet orders. You can advise him until your head falls off, but it won’t do any good.”
“It has to do some good,” he insisted. “There has to be respect for rules, protocols. That’s the captain’s job, to set an example.”
“I think Captain Picard believes that the captain’s job is damned well whatever the captain says it is.”
“Well, he’s wrong. The captain’s job is described quite well in Starfleet regs, and if he forgets about all that, I’ll—”
“You’ll what? Shove the regs down his throat?”
“It won’t come to that. You’ll see.”
“Yes. I think we’ll both see.”
-iv-
Geordi La Forge settled into his office down in engineering.
“Computer,” he said.
“Standing by,” came the confident female voice, a voice that to this day still reminded Geordi—for no discernible reason—of Deanna Troi’s mother.
“I want to review all notes on file name ‘Project Endgame.’”
“Complying,” she said. Instantly his computer screen flickered to the specifics of the program, a program that Geordi had not studied closely ever since his first encounter with the Borg he’d dubbed “Hugh.”
He leaned forward, began going over the specs, and resigned himself to the fact that he was probably not going to be getting much sleep that night.
-v-
Beverly Crusher reached across the bed in her sleep, feeling for the comforting rise and fall of Picard’s chest. It was her reflex, both as a doctor and as his lover, to check on him even when she was unconscious.
All her questing fingers found was the mattress, still warm but cooling rapidly, and that was sufficient to bring her to instant wakefulness. She sat up and looked around. Picard was wearing a bathrobe and seated in a chair, watching her. He smiled faintly when he saw that she was sitting upright.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“Why do you assume something is wrong? Perhaps I just wished to sit quietly and admire you.”
“What’s wrong?” she repeated, not buying that explanation for a second.
His head sagged. “I’m a ghastly liar.”
“I think you’ll find that most women find men who can’t lie to them tremendously attractive.” She waited, knowing that he would share what was on his mind.
“One of the things that you learn in the command track,” he said at last, “is that sometimes the decision you actually make is secondary to the actual making of that decision. That in the grand scheme of things, it’s preferable to be certain than right.”
“I don’t know that I agree with that, and frankly I don’t know that you agree with it either. But what’s your point?”
“The point is that when you’ve made a decision and you’re not certain of anything, you’re on extremely uneven ground.” He leaned forward, interlacing his fingers. “As much as I hate to admit it, T’Lana and the others have a valid point. I can’t just go around capriciously ignoring Starfleet orders.”
“I don’t think you’ve done that,” said Beverly. “You’ve done nothing ‘capricious.’”
“The chain of command is set up for a reason.”
“Yes, but it governs humans, not automatons. What separates us from the Borg is that we think independently.”
“Are you saying that the chain of command is in defiance of human nature? Because if so, then Starfleet is built on a foundation of sand.”
“I think,” she said with a smile, as she patted the mattress next to her, “that this is way too complex a discussion to have in the middle of the night.”
“We’re on a starship. Day and night are arbitrary constructs.” He paused. “How do I know of a certainty what the proper course is? Seven, Spock—they could be wrong. Or I could be wrong in not taking the action that I believe is right. It’s impossible to say.”
She got out of bed, walked naked across the room, and sat in his lap. She brought her lips close to his ear and whispered, “Then how about sticking with things that aren’t impossible to say?”
In a low voice, aware of the heat that her skin was generating, he said, “I love you.”
“See? That wasn’t so impossible to say, was it?”
Later, Beverly fell into a sound sleep.
Picard continued to lie awake, waiting for the distant voice of the Borg to sound in his head.