Part 24 (2/2)

As soon as her eyes adjusted, she got a good look at Akaar and couldn't suppress a resentful frown. She gestured at his crisp, perfect-looking uniform and salon-perfect mane of pale gray hair. ”How do you do it?”

”Madam President?”

”You've been awake the past two days, just like the rest of us,” Bacco said. She nodded at Piniero. ”But Esperanza and I look like we've been chasing a fart through a bag of nails, and you look like you just stepped out of a replicator. What gives?”

Akaar shrugged. ”Good genes?”

”You're not endearing yourself to me, Leonard.”

”My apologies, Madam President.”

Circling behind her desk, Bacco replied, ”Bring me some good news, and maybe we'll call it even.”

”We have some,” he said, ”but not much. Thirty-six minutes ago, the Imperial Romulan Warbird Verithrax sacrificed itself to halt the Borg attack on Ardana. Casualties on the surface are still disastrously high, but if not for the heroism of the Verithrax's crew, our losses there would have been total.”

”Which Romulan fleet was the Verithrax loyal to?”

”Donatra's,” Piniero said.

Bacco nodded, as if it were all perfectly normal, but she knew that it was nothing shy of extraordinary. If the Federation and the Imperial Romulan State both survived this war with the Borg, there would be no denying that Donatra and those loyal to her had committed fully to an alliance, in both word and deed. ”Has there been any reaction from the Romulan Star Empire?”

”No,” Piniero said. ”Praetor Tal'Aura probably hasn't heard the news yet. For that matter, Donatra might not even know.”

”Then make sure we're the ones who tell her,” Bacco said. ”Send an official expression of grat.i.tude on behalf of myself and the Federation to Empress Donatra.”

Piniero nodded and made a note on a small data padd she kept handy in her jacket pocket.

Looking back at Akaar, Bacco asked, ”Anything else?”

He blinked once, slowly, and c.o.c.ked his head at a slight angle. ”We have received a credible if not entirely corroborated report that the planet Troyius was spared from a Borg attack, thanks to an intervention by the Corps of Engineers.”

Bacco's eyes widened; her curiosity was piqued. ”How?”

”According to preliminary reports,” Akaar said, ”the U.S.S. da Vinci made the planet disappear.”

”Forgive me for repeating myself,” Bacco said. ”How?”

A perplexed glance was volleyed between Akaar and Piniero, and then Bacco's chief of staff replied, ”No one knows, ma'am. But as soon as Captain Gomez and her crew bring the planet back, we'll be sure to ask her.”

”Unfortunately, that is the end of the good news, Madam President,” Akaar said. ”A Borg attack fleet is eighty-four minutes from Earth, and our perimeter defense groups have been unable to slow its approach. As we feared earlier, the Borg have completely adapted to the transphasic torpedo. And whatever had them shooting at one another has stopped.”

An imaginary but still unbearable weight pressed down on Bacco's shoulders, and she sank into her chair. ”Admiral, is there any reasonable possibility that Starfleet can halt the incoming Borg fleet?”

The question left Akaar's face reddened with shame. ”No.”

”Then order all remaining vessels in Sector 001 to break off and disperse,” Bacco said. ”Stop wasting s.h.i.+ps and lives. Redeploy your forces to protect refugees and outlying systems.”

Akaar clenched his jaw, and Bacco suspected the hulking flag officer was struggling not to protest a direct order. A few seconds pa.s.sed. He relaxed with a deep breath, and then he answered, ”Yes, Madam President.”

Bacco sighed. ”Esperanza, do the people of Earth, Luna, and Mars know what's happening right now?”

”Yes, ma'am,” Piniero said.

Propping her elbows on the desk and steepling her fingers, Bacco asked, ”How are they coping with it? Panic? Riots?”

A soft huff of amus.e.m.e.nt brought a bittersweet smile to Piniero's face. ”Nope, not a one. There are silent, candlelight vigils on the Champs-elysees, in Aldrin Park on Luna, and at the Settlers' Monument in Cydonia on Mars. Some people are gathering in the wilderness parks or attending impromptu concerts.” Her voice broke, and she looked hastily at the floor. ”Families are having reunions,” she continued, her voice unsteadied by grief and fear. ”Outgoing data traffic is spiking as people send farewell messages to friends and family offworld.” She sniffled loudly, and then she looked up and wiped the side of her hand under her nose. Her eyes shone with tears. ”I guess the world is ending with a bang and a whimper.”

Shaking her head, Bacco said, ”Not a whimper, Esperanza, with dignity.”

Feeling her own emotions rising, Bacco swiveled her chair around to look out upon Paris. She stared through her ghostly reflection into the night. An entire world stretched out before her, facing its imminent annihilation and displaying more grace under pressure than she could ever have imagined possible.

In that moment, she was as proud as she had ever been to call herself a citizen of the Federation.

Akaar broke the silence. ”I should excuse myself and relay your orders to Starfleet Command, Madam President.”

”Of course, Admiral,” said Bacco. ”Thank you.”

He turned on his heel and made a quick exit. Agent Wexler, lurking in the shadows as always, opened the door ahead of Akaar and closed it behind him. Then the compact protection specialist faded back into the dim s.p.a.ces along the periphery of the room.

Piniero palmed her tearstained eyes dry and stiffened her posture. ”We still have eighty minutes before the Borg arrive, ma'am,” she said. ”Would you like to make a final address to Earth or the Federation?”

Bacco admired the nightscape outside her office window and found at last a place of serenity within herself. ”No,” she said with a sad grin. ”Why ruin a perfectly good apocalypse?”

24.

Picard stood in the open doorway of his ready room, with his back to the bridge. The interior of his office had been gutted to the bare bulkheads and deck plates. All traces of the fire had been meticulously scoured away, leaving the antiseptic sh.e.l.l of the compartment harshly lit by new, uncovered lighting fixtures. It was utterly devoid of any trace of the mementos he'd stored there before the blaze. New carpeting and furniture were scheduled to be installed in a day's time, after the s.h.i.+p's engineers and technicians had attended to mission-critical repairs elsewhere throughout the Enterprise.

His thoughts remained fixated on Captain Hernandez's revelation of the Borg's true origin. Learning of humanity's complicity in the Collective's creation only made it harder for him to accept the staggering devastation the Borg had wrought throughout the galaxy.

He remembered succ.u.mbing to the hive mind when it had made him into Locutus. His secret shame in all the years since then had been how easy it had felt to give himself over to it. He had thought it was proof of some vile defect in his character, some cla.s.sically tragic flaw. Now he understood why it had been so easy, why it had felt so familiar: The heart of the Collective was just the dark side of humanity itself. Even then, his subconscious mind had understood what he had been too ashamed to admit: Despite its pitiless, remorseless drive to crush and possess and devour, the Collective had a human soul.

He heard the soft tread of footfalls on carpeting behind him. Turning his head just a bit, he saw, on the edge of his vision, Worf approaching with a padd in his hand. ”Yes, Worf?”

Worf stopped a respectful distance from Picard and said, ”La Forge and Kadohata are completing their modifications to the subs.p.a.ce transmitter and the main deflector.”

”How much longer?”

Worf said, ”Both systems will be online in two minutes.”

”Excellent,” Picard said. He looked at the indentation in the ready room's bulkhead where a replicator once had been. The sight of the empty s.p.a.ce made him want a cup of Earl Grey tea.

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