STAR TREK: TNG - The Genesis Wave, Book Three

by John Vornholt

  [133] “Hmmm,” replied the captain with a troubled frown. “If her condition changes, let me know.”

  The door to sickbay opened, and the Antosian, Raynr Sleven, strolled into the examination area. Crusher fixed him with a doctor’s gaze of disapproval. “And where have you been, Lieutenant?”

  “Oh, just taking a walk,” he answered, striding toward them. “What happened to the counselor?”

  Beverly glanced from one patient to another. “She passed out. We’re still trying to determine why.”

  “It’s that thing out there,” answered Raynr, pointing to no place in particular. “I felt kind of funny, too, so I decided to take a walk. Besides, everybody was so busy here that I didn’t think they would mind, or even notice.”

  “You seem fully recovered,” observed Picard.

  The Antosian slapped his broad chest and grinned. “Never felt better, Captain. Your doctor and her staff are the best I’ve ever seen!”

  “We like to think so,” said Picard, managing a slight smile.

  “In fact, I’d like to apply for permanent assignment to the Enterprise,” continued the Antosian. “I’m ready to get back to work, and I have no ship to report to.”

  “That’s up to your doctor,” replied the captain with a glance at Crusher.

  She shrugged. “Well, if I can’t keep a patient in bed, maybe I should release him. Ideally, we should turn him over to Starfleet Medical for examination, because they’ve had more experience with this radiation poisoning.”

  “I don’t know, Doctor,” said Raynr Sleven. “From what I’ve seen in those bulletins you’re issued, they haven’t had the success you’ve had. Of course, they weren’t courageous enough to try cellular metamorphosis, like you did.”

  “ ‘Desperate’ is the word, not ‘courageous.’ ” Crusher turned to the captain. “We’ll miss him—he’s been the most cheerful patient we’ve ever had.”

  [134] “Thank you, Doctor,” replied the Antosian with a fond grin, which Captain Picard seemed to notice.

  “I’ll have Commander Riker go over your file—see where we can best utilize you.” As the captain started toward the door, his combadge chirped, and Will Riker’s voice broke in.

  “Bridge to Picard.”

  He tapped his badge. “Picard here. Go ahead, Number One.”

  “We’ve just received a message from Starfleet—a reply to our report,” said the first officer. “Under no circumstances are we to go anywhere near that anomaly. The same thing happened all over the quadrant, wherever they were studying these strange events. Until we get an explanation, Starfleet is not going to risk any more ships or personnel.”

  The captain scowled. “And how are we supposed to find out what’s going on if we can’t investigate?”

  “Probes have disappeared, and the scanners are hit and miss,” answered Riker. “We’ll keep working on it.”

  “Any sign yet of the Romulan ships?”

  “No, Sir. But they might have escaped to warp, like we did.”

  The captain heaved a frustrated sigh. “All right, I’m on my way to the bridge. Picard out.” He turned to the doctor. “Keep me posted about Troi’s condition.”

  “I will, Jean-Luc.”

  With that, the captain strode toward the door, which slid open at his approach.

  “It’s him, isn’t it?” said Raynr Sleven with dawning realization.

  “What’s him?” asked Crusher, who was too tired for riddles.

  The Antosian lowered his voice to reply, “Captain Picard is the member of the crew you’ve been seeing for a number of years. Why didn’t I figure that out before?”

  Crusher grimaced. “This conversation is getting entirely too personal.”

  “Please excuse me, Doctor. No, not ‘Doctor.’ Beverly. At least [135] let me call you by your given name.” The doctor nodded cautiously.

  “Beverly,” he began again in a quiet voice that almost seemed to caress the word as he said it. “You know how I feel.”

  “I know how you think you feel, Lieutenant. And believe me, it’s perfectly normal. I’ve encountered other patients who thought ...”

  “No. This is real.”

  Once again she was about to object, but the determined look on his handsome face stopped her. He was right. This was not misplaced gratitude. The symptoms in this case added up to only one possible diagnosis: Raynr Sleven was in love with her.

  Crusher glanced around at the other workers and patients in sickbay, none of whom seemed to be paying very much attention to them. Nevertheless, she motioned for the Antosian to follow her. “Let’s continue this in my private office.”

  He smiled. “Thank you.”

  A moment later, they stood awkwardly facing each other in the confines of Beverly’s office. “If you’re already happy with your life,” he said, “I don’t want to do anything to upset that. But I don’t think you’re happy.”

  Bullseye again. This man’s perception was unnerving, which was probably one of the reasons she found him attracting. So against her better judgment, she decided to speak freely. “The problem is ... there’s lot of gray area between being happy and unhappy. I haven’t been deliriously happy since my family was whole and together. I miss my husband, Jack, and my son, Wes, but memories of us—as a handsome young family—are like snapshots now. This ship is my family, and it requires a lot of care ... nowadays all my parenting instincts go into my work. Most of the time, I’m too busy with work to think about what I might be missing. Then there’s Jean-Luc—”

  “Yes?” asked Raynr expectantly.

  She sighed. “Jack and Jean-Luc were best friends, and that’s always clouded our relationship. Somewhere in the back of our minds [136] there is guilt ... a feeling we’re dishonoring Jack. The three of us were once inseparable.”

  “Too much ‘water under the bridge,’ as you humans like to say.” Raynr smiled sympathetically.

  “Yes, I guess so. I think one of us would have to leave the Enterprise—we’d have to spend some serious time apart before the sparks could ever fly again.”

  “Then there’s nothing to prevent you from loving me, Beverly,” said the Antosian, taking her hands in his and gazing at her with intense black eyes.

  “Except that I outrank you,” she said, not realizing just how foolish the words sounded until they were out of her mouth. That sort of thing didn’t matter to her and he knew it. Rayner smiled.

  “Surely you can come up with a better excuse than that,” he replied.

  “Fair enough. All right then, here’s a better reason. I’m not the kind who falls head-over-heels in love in a few days,” she replied, gently pulling her hands away. “Especially with a patient.”

  “But I’m. not going to be a patient much longer,” he insisted. “If Starfleet approves my reassignment, I’ll just be a regular member of the crew, no different than anyone else. We could start slowly—a dinner here, a concert there. I don’t want to rush you.”

  “I have trouble believing you. Considering that’s all you’ve done so far, rush me.”

  “Fair enough. But remember I thought I was dying,” he said with a laugh. “I mean, I was dying, until you brought me back to life. Maybe that’s what’s giving me this sense of urgency ... that I’ve got to seize the moment while I can. Before those things attacked us, I was like you—cruising through life, concentrating on my duty. Then they killed every friend I had.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “Still there’s Jean-Luc, who is very much alive.”

  “What if the captain were in love with somebody else?”

  Crusher tried not to wince at that thought, although it was always a possibility. Jean-Luc was a dynamic man to whom women were [137] often drawn—a bit too often for her tastes. Even now, she sensed there was an attraction between him and that Romulan commander, although a Romulan commander was certainly a poor candidate for any kind of long-term relationship. Even so, the fact that Jean-Luc was attracted to her was irksome.

&nb
sp; “You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?” asked Raynr.

  Beverly snapped out of her moment of self-pity. “Right now, you’re still a patient under my care. And the fact that you feel an urgent tendency to fall in love, because life could end any minute, shows that you’re still suffering trauma.” There. Nice, neat, and professional. With any luck, he would buy it. “If our ship’s counselor were well, I would send you to her for some therapy,” she added.

  “I will gladly go,” he answered. Not her lucky day, she thought.

  If only his smile were less appealing. Her anger fading, the doctor considered the grinning Antosian. Yes, she had to get him out of here and back to a more well-rounded life, with pursuits other than mooning over his doctor. And to be honest, at least with herself, she could use a break from him too. She headed for the door. “Right now, I have other patients to attend to. I’ll grant you your wish and release you from sickbay, putting you on outpatient status. We’ll assign you quarters, and you can start adjusting to life aboard the Enterprise.”

  “As long as I have an excuse to come see you,” answered the Antosian with a broad smile. “I don’t give up easily.”

  “And I don’t give in easily,” Crusher called out to his graceful retreating figure. She wasn’t entirely sure he heard her.

  “How do you feel?”

  Deanna Troi sat up in her bed and glanced around at the familiar faces in sickbay, including Beverly Crusher, Alyssa Ogawa, and the Tellarite doctor, Pelagof. Her body felt weak and numb, and her mind felt as if she’d had a lobotomy. Looking around at people she [138] knew well, she couldn’t sense their emotions, except for the obvious realization that they felt concern for her.

  “Lousy,” she answered. “What happened to me?”

  “We’re hoping you can tell us,” said Crusher. “Remember, you and I were in your office, talking—and the next thing I knew, you’re out. There’s nothing physically wrong with you.”

  Troi nodded, although her recollections were very fuzzy. “I remember being in my office, all right. And then a blackness came over me. It was like—” She hesitated, frowning.

  “Like what?” Crusher gently prodded.

  The Betazoid collected her thoughts while the medical staff looked on patiently. Taking a deep breath, she began, “It’s like I’ve gotten a glimpse of somebody I know on the street. Someone I’ve met before. Do you remember when we were called to Gemworld a year or so ago ... an interdimensional rift was destroying the planet. I get that same feeling—an overwhelming sense of dread, the idea that something evil is taking over my mind.”

  Deanna looked puzzledly at them and shook her head. “Only then, I sensed an intelligence on the other side. This time it’s mindless ... chaotic.”

  Crusher frowned at her patient. “How long have you been feeling like this?”

  “These encounters aren’t identical,” said Troi. “I’ve been grumpy and out of sorts, not exactly myself, since we got here. But until I passed out, it didn’t really hit me the same way. Did something change with the anomaly?”

  “Without warning, it expanded again,” answered Ogawa. “The Enterprise barely got away in time, and we don’t know what happened to the Romulan ships.”

  “All this occurred at the same time you collapsed,” added Crusher.

  Troi nodded grimly. “It’s too much of a coincidence not to be related. But strange creatures were not pouring out of that other rift, like we’ve seen them here.”

  [139] “But we know there were plenty of unusual creatures in that other dimension,” said Crusher. “The Lipuls on Gemworld stole many of those species to repopulate their own changing world.”

  Dr. Pelagrof cleared his throat importantly. “I’m unfamiliar with the Gemworld operation—it was before I arrived here. Since Gemworld still exists, I presume we found a way to make this interdimensional rift go away. What exactly did we do to combat it?”

  Troi smiled wistfully. “I asked it to go away, after I found out it was getting revenge against the Lipuls. To be specific, the entity wanted forgiveness, and I granted it.”

  “Yes, but ... there are differences this time,” said Ogawa with a frown. “We saw some radiation from the Gemworld rift, but not like this. Most of the damage there was caused by increased gravity and mind control, not monstrous creatures crawling out of the woodwork. Plus these recent anomalies have occurred all along the path of the Genesis Wave, while the other rift was localized.”

  “The Genesis Wave,” replied Troi wearily. “That’s the difference this time. We have to tell the captain.” The counselor started to rise from her bed, but Crusher gently pushed her back down.

  “I’m capable of reporting to the captain,” replied the doctor, “and you have to rest. If this is the same thing, we’re going to need you to be healthy and strong—to communicate with it.”

  Deanna nodded, unable to argue with that conclusion. At the moment, she felt anything but healthy and strong. With a parting smile, Beverly led her colleagues toward the door, but the Betazoid called out, “Wait!”

  “Yes?” asked Crusher, stopping in her tracks.

  “I may not be the only one who’s mentally affected by this,” warned Troi. “We’ll have to be on the alert for symptoms in others.”

  “Yes,” said Crusher gravely, “I’ll keep my eye on everyone.”

  * * *

  [140] “I’m sorry, but Linda Feeney died last night,” said the nurse on duty at the reception desk of the hospital ship Harvey.

  In shock, Admiral Nechayev glanced at Teska, who registered no emotion except for a slight pursing of her lips. “What was the cause of death?” asked the Vulcan.

  “We haven’t done an autopsy yet,” answered the nurse, “and I’d have to pull her chart to even make a guess. One moment please.” As the two visitors from the Sequoia looked on, the medical worker consulted her computer screen.

  After a moment, she answered, “Preliminary indications are that it was choriomeningitis. She was also suffering from hepatomegaly, uremia, endocarditis, and a host of other serious ailments. These rescued slaves are the sickest patients any of us have ever seen, and it doesn’t help that most of them have no will to live. They don’t even know they’re on a hospital ship. The slightest swelling or infection can cause systemic failure.”

  “But she was lucid just a day ago,” said Nechayev.

  “That made her different,” agreed the nurse, “but it didn’t make her any healthier than the others. Believe me, Lomar has been a very depressing place to work—we’re beginning to think they should have sent a team of undertakers, rather than medical workers.”

  Lights flashed on her console, and an urgent alarm sounded overhead. “Excuse me,” said the nurse with a sigh, “now we’ve got radiation victims coming in, and they’re also hopeless.” She charged down the corridor, where she was joined by two more haggard figures in white gowns.

  Nechayev looked wearily at the Vulcan. “Undertakers ... that’s what she thinks. Morale is awfully low with this group.”

  “You said this mission would be unpleasant,” replied Teska. “Those were prophetic words, but the unpleasantness does not end here. Unknown parties and a number of Romulans possess Genesis emitters. While we bury the dead of Lomar, thousands more are dying elsewhere.”

  “We may have made some small progress there,” replied the [141] admiral. “The Enterprise reported to Starfleet Command that they think they’ve identified the rift near them.”

  “Are they receiving enough resources to deal with it?”

  “I don’t know,” admitted Nechayev, her shoulders slumping. She looked around at the efficient and orderly front office of the beleaguered hospital ship. “With everything else that’s going on ... probably not.”

  “We desperately need more information,” said the Vulcan, “and we are unlikely to find it here. Still I must return to the complex.” She squared her shoulders and looked for the turbolift. “Starfleet is sending investigators to Torga IV.�
� Teska raised an eyebrow. “I hope they arrive in time.”

  The large storage room, which had been chilled for preservation purposes, was filled with rows and rows of male corpses, all of which carried certain racial characteristics. Their hair was straight and dark, their skin pale and greenish tinged, and their ears distinctively pointed. That’s where the differences ended, because some were tall, others short; most were on the slim side, but an occasional specimen had excess body fat. Teska slowly approached the rows of bodies, her nostrils shooting steam in the chilly room.

  His head bowed in sorrow, wearing a thick expedition jacket, a bald human shuffled toward her. “Here are the Vulcanoid bodies you asked for,” said Franklin Oswald, gesturing around at the cold specimens. “A few we were able to identify as Romulan, Vulcan, or Rigelian based on forensic evidence. We’ve marked those. It’s kind of hard to get accurate on age ... especially for a human like me. So we have most of them.”

  “Thank you, Franklin,” said Teska sincerely. “You can leave me alone now.”

  “Okay,” he said with a forced smile, backing toward the door. “Just call if you need anything.”

  [142] Teska ignored him as she steeled herself to start looking at their faces. Suffering a pang of dread so uncommon to her that she didn’t know how to react, she gazed down at the nearest corpse. It was clearly not Hasmek, and she released her pent-up breath. Now there were only a hundred twenty-three more to inspect, and each one would elicit this awful but mercifully brief stab of fear. Only Hasmek could affect her like that.

  It didn’t help that these victims had all died in a deluded state, with no control over their mental facilities. It was the worst death a Vulcan could imagine. She didn’t wish to find him here—like this—although she did long for a resolution. Finding his body would at least guarantee that the search was over.

  Teska stepped to the nearest corner and began a systematic stroll down the first row of dead Vulcanoid males, her eyes peering intently at the lifeless faces.