STAR TREK: TNG - The Genesis Wave, Book Three

by John Vornholt

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” complained Chellac. “I walked right into danger, totally oblivious!”

  “That’s how we had to play it. When he killed Potriq, he must have thought it was me.” The Romulan’s probing hand hit something. “Hello! What’s this?”

  He drew out a richly embossed piece of parchment, the kind used for fancy invitations. In fact, it was similar to the ones they had sent to Bakus, Ocman, and the other dignitaries for the last demonstration of the Orb of Life. Scrawled on the back were the words “Oasis of Tears” and the day’s date according to the Bajoran calendar—Fifth Day of Circles.

  As the breeze rustled through the trees of the oasis, Regimol opened the invitation and read aloud: “Devoted Servant of the Prophets, rejoice that our Masters will grant proof of their Benevolence on the Seventh Day of Circles. On that date, the Light will conquer the Dark, Good will triumph over Evil, and the graveyard of our allies will blossom with life once again. Watch the heavens, for you will experience the wonder of the Orb of Life. Signed with humility, Vedek Yorka, protector of the Orb of Life.”

  [225] The Romulan folded up the announcement and tucked it into his breast pocket. “His Vedekship didn’t waste much time getting his old job back.”

  “With humility,” echoed Chellac with a laugh, then he grew thoughtful. “Two days from now. What do you suppose that crazy monk is going to do?”

  “I don’t know. What’s this ‘graveyard of our allies?’ ”

  The Ferengi shrugged. “I couldn’t guess. But the big evil is probably Cardassians.”

  “And we lost our only Bajoran,” said Regimol with a glance at their comrade. “We’d better send this information to Admiral Nechayev.”

  The Romulan picked up the unconscious Bajoran and dumped him beside the dead Bajoran, then he took the combadge from Potriq’s body and stuck it on the unknown assassin.

  “I wish we didn’t have to take a prisoner,” said Regimol, “but there’s more to find out from him. Just to confuse his friends, we’ll leave a Bajoran behind.” He tapped his combadge and announced, “Away team to runabout. Three to beam back, one is a casualty. Lock onto our combadges.”

  “Yes, Sir,” came the response.

  The Romulan scowled and lowered his jet eyebrows. “Look around, Chellac, and say good-bye to our partnership with Yorka and Cassie. They’re now the enemy.”

  “I guess so,” said the gloomy Ferengi as the lush oasis disappeared all around him.

  “Two days,” said Alynna Nechayev, rising from her desk and pacing the short length of her ready room. Commander Marbinz and Teska stood at attention, waiting to hear what they would be doing next.

  “We’ve got to stop Yorka from deploying Genesis on a large scale,” continued the admiral. “That means solving the riddle of [226] Yorka’s announcement. At the same time, we’ve got to get our hands on a Genesis emitter—to test it and see if it really affects the anomalies. We know the Javlek has an emitter, but how do we get it from them without destroying the warbird and the device? And without losing the Sequoia and the Enterprise in the process?”

  The Benzite gritted his teeth, and the tendrils on his mouth curled downward. “The only Bajoran on our crew is now dead, but we have researchers and subspace links to Bajor.”

  “We should bring Regimol back,” said Teska. “To steal an object from a Romulan warbird, we need him.”

  “Yes,” answered the admiral, gazing thoughtfully at the floor. “There are witnesses on Bajor we wanted to question, but this takes precedence. Plus he has another prisoner for us to question.”

  Nechayev looked up, her decision made. “Commander, inform the runabout to meet us at the Enterprise’s position. I’ll bring Captain Picard up to date. Teska, you research the clues in this message. Use as many of the ship’s resources as you need.”

  “Yes, Sir,” replied the first officer, hurrying out. The Vulcan strode silently behind him.

  Captain Picard pounded his fist on the conference table and glared at the senior officers gathered in the Observation Lounge. Crusher couldn’t remember the last time she had seen Jean-Luc quite, so haggard or short-tempered.

  “Let’s recap, shall we,” he began. “The Romulans think we have a portable Genesis emitter, and we don’t. We think they have one, but maybe they don’t either. And the only person who has Genesis for certain is this Bajoran monk, Yorka. Only he calls it the Orb of Life, and he’s going to replicate it, daisy-chain a number of them, and presumably terraform a place called ‘the graveyard of our allies.’ Two days from now.”

  Riker cleared his throat. “Sir, Admiral Nechayev seems [227] convinced that both the Javlek and the Petrask had Genesis Devices, which they took from Lomar.”

  “The Romulans are convinced that we have one, too,” snapped Picard. “We’d better think carefully before we go to war with the Romulans over assumptions. Starfleet is in a weakened state, but the Romulans aren’t. Furthermore, the admiral says they have two more Genesis boxes hidden safely away on Romulus. So it’s hard to see why they need us.” The captain seemed troubled by that conclusion, and he stroked his chin tensely.

  “Except that they believe they are close to having them all,” reasoned Deanna Troi.

  La Forge lifted his dark eyebrows over his pale implants. “If they find out about this mass detonation, they’ll probably head right there.”

  “Yes,” murmured the captain thoughtfully, a slight smile playing across his face. “Presuming they can figure out where it is.”

  “The admiral is right about one thing,” said La Forge. “We need a Genesis emitter to see whether its energy really affects the rifts and the radiation levels.”

  Riker sat forward, rapping his knuckles on the table. “Perhaps we should schedule the EVA in the Brahms suits before the Sequoia gets here. After that, we might be in action.”

  Picard rubbed his forehead, as if troubled by so many thoughts hitting him at once. “There won’t be an attack on the Javlek,” he declared, rising to his feet. “There’s no need for that. I can ... I can talk to Kaylena, the commander.”

  He tapped his combadge. “Picard to bridge. Hail the Javlek for me—tell them it’s Captain Picard and it’s urgent.”

  “Yes, Sir.” Everyone in the lounge waited expectantly, while they gazed out the window at the ominous green warbird, glimmering in the starlight just off the port bow. They seemed close enough to touch the hull of the immense vessel, thought Crusher, if only she didn’t have her shields up.

  [228] “Sorry, Captain,” came the Andorian’s voice from the bridge, “the Javlek continues to ignore our hails.”

  Picard slammed his fist into his palm with frustration. “I’m not going to play this ridiculous game! Number One, go ahead and schedule the EVA, just as soon as you can. And I want a small crew assembled for the captain’s yacht.”

  “The captain’s yacht?” asked Riker with surprise. “For what purpose, Captain?”

  “Somewhere out there is a Genesis device,” answered Picard, pointing out the window into the unfathomable recesses of space. “And I’m going to find it.” With that, he marched out of the observation lounge, without dismissing anyone else.

  All eyes gravitated toward Crusher, giving her quizzical looks, as if she would know exactly what was wrong with the captain.

  The doctor shrugged. “He’s had a complete physical, and he’s perfectly healthy. I’ve been watching everyone on the ship for signs of diminished capacity, due to the rift, but I’m not ready to restrict anyone to quarters yet.”

  Riker sighed and slapped the tabletop with both hands. “Well, let’s get busy on that EVA. La Forge, who do you see making the spacewalk? How many?”

  “I think we only need two people,” answered the engineer. “Since time is short, I’d prefer to have people who have already logged time in a Brahms suit. That would be myself, Data, Counselor Troi, and yourself, Commander.”

  “Since we need Data on the bridge,” said Riker, “along with—”


  “Along with you,” replied Deanna Troi, smiling at her beloved. “That leaves Geordi and me. That’s fine ... he’ll see things I wouldn’t see, and vice versa. Plus I may be able to sense living creatures, and I presume our tricorders won’t work very well.”

  Dr. Crusher scowled and looked at her old friend. “Can’t someone else go instead of you?”

  Troi shook her head. “I feel fine. And believe me, I trust those [229] suits.” The counselor rose to her feet and looked at the chief engineer. “So when do we leave?”

  “The suits are recharged and checked out,” answered La Forge. “We’ve got coordinates picked, and a jet sled to get us around. We could leave in half an hour from transporter room one.” He glanced at Riker for confirmation, and the first officer nodded solemnly.

  Crusher could see Will and Deanna studiously avoiding each others’ eyes. “See you there,” said the counselor, moving toward the door.

  The Brahms prototype radiation suit looked like a giant white golem, thought Troi. It housed life-support systems, communications, and enough Romulan phase-inversion technology to keep the wearer slightly out of phase. The field oscillated, allowing the wearer to interact with his surroundings, while being protected from them. With the addition of advanced shielding and shock resistance, the prototype suit could survive a core meltdown, or even the Genesis Wave.

  Once inside the bulky suit, Deanna Troi couldn’t help but to remember the last time she had worn a Brahms suit—during the awesome destruction of the planet Persephone V. The only reason she had beamed down to the doomed city of Carefree during the height of the wave was to rescue Will and Data. This suit had done the job then, and it would do it again. She wiggled her fingers in the stiff gloves and glanced at the glittering readouts just above her eyes. Despite its bulk and sense deprivation, the Brahms suit felt safe, even comfortable. She wondered if it was the same prototype which had saved her life on Persephone V.

  Geordi La Forge gave her a thumbs-up from his own white armor, and the two of them stepped awkwardly onto the transporter platform. Deanna used the emitters in the ceiling to guide herself into place on the pad, because seeing her feet was just too difficult. All of this awkwardness would change when they were weightless, which was just a few seconds away.

  [230] They turned to look at Rhofistan, the transporter chief, who was double-checking his settings. Troi was glad that Will was on the bridge, and not down here seeing her off. He would be worried, while she saw this as a grand opportunity to continue Leah Brahms’s impressive work.

  Will was on the bridge, because Captain Picard was still missing in action. The Betazoid couldn’t sense anything different about the captain, but then she had lost much of her empathetic skills since her blackout. For once, that didn’t bother her, because it was such a relief not to be the unwilling conduit of the entity inside the rift—if indeed that same being existed in this massive blackness.

  La Forge waved a hand in front of her faceplate, breaking her out of her reverie. Troi checked her readouts and found them normal, so she gave him a thumbs-up. They could hear each other’s voices over the sophisticated communications system, but there seemed no reason to talk yet. These moments of solitude were meant to savor.

  “Energize when ready,” said La Forge.

  “Yes, Sir,” answered the lofty Andorian. “Remember, you can initiate a transport by yourselves, directly from the suit. Just press the left pinky button.”

  Troi nodded gratefully, because that button was very difficult to push accidentally. It required jamming the left pinky finger into the right palm. Safely ensconced Inside the armor, she barely felt the transporter beam rearranging her molecules and shunting them into space;

  But she instantly felt the relief of weightlessness when she materialized in the low gravity. A few meters away floated a jet sled—a two-person conveyance with short-range thrusters. It had been stripped down for use here, because all of the electronics were useless. Yet its skeletal frame still afforded some protection, in addition to numerous handholds and footholds. La Forge shot a small grappling hook at the sled, got a secure fix, and began to pull himself along the rope to their vehicle.

  [231] From a vantage point that even an experienced space traveler seldom saw, Troi had a chance to study the wonders arrayed all around her. In the distance, but looking surprisingly close at hand, were the two massive starships, one silver and multilayered like a three-dimensional chess set, and the other hunched and sly, like a vulture. In the other direction was a glittering ocean of confetti—the ruins of two starships—and these sparkling bits of metal and insulation were framed by a massive black curtain. Although she was floating, the immense rift made it seem as if she was falling into the blackest, deepest pit in the universe.

  With a couple of tiny thruster burns, La Forge got the sled headed in her direction, cruising on its own momentum. Troi casually grabbed a handle as the craft slid past, and they journeyed deeper into the debris field. She tried not to look at her readouts, because the radiation was off the scale. It was ridiculous to think that something could be alive out here.

  As they cruised deeper into the debris, it was like riding a real sled through a golden snowstorm, and they sliced a tunnel through the glittering dust. The suits protected them, and so did La Forge’s deft steering, but the visibility grew worse with every centimeter.

  La Forge’s amplified voice finally echoed in her ears. “So what do you think?”

  “I think the chances of us seeing something in here are pretty remote.” Troi looked around and couldn’t even spot the rift or the Enterprise, thanks to the swirling cloud of debris. Out of nowhere, a shape shot toward them like a torpedo, and Troi ducked as a horribly disfigured humanoid cruised past, his mouth agape and his eyes bulging. It was impossible to say what species he was, or what propelled him past the rest of the space junk. But he was certainly dead.

  “Wow,” said the engineer. “Should we try to recover the body?”

  “No,” answered Troi with a shiver. “Well, maybe on our way out. Can’t we get at the edges of this cloud, where we can see what’s [232] coming? I don’t want to stumble into that rift, it may have some gravitational pull.”

  “Okay,” agreed La Forge. After he shot a few bursts, they were headed in what felt like an upward direction, although no such bearing was possible out here.

  “Geordi, my readouts are off the scale. Do you think we could even transport out of here?”

  He didn’t answer—he just continued to ride on the other side of the sled, one thickly gloved hand stuck in the handle.

  “Geordi!” she yelled. “Geordi!” She pounded him on his shoulder, and he lost his grip and floated away, obviously unconscious. Troi yelled a useless warning when she saw a purple starfish-like creature latched onto his faceplate, writhing and twitching. Then she realized that similar creatures littered the debris, grasping desperately with their tentacles.

  One of them struck a thruster on the sled, and Troi applied fuel and toasted it, while others came swirling through the golden drizzle. Ducking behind the sled, she avoided the onslought and hit her communications button. “Away team to transporter room one. Beam up La Forge immediately! Medical emergency.”

  Nothing happened. There was no response, except that a blackness surged over Troi’s mind, puncturing her sinuses with pain. Could it be coming from the starfish creatures, or the rift, or the blasted corpses which floated past her fading consciousness? Or everything at once?

  Not now! begged Troi. Don’t take me now! But it was already too late.

  eighteen

  Help me! cried a voice. Or voices ... a billion voices. Once again, Deanna Troi felt a mixture of recognition and repulsion, as one might experience when meeting an old friend and finding she is sick and dying. That was the feeling Troi had as she floated in a darkness alit with glittering shreds of debris, unable to move or do anything other than hold tenuously onto to her consciousness, and the sled. There was no longer o
ne entity in the rift, but billions and billions—all of them in a mindless stampede—trampling over each other to escape from the burning fires.

  The Betazoid clung to these images, unsure if they were real or the last fevered stages of her death hallucinations. At Gemworld, the overlying motives of the entity were control and revenge—now it was just a mad yearning for survival, a mindless dash over the cliff. With a start, Deanna realized that the ruling entity of the other dimension was dead, and chaos ruled in its stead.

  This conclusion brought Troi to full consciousness, and she realized that she still had control of the sled, which was drifting farther and farther away from La Forge. Firing thrusters, she carefully [234] reversed direction and followed her own tunnel through the glittering space dust, until she had thoroughly retraced her route. Now she followed La Forge’s trail through the debris until she saw the white Golem floating like an artificial asteroid. The starship creatures were still floating about, but they now seemed dead—as inert as the metal shavings and silvery bits of insulation.

  As soon as Troi reached La Forge, she jammed the pinky of his left hand into her own palm. Then she backed off and watched him dematerialize in a shimmering transporter beam. Although she didn’t know his condition, she had done everything she could for him, and she had learned more than she needed to know. The rifts were like cracks in a dam, and when they exploded, there would be a flood of alien life and deadly radiation from one dimension into another. The flimsy membrane between this reality and the next could be ruptured permanently.

  Figuring they must have their hands full in the transporter room at the moment, Troi piloted the sled out of the shimmering cloud and back into view of the Enterprise and Javlek. At once, the communications channel erupted to life.

  “Enterprise to Troi,” said Riker’s concerned voice. “Come in! Enterprise to Troi.”