Part 5 (1/2)

He was smart enough to grab a lifeline when it was offered. He smiled back. ”There were definite similarities in strategy.”

”Jean-Luc,” she said with mock umbrage, ”are you saying I wore you down?” She pressed closer against him and stroked his smooth pate. He extended his arm across her shoulders and rested his head against her silky, fiery red hair.

”I'm just saying that I could tell resistance was futile.”

”If you call a few pathetic excuses 'resistance,'” she said, obviously enjoying the opportunity to needle him.

It had been nearly three months since the Enterprise crew had succeeded in its mission to hunt down and destroy the Borg-a.s.similated Federation science vessel U.S.S. Einstein. At the end of that mission, Beverly had sensed and taken advantage of an opportunity to cajole Picard into the most hopeful undertaking of his life: starting a family with her.

There had been no denying that, on some level, he had wanted this for a long time. The need had been awakened in him nearly ten years earlier, when his older brother, Robert, and young nephew, Rene, had been killed in a tragic fire at the family's vineyard home in Labarre, France.

Beverly's reason for wanting a family was just as poignant to Picard. Her only child, Wesley-whom she had treasured not only as a son but as the last surviving remnant of her late husband, Jack Crusher-had evolved many years earlier into a Traveler, a wondrous being capable of moving freely through time and s.p.a.ce...but he also was no longer fully human. The more Wesley had grown into his powers as a Traveler, the less frequently he had returned to visit with Beverly. He had appeared at their hastily arranged, low-key wedding a few months earlier, but there was no telling when he might return-or if he ever would.

After the Einstein was destroyed, Picard had thought they'd earned a chance to seize their dream. After all, Voyager had destroyed the Borg's transwarp hub to Federation s.p.a.ce a few years earlier. The Enterprise and her crew had stopped the most fearsome Borg cube ever encountered. And the last rogue Borg element in Federation s.p.a.ce seemed to have been eliminated.

For a moment, Picard had dared to hope. He and Beverly had started their family. And less than a month later, as they were still marveling at their newly conceived son, the Borg had begun their blitzkrieg into Federation s.p.a.ce.

You should've known. You've always known.

There was no going back now. He and Beverly had committed themselves, and they were going to see this through, to whatever end awaited them. Even as they huddled in the dim light of their quarters and shut themselves away from the gathering storm, he knew that this interlude of happy domesticity had never been fated to last. It was doomed to end in tragedy, like every other moment of joy he'd known in his life.

”It's time,” he said with a glance at a chrono set on the end table beside him. He extricated himself from her embrace and stood. Then he picked up the tricorder from the sofa and turned it back on, to admire the image of his son again, even if just for a moment. ”You're right. He's amazing. In every way.”

He switched off the tricorder and set it on a table as Beverly stood beside him. She laid her warm hands on either side of his neck and kissed him tenderly. Resting her forehead against his, she said, ”I'll be in sickbay if you need me.”

”Meet you back here when it's over.”

She nodded somberly, her demeanor calm. They let their hands fall away from each other, and she stayed behind as he left, to avoid the awkward ritual of another farewell in the corridor. Sharpening his mind for battle, he left their quarters at a brisk step and headed for the turbolift, which would bring him to the bridge.

In less than an hour, the Enterprise would arrive at the Federation world of Ramatis, near the Klingon border. If Picard and his crew had responded quickly enough to the planet's distress signal, the Enterprise might arrive only a few minutes later than the Borg cube that was on its way to the planet.

Picard knew that the time for diplomacy was past.

It was time to go to war.

From his first glimpse of the scorched and glowing northern hemisphere of Ramatis on the Enterprise's main viewer, Worf knew that every living being on the planet's surface was dead-and that the Borg cube in orbit was responsible.

”No life signs on the planet,” said Commander Miranda Kadohata, the s.h.i.+p's second officer. ”It's been cooked down to the mantle.” She swiveled her seat away from the ops console to add, ”The Borg cube is sweeping up all the satellites and defense-platform debris in orbit, probably for raw materials.”

Disgust churned up bile in Worf's throat. An enemy that would conquer a world to possess it could be hated and still be respected as an adversary. The Borg, however, had undertaken a campaign of slaughter without even the pretense of a.s.similating the people of the Federation. Their mission had been defined in stark terms by their actions at Acamar, Barolia, and now this ill-fated world. The Borg agenda was nothing less than genocide.

Captain Picard's voice snapped orders through the grim hush of the bridge. ”Helm, intercept course, full impulse.” The captain looked at Worf. ”Destroy the Borg s.h.i.+p.”

”Aye, sir.”

Worf moved to stand beside the s.h.i.+p's chief of security and senior tactical officer, Lieutenant Jasminder Choudhury. The lithe, fortyish human woman's unruly mane of raven hair was tied in a tightly bound ponytail much like Worf's own.

”Prepare to execute attack pattern Tango-Red,” Worf said. He discreetly pointed out a reading on her console to her. Dropping his voice to a coaching whisper, he added, ”Increase the frequency of the transphasic s.h.i.+elding's nutation.”

”Aye, sir,” Choudhury said with a polite nod as she made the adjustment. She was highly skilled and a quick learner, Worf had observed. When they had first met, he had been concerned that her philosophy regarding security matters-which she shared with her deputy chief, a Betazoid man named Rennan Konya-might be too pacifistic. After seeing them both in action during the mission to stop the Borg-a.s.similated science vessel U.S.S. Einstein, however, Worf no longer had any doubts about their competence, or their ability to wield force when necessary.

As the captain rose from his chair, Worf said, ”Arm torpedoes and target the Borg vessel.”

He noted with approval how deftly Choudhury found the Borg vessel's known vulnerable points. ”Locked,” she replied.

Confident that she had no further need of his oversight, he moved to an aft station and configured it to gather damage and casualty reports.

Around the bridge, he saw hunched shoulders and clenched jaws, people tensed for action in a battle that would require little more than pressing b.u.t.tons. Kadohata was the exception. Her countenance of mixed Asian and European ancestry was the very portrait of calm, and her British-sounding accent conveyed the same unflappability that Worf had come to expect from the captain. ”Borg vessel in firing range in ten seconds,” she reported.

The Borg cube loomed like a nightmare on the main viewer.

Worf longed for the raw physicality of the great Klingon battles of old, fought on fields of honor where warriors faced one another with blades to test both prowess and courage. War was more glorious then, he brooded. But death remains the same.

”The Borg cube is arming weapons,” Choudhury declared.

Three shots struck the Enterprise. Deafening concussions rocked the s.h.i.+p, and consoles along the starboard bulkhead crackled with sparks, belched acrid smoke, and went dark.

Captain Picard glanced at Worf. ”Now, Number One.”

”Fire at will,” Worf said. ”Helm, execute attack pattern!”

Streaks like blue fire blazed away from the Enterprise and ripped into the towering black grids of dense machinery that served as the outer hull of the Borg cube. Large segments of the Borg s.h.i.+p disintegrated as the torpedoes exploded, and a cobalt-colored conflagration began to consume the cube from within.

Then it returned fire.

The bridge crew was thrown like rag dolls rolling in a drum as the Enterprise's inertial dampers overloaded. Everyone was hurled to port, and they plummeted as the s.h.i.+p kept rolling. In the span of just a few seconds, they struck the consoles along the port bulkhead, tumbled across the overhead, and dropped hard back to the deck as the s.h.i.+p's artificial gravity and inertial compensators reset themselves.

Worf's nose caught the scent of blood, which mingled with smoke and sharpened his focus. He pushed himself up to his hands and knees and looked first to the captain-who was bruised and had suffered a sc.r.a.pe on his forehead, but was not seriously hurt-and then to the main viewer, on which he saw the Borg cube consumed from within by an indigo fury. The cube collapsed into itself. Its core of blue fire turned blinding white...and then the s.h.i.+p was just a cloud of carbon dust and superheated gas.

If we could arm all of Starfleet with these weapons, Worf imagined, we could end this war with the Borg on our own terms.

He finished a cursory review of the damage and casualty reports and moved to the captain's side to help him up.

”Thank you, Mister Worf,” the captain said once he was back on his feet. ”Damage report.”

”Hull breaches on decks twenty-six through twenty-nine, and the ventral s.h.i.+eld generators are offline.”

Picard nodded once. ”Casualties?”

”Several on the lower decks,” Worf said. ”Mostly blunt-force trauma. No fatalities.”

”Good,” Picard said. ”Are the sensors still operational?”

Worf stole a quick look at Kadohata, who wobbled her hand in a gesture that meant sort of. Worf looked at the captain. ”Their function is limited.”

”Focus our repairs on the sensors. We need them to trace the Borg s.h.i.+p's arrival trajectory.”