Destiny_ Lost Souls Part 26

"And if we refuse?"

"Then you can stay hidden and afraid, until the Collective finds you. And mark my words, Ordemo, it will find you."

25.

"The Borg attack fleet has pa.s.sed Jupiter," said Fleet Admiral Akaar, his sonorous voice filling the cold, anxious silence in the Monet Room. "Four minutes to Earth."

President Bacco sat at the end of the conference table. She stared down its length at the faces of the few members of her cabinet and staff who had stayed behind to face the end with her. Jas Abrik, her top security adviser, occupied the chair to her left. Clockwise around the table from Abrik, with several empty chairs between each guest, were transportation secretary Iliop, press liaison Kant Jorel, special security adviser Seven of Nine, and Esperanza Piniero, who was close at Bacco's right.

Sivak lingered a few paces behind Bacco's shoulder, and Agents Wexler and Kistler remained nearby, along the wall, trying without much success to be inconspicuous.

Bacco stared at the famous Impressionist painting on the room's north wall. Bridge over a Pool of Water Lilies was one of Claude Monet's masterpieces, a gently arcing bridge of spare blue beams over a pond crowded with pastel splashes of floral colors. The artist had painted the scene late in his career, when he had gone almost completely blind. Its complex but gentle beauty fascinated Bacco, and she lamented that it would soon pa.s.s into oblivion, with almost every other significant artifact of Earth's rich, troubled history.

"Why do you think Zife left that painting in here?" Bacco asked, startling the room's other occupants out of their own melancholy reflections.

Piniero looked at the painting and then back at Bacco. "Are you serious, ma'am? Earth is three minutes away from being blown to bits, and you want to critique Min Zife's interior-decorating choices? With all respect, I don't think now is the best time."

"Relax, it's only a question," Bacco said. "This used to be just another meeting room before the Dominion War. Then Zife came along and had it rebuilt with every fancy gizmo he could find. The whole room got a makeover, top to bottom, but he left that painting right there. I'm just curious why."

Everyone in the room fixated on the painting-all except Seven of Nine, who afforded it a fleeting glance and no more. Bacco noticed the former Borg drone staring at the tabletop, her face a grim cipher, as usual.

"Seven?" Bacco prodded. "Any opinion on the matter?"

Looking up with stern formality, Seven replied, "The rationale for its continued display seems quite apparent."

"Really? Would you mind letting the rest of us in on it?"

The statuesque woman sighed. "Its placement opposite the chair of the president suggests that it was retained for his benefit. I suspect he found its muted palette and soft details helpful as a point of focus when attempting to concentrate."

Her answer provoked a frown from Admiral Akaar. Bacco noted his reaction and said, "You disagree, Admiral?"

"I served under President Zife, and I know exactly why it's there," Akaar said. "He loved that painting, and he wanted it displayed in this room as a reminder to himself, and the rest of us, that this is what's at stake if we fail-art, history, beauty, and everything we think of as our legacy." Lowering his gaze, he added, "It was one of his first decrees as president, at a time when everyone else in this building was obsessed with numbers and strategies and casualty reports. Our job was, and still is, to decide how to fight our enemies. But he left that painting there so we wouldn't forget why we fight."

Bacco regarded the nineteenth-century painting with a new, deeper appreciation. Though she had never been impressed with Zife as a president, she felt a pang of sympathy for him. Clearly, he had been more than the popular caricatures of his faults. After succeeding him in the presidency, she had learned the truth of how Zife had been removed from office, in a coup abetted by Admiral William Ross. Speaking privately with Bacco, Ross had implicated himself in the ouster of Zife, chief of staff Koll Azernal, and the Federation's secretary of military intelligence, Nelino Quafina, there in the Monet Room.

How fitting, she brooded. Zife's presidency ended here, and so will mine. There's a certain perverse symmetry in that.

A rapid series of changes flickered across a wall of screens, updating the Palais de la Concorde on Starfleet's current status. Admiral Akaar reviewed the new information with a cursory look and then turned to face Bacco.

"Ninety seconds until the Borg fleet is within firing distance of Earth, Madam President," Akaar said. "The attack force is beginning to split into two groups, with one adjusting course and accelerating toward Mars."

Clammy sweat coated Bacco's hands. She dried them against the tops of her thighs. Her pulse quickened, throbbed in her temples, and left her dizzy and overheated. It was a battle to comport herself with the dignity befitting her office when an event of such unutterable gravity was imminent. For a moment, she regretted not having chosen to flee Earth when her advisers had suggested it, but then she resolved herself. This is what I chose. No turning back now. Besides, if Earth falls, I wouldn't want to live past today, anyway-because whoever takes this job next is gonna have a lousy first press conference.

Another fast shift in the tactical situation cascaded across the west wall's bank of situation monitors. Akaar studied them. Then he made a stunned double-take and froze.

Unable to imagine how the news could get any worse, Bacco called to Akaar, "What's happening, Admiral?"

He looked over his shoulder with his mouth agape and eyes wide with shock. "We're not sure, Madam President. All Borg ships in this system have stopped, and we're getting reports that all Borg vessels we've been tracking have halted as well."

She asked, "Well, do we-" A shrill alert on the tactical console stole Akaar's attention from her, and she let her unfinished query trail off as the admiral raced to a.s.semble a deluge of tactical information and situation maps into a concise report.

Then she heard him mumble, "I don't believe it."

"Admiral, I don't mean to be pushy, but I'd really like to know what the h.e.l.l is happening, if you don't mind."

Akaar straightened his posture and walked back to the conference table. His voice was pitched with surprise. "Madam President...our scans at this time indicate that all ships in the Borg armada have reversed course and are heading at maximum speed toward the Azure Nebula."

Only one obsession held greater sway over the Borg Collective than its perverse fixation on Earth. Nothing less than the promise of perfection could eclipse the impulse to eradicate an enemy that had hobbled the Collective's quest too many times.

Now that exquisite lure blazed in the cold void between the stars. Its siren call was unmistakable. For ages the Collective had listened for it, patiently forded millennia of silence, tuned out the random noise of the universe's abandoned creations, antic.i.p.ated the call of something whose power and beauty beckoned from across s.p.a.ce and time.

It was tantalizingly close. In centuries past, the detection of even a single molecule of Particle 010 would have been enough to divert any and all cubes to its acquisition and a.s.similation. No matter how many permutations of adaptation the Collective endured, that essential fact of its nature had never changed. The devotion to one cause above all remained inviolate.

Reports from thousands of cubes dispersed throughout local s.p.a.ce all relayed the same urgent message to the Borg Queen. A harnessed source of the revered particles had been pinpointed, its ma.s.s estimated at several million times greater than the largest previously known sample of Particle 010. A source of almost incalculable power, its potential output dwarfed that of the entire Borg Collective by several orders of magnitude.

The end of the Federation would have to be postponed.

Converge on the energy source, the Borg Queen commanded. All other priorities and directives are rescinded. She felt the far-flung vessels and drones snap into obedient action. a.s.similate Particle 010 at any cost.

The heavens had twisted open in front of the Enterprise, and a storm of light had burst forth and enveloped the ship, whiting out the main viewer and momentarily blinding Picard. He'd raised his hand to block the glare, and he'd lowered it a few seconds later, as the prismatic eruption withdrew into the spiraling-shut aperture of the ma.s.sive subs.p.a.ce tunnel.

The bridge crew was quiet as the majestic city-ship hovered in s.p.a.ce, dwarfing the Sovereign-cla.s.s starship and its two companion vessels. Picard found it difficult to estimate its size, because it more than filled the viewscreen. All he saw was a narrow slice of its middle, which was packed with shining metallic towers blessed with a graceful, fluid architectural style. Delicate walkways linked many of them, and the facades of the metropolis reflected the jet black of the void and the crisp, steady light of the stars with equal and perfect clarity.

Worf eyed the alien megalopolis with alarmed suspicion. "Should we raise shields, Captain?"

"No, Mister Worf," Picard said, still somewhat awestruck by the spectacle of the great city, which had traversed thousands of light-years with apparent ease. "They've come at our invitation. I think we owe them a measure of hospitality." He looked left toward Choudhury. "Hail them, Lieutenant."

"Aye, sir," Choudhury said.

Picard admired the aesthetic sophistication of the Caeliar city, and he found himself wondering whether Riker might be right, whether the Caeliar might, in fact, be able to stand firm in a confrontation with the Borg. He stepped forward and stood behind Kadohata at ops. "Commander," he said to her, "are we picking up any...unusual energy readings from the city-ship?"

"Affirmative," Kadohata said, working with haste to keep pace with the information appearing on her console. "Ma.s.sive readings, of a kind the computer can't identify."

"All scans of the Caeliar ship are to be treated as cla.s.sified information," Picard said, "to be reviewed only on my authority. Understood?"

"Yes, sir," Kadohata said, entering the appropriate command-level encryptions, which, once engaged, even she would be unable to deactivate.

So far, so good, he concluded. He had taken the precaution of bypa.s.sing the main computer's automatic Omega Directive protocol, which normally would have frozen command systems and duty stations throughout the ship the moment the Omega Molecule was detected by the sensors. It was a heavy-handed safeguard against anyone other than the ship's commanding officer having access to the potentially calamitous knowledge of the dangerous and notoriously unstable high-energy particle. In this case, such a measure would have drawn unnecessary attention-and since the presence of the Omega Molecule was integral to Captain Hernandez's plan to halt the Borg a.s.sault, being saddled with the Omega Directive was a distraction Picard wished to avoid.

Choudhury looked up from her station. "Sir, the Caeliar have acknowledged our hail but are refusing audible or visual contact. They've asked Captain Hernandez to return to the city."

"Dare I ask how she responded?"

"She agreed-on the condition that the Caeliar release t.i.tan's away team. They've accepted her terms."

He nodded. "Understood. Keep me informed of any developments in the situation."

"Aye, sir."

Worf took a small step to stand closer to Picard, and he dropped his voice to a confidential level. "Once the Caeliar have Captain Hernandez back in their custody, they might go back where they came from-and abandon us to the Borg."

"Possibly," Picard said. "Though the departure of the Caeliar is hardly the worst outcome in this scenario. I'm more concerned about the risk of the Borg a.s.similating the Caeliar's technology, which appears to be formidable."

A muted tone from the tactical console signaled an incoming transmission. Choudhury silenced the alert with a brush of her fingertip and said, "New reports from Starfleet Command, sir. The entire Borg armada has reversed course."

"In other words," Worf said, "they are converging on us."

"Correct," Choudhury said, her tone dry but droll.

Picard asked, "How long until they reach us?"

"Fourteen hours," the security chief said.

The captain frowned. As powerful as the Caeliar appeared to be, Picard was unable to let go of his doubt that anything could truly stop the Borg. Worse, if the Caeliar either refused or proved unable to help, fourteen hours didn't leave him or his crew much time to formulate a backup plan.

He saw only one remaining alternative: to build a thalaron projector. The biogenic weapon might prove futile, but he doubted he would ever again be in a position to strike so many Borg cubes at the same time. He judged the risk worthwhile.

If it failed, then he, his crew, and the rest of the Federation were already as good as dead, anyway.

And if it worked...all it would cost him was his soul.

26.

The shuttlecraft Mance ascended from Axion and pa.s.sed through the city-ship's protective force field with hardly a b.u.mp.

Christine Vale sat at the aft end of the shuttlecraft's pa.s.senger cabin, across from Deanna Troi. Chief Dennisar and Lieutenant Sortollo from security sat at the forward end, and Dr. Ree and Ensign Torvig stood and awkwardly filled the s.p.a.ce in the compartment's center. In the c.o.c.kpit, Tuvok was at the controls, and Ranul Keru occupied the mission commander's seat.

Inyx had delivered the news of the away team's release from Axion with as little preamble as when, days earlier, he'd told them of their incarceration. One moment, they had thought of themselves as prisoners, and the next, their shuttlecraft was hovering beside their terrace, its boarding ramp extended.

At the urging of the Caeliar, they'd remained inside the Mance and had kept it landed inside Axion's shield perimeter while the city had risen from the surface of New Erigol. The sky had opened above them. At first, it had looked like a mere dark sliver, and then it had widened. The complex details of its inner mechanisms had become visible. Within moments, Axion had climbed into orbit, and then s.p.a.ce-time itself had been torn asunder and sent pinwheeling into a blinding vortex.

The twist of light and color that had raged around Axion was unlike anything else Vale had ever seen. The vortex had exhibited a fluid quality, but it also had shimmered and pulsed. Before her eyes had been given an opportunity to adjust, Axion had sped free of the pa.s.sage, back into normal s.p.a.ce-time.

Waiting there, brilliant and still against the backdrop of stars, had been t.i.tan, accompanied by two other vessels. The first was a Sovereign-cla.s.s starship that Vale had recognized as her previous billet, the Enterprise-E; the other was a new Vesta-cla.s.s explorer, a ship cla.s.s she'd heard about but until that moment hadn't actually seen with her own eyes.

Via the shuttlecraft's comm, Inyx had delivered his terse valediction: "You may go now." Tuvok had wasted no time accepting the invitation. As soon as the channel had clicked off, the Mance had been airborne and on its way home.

Seeing t.i.tan growing larger and sharper in front of the shuttlecraft brought a smile of relief to Vale's face. "I don't know how Will did it, but I'm glad he didn't make a liar out of me," she said to Troi. "I knew he wouldn't give up on us."

"So did I," Troi said, through her own bittersweet smile.

Vale leaned forward to keep their conversation discreet. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yes, Chris," Troi said, matching Vale's posture. "Better than okay."

"Good," Vale said, sincere in her concern. "You had us all pretty worried there-especially Will."

"I know," Troi said, lowering her eyes for a moment. "It's been hard on all of us. And I made it even worse for him. But it'll be all right now. I'm sure of it. I can hear him in my thoughts, and I know he's waiting for me to come home."

Unable to bury her envy, Vale blinked and looked away aft. She felt Troi's inquiring stare. Turning back to face her, she said, "Sorry. I'm happy for you, really. It's just hard for me to hear about your amazing bond with Will when I..." She hesitated, at a loss for words. "When I'm..."

"When you're still mourning Jaza?"

Vale's emotional barrier faltered enough for a single tear to escape from her eye. She palmed it away and laughed once, softly, because the alternative was to weep like a child. "Right to the heart of it, as always," she said. "Brava, Deanna."

"It's kind of my job," Troi said. "I know you've been under a lot of stress since we lost Jaza. The troubles Will and I have been going through left him..." She rolled her eyes toward the overhead, apparently searching for the most diplomatic word. "Not at his best," she finished. "And that left you to pick up the slack, for a lot longer than you should have. You had to do most of his job as well as your own. I'm sorry for that."

Shaking her head, Vale replied, "Not your fault."

"In a way, it was," Troi said. "I sensed what you were going through, but I was so caught up in my own pain and problems that I didn't get you the help that I should have."

"Apology completely unnecessary but accepted all the same," Vale said. A recent memory nipped at the edge of her thoughts: the moment, a few days earlier, when she had tried to comfort the distraught Will Riker in his ready room, only to come within millimeters (and a momentary lapse of reason) of kissing him. She balked at the idea of confessing her near-miss indiscretion to Troi. Then she considered the possible consequences if she tried to hide it and it came out in a less candid manner-or, even worse, if at some point she did something as monumentally stupid as to make out with her married commanding officer.

"Deanna," Vale said, "there's something I should probably get off my chest. It was nothing, really, but I feel kind of strange about it, and even stranger about feeling like I should hide it, and I-"

"You mean when you almost kissed Will a few days ago," Troi said, as if it were some mundane detail of ship's business.

"Um, well, yeah." It took a moment to push through the shock and realize how transparent she must seem to the half-Betazoid counselor. "How did you know?"

A broad grin lit up Deanna's face. "I haven't felt Will panic like that since he met my mother."

Troi laughed, and Vale found her friend's mirth contagious. Their self-conscious chortles drew curious stares from the rest of the away team and a disapproving arch of one eyebrow from Tuvok. The muscles in Vale's face hurt from the effort of reining in her laughter. "So, you're not angry with me?"

"Of course not. You were still missing Jaza, and I'd been pushing Will away for months. It's an almost textbook example of transference, with a touch of displacement."