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of Soran’s assertions; he felt the same bitterness himself, the same anger at the patent unfairness of death. He struggled to find a counterargument—but the words he chose seemed to him meaningless, clich6s. “We’re all mortal, Soran. It’s one of the truths of our existence.”
“An ugly truth,” Soran said passionately. “A hideous truth.” He paused; the anger began to ease from his features, to be replaced by dawning exhilaration. “What if I told you I found a new truth…” “The nexus,” Picard said.
Soran’s swift smile was an affirmation. “I’ve spent the last eighty years speaking to other Lakul survivors about their experiences in it, researching it, trying to understand it. Time has no meaning there,” he said, with a simple wonder that erased all trace of darkness from his features, his eyes. “The predator has no teeth. Think of it, Captain… the curse that has plagued the entire universe since the beginning of life—gone. No more death, no suffering…”
He gazed, expectant, at the sky, his face suddenly luminous with sunlight and hope. And then he turned his back on Picard and hurried back to the probe launcher.
Picard watched with a sense of defeat. He could argue no further with Soran’s murderous logic; his only course lay in finding a way inside the forcefield. He glanced once more at Soran, whose attention was entirely focused on the launcher control panel, then began to pace along the field’s perimeter.
He had not gone far when he spied an unusual formation within a dusty red mound: over eons, wind and water had burrowed through the ancient stone to sculpt an almost perfect archway—an opening, Picard judged, just large enough for a man to squeeze through.
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He stared at the daylight beyond; if, by chance, Soran had failed to notice the gap, and hadn’t accounted for it when programming the forcefield…
Casually, Picard bent down to retrieve a pebble and tossed it in Soran’s direction. The field flashed on, revealing something that filled Picard with sudden hope: The field extended to the top of the mound, and no farther. The archway was unshielded.
As if sensing danger, Soran glanced up at the crackling sound. “Careful, Captain. That’s a fifty-gigawatt forcefield. I wouldn’t want to see you get hurt.”
Picard’s lips thinned at the irony in the scientist’s tone; if all went as Soran planned, the captain would be destroyed by the ensuing shock wave. “Thank you,” he replied coolly, and waited for Soran to look back down at the controls before arming himself with pebbles.
On the Bird-of-Prey’s bridge, B’Etor sat scowling at the viewscreen, which revealed a roving view of the Enterprise’s corridors. She glanced up as her sister, who had given up in impatience and left the bridge, returned.
Lursa followed her sister’s gaze to the screen. “Where is he now?”
“I don’t know,” B’Etor snapped. “He bathed… now he is roaming the ship …. He must be the only engineer in Starfleet who does not go to engineering!”
Lursa sat beside her with an unhappy groan. As she did, the view on the screen shifted as the engineer rounded a corner… and moved past a small bulkhead sign marked ENGINEERING. B’Etor leaned forward eagerly in her chair. “Finally!” They watched as the engineer approached another human—a uniformed male, who stopped and initiated a conversation. B’Etor frowned, trying to read the hu-163
man’s lips. Her skill in speaking Standard was formida-ble, and she was able to make out the words “diagnostic” and “generators.”
The view shifted again, this time to something that took B’Etor to the edge of her seat: A bank of monitors, and beside them, a large graphic of the Enterprise. Then once more, the view began to pan to the left.
“That’s it!” Lursa swiveled and grasped her sister’s wrist. “Replay from time index four-two-nine.”
B’Etor’s fingers flew swiftly over the controls on her console arm. The image on her small monitor and the main viewscreen reversed itself to show the bank of monitors and the graphic diagram of the starship.
Lursa touched the diagram on B’Etor’s small console screen. “Magnify this section and enhance.”
B’Etor worked once more, enlarging the view of the Enterprise graphic. Lursa leaned forward until her face was a handsbreadth from the console arm, and read aloud, squinting. “Their shields are operating on a modulation of two-five-seven point four …. “
She rose, her face flushed, and gazed into B’Etor’s eyes with triumph.
“Adjust our torpedo frequency to match,” B’Etor called out, her voice rising with excitement. “Two-five- seven point four!” She returned her sister’s exultant smile; for with those words, she had just secured the destruction of the Enterprise, and victory for the house of Duras.
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ELEVEN
“Sir.” His cheerful expression now replaced by one of concern, Data swiveled toward Riker. “I am detecting an anomalous subspace reading in Main Engineering. It may be—”
Riker never heard the rest. The ship reeled hard to port, slamming him against the arm of his chair. He held on, managing to turn his head to look at the screen, where the bright glow of the most recent blast was fading to reveal the Bird-of-Prey against the backdrop of Veridian III. As Riker watched, another brilliantly shining torpedo emerged from the Klingon vessel and streaked relentlessly toward the Enterprise.
He barely had time to brace himself before the next one hit—with such thunderous force that when it ended, he felt amazed the hull above them had not been sheared in two.
Over the screaming of the red-alert klaxons, Worf called, “They have found a way to penetrate our shields!” “Lock phasers and return fire!” Riker ordered.
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On the screen, the Bird-of-Prey’s shields flashed as they absorbed the impact of the starship’s phaser blasts.
A no-win situation, Riker realized, even before he saw the next photon torpedo blazing toward them on the viewscreen. Without shields, the Enterprise would be torn apart.
The ship lurched again beneath his feet; the conn console erupted in a hail of sparks, hurling the conn officer to the deck.
“Deanna!” Riker shouted. “Take the helm. Get us out of orbit!”
Troi propelled herself from her chair and raced unsteadily across the rocking deck to the helm. Within seconds, Veridian III disappeared from the viewscreen —but the Klingon vessel was in full pursuit. Not enough, Riker knew, as he squinted his eyes at the dazzling glow of another approaching torpedo. Lursa and B’Etor had found a way to outwit the Enterprise’s superior firepower; it was time for Riker to return the favor.
As the ship was jolted again, Data called, his voice bright with panic, “Hull breach on decks thirty-one through thirty-five!”
“Worfl” Riker paused and braced himself as yet another hit rocked the bridge; overhead, the lights flickered. “That’s an old Klingon ship. What do we know about it? Are there any weaknesses?”
Worf clutched his console and held on as the ship rolled. “It is a Class D-twelve Bird-of-Prey. They were retired from service because of defective plasma coils.”
“Plasma coils? Is there any way we can use that to our advantage?”
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“I do not see how,” Worf replied. “The plasma coil is part of their cloaking device.”
“Data.” Riker wheeled toward him with sudden inspiration. “Wouldn’t a defective plasma coil be susceptible to some kind of ionic pulse?”
“Perhaps…” Data frowned, considering it, then brightened with enthusiasm. “Yes! If we sent a low-level ionic pulse, it might reset the coil and trigger their cloaking device. Excellent idea, sir.”
Worf nodded, on to the idea. “As their cloak begins to engage, their shields will drop.”
“Right,” Riker said. “And they’ll be vulnerable for at least two seconds.” He glanced at the android. “Data, lock on to that plasma coil.”
“No problem,” Data answered, confident. He hurried over to a bulkhead, removed a panel, and began rerouting circuitry at inhuman speed.
“Worf.” Riker turned to the Klingon. “Prepare a spread of photon torpedoes. We’ll have to hit them the instant they begin to cloak.” “Aye, sir.” Worf began to work his console.
“We’re only going to get one shot at this,” Riker continued. “Target their primary reactor. With any luck, their warp core should explode.”
“I have accessed their coil frequency,” Data called, from his supine position on the deck. “Initiating ionic pulse…”
The bridge reeled once more. Riker held on, bowing his head as the aft console exploded, raining smoke and debris. “Make it quick… !”
A moment earlier on the Bird-of-Prey’s bridge, B’Etor smiled, intoxicated with triumph, at her older sister.
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Soran had proved himself a worthy ally; not only had he given them a weapon of incredible power, he had also come up with the plan which would now provide them with the added pleasure of destroying the Enterprise. Who would dare stand up to them now? B’Etor allowed herself a fleeting daydream: Herself, white-haired and wrinkled, telling again to her kinsmen and followers the story of how she and her late sister had, with nothing more than an ancient Bird-of-Prey, destroyed the great Galaxy-class starship ….
The deck rocked slightly beneath her feet. She glanced over at the helmsman, who quickly reported, “Minor damage to the port nacelle. Our shields are holding.”
Her smile widened. “Fire at will …. “
She watched with unutterable delight as the torpedoes found their target, scarring the gleaming metal of the Enterprise’s hull. You were wise to tell your captain not to trust us, Commander Riker. Are you contemplating your own words now?
Beside her, Lursa laughed softly in pure enjoyment. “Target their bridge.”
“Full disruptors,” B’Etor added. They had savored their advantage long enough; time now to make a clean, swift kill.
The navigator released a soft yelp, one full of such mortal surprise that B’Etor whirled swiftly in her chair, her euphoria turned abruptly to unease.
The navigator looked up at her, his eyes wide with panic. “We are cloaking!”
“What?” B’Etor gasped.
“Mistress!” the helmsman cried. “Our shields are down!”
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There was no time for her to issue an order; merely to stare, stunned, at the viewscreen, which showed a pack of torpedoes streaking toward themmthen to share a final gaze of stunned defeat with her sister.
The bridge shuddered beneath the blows, which came so fast and hard that B’Etor could not keep her balance, could not remain in her chair, but fell, clawing for purchase, to the deck. Around her, consoles exploded into flame, bodies flew, men screamed; and then a rumble began, deep in the ship’s belly, one that grew until the deck beneath her trembled, until the very teeth in her skull chattered. She knew by instinct that the warp core had begun to implode, that there was no chance of survival. She and the ship and everyone on it would be reduced to dust.
Even so, she felt no sorrow—it would be a good death, a warrior’s death—only deep frustration at having come so close to victory, and a good amount of irritation at a human called William Riker.
Riker shielded his eyes against the blinding flash on the viewscreen as the Bird-of-Prey dissolved into spinning debris. “Yes!” Data croweds exultant.
Riker wasted no time celebrating, but pressed his signaling comm badge.
“La Forge to bridge. Commander, I’ve got a problem down here. The magnetic interlocks have been ruptured. I need to get the—”
There came a hissing sound, as if the link had dissolved into faint static. Riker frowned. “Mr. La Forge… ?”
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In the background, he heard Geordi shout, “Coolant leak! Everybody out!” There followed the sounds of people scrambling, shouting.
“Bridge!” Geordi called in a voice sharply urgent and breathless from running. “We’ve got a new problem. We’re about five minutes from a warp-core breach. There’s nothing I can do.”
“Understood,” Riker said. He hesitated—an instant, no more—then turned toward the helm. “Deanna, evacuate everyone into the saucer section. Mr. Data, prepare to separate the ship.”
He moved to the captain’s chair with a sense of cold unreality, and grimly pressed the control that sounded the alarm he had hoped never to hear except in drills.
Beneath the shelter of a tree, Picard paused to make sure Soran was absorbed in his work, then tossed another pebble at the stone arch. The small stone missed its mark and bounced with a glimmer off the forcefield.
Soran glanced up; Picard sat nonchalantly on a nearby rock, and waited until the scientist’s attention was once again diverted—then tossed a second pebble with the determination of a child skipping stones. This one, too, was repelled by the forcefield.
He looked up to see Soran staring at him with irritation. “Don’t you have anything better to do?”
He said nothing; merely waited once more until Soran returned his gaze to the launcher control panel, then threw another pebble toward the arch.
This one did not miss. The stone struck the sand, then gave a little bounce forward and rolled beneath the arch ú.. inside the forcefield.
Picard did not permit his expression to shift, but looked up casually as the scientist finished his work at the launcher controls.
Soran stepped down from the control panel and gazed smugly at Picard. “Sure you won’t come with me?” “Quite sure.”
Soran shrugged, but there was a faint wistful look in his eye. “Your choice. Now, if you’ll excuse me, Captain, I have an appointment with eternity and I don’t want to be late.”
He turned and began to climb up the scaffolding toward the top of the rock face.
There was no time for further appeals, no time for subterfuge. Picard dropped to the ground, rolled onto his back, and wriggled headfirst beneath the arch. He expelled all the air from his lungs, used his feet and legs to press his body as hard into the sand as he could.
There was little room. He got his head through to the forcefield’s other side and slipped his shoulders beneath the arch when the field flashed blindingly in front of his chin. The jolt this time was agonizingly intense; as the field crackled, he thrashed involuntarily, then stilled himself, panting, and directed his clearing gaze upward, toward the scaffolding.
A blur of black and white, Soran paused in his climbing.
Picard pushed hard with his feet and slid forward through the sand, but it was too late. Atop the scaffolding, Soran wheeled, then pulled an object from his hip.
A disruptor, Picard realized with a rush of adrenaline. He tried to roll, tried to wriggle free. But the rock