Star Trek_ Generations - J M. Dillard [47]
But he had only a minute. Soran smiled again at the thought, but the smile was not entirely untroubled. Torturing La Forge had proved more … unpleasant than Soran had anticipated. In fact, it had turned his stomach to think he had become like the Borg.
It doesnt matter. None of it matters. I was kindI let La Forge live, which is more than this universe of time and death will do for him. Were all doomed here, all walking corpses.
He had restarted La Forges heart after fifteen seconds, unable to watch the mans suffering. On his home planet, he had been a gentle man, a kind man, with no stomach for cruelty … certainly not murder.
The sacrifice of Veridian IV is necessary. Necessary. It is the only way to return home … Yet the thought of it haunted his nights. He would do it, though. He would not falter as he had with La Forge, because what happened on Veridian IV would be distant, bloodless; he would not have to witness it, would already be in the nexus by then. And, perhaps … unlikely, but just perhaps there might be some lucky few caught in the reverberations from the energy ribbon who would be transported to the nexus. Their bodies would perish in this universe, but their echoes would live eternally. He was doing those possible few a favor. Nothingguilt, outsiders, Klingonsnothing could be permitted to deter him now.
He repocketed the watch and stepped from the corridor onto the bridge, where the two sisters sat, gruesome leather-and-metal mirror images, at command. Lursa, the elder, husky-throated one, the one who seemed most often to have the last word, swiveled to face him. Did you get anything from the human?
No, Soran said, with an inward smile. His heart just wasnt in it.
One of the huge male helmsmen glanced over his shoulder at his mistress. We have entered orbit of Veridian Three.
Soran glanced at the looming planet on the viewscreen with a rush of anticipation that turned his skin to gooseflesh, then turned quickly to Lursa. Prepare to transport me to the surface.
Wait! BEtor rose, distrustful and swaggering, from her chair. When do we get our payment?
He gazed on her, struggling to mask his hatred. He despised having to deal with such small-minded, power-hungry creatures, who would no doubt make a pitiful mess of the galaxy once he had gone.
No matter. This universe and its concerns were fast fading from his consciousness as he focused on the joy to come. These grotesque parodies of womanhood, this ship, this situation possessed no more reality than a painful dream from which he would soon wake. Lursa and BEtor were shadows, phantoms who had sprung from the void and would soon vanish into it.
He sighed, fished a tiny chip from his pocket, and handed it to her. This contains all the information youll need to build a trilithium weapon, he said, as BEtor greedily seized the deadly gift and gazed down at it with glistening, predatory eyes. Its been coded. Once Im safely to the surface, Ill transmit the decryption sequence to you … not before.
Mistress! the helmsman cried abruptly. A Federation starship is entering the system!
What? Indignant, Lursa leaned forward, clutching the arms of her chair. On viewer.
On the small, dust-covered screen, a grainy, not-quite-focused image of a starship wavered into view. The Enterprise, Soran knew instinctively.
The helmsman swiveled his great, dark head to peer over a leather-clad shoulder at his mistresses. They are hailing us.
Lip curling, BEtor growled two syllables in Klingon; her command was followed instantly by the sound of a familiar voice on the intercom.
Klingon vessel, Picard said, and Soran closed his eyes. There was strength in the captains tone now; he had mastered his sorrow, and become the adversary Soran had feared he might. We know what youre doing, and we