STAR TREK: TNG - The Genesis Wave, Book One

by John Vornholt

  “Okay, then I’ll go with you.” Troi pulled away from him and stepped upon the transporter platform, taking her place beside one of the hulking suits. “You have an extra.”

  “A spare,” answered Riker, “in case something goes wrong.”

  “I thought you said they were working perfectly.”

  “You can help me get into it,” said Will, leaping onto the platform and standing behind the suit. “We added a tricorder to all the other hardware, and it’s automatically activated to record when we put on the phase-shifting.”

  “You know, it’s supposed to be crazy down there,” she said worriedly.

  “I know.”

  Troi hugged him ferociously, not completely understanding why she was so concerned about this mission. Maybe it was seeing so many distraught people worried about their loved ones down on the planet. Their emotions had affected her. Or maybe it was the awful nature of this Genesis Wave, which moved so swiftly and so devastatingly. There was no defense against it—raw survival was the best one could hope for.

  [192] She heard a cracking sound, and she turned to see Data opening the back of his suit. As gracefully as if he were putting on his pants, the lanky android slipped into the imposing case. Then Data stuck an arm out at an impossible angle—as if he were double-jointed—and reached behind him to close the rear clasps.

  “I think I’ll need your help,” said Riker with a smile as he pulled away from her. “I’ll be back, Imzadi, I promise.”

  Data pointed to the transporter operator, and his voice was amplified from inside the suit. “Actually whether we get back or not all depends on you, Chief Rhofistan. We will only have ten seconds after the Genesis Wave hits before the ship has to go to warp. If we are not recovered by then, there may be no way to recover us.”

  “Thanks for bringing that up,” said Deanna dryly.

  “I’ll get you back,” promised the Andorian in a deep voice, his antennae shooting to attention. Thoughtfully, he considered his readouts. “We have approximately two hours before the wave hits. The question is where to set you down to do the most good. A shuttlecraft evacuation site in the capitol city of Carefree is requesting more personnel to deal with the crowds. Should I set you down there?”

  “That’s fine,” answered Riker. He looked warmly at Deanna. “Time to put me in my shining white armor.”

  “You always wear that.” Deanna kissed him one last time, pulling away from his lips very reluctantly. “I knew you were the guy in the white armor.”

  With her help, Riker managed to squeeze into the bulky radiation suit, and Troi fastened him in. The suit was a marvel of technology, and she wanted to believe it would work flawlessly. Unfortunately, she knew it was a hurried replication of a prototype, which depended upon an imitation of Romulan technology.

  Riker’s amplified voice boomed from inside the suit. “Chief, enter your coordinates.” Troi took that as her cue to step down from the transporter platform.

  [193] “Coordinates entered,” said the Andorian.

  Riker finally stopped fidgeting in the bulky suit, and he stood as still as Data, making them look like two identical golems.

  “Energize,” ordered Riker. The gleaming white suits evaporated into swirling columns of charged particles, and the transporter platform stood bare.

  “All right,” said Chief Rhofistan, “now I have to get back to the evacuation.”

  Deanna looked at him, shocked. “You’re not just watching them?”

  “I can’t. There are too many people to rescue. I’ll shut down operations here before it hits—to pick them up on sensors. Could you please tell the officers outside that we’re starting evacuations again?”

  “All right.” Troi walked uneasily toward the door of the transporter room, a knot twisting in her stomach. So many people were in danger—death was all around, and so were terror and fear. It was hard for her to separate her emotions from all of theirs, especially when she reached the corridor, where dozens of eyes looked up to her for hope, insight ... a miracle. She put a pleasant look on her face and grabbed the first likely conversational group she saw, about seven or eight people.

  “Come on, all of you,” she said with a brave smile. “We’re going to talk among ourselves about what’s happening. I’ll tell you what I know, but then I’ve got to move on to other people. I just want to get you talking.”

  seventeen

  When Will Riker materialized in a large public square, surrounded by glittering, blue skyscrapers, a bottle pelted him, bouncing off his radiation suit. He looked at Data, who stood only a few meters away, and the android was in a crouch, fending off two brawlers who had rolled into him. Unruly lines snaked around the numerous sculptures and benches in the square, as people huddled with children and oldsters, wondering if there was any way to get farther along in a queue that seemed to have no end.

  As he looked around, Riker discovered they weren’t even in the busiest part of the square; that was sixty meters away, where Starfleet officers were trying to load two shuttlecraft. Other officers were attempting to push back the crowd and make room for a third shuttlecraft to land. To complicate matters, Starfleet wasn’t the only outfit loading vessels in the packed square. A few intrepid entrepreneurs had opened up shop and were taking on passengers ... if the price was right. It was bedlam.

  Riker stared incredulously as one private shuttlecraft, which looked to be a six-seater, boarded about a dozen passengers. When [195] they tried to lift off, desperate people in the crowd jumped on the landing rails of the craft and hung on. The crowd screamed and ran for cover as the distressed shuttlecraft bobbed and weaved over the mobbed square. Two of the people hanging from the rails dropped off, causing more pandemonium in the fearful crowd. Its thrusters roared, but the shuttlecraft swooped out of control, carrying too much weight.

  Riker glanced over at Data, who was still busy trying to break up the fight. For some reason, the android’s actions infuriated the crowd around him, and several of them attacked him, jumping on his back and legs. This had no effect on Data, who merely brushed them off as if they were lint, but more of the rioters pressed around him, trying to see what was happening with this strange apparition in white armor.

  Suddenly everyone in the square screamed at once, and Riker looked up to see the stricken shuttlecraft veer straight into a sky-scraper. The blue building shattered like glass, and a fireball roared from the crater, showering half the crowd with debris and flaming embers. Erupting in howls of panic and fear, the crowd ran in every direction.

  The security detail near the shuttlecraft were soon firing phasers on the horde, and the officers tried to fall back to the refuge of their ships. They’ll abandon the square! thought Riker. Plus all these beings—thousands of them—and they don’t know that Data and I are here.

  A mad rush of people suddenly plowed into the commander and knocked him off his feet. He rolled over in his bulky suit and tried to stand up, but people were pushed on top of him by the panicked crowd. Riker feared he would be trampled in the stampede, but he heard a voice in his helmet, telling him calmly, “Activate phase-shifting.”

  Breathless, Riker echoed the words, “Computer, activate phase-shifting!”

  [196] At once, the crowd no longer plowed into him but seemed only to glance off, and he was able to stagger to his feet. Pushing his way through the throng, Riker sought refuge behind a statue of a historical figure mounted on what looked like a giant ostrich. Data moved swiftly to his side, wrapping an arm around him and bucking him up.

  “This is worse than I expected,” said the android, his voice sounding unruffled yet overly loud in Riker’s headgear. “I suggest we seek refuge in one of the buildings and report back to the ship. I also want to perform diagnostics on the suits to see if they have been damaged.”

  “Good idea,” said Riker with a nod. As they lumbered off, he couldn’t help but look in the direction of the Starfleet shuttlecraft, where the scene was getting ugly. With a roar of thrusters,
one of the shuttlecraft managed to take off, scorching a dozen onlookers in the effort. However, the second shuttlecraft was overrun by rioters, who climbed on top of it, trying to pry their way inside. The third shuttlecraft, which had been circling overhead, simply sped away, not risking a landing.

  Abandoned, the small cadre of security officers fell back from the angry mob, shooting phasers as they went. It looked as if they had no escape.

  “They need help!” said Riker with alarm. “And the shuttlecraft ... that crowd is going to smash it to pieces.”

  “This evacuation process does seem to be ill-advised,” agreed Data. “However, we do not have any weapons, and crowd control is not our primary mission. We must leave.”

  “You’re right.” Riker felt the android grip the arm of his suit and guide him through the surging crowd. Although they were a strange sight, there was nothing on the prototype suits to mark them as being Starfleet. In this surreal scene—amidst riots and shuttlecraft wreckage—two people in white armor had a kind of logic.

  [197] As they reached the sidewalk outside the square, Riker turned back to look. He was greatly relieved to see swirling transporter beams where the beleaguered officers had been battling the crowds. They had been rescued, probably by the shuttlecraft which had fled. He saw the mob pull people out of the grounded Starfleet shuttle, while others desperately tried to take their places. At the same time, other rioters swarmed on top of the craft, ripping it apart.

  “The security detail was rescued,” said Riker, “but that shuttlecraft is history.”

  “We have two hours,” said Data with a puzzled tone to his voice. “Had the crowd allowed us to proceed, we could have taken the majority of them.”

  “I’m afraid when people panic, they don’t think that rationally. If this is happening all over. ... This is a nightmare.”

  “Apparently we no longer have the problem of convincing people this is a real threat,” observed Data.

  Without really paying much attention to where they were going, the commander followed Data into the lobby of a grand hotel. The scene here was also chaos, with clothes and litter strewn everywhere, and people rushing madly through the plush lobby. There was a clutch of people kneeling in a corner, and they seemed to be praying. A desk clerk stood behind the counter, pointlessly operating his computer and dealing with customers in line.

  Riker was aghast. “There is no way we were ever going to rescue more than a fraction of these people, even if everything went smoothly.”

  The android nodded his headgear. “We were unprepared for a catastrophe of this magnitude. We must reconsider the evacuation option.”

  “So far, it’s the only option,” grumbled Riker.

  A small, purple-skinned Saurian staggered in front of them and regarded them suspiciously. He curled his beaklike mouth and asked, “Heeeey, what are you two dresshhed up for?”

  [198] “His slurred speech indicates he is intoxicated,” observed Data.

  “No kidding.” Riker pushed a button on his helmet, and his voice boomed out into the lobby. “Do you have a room here?”

  “Yesshh,” answered the Saurian proudly.

  “Can we borrow it?”

  He looked curiously at the two people in the weird suits and shook his bulbous head. “Takes all kindsss. Sure ... here’s the chip.” The Saurian produced a smaller version of an isolinear chip and handed it to Riker. The commander studied the entry key and read the number “219.”

  “Thank you.” Riker started off, but he felt a bit guilty. “Do you have any way off this planet?”

  “Sure I do!” The little Saurian proudly produced a flask and took a long drink; then he staggered off, weaving his way through the trashed lobby of the elegant hotel.

  “If this were not so tragic, it would be fascinating,” said Data.

  “Let’s take the stairs.” Riker pointed to a sweeping staircase that dominated the rear portion of the lobby. He lumbered up the plushly carpeted steps and proceeded into a corridor. After checking numbers on room doors, he was glad to find that the Saurian’s room was here on the second floor, and they had to climb no higher.

  The hotel room turned out to be a fairly good observation point, with a balcony looking down on the chaotic square. Riker walked to the balcony and gazed at the panicked crowd below, surging from one end of the square to another. Statues had been toppled in the rioting, and the Starfleet shuttlecraft lay on its side, having been pushed over.

  Persephone V had always had a reputation as one of the most peaceful planets in the Federation, thought Riker ruefully. It was supposed to be a sanctuary from the rat race, where crime was almost nonexistent. So were police, apparently. In the center of their capitol, there was no local help in crowd management. Maybe [199] the local authorities had cast off their uniforms in hopes of getting out sooner. Probably all the important authorities—who might have been some help here—were already aboard the armada orbiting the planet.

  “Commander, should I report to the captain?” asked Data.

  “Go ahead,” answered Riker glumly. “And don’t spare him the gruesome details.”

  Bad news continued to pour in. Captain Picard paced the bridge of the Enterprise, reading the latest projections for the Genesis Wave’s course. It was strongly suggested that the wave would strike Earth and the heart of the Federation before cutting a wide swath through the Neutral Zone and the Romulan Star Empire. They only had about six days before it entered Earth’s solar system.

  After a consultation with Admiral Nechayev, he had to talk to Consul Bekra immediately, but he couldn’t leave the bridge during the evacuation of Persephone V. It was going badly, except for the million or so lucky ones who had been saved. “Disaster” was not too strong a word, judging by reports like the one he had just received from Data. They were doing the best they could, but the task of rescuing ten million people at short notice was just too daunting for the Federation alone.

  A shortage of planning time had resulted in breakdowns and panic in a variety of locations. The main square of Carefree was one of the worst places, but there were other sites that had been abandoned, too. At this rate, the fleet wouldn’t even meet their worst projections for the rescue mission. For every life they saved, five would be lost.

  Filled ships were already going to the next planet, too. Unless they did something, there would always be a next one. The Enterprise was fully occupied with transporter evacuation, and he [200] couldn’t divert a single crew member to the mess in Carefree. He already had two on the surface that he would rather have back. If Riker and Data wanted someplace to observe the worst of the disaster, they were getting it.

  Picard heard the turbolift whoosh open, and he turned to see Counselor Troi and Consul Bekra enter. The Capellan was limping slowly on a new artificial limb, and the scowl had deepened on his face.

  “Captain!” called Bekra, moving more quickly. “I simply must protest. I was very comfortable in the private room I had, but now there are six people in there with me! In a room intended for one.”

  The captain cleared his throat, attempting to hide his annoyance. “There will probably be a few more people in your quarters by the end of the day. I’m sorry, but we have to squeeze as many people onto the ship as we can.”

  The Capellan sniffed and looked around. “It’s quite roomy up here on the bridge. Tell me, when are we going to be dropped off somewhere else?”

  “I haven’t gotten my orders yet,” answered Picard curtly. He looked at Deanna Troi, who seemed to be at a loss to help him. In fact, she looked haggard and exhausted.

  “Let’s step over to this auxiliary console,” said the captain, leading the way to an isolated workstation on the outer ring. Despite his limp, Consul Bekra kept up with him. “You seem to be adapting to that prosthetic device,” said Picard.

  “Do I have much choice?” asked the Capellan. “I must say, your Dr. Crusher is very skilled, but I intend to press charges against that crazy Klingon ... after this is all ov
er.”

  The captain lowered his voice to say, “We have a serious problem. Our latest projections say that the Genesis Wave will pass through Romulan space, as well as the heart of the Federation.”

  Bekra shifted his eyes and looked at Troi. “You brought me here under false pretenses.”

  [201] “I said the captain wanted to meet you,” answered Troi wearily. “You’ve met. Now will you help us?”

  “What makes you think I have any influence with the Romulans?” asked Bekra snidely.

  “Listen,” whispered Picard, “at this point, I don’t care about anything you’ve ever done before in your life. If you want a full pardon, Admiral Nechayev will give you one. We need you to contact the Romulans—using any means you desire—and tell them the truth. Tell them what you’ve been through and what’s happening here. We’re going to contact them through official channels as well, but we wanted them to have outside verification from ... somebody they trusted.”

  “They may already know about this,” said the Capellan.

  “They may,” conceded the captain, “but we can’t take that chance. We have to make sure they know. This auxiliary console has been configured for subspace communications, and I don’t think you’ll have any trouble operating it. We’re just going to walk away, and nobody is going to watch or record what you’re doing here. Feel free to contact your homeworld, too, if you like, but ... you know what you have to do.”

  Consul Bekra considered Captain Picard for a few moments, then he finally nodded. “I wish to leave this ship as soon as possible. My friend, Paldor, also wishes to leave.”

  “We’ll let you off at the nearest opportunity, when we let off the evacuees,” answered Picard. “There will never be any record of our conversation.”

  “All right,” said Bekra, looking away from them. “Leave me now.”