STAR TREK: TNG - The Genesis Wave, Book One

by John Vornholt

  The door slid open, and the captain motioned her inside the transporter room. “We don’t know what condition they’ll be in. Tell me, Counselor, what do you know about our latest mission?”

  “Commander Riker has told me a few things,” she replied. “I know there have been a series of unexplained disasters.”

  “That’s putting it mildly. Unfortunately, we don’t know much more than that. At least we’re close enough now that we can help.” Picard gazed at the transporter operator, a tall, blue-skinned Andorian named Tyriden. “Do you have a lock on them?”

  “Yes, sir. Four in total.”

  The doors opened again, and Beverly Crusher entered, leading a fully equipped medteam of five people. The captain smiled warmly at her for a moment, and she smiled back, then he motioned to the transporter operator. “Energize.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  In a shimmering curtain of light, four bedraggled survivors appeared on the transporter platform. Two of them instantly collapsed, and Beverly and her team rushed forward to help them. All were male, and all were Tellarites, except for one, who appeared to be a Centaurian from his regal dress.

  The most startling reaction was from Geordi La Forge, whose eager expression turned downcast and puzzled. He busied himself making entries on his padd, but Troi could tell that he was [105] disappointed over the appearance of these survivors. Maybe he was expecting somebody else.

  The healthiest of the Tellarites charged off the platform and gripped Captain Picard in an embarrassing embrace. “Oh, thank you, Captain! Thank you!”

  Deanna rushed to aid the captain, pulling the overly grateful survivor away. “What happened to you?” she asked.

  “Who knows?” he exclaimed. “We’re a surveying team. One moment, we’re laying out the boundaries of a wildlife refuge, and the next minute the trees are blowing over! And it’s hailing and sleeting! We were able to take off, but not before a tree limb struck our craft. Then we hit a meteor shower on our way out—we were lucky to make it to warp.”

  “What did you see or get on your sensors?” asked Picard. “Anything unusual?”

  “Nothing until we got into space,” answered the Tellarite. “But we heard others on the emergency channels, and we saw what was happening to the sun.” He buried his snout in his hands and began to weep.

  “We ran for it,” said the Centaurian defensively. “Is that so bad? Maybe I should’ve kept a video log, but I didn’t.”

  “You weren’t the shuttlecraft that came from Seran to Hakon just before this happened?” asked La Forge, stepping forward.

  “No,” said the Centaurian. “I’m their pilot, and it was strictly a day trip. We all left our families behind. Are they—”

  Deanna hurriedly took his arm. “Before we deal with that, we’d like our medical personnel to take a look at you. The important thing is that you did right to get out of there.”

  “We’ve got to go back for them!” demanded the Tellarite, fighting through tears. Suddenly he grabbed the Centaurian pilot and shook him by the lapels of his flashy uniform. “I told you we had to go back for them!”

  Troi and Picard reached in to try to pull the Tellarite off, but he [106] was as big as both of them put together. Fortunately, Dr. Crusher made a timely arrival with a hypospray, getting the big Tellarite in the neck. A second later, he released the pilot, who dropped to the deck, coughing.

  The big Tellarite stood as still as the bearded statue of an old general, but Crusher was able to move him toward the door. She motioned to her team to follow. “Let’s all go to sickbay, shall we? Ogawa, Haberlee, I think everybody is ambulatory. Let’s just walk.”

  “Beverly, will you need me?” asked Troi with concern.

  “Not right now. I think we’re looking at some sedation, rest, and a physical. I’ll let you know.” Under the doctor’s direction, her team conducted the survivors from the transporter room. They looked more shell-shocked than anything else.

  “They look like refugees from the war,” said Troi, watching the last one exit.

  “I was thinking the same thing,” agreed Picard. “They are refugees. Unfortunately, there are only a handful, and they don’t know anything.”

  “We’ve got to keep looking for the rest of the shuttlecrafts and freighters,” insisted La Forge. “One of them came from Seran to Hakon to warn them, but we lost its signal when all hell broke loose. There was also the Capellan shuttlecraft that put out an early distress signal—”

  “The Capellan shuttlecraft has been destroyed,” said Data matter-of-factly.

  “Are you sure?” asked Geordi in a hoarse voice.

  The android nodded. “Yes, I was about to ask Commander Riker to continue tracking it when it disappeared.”

  “What destroyed it?” asked Picard, the frustration evident in his voice. “If it was safely in space, it couldn’t have been the effects of the sun.”

  “That is unknown,” answered Data. “It would appear the [107] Capellan shuttlecraft did not have warp drive, and it remained in proximity to Hakon, where sensor readings have been unreliable.”

  “When you get back to the bridge, set course for solar system SY-911,” ordered the captain. “Maximum warp.”

  “But, Sir!” pleaded La Forge. “If this mystery shuttlecraft is trying to warn people—and they know where to go next—we should keep looking for them. They manage to stay just ahead of this ... trail of disaster.”

  “Get moving, Data.” The captain nodded, and the android hurried off. Then Picard put his hand on La Forge’s shoulder and said softly, “I know you have a personal interest in this. Since you have the opportunity, I wish you would take a moment to talk to Counselor Troi about it.”

  La Forge hung his head, knowing he had lost the argument, and the captain went on, “You’ve been on duty for about twenty hours straight, which I didn’t deny you, because you discovered these irregularities. But now you need to talk to Counselor Troi and sleep.”

  The captain’s lips thinned. “I’m afraid this is going to be a long haul. We can’t go chasing after every small craft from Hakon, and we have to accept the fact that Seran and Outpost Seran-T-One are in the damage zone. What we need most are answers and firsthand observation.”

  “Yes, Sir,” answered Geordi, trying to get control over his emotions.

  The captain strode away, leaving La Forge and Troi alone in the transporter room. Even the operator was behind the platform, his head in an access panel.

  “I still think we should track down that shuttle,” insisted Geordi in a whisper. “Somebody out there knows what’s going on—or at least where this thing is headed. We’ve got to find them. If I were really being selfish, I would want to go to Seran.”

  “Who’s on Seran?” asked Deanna, moving toward the door.

  [108] “Remember Leah Brahms? We talked about her.”

  The counselor nodded sympathetically. “You really cared for her, didn’t you? I’m sorry, Geordi.”

  The engineer swallowed hard, and she could see moisture in the corners of his opaque eyes. “I just can’t believe that she could be gone ... just like that. I mean, I knew she was married, but somewhere in the back of my mind, I always thought that someday there might be a chance—”

  “Oh, Geordi,” said Troi hoarsely, squeezing his shoulder. “I keep thinking that we’ve had these great lives aboard the Enterprise. We’ve had more adventures than anyone should have in ten lifetimes, but we’ve missed out on the ordinary parts of life. Sometimes I wonder how many of us could even have a normal relationship in an artificial world like this.” She motioned around at the sleek, empty corridor.

  He cleared his throat. “You and Will—”

  “It’s taken us a dozen years to be comfortable with each other in this small town we call the Enterprise.” She gave him a wry smile. “You fell in love with the most brilliant woman you ever met, only it was on a holodeck. I sometimes think we should all be committed to a mental institution, considering what we’ve been
through.”

  “You’re just trying to cheer me up,” said La Forge, “and I’m not buying it. Forgetting Leah, who is probably dead ... we’re up against something that’s wiping out stars, planets, and nebulas like they’re piles of dust! We don’t even understand what it’s doing to them, and now we’re flying straight into the teeth of this thing.”

  “Okay, so you depressed me,” admitted Troi. “And there are going to be a lot more refugees, like those people in sickbay.”

  “They’re the lucky ones,” said Geordi.

  ten

  Leah Brahms rustled in her sleep, muttering to herself. Finally she lifted her head groggily from the instrument panel and looked around the cramped shuttlecraft cabin. “Oh,” she groaned, rubbing her head. “It’s true.”

  “What is true?” asked the old Klingon sitting beside her.

  “I had a dream that all of this was a dream ... or rather a nightmare.” She massaged her dry, cracked lips. “But, no, it’s all true, isn’t it? The thing behind us ... it’s still there.”

  “There is always an enemy,” said Maltz with a shrug. “Sometimes it’s boredom, but not today.” He pointed to the back of the craft, where the Tellarite and the Capellan were sleeping among their luggage and the hulking radiation suit. “What is that unpleasant-looking device back there?”

  “Oh, you mean the radiation suit?” Leah smiled despite her gloominess. “That suit saved my life. None of us would be here without it.”

  “It survived the wave?” asked Maltz, sounding impressed. “Can you do a space walk in it?”

  [110] “That’s not what it’s designed for, but you could. You would be using only half its capabilities.”

  The Klingon sat forward eagerly. “I have been looking at the parts you collected for your comm array, and I think we can repair it easily. The space walk should take no more than half an hour.” He quickly added, “I can do it.”

  “No,” said Leah forcefully. “I’ll do it. I know the equipment better than you do.”

  “But the captain should not be at risk,” grumbled the Klingon. “It should be someone expendable—what about Paldor?”

  “Me!” squeaked the Tellarite, suddenly awake. “You want me to go outside and fix the shuttlecraft? I wouldn’t even fit inside that suit. Are you sure we have to do this now?”

  “Yes, because we need help.” The old Klingon lowered his voice. “The first thing a captain should learn is this—when you are outnumbered, get help. If we do not, the next planet will be Hakon all over again.”

  “Listen to him,” said a voice from the back. Leah turned to see Consul Bekra sitting up, trying to adjust his ornate turban and his bandaged stump. “We have to spread the word as fast as we can. A few hours could make a great deal of difference.”

  “Even if it means our lives?” asked Paldor in disbelief. “We don’t know how far ahead of it we are, or how long it will take to fix the array. Dr. Brahms is not a welder by trade.”

  “That’s enough, people. I don’t know if we have enough time for this repair, but we sure as hell don’t have time to argue about it. Besides,” Leah added with a smile, “molecular bonding is easy, even for humans. We have everything we need in our supplies.”

  With a sigh, the engineer stood up and began removing her jumpsuit, which she had meant to change, anyway. If she were smart, she would just put the radiation suit on and leave it on, but she didn’t want to be the only eyewitness survivor again. “Keep us [111] on warp until I’m ready to exit the ship,” she ordered. “I want as much distance between me and it as possible.”

  The young Tellarite began to weep all over again, and Leah surprised herself by grabbing his loud plaid shirt and shaking him. “Get ahold of yourself, Paldor! We don’t have the luxury of grieving ... not right now. I need you to help me get this suit ready, and monitor me ... like we do in the tests. Get up!”

  She yanked him to his feet, where he struggled to stand at attention, while bravely sniffing back tears. Behind her, she heard Maltz give a low chuckle.

  “Now you are getting the hang of it,” said the Klingon with satisfaction.

  “Slow to one-quarter impulse,” ordered Captain Picard as he hovered behind the young Bolian on the conn. He peered at the viewscreen with concern, not because he saw something which looked amiss; on the contrary, this part of space looked oddly tranquil, considering what it had gone through. Even the radically altered sun of system SY-911 looked like a natural part of the starscape when viewed from the safe distance of two million kilometers. At least Picard hoped this was a safe distance.

  “Mister Data, where do we stand?”

  “I would advise that we stop here,” answered the android. “Radiation is very high in a field of particles about a hundred thousand kilometers from our position. This area also has trace readings of almost every element known to science, including organic components. I would almost conclude that a massive fleet of starships moved through here, expelling waste as they went, except we know that did not occur. Some extraordinary event has taken place, although I am unable to say what it was.”

  “Full stop,” ordered the captain, concerned that they knew so little about this deadly menace. “Data, prepare three probes. A solar [112] probe for the sun and two class-1 probes—one for Hakon and one for the planet with the strange readings.”

  “SY-911 Alpha,” concluded Data, working his board with fingers moving so swiftly they were a blur. “Targeting probes.”

  “Launch when ready,” ordered the captain.

  “Probes launched.”

  On the viewscreen, the torpedoes streaked from the Enterprise across the peaceful starscape until they disappeared among the distant stars and the pulsing red sun. The transformed sun glowed with a brilliance that dared them to do something about it.

  The turbolift door opened with a whoosh, startling the captain from his troubled reverie. He turned to see Counselor Troi enter the bridge, and he asked, “How are our passengers?”

  “They’re all sleeping now,” she answered, “but we’ve got a lot of work to do. They’re going to ask me what the chances are of going back to their homes. Will we mount a rescue effort, or at least recover the bodies?”

  “I hope to know soon,” answered Picard. “We’ve sent out probes, and we’re trying to gather information. There’s something destructive out here, but we don’t know much about it.”

  “Captain,” said Data from the ops station, “the first probe should be reaching the particle field. Peculiar.”

  “What is it, Data?”

  “The probe ceased transmission.” He worked his board furiously. “In fact, both probes have ceased transmission since they entered the particle field just ahead of us.” The android looked up with concern. “I suggest we put up shields.”

  “Shields up,” ordered Picard without a moment’s hesitation.

  “Shields up!” echoed the officer on tactical.

  “What’s the threat?” asked the captain.

  Data shook his head. “Some sort of energy wave is following the deuterium trails of the probes—right back to us.”

  Picard looked up at the viewscreen to see two thin ripples—like [113] green lightning bolts—come tearing from the darkness, headed straight toward them. “Brace for impact,” said Data.

  The captain wasn’t expecting much of an impact since they had their shields up, and he wasn’t disappointed. He felt nothing, although it was disturbing the way the mysterious strands seemed to remain attached to the ship, trailing off into the distance like giant vines.

  He was shocked a moment later when the ship’s alarms sounded, and the bridge went automatically to emergency lighting and Red Alert. “Hull breach on decks eleven and twelve,” said the voice of the computer.

  As he worked his console, Data added, “To be specific, the forward launch tubes.”

  “Our shields—” started Picard.

  “Ineffective,” answered Data.

  “Conn, take us out of here,
reverse course, full impulse,” ordered Picard, striding to his command chair.

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “Repair crews have been dispatched to the forward torpedo room,” reported Data. “It was running under automated control—no casualties reported.”

  “Let’s see what it’s like. On screen.” The captain sat stiffly in his chair, his brow furrowed, as the scene overhead switched to the cramped, elongated torpedo room. Torpedoes and probes were stacked top to bottom in robotic racks, ready to be moved into place, and rails ran the length of the deck, leading to the launch tubes. But the bank of launch tubes were gone—instead there was an amorphous green glow around a jagged hole which opened to the darkness of space. And the pulsing hole seemed to be growing larger.

  The scene turned hectic a moment later when a team dressed in environmental suits charged in with fire extinguishers and foam guns blazing. They instantly attacked the breach, some of them [114] erecting temporary force-field barriers, while the others battled the oddly glowing flames.

  “I have isolated their audio,” said Data. Suddenly, they heard a feminine voice saying, “What is that stuff? It’s not working ... it’s not containing it! Kipnis, get a tricorder reading.”

  “Working on it, Sir.” A moment later, his voice croaked when he said, “It’s organic! Protomatter. It’s eating through the hull ... like acid!”

  “Aagghhh!” screamed another voice. “It’s got me! It’s all over me! I can’t get it off!”

  Now there was real bedlam as a panicked officer staggered back from the breach in the hull, plowing through his coworkers trapped in the narrow room with him. He swatted and beat himself as if he were on fire, but Picard could see only a bit of the glowing vegetation on him. Anguished screams rent the air, and more of the repair team seemed to fall victim, scratching and clawing themselves. They began to tear off their environmental suits.

  His jaw clenched, the captain rose from his chair. “Mr. Data, seal off the forward torpedo room.”

  “Yes, Sir.” The android calmly worked his board. “Sealed off.”