The Soldiers of Fear (13 page)

"Well," Picard said, returning to his command chair. "I hope he likes long shots not just for the challenge."

"Kiser likes a challenge," Riker said, remembering the ironic, contained man he had played cards with a few years before. "But he likes winning even more."

"Good," Picard said, turning back to the screen showing the Furies' ships. "Because that's the only attitude that will get us out of here alive."

TEN-FORWARD WAS EMPTY. The entire crew was on duty. Families huddled together in their quarters or the specially assigned safe areas that Beverly had set up.

Picard stood at the door. He had forgotten the room was so vast. Behind the bar Guinan worked over something, then turned around and smiled a full smile at him. She had on a purple robe and flowing purple hat that somehow seemed to blend with her dark skin, making her eyes seem intense. Many times Picard had looked into those clear, knowledgeable eyes for help and gotten it. In many ways he considered Guinan one of his best friends, even though he knew very little about her. He just knew that he trusted her completely and over the years she had never let him down. Not once.

"You'd better come sit down," Guinan said, indicating the barstool in front of her. "I don't have table side service anymore." She set a steaming mug of Earl Grey tea on the bar. Hers was real, not replicated. The drink's delicate perfume drifted through the empty room.

"I don't have much time, Guinan," Picard said.

"I know, but you came here for a reason." She slid the tea forward. "Now sit."

He stepped into the room, feeling vaguely guilty. He should be preparing more for the approaching attack, but he had delegated the duties to people with greater expertise in their areas. He had nothing to do but wait.

And worry.

The job of a commander.

"You are preparing for the attack," Guinan said as he approached. "Stop feeling so guilty."

"Is it that obvious?" He climbed onto the barstool. The scent of the tea tickled his nose. He took the mug, felt its warmth against his fingers, and sipped. The bouquet was delicate, as fine as that of any tea he had ever had.

"I doubt it's obvious to anyone else, but I've known you a long time."

"That you have," Picard said. "And you well know I've never faced a situation like this one."

"But you have," she said, the look on her face clearly showing her disagreement. "Every day when you venture into new territory, you face the same decisions you face here."

He shook his head. "No," he said. "This is different. We came into the sector as the advance troop in a war, Guinan. I've dedicated my entire life, my entire career to peace."

"Yet you serve in Starfleet," she said softly.

"Successful Starfleet officers wage peace," he said.

"Sometimes waging peace is preventing universal destruction." She pulled up a chair, pushed her purple hat back, and leaned her elbows on the bar, as if she were the supplicant.

"Sometimes," he said. "I agree. But I can't help the feeling that we are missing something here. The Furies come through the Furies Point and instantly we're at war. Admiral Kirschbaum told me to negotiate, but that felt perfunctory, Guinan. It is as if we have been expecting a battle for eighty years, and a battle is what we're going to get."

"The Furies have terrified this sector for a long time," Guinan said. Her eyes were hooded, her gaze unreadable. He hated it when she was being inscrutable.

"You think we're wrong, don't you?"

"I didn't say that," she said, "but I do think that terror leads to fuzzy decision-making."

"As do I," Picard said. "Yet I have tried to negotiate with them. They will not talk. They are intent on intimidation. They're even sending a beam filled with fake intimidation, forcing our nervous systems into a state of fear."

"Brundage Station was deliberate provocation," Guinan said.

Picard nodded. "But I learned long ago that even given such attempts to start a war, parties can come to peaceful terms."

Guinan lifted her head, her eyebrows together in a frown. "You're afraid of them," she said as if it were a revelation. "Aren't you?"

"I felt the fear they sent," he said.

She shook her head. "No. I mean, you're really afraid of them. Underneath." She patted her stomach inside her robe. "Down in here afraid."

He licked his lips. It was a question he had been asking himself, and he had been afraid of the answer. Such irony. And it was probably the question that had led him to Guinan in the first place.

"These creatures," he said, "formed the nightmares of my childhood. Paris is full of their images. They grace buildings in the form of gargoyles, fill the Louvre in medieval paintings, are shown being vanquished in the stained glass of ancient churches. We would return home after a visit to that city, and I would dream of gargoyles climbing off buildings, swarming the streets, and coming to get me. When I saw the leader of the Furies, I saw my nightmare come to life."

Guinan took his nearly empty mug and refilled it. But she didn't give it back to him right away. She held it as if considering serving him at all.

He had seen this look before. Guinan had a lot of knowledge about the universe, and while she shared it, she did so judiciously. Always cautious about offending others, always cautious about revealing more than the listener needed to know, she recognized her knowledge as the potential weapon it was.

"Your childhood nightmares confused the evils, Jean-Luc," she said. She wasn't looking at him; she was looking in the mug. "What do you know of gargoyles?"

"Aside from their architectural uses?"

She smiled then, and set the mug before him. The steam rose, coating his hand. "I'm not going to waste our time talking about decorative water spouts."

"I know that they were common on medieval stone structures, and were often imitated as late as the twentieth century."

"That's still architectural," she said. "Gargoyles were placed on buildings to keep the demons out. Jean-Luc, you're confusing your protectors with your enslavers."

He wrapped his hand around the mug, needing the comfort of the warmth. "What do you mean, Guinan?"

"The hatred you feel deep inside is genetic, Jean-Luc." She was looking at him now, her dark eyes filled with compassion. He wasn't certain he wanted to see that. "The Furies terrorized your people thousands of years ago. And not just your people. The Vulcans, the Klingons, even the Ferengi fell prey to them."

Picard nodded. "I know."

Guinan went on. "But do you really, Jean-Luc?" She gave him a look and he wondered if he really did have any understanding.

"After a millennium of rule in this sector, something arrived and overthrew the Furies. The Klingons called them the Havoc."

She stood upright, looking into his eyes. "The Vulcans wrote only of the terror that ensued in the battle. Humans, on the other hand, had several reactions to their protectors. The ancient Greeks made them into gods, Moors and the ancient pagans agreed with the Klingons. Their graphic representations of these 'saviors' was grotesque. Over time they became stylized in garden statuary."

She paused, then said softly, "And gargoyles."

"But if gargoyles were supposed to protect us, then why did I fear them?" Picard asked. "Was that genetic too?"

"Perhaps," Guinan said. "The wrong kind of protection can also be devastating."

He smiled at her. "You say that for a reason."

She smiled back, like a small child caught in a forbidden act. "You know me too well, Jean-Luc. Yes, I say that for a reason."

"This war talk bothers you as well."

She nodded. "Make certain you're going into this properly. Don't fight them just because they terrify you. And don't make up the purpose of their mission here. You don't know yet why they're here."

"I've tried to negotiate," Picard said.

"Really?" Guinan asked.

"Guinan, I've spoken to them twice. I've told them who we are."

"They know that, Jean-Luc. They terrorized your people once. They learned about the Federation the last time they came through here. Telling them who you are is not negotiating."

He took a sip of the tea. "You're right," he said, "we need to speak from a position of strength."

She shook her head. "That's not what I'm saying at all. You need to make a good faith effort with them. You need to find a peaceful compromise, and offer it with your whole heart."

"My heart hates them, Guinan. You've just said that's bred into me."

"So is battle lust, Jean-Luc. I have never seen that overtake you."

"A rational man overcomes his heritage?" Picard said, with only a bit of irony.

"In a word." Guinan was not smiling. She meant it. She meant it all.

Then Riker's voice broke the silence in Ten-Forward. "Captain Picard to the bridge."

"Acknowledged." Picard looked at Guinan. Then he reached out a hand and clasped hers. "I value your wisdom, old friend," he said, and left.

As Picard entered the bridge, he saw Riker and Data leaning over the science console.

"Sir," Riker said, coming to attention. "The wormhole has changed."

Data hadn't stopped monitoring the screen. Picard's stomach clenched. The light lingering taste of the Earl Grey tea turned sour in his mouth. He wasn't ready for this, not so soon after the discussion with Guinan. He wanted time to think about what she had said.

Time was the only commodity he lacked.

"Analysis, Mr. Data."

"The size of the wormhole has increased by fifty centimeters. It is expanding at a rate of one centimeter every thirty seconds."

Picard couldn't see the change in the wormhole, but he knew that Data's statistics were always accurate.

"I am afraid, sir," Data said, "that the energy output is also increasing, and at a much more rapid rate. Also, the area around the wormhole shows a slight drop in mass."

"Are you getting other readings?" Picard asked. "Do we have any indication that more ships are coming through?"

"No direct indications, sir," Data said. "But these readings match the readings recorded by Brundage Station in the hours before the first ships arrived."

"The five Furies ships," Riker said, "have moved a slight distance away from the mouth of the wormhole to be out of range of the dropping mass."

"That makes sense," Picard said.

"If the pattern follows the one observed earlier," Riker said, "a Furies ship will be able to pass through within six hours."

A ship. Or a fleet of ships?

Picard held himself rigidly, unwilling to let any emotion show. Six hours. Six hours to control his own fears, his own heritage, and the future of his galaxy.

"Have we had word from Mr. La Forge?" Picard asked.

"Yes, sir," Riker said. "He believes that if we alter our shields on the subspace level, we might be able to block the Furies' interspace beam completely."

"Did he give you a timetable?"

"He hoped to have it finished by now, sir."

Picard turned. "Engineering?"

"Go ahead, Captain," La Forge's voice came back strong.

"Are you ready to test your block?"

"Yes, sir. We are implementing it now."

"Good work," Picard said.

As he spoke he could feel the deeper level of fear easing and flowing away, like water down a drain. The relief was almost measurable. He glanced around. He could see that the other members of the bridge were feeling the same way.

He turned to Data. "See that Mr. La Forge's schematics for blocking the Furies' beam are sent to the incoming starships."

"Aye, sir," Data said.

"Sir." Worf 's voice was filled with that deep control he had only when a situation was dire. "Two of the Furies ships are breaking away from the others and heading this way."

"Red alert." Picard swiveled on one foot and gazed at the large screen. Three ships remained in position while two others streaked across the darkness toward the Enterprise. He didn't want to face the Furies. Not now, not ever. But at least for the moment he was facing them with his fear controlled and his crew alert. At least now they had a fighting chance.

"All hands, battle stations."

He turned and sat down, staring at the screen as the two ships approached. So they were going to try to knock them out before the rest of the help got here. Well, let them try.

"Hail them, Mr. Worf."

"Sir, they are going into attack position."

"Hail them, Mr. Worf."

"Aye, sir."

The ships continued forward at their steady pace. The other three ships did not move.

Picard licked his lips. They tasted faintly of Guinan's tea. He had promised her he would try. He was trying now.

"Sir, they are not responding," Worf said.

"Captain, they're emitting their own interspace fear beams," Riker's voice said calmly. "Almost as if they are trying to increase the intensity of their main beam.

"I do believe," Data said, his gaze on the screen, "that such beams count as an attack in accordance with Starfleet Regulation Four dash"

"I am aware of the regulations, Mr. Data," Picard said. He gripped the arms of his chair. "Mr. Worf. Have you finished your study of the original Furies ships' ability to take energy from an opponent's weapons?" Picard knew the answer to the question, but he wanted to run through the drill just to clear the final doubts from his mind.

"Yes, sir," Worf said. "Adjustments have been made to all our phasers and photon torpedoes using the records of the original battle. The energy bursts from both weapons will be phased to not allow their absorption."

"So they will not be helped by our firing on them?" Picard asked, not taking his gaze away from the quickly approaching ships on the screen.

Worf grunted, then said, "They will not, sir."

"Then, Mr. Worf," Picard said, staring at the screen, "target phasers. Full spread. Fire when you are ready."

"Yes, sir," Worf said.

And the Enterprise rocked from the first impact of the Furies' weapons.

THE AIR WAS WAY TOO HOT. Deanna had to breathe through her mouth in order to get any air at all. Things coated her tongue and slid down her throat.