Resistance - J.M. Dillard [33]
She faced him, her gaze and words pointed. “Do you have any choice, Jean-Luc?”
He looked away at the stars and in a low voice uttered, “I don’t.”
“And we don’t,” she insisted. “We know you, Jean…Captain. We trust you. You wouldn’t do this unless it was absolutely necessary. Can you think of a single one of your officers who wouldn’t make the very same decision you have?”
His lip quirked wryly again. “Counselor T’Lana.”
“She doesn’t know you. Yet. But she’ll come around.”
“When she sees the Borg ship,” Jean-Luc said heavily.
The words made them both lapse into silence. Beverly settled back into the couch beside him and waited for the encounter that would come before the Enterprise’s dawn.
5
PICARD SAT THROUGH THE NIGHT, OCCASIONALLY rising to stare out at the stars streaking by. He felt no fear for himself, only for what his crew might have to endure, only for what he had asked of Beverly, now curled, dozing, beside him.
Instead, he felt anger: anger that he was again called upon to fight a nemesis he had thought conquered, an even greater anger that he again had to subject his crew to a horror no one should be called upon to face. Worse, he felt a mounting fury—one he believed he had overcome but that had apparently lain long buried. It was the rage of a man embittered by an intolerable violation, and with it came infinite grief. He had never forgotten that the Borg had used his knowledge to kill: the crews of forty starships, half as many Klingon warships, assembled near the star called Wolf 359…all dead, because of the contribution Locutus had brought to the Collective. He had known many of the perished; at night, he saw their faces more distinctly, saw their graveyard: ships blackened and battered, helplessly afloat, their hulls rent, leaving twisted bridges open to space…
He’d had enough counseling—enough time spent with Deanna—to know that it was not his fault, that the Borg had committed these crimes. Rationally, he understood that well. But thoughts and emotions were two different things.
What had Beverly said?
A wound as deep as yours won’t ever heal completely…
He had thought her wrong; he had believed that Lily’s admonition had helped him form a scar too thick ever to be pierced. Now the wound was exposed again, raw: T’Lana was correct in that regard. But he had made a silent promise to himself, to the long-dead Lily, to his crew. He would never again let his fury against the Borg color his command decisions.
The Borg chatter had become progressively louder throughout the night, though the few phrases that were comprehensible gave him no further insight. Yet he could sense himself, his ship, moving steadily closer to them.
He was not surprised when, at last, his communicator chirped. He pressed it at once. “Picard here.”
Beverly stirred, then sat forward, instantly alert.
The voice was Geordi’s. His tone managed to convey an incongruent mix of excitation and grimness. “Per your orders, Captain, we’re not in visual range yet. But our long-range scanners have found the moon we’re looking for.” He hesitated. “And, sir…you’re right. There’s a structure resembling a Borg cube in orbit. And it’s massive.”
“Of course,” Picard murmured. It was, after all, a queen vessel.
“It doesn’t seem to have detected us yet.”
“They have no reason to use their long-range scanners. I doubt they’re expecting visitors.” The captain paused, doubting himself for the first time. He couldn’t be sure of that fact, or anything he suspected about the ship. Everything that he had heard so far led him to believe that the Borg cube was not yet fully functional, that all the systems would come online at once when the queen was awakened. But there was no way to be sure of that information. He had put a great deal of faith in his intuition already, but what came next was a tremendous leap. It was the one part of his plan that required his crew to support him without question, even though he already questioned himself.
On the bridge,