Part 9 (2/2)

Bacco antic.i.p.ated Piniero's news with deep anxiety. She didn't want to know the truth; she didn't want to make the disaster real by allowing its tragedies to be spoken. But what she wanted didn't really matter anymore.

”Esperanza,” she said. ”Tell me. In simple words.”

Piniero palmed her eyes dry and forced herself into a ragged facsimile of composure. ”We've lost Deneva,” she said.

A churning tide of sickness and a destabilizing feeling of emptiness struck Bacco at the same time. Overwhelmed, she sank into her chair, faltering like an invalid. There had been no surprise in Piniero's report, but it was still devastating to confront it as a hard truth. Billions more dead. Billions.

”What's coming next?” Bacco said.

”Regulus is under siege now, and an attack on Qo'noS is imminent,” Piniero said. ”Martok's fleet is gone. All he has left is a rear guard at the Klingon homeworld.”

Even if it would amount to merely going through the motions, Bacco was determined to serve a purpose until the bitter end. ”Do we have any forces close enough to help them?”

”Admiral Jellico redeployed the Tempest and its battle group from Ajilon to Qo'noS six hours ago. Admiral Akaar can't guarantee they'll get there in time to make a difference.”

Bacco felt like a chess player who knew she had already been checkmated but was obliged to continue until the endgame. ”Which worlds are getting hit next?”

”Elas and Troyius are both facing attacks in two hours,” Piniero said. ”So are Ajilon, Archanis, Castor, and Risa.”

I feel like I'm drowning. Bacco closed her eyes for a moment. ”What about the core systems?”

”Borg attack groups are on course for Vulcan, Andor, Coridan, and Beta Rigel. ETA five hours.”

It would be negligent of me not to ask, Bacco reminded herself. ”And Earth?”

”Eight hours, Madam President.” Despair loomed over Piniero like a black halo. ”Ma'am, this might be a good time to consider moving your office into the secure bunker at Starfleet Command.”

Bacco sighed. ”I think it's a bit late for that.” She reached forward and activated the comm to signal her a.s.sistant. ”Sivak, round up the cabinet members and the senior staff, and have them meet me in the Roth Dining Room in one hour.”

”Certainly, Madam President. Should your guests inquire, shall I tell them that formal dress is demanded or optional?”

”They can show up naked for all I care. And tell the chefs I want to see the best of everything they've got. If they've been waiting for a chance to impress me, this is it.”

”Yes, Madam President. I'm sure the kitchen staff will find your enthusiasm for their work deeply inspiring.”

”And have them set a place for you as well, Sivak.”

She savored the moment of stunned silence that followed. It was rare that Sivak spoke without sarcasm or a subtle jab of wit, so hearing him reply with courtesy was a rare delight. ”Thank you, Madam President,” he said. ”The dining room will be ready to receive you and your guests in one hour.”

”Thanks, Sivak,” Bacco said, and she closed the channel.

Piniero planted one hand on her hip and gesticulated with the other. ”Ma'am, what was that about?”

”Dinner,” Bacco said. ”If you have a special request, I suggest you send it to the kitchen sooner rather than later.”

The chief of staff blinked. She looked as if Bacco had just swatted her in the back of the head with a baseball bat. ”Do you really think an impromptu state dinner is what we need right now? We're eight hours away from seeing Earth get turned into a glowing ball of molten gla.s.s.”

”Exactly,” Bacco replied. ”It's an old Earth tradition. The condemned get to enjoy a final meal, so they can savor what it means to be alive one last time before they die.” She stood and circled around her desk to join Piniero. ”This might be our last supper, Esperanza-so let's dine with style.”

A bittersweet smile broke through Piniero's veil of gloom. ”I like the way you think, ma'am.”

Bacco shrugged and said with a wry grin, ”It's my job.”

4527 B.C.E.

14.

Pembleton and the other human survivors pushed into the middle of their shelter, closer to the pile of fire-heated rocks, and listened with unease and suspicion as Lerxst answered their questions about the Caeliar's bizarre proposal.

”Help me understand,” Graylock said, holding out his empty palms. ”You want to use us as batteries?”

Lerxst replied, ”Engines would be a better a.n.a.logy. Even that falls short of the mark, however. What we are suggesting is a fusion of our strengths, for our mutual survival.”

Thayer narrowed her eyes at Lerxst. ”But you did say that you'd be using our bodies as a source of power.”

”In the short term, yes,” Lerxst said.

Steinhauer, who kept his hands busy threading fibers into the loop of a snowshoe, looked up and said, ”Why not use one of those creatures that killed our man Niccolo?”

”It is not merely biochemical reactions that we require,” Lerxst said. ”The interaction of our catoms is similar in many respects to the synapses of your brains. To sustain ourselves and maintain the integrity of our consciousness, we would need to bond with a sentient being, one with enough neuroelectric activity to power our catoms. Mere animals will not suffice.”

Pembleton said, ”So we've established why you need us. Why do we need you?”

The Caeliar lifted his arm and made a sweeping gesture at the confines of the shelter. ”Your current situation appears to speak for itself,” he said. Directing their attention to the ailing Crichlow, he added, ”Our catoms could enhance your immune systems and enable you to adapt to this world's aggressive pathogens.” He pointed at Thayer's mechanically augmented foot. ”They would also speed your recovery from injuries and prolong your ability to survive a famine.”

”I presume that's a best-case scenario,” Graylock said.

Lerxst bowed slightly to the engineer. ”Yes, it is.”

Graylock shook his head slowly. ”Now let's hear the worst-case scenario.”

”The fusion of our catoms and gestalt with your organic bodies does carry significant risks,” Lerxst said. ”Normally, we would not attempt anything so complex without first conducting extensive research and testing. Given the primitive nature of our surroundings and the urgency of our respective crises, we would have to attempt this bonding without such preparations.”

Thayer's anger put an edge on her voice. ”Get to the point. What happens if it goes wrong?”

Tense silence followed her question. Lerxst's demeanor was subdued as he replied, ”An unsuccessful fusion could result in the death of the intended host, the dispersal of the Caeliar consciousness, or both. It could also inflict brain damage on the host, turning him or her into an automaton under the control of the bonded intelligence; or the bonded ent.i.ty might prove incompatible with the host and would become corrupted. It is also remotely possible that your bodies' immune systems might reject the catoms as foreign tissue and treat the fusion as a form of infection. Any or all of these outcomes might occur.”

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