Star Trek - TNG - Vendetta Read online

  sort of easy familiarity that she never would have

  tolerated when she first came aboard the

  Enterprise. But her time on board that ship had

  taught her a great deal about relating to people

  and judging them. The idea that she had first assessed

  William Riker as someone who was incapable of

  making big decisions--shortly before he'd been

  forced to make nothing but big decisions--had brought

  into question for her much about the way she went about things.

  "When I was a kid," she said, "there was this

  stupid joke that the other kids would tell endlessly

  at my expense. They'd always make sure I was

  in earshot, and then they'd say loudly, "Knock

  Knock." And another would reply, "Who's

  there?"' And they go back and forth with "Shelby."

  "Shelby Who?"' "Shelby--"'"

  "Coming 'round the mountain when she comes?" said

  Hobson. There was curt laughter from another

  officer who quickly cut it off.

  "Yes," said Shelby, slightly irked. "So

  there I was, and all that went through my head was,

  "Shelby coming 'round the mountain for the last time."

  Stupid. You think about stupid jokes from

  childhood, or a date you won't be able

  to keep, or paperwork that still needs to be done--

  everything except the idea that you're about to die.

  Riker even started to order the collision. He

  got half of the word engage out, and then the call

  came up from sickbay. And within seconds after that

  call--had to be seconds, because that's all we had

  --they had ordered the Borg to shut down via a

  link they'd established through Picard. Picard

  masterminded it, told them what to do, even though he

  was still in the power of the Borg. He put them

  to sleep ..."

  "Undoubtedly he got to read them his

  third-year paper on Reversal of Hyperspace

  Overdrive," said the captain. "That put the

  entire Academy graduating class into a coma."

  Shelby looked at him with open surprise.

  "Captain! Really! How you could insult

  Captain Picard--"

  The captain slowly circled his bridge which was

  feeling smaller by the minute, truth be known,

  chewing on his lower lip and fighting down the traces

  of envy that he so hated. He managed to force out a

  short--almost avuncular--and almost convincing laugh.

  "Captain Picard and I go way back,

  Number One. Back to when he was Cadet

  Jean-Luc Picard, and I was Cadet

  Morgan Korsmo. So, I'm entitled.

  Believe me, I have nothing but admiration for the

  man. I mean, let's face it, the man was almost

  nothing but Borg implants, am I

  right?"

  "That's a fairly accurate assessment,"

  admitted Shelby.

  "Well, Commander, put your mind at ease.

  I will be the first to admit that Jean-Luc Picard

  is more of a man when he's only half a man

  than most men are when they're intact.

  Satisfied?"

  "Yes, sir," said Shelby.

  Captain Korsmo shook his head in silent

  wonderment. That was the kind of man Picard was.

  He inspired fierce loyalty even in those

  individuals who had been with him only a short

  time. Korsmo wondered whether he would ever be

  capable of commanding that sort of devotion from his people.

  There was a sharp beep from behind him and his

  tactical officer looked up in response.

  "Captain," said the tactical officer, Peel,

  "I have contact with the Enterprise, as you

  requested."

  "Excellent," said Korsmo. To the

  surprise of the other bridge crew, who were

  usually privy to just about any discussion that took

  place--the Chekov had, by design, a very

  relaxed and congenial atmosphere--Korsmo

  headed for the ready room. "I'll take it in the

  ready room. Number One, with me, please."

  Shelby nodded quickly, falling into step behind him.

  She knew what the story was--Korsmo had

  brought her up to speed as soon as he had gotten

  word from Starfleet over the incident on the homeworld

  of the Penzatti. But it had been Korsmo's

  express wish that it not be discussed with the rest of the

  crew.

  As Korsmo had himself, many others on the

  Chekov had lost friends and loved ones in the

  massacre at Wolf 359. The last thing they

  needed to hear, he felt, was that the triumph which had

  been achieved at such terrible cost was so

  temporary a measure. The last thing they needed

  to hear was that the Borg were coming back--indeed, had

  already returned, it seemed.

  And he wasn't going to tell them until he

  absolutely had to. He just hoped that it wouldn't

  be too soon.

  Or too late.

  All of Picard's officers had assembled in

  the briefing room, and Picard gave a quick nod

  of appreciation that they had pulled themselves

  together so quickly. It was, in fact, exactly

  what he would have anticipated. He expected the

  world of them and had yet to be disappointed in their

  ability to deliver it.

  Riker sat opposite him, once again

  employing his customary trait of having turned the

  chair around and straddled it. Data was to the left,

  Geordi on the right, both back in Starfleet

  uniforms and giving no sign that, mere minutes

  before, they had been gallivanting about the Spanish

  countryside. Deanna Troi was just now entering,

  smoothing out her hair. Picard took some

  measure of enjoyment in that there were certain

  universal constants, one of them seemingly that it

  always took women longer to make themselves presentable

  than it did men.

  Worf sat at the edge of the conference table--a

  slight distance away. It was a subtle separation,

  but one that Picard had noticed with consistency. As

  close as he felt to this particular group of

  humans, Worf still possessed an unshakable

  standoffishness.

  Or perhaps it was good, old-fashioned Klingon

  caution Never discount the possibility that an

  apparent friend might be an enemy in disguise.

  Considering that the Enterprise had dealt, on a

  number of occasions in her long history, with

  impostors, that might not be an inappropriate

  attitude for the head of security to have.

  Closest to Picard sat Beverly Crusher.

  Normally a very outgoing woman, she had been

  somewhat quiet lately. Picard wasn't

  entirely surprised. She had known the departure

  of her son, Wesley, for Starfleet

  Academy, was inevitable. Inevitability,

  however, did not necessarily mean one would be

  prepared. Picard knew that she was missing

  Wesley something fierce, for when he had gone, he

  had taken with him the last physical reminder of

  her late husband, Jack. All she had for the

  rest of her life now was memories, and oftentimes

  memories were just not enough
.

  Now, though, was not the time to dwell on it.

  "On screen," said Picard sharply to the air.

  In response to his command, an image

  appeared on the conference room communications

  screen. Picard's lips twitched in amusement

  as he saw the now-rather-jowly face of Morgan

  Korsmo appear on the screen. He remembered

  the Academy days, when Korsmo could

  eat anything and never gain weight. Clearly those

  days were past. Also, his formerly jet-black hair

  was now shot through with gray. Time, the great

  leveller.

  "Korsmo," said Picard.

  "Picard," replied Korsmo, with that same

  slightly insouciant tone that Picard remembered

  all too well. "Still bald, I see."

  Riker and the others looked at Picard with open

  amusement. Picard, utterly nonplussed,

  replied, "The years and pounds have obviously

  caught up with you."

  "True. I'm fat and you're bald. Of

  course, I can always lose weight," pointed out

  Korsmo.

  There was a slight chuckle from Beverly.

  Picard resisted glancing at her, for a look from

  him might have stilled her. Frankly, it was worth

  a laugh or two at his own expense just to get a

  smile out of her.

  "Captain," said Picard, softly but

  firmly. "You always were one to try to put as much of a

  gloss on bad news as possible. It is

  painfully clear to me that you are now trying to delay

  the inevitable--that being the purpose of this

  communique. What's happened?"

  Korsmo gave a brief nod in

  acknowledgment. "And you, Picard, always liked

  to cut through the bluster and get straight to the point.

  How comforting to know that neither of us changed.

  Unfortunately, neither have the Borg."

  "The Borg?" Picard said the words a bit

  too sharply, a bit too quickly. Mentally he

  chided himself for it. Ha d any of his people noticed that

  edge in his voice? His quick glance caught

  Deanna studying him with those luminous and

  sympathetic eyes. He had a feeling he'd

  probably be hearing from her before too long. He

  straightened his uniform top, rather unnecessarily,

  and leaned forward, fingers interlaced. "When and where?

  How soon can we expect their attack?"

  "To the former, the target was the Penzatti

  homeworld. A rescue operation is already in

  progress, but Starfleet wants you there as

  well, and as soon as possible, in case the

  Borg return. We will be rendezvousing with you

  there, but it's going to take us the better part of a

  week. Starfleet wants the closest ship there

  immediately."

  Wants us there as what? Cannon

  fodder? flitted through Picard's mind. As quickly

  as that thought came to him, he dismissed it. Now was not

  the time. The time would never be, actually. "Mr.

  Data, how long--?"

  "At warp six, eighteen hours."

  "Warp six-point-five, then. Make it so."

  Riker leaned forward and said, "Captain

  Korsmo, with all due respect--and sounding

  somewhat brutal--why are we being dispatched to the

  Penzatti world? If the Borg have been and gone,

  then Penzatti is a lost cause. We should be

  moving to intercept the latest Borg incursion."

  "Commander Riker is correct," agreed

  Picard. "We've seen the Borg's handiwork

  before. Frankly, I'm amazed at the mention of a

  rescue operation. I wouldn't assume there would be

  anyone or anything left to rescue. What is the

  Borg's present heading?"

  "To hell," said Korsmo. He seemed quite

  pleased about it.

  "We can but hope, Captain," said Picard.

  "The question still remains--"

  "No, you're not following me, Jean-Luc,"

  Korsmo said. "The Borg who were attacking the

  Penzatti were destroyed before they could finish the

  job. Oh, ninety-five percent of the planet

  is gone. But that leaves five percent more than

  has ever survived before."

  Picard was still digesting the earlier sentence. "The

  Borg were destroyed?"

  "By a starship?" asked Geordi.

  "Klingons," said Worf firmly. "Klingon

  warships must have come in response to--"

  "Not a starship," said Korsmo. "Not

  Klingons, either. We don't know what or who,

  gentlemen. That is one of the things I'm hoping your

  people can determine once you arrive. Early

  reports are that the Borg were attacked by someone

  or ... to be overly melodramatic--some-thing,

  and were utterly destroyed."

  "A power of that magnitude," said Data

  thoughtfully, "would be a devastating weapon against the

  Borg."

  "Or," said Worf darkly, "against us."

  "Exactly," Korsmo affirmed, "what

  Starfleet is concerned about."

  "Concerned?" said Crusher, her eyebrows almost

  meeting the top of her head. "This seems like a

  godsend! The Borg massacred forty ships and

  almost made the Enterprise number

  forty-one, before we defeated them by the skin of our

  teeth. And someone, somewhere, comes along with the power

  to stop them, and all you're concerned about is making

  sure they don't turn that power against you. Lives

  were saved! Who knows how many more might be?"

  "No one is disputing that, Doctor," Picard

  said, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "The question that must be

  asked, though, is whether the power--whoever or

  whatever it was--that destroyed the Borg

  attackers of Penzatti did so because they're on

  our side ... or because the Borg were simply the

  first available target."

  "In other words, we might be next," said

  Worf.

  "Precisely," said Korsmo. "We need

  to find out as much about this new player as we can. With the

  investigation time you'll be getting, you'll

  doubtlessly become the experts on them before long.

  We of the Chekov, of course, have the resident

  expert on the Borg on our staff. When we

  rendezvous with you at the Penzatti, she will be

  surveying the site to get as much of a line on the

  Borg as she can."

  On cue, Shelby stepped into the range of the

  communications screen and nodded with familiar ease

  in the direction of the Enterprise crew.

  Smiles were reflected on the latter's faces,

  the widest of which was Riker's.

  "We heard about your new post. Good to see you

  in the first officer's position you so coveted,

  Commander," said Riker.

  "I can't think of another officer in the fleet

  who's more deserving," affirmed Picard.

  Shelby inclined her head slightly in

  acknowledgment and said gravely, "Neither can I."

  Then she smiled in open acknowledgment of her

  tongue-in-cheek self-importance. "Actually,

  Starfleet tells me this is, in all

  likelihood, a temporary assignment. With the

  Borg threat far from over, I nev
er know where

  I'll wind up next."

  "Which is not to be construed," Captain Korsmo

  put in, "as her doing anything other than a

  totally exemplary job for us."

  "We certainly would have expected nothing

  less," Picard said. "Captain--what is

  Starfleet's position if we are to encounter the

  individuals who are responsible for the destruction

  of the Borg ship?"

  "The position is that you do your damnedest

  to keep yourselves in one piece. That's the top

  priority. Establish communications if at all

  possible, but whatever you do, don't engage them in

  combat in any way. Anyone who could mow down the

  Borg is going to make short work of you. Do you

  think," Korsmo said with exaggerated stiffness,

  "you'll be able to keep all that straight, Picard?

  There's a lot to remember, after all."

  Picard shook his head in amusement. "Same

  old Korsmo."

  "Same old Picard. Pity. And there was so

  much room for improvement. See you at

  Penzatti. Chekov out."

  After the screen blinked out, Picard slowly

  surveyed the faces of his people. Despite all the

  difficulties the Borg had given them,

  despite the way that the power balance seemed to have

  shifted yet again and put the Enterprise on

  less firm footing, his crew seemed no less

  determined, no less confident. He would have

  expected nothing less of them, nor anything less

  of himself. Hopefully, he would be able to keep up

  under the weight of those expectations.

  "You all know your assignments," he said

  crisply. "I know that you'll carry them out with the

  efficiency to which I've become accustomed. That's

  all." He stood, as did the others, and walked

  out of the conference room before anyone could say another

  word.

  Picard, in his ready room, looked up at the

  sound of the chime. "Come," he said, knowing already who

  it would be before the door even opened. Sure enough,

  in strode Counselor Troi, who stood in

  front of him expectantly, with folded arms.

  "You look as if you're waiting for the show to start,

  counselor," he observed, with a hint of

  amusement.

  She got down to it immediately. "I sensed great

  ambivalence on your part concerning the Borg. More so

  than towards the unknown entities who are

  potentially more of a threat."

  "Ambivalence? In regard to beings who carved

  me up like a slice of beef?" said Picard, again

  more sharply than he would have liked. He closed his