Part 18 (1/2)

”Yes, Ed, we did.” She smiled sadly in his direction and then, with tremendous subtlety and discretion, placed her hand on top of his. It was a small gesture of friends.h.i.+p and comfort, but in the pressure of the moment, it touched Jellico profoundly.

And for just a few seconds, he almost smiled, too.

Then a masculine voice boomed from the overhead comm, ”Borg attack fleets are within two minutes of Vulcan, Andor, Coridan, Rigel, and Qo'noS.” The subs.p.a.ce feeds switched to show nearly identical images, of five groups of eight to ten Borg cubes. An electric p.r.i.c.kling raised every hair on Jellico's body, and fear washed through him like a surge of ice water in his veins.

”Order all s.h.i.+ps to intercept and engage,” he said.

History will say we tried, he brooded, as his order was relayed to the fleets above five distant worlds. a.s.suming that history remembers us at all after the Borg get done with us.

The coming battles all were light-years away, but watching them unfold on the desktop monitor in his ready room on t.i.tan, William Riker felt as if he were in the thick of the melee.

Less than a few light-minutes from four Federation member worlds, fleets of allied s.h.i.+ps rallied in formation and raced to meet the enemy. Riker watched them speed toward the Borg cubes and was both grateful and enraged that he and his s.h.i.+p weren't there to do their part.

I should be watching this on the bridge, he told himself. He got up from his chair, took a few steps toward the door, and stopped. What if the battle goes against us? Morale's bad enough as it is. Do I really want to make my crew watch the end of Vulcan or Andor?

Then he imagined what Troi would say: They're strong, Will. They can handle it. Trust them-and let them see your trust.

He forced himself back into motion and out the door, onto the bridge. Lieutenant Commander Fo Hachesa vacated the center seat as Riker approached. ”Repairs are continuing on schedule, Captain,” said the Kobliad acting XO.

”Very good,” Riker said, taking his seat. ”Patch in the feed from Starfleet Command on the main viewer.”

Hachesa pulled his hands to his chest as a nervous frown creased his brow. ”The battle in the core systems, sir?”

”Yes, Commander,” Riker said. Noting the man's discomfort, he continued, ”Is there a problem with that?”

Spreading his hands, Hachesa said, ”Lieutenant T'Kel suggested that earlier, but I disagreed.”

Riker glanced toward the tactical console, where T'Kel was directing an icy stare at Hachesa. Looking back at Hachesa, Riker asked him, ”On what grounds?”

”I did not want to jinx it,” Hachesa said.

It took a few seconds for Riker to be certain that Hachesa was, in fact, utterly serious. ”Overruled,” Riker said. ”This isn't like quantum mechanics, Fo. We won't affect the outcome by observing it.” He nodded to T'Kel. ”Put it on-screen.”

While the Vulcan woman carried out the order, Hachesa confided to Riker, ”I also feared it might be bad for morale.”

”Thousands of Starfleet personnel are about to put their lives on the line,” Riker said, loudly enough for all on the bridge to hear. ”Many of them are about to make the ultimate sacrifice. Since we can't be there to fight beside them, we owe it to them to bear witness-and to remember their courage.”

Images of the five battles appeared on t.i.tan's multi-section main viewer.

That was when Riker realized that maybe Hachesa's instincts had been right after all.

Picard stood at the center of the Enterprise's bridge, his posture erect, his bearing proud, and his soul mired in despair.

On the main viewer, enormous Borg cubes moved in cl.u.s.ters. The sheer ma.s.s of each attack group was more daunting than Picard had ever dared to imagine.

The sight of even a single cube was enough to set his pulse racing and fill his stomach with acid. Instantly, he was back in the hands of the Collective, being absorbed, erased, violated, and entombed inside himself. He was lording over the slaughter of Wolf 359. He was hearing the voices whispering below the fray at the Battle of Sector 001. He was alone.

Lieutenant Choudhury's voice pulled him back into the moment. ”Klingon and allied forces have engaged the Borg at Qo'noS and Beta Rigel,” she said. ”Allied battle groups moving into attack formations at Andor, Vulcan, and Coridan.”

Worf stepped forward to stand on Picard's right side. Out of the corner of his eye, Picard saw that his first officer was emulating his stance, in a show of solidarity and dignity. It was to Worf's credit, Picard thought, that he saw no need to sully the moment with words, and Picard showed Worf the same stoic courtesy in return.

The images of battles far removed blazed with the cold fire of transphasic torpedoes.

Picard wanted to believe that Starfleet was ready for this fight. He wanted to believe that the Federation would endure this crisis, as it had so many others before it.

Then the torpedoes found their marks...and he knew that the only truth left to believe was the one promised by the Borg.

Resistance is futile.

”Torpedoes are away,” announced the tactical officer of the U.S.S. Atlas, and Captain Morgan Bateson clenched the armrests of his chair as he watched the missiles on the main viewer spiral toward their targets.

”Reload and keep firing, Reese,” Bateson said. ”Don't give them time to regroup.” He stole a quick look at his fleet's deployment pattern on his command monitor. ”Kedam, tell the s.h.i.+ps on our port flank to spread out. They're too close.”

The Antican operations officer replied, ”Yes, sir,” as he relayed the order to the other s.h.i.+p's commanding officers.

”Five seconds to impact,” said Lieutenant Reese.

Bateson's hands were coated in cold sweat. He'd fought at the Battle of Sector 001, which had taught him a costly lesson about how devastating a single Borg cube could be in battle. Now he was leading an attack against ten cubes.

We outnumber them four to one, he reminded himself as the transphasic torpedoes detonated against the Borg s.h.i.+ps with a blinding flash. Please, G.o.d, let it be enough.

He didn't expect more than a handful of the cubes to emerge intact from the blistering blue firestorm that engulfed them. Then a black corner pierced the dissipating fog, followed by another...and then by six more.

”Two cubes destroyed,” reported Lieutenant Kedam. ”The remaining eight cubes are still on course for Vulcan.”

Commander Sophie Fawkes, the Atlas's first officer, said, ”Helm, attack pattern Foxtrot Blue!”

”Second salvo's away,” Reese declared from tactical.

Fearing the worst, Bateson said, ”Ready another.”

On the main viewer, he saw the fleet's second barrage of transphasic warheads flare like a blue sun...

...and all eight cubes burst from its flames unscathed.

Dear G.o.d. ”All s.h.i.+ps, break off!” Bateson ordered. ”Fall back to Vulcan orbit and regroup!”