STAR TREK: TNG - The Genesis Wave, Book Three

by John Vornholt

  Ka-boom! went the explosion, showering metal, debris, and smoke throughout the suddenly devastated quarters. The entire warbird seemed to reverberate with the blast, but Teska didn’t wait for the dust to settle. She leaped over the smoldering barrier and bodies and ignored a flaming curtain to reach the immense hole they had made in the bulkhead. Feverishly, she dug in the rubble, trying to find the gleaming metal box buried somewhere within.

  “Help me dig!” she urged her partner. “We have only a minute!”

  By the time Raynr joined her in the blast hole, he had reverted to his normal appearance. “I feel stronger this way,” he explained. Both of them applied their impressive strength to rip away the twisted metal and crumbling rubble, but they finally encountered a scorched and slightly dented box underneath. Teska lunged through the wreckage to grab the box, and Raynr pulled her out.

  Bam! An explosion shook the door, adding smoke and dust to the upheaval, but the door remained in place. Romulan cursing quickly followed, and several boots began to kick the shattered remains of the door. Raynr drew his disrupter to fire, but Teska dragged both him and the Genesis device into the ’fresher.

  She checked her chronometer and whispered, “I want them to think we’re gone.”

  “If they see us, we are gone,” answered Raynr.

  With much shouting and blasting, the Romulans stormed the commander’s quarters, and Teska gripped her own phaser, although she didn’t want to use it. She felt the blessed tingle of the transporter just as a red disrupter beam streaked over their heads. Ducking as low as possible, the Vulcan clutched the dented box as the ’fresher door was blown away.

  [266] When Teska arrived on the Enterprise, still in a fetal position and clutching the box, the entire transporter room shook, and debris rained from the ceiling. The Antosian rolled off the transporter platform and covered his head. “Are we under attack?”

  “What do you think?” muttered Chief Rhofistan. Another blow struck the ship, and sparks shot from his console. Waving his long arms at the smoke and flying embers, the Andorian backed away from his useless equipment. He pointed to a pile of assorted uniforms and jumpsuits on the deck.

  “They might beam over to board us,” said Rhofistan, grabbing a fire extinguisher. “Best to get out of those enemy uniforms.”

  Teska looked in vain for Regimol, but the Romulan was nowhere to be seen. Suddenly a disembodied hand tapped her on the shoulder, making her jump. “It’s okay,” he said. “I’m here.”

  “We got it,” she said, holding up the prize. Teska allowed herself a fleeting smile of triumph.

  Regimol’s wavering likeness solidified into view, and he was also grinning. “The booty!”

  Raynr Sleven was already stripping down and putting on a Starfleet uniform. “They’re going to need me on my repair crew. I’ll see you later.” He dashed toward the door.

  “Nice working with you!” called Regimol, gazing fondly after the departing Antosian. “To me, that shifter is more valuable than a Genesis box. How much do you think Starfleet would take for him?”

  More enemy fire hit the Enterprise, but the effect seemed to be muted. “Good, it seems we got shields back up,” said Rhofistan as he put out the last of the fire. “You two change clothes—the admiral wants to see you on the bridge.”

  “Let’s bring the prize with us,” said Regimol, grinning as he stripped off his ornate Romulan finery.

  * * *

  [267] Five minutes later, the Romulan thief was not smiling as he stood on the bridge of the Enterprise; he was glum as he watched the magnificent Romulan warbird, Javlek, careening out of control. One of its nacelles was aflame, and the other sputtered helplessly. Tiny fires burned all over her glistening green hull, and it looked like acid eating away at the corpse of some fantastic bird.

  “Did ... did you have to do this?” asked Regimol in a hoarse voice.

  “I’m sorry,” said Admiral Nechayev, bowing her head. “We asked them repeatedly to surrender, but they kept firing. You did a job taking out their shields, didn’t you? They were so angry about the theft, they never stopped firing at us. The Sequoia got two direct hits on them. We only fired one phaser, even though we took quite a bit of damage, too. But we were able to get our shields back up. She wasn’t.”

  “Conn,” said Commander Riker. “Get ready to go to warp at the first sign of a self-destruct sequence. Keep checking for escape pods.”

  “Yes, Sir,” answered Data on the conn.

  “I see you got the box,” said Nechayev with a smile of relief. “Well done.”

  “They’re sure to have a self-destruct sequence,” the Romulan said gravely, running his fingers through his jet hair. “You’d better pull back.”

  “No need. The Javlek is going into the rift,” reported Data.

  Regimol stepped closer to the viewscreen as the great warbird banked into the glittering swirl of debris, where it looked like a flying fish in a sea of stardust. With half the hull in ruins, the Javlek was a spectacular sight, cutting through the shimmering waves; but the rift loomed ahead of it like a storm cloud. In a final surge, the sputtering starship soared from the debris field into the emptiness of the anomaly, and it was snuffed like a candle wick. After a brief crackle of energy, all was dark and still again.

  * * *

  [268] On the cabin of a much smaller spacecraft, Jean-Luc Picard suddenly dropped to his knees, gasping for breath. He felt as if a knife had been plunged into his chest, and he was certain he was going to die. When the captain still drew ragged breaths a few seconds later, he knew someone else had died ... someone very close to him ... the person on his mind every waking second.

  “No!” whispered Picard, slumping forward. “She’s dead.”

  He wept even as two crewmembers of the yacht gathered at his side to help him up. “Captain, do you need medical attention?”

  “No!” he shouted, pushing them away. “What I need ... I can’t have.” He wept anew, not bothering to hide his sorrow from his inexperienced crew of three ensigns.

  The tears were oddly cathartic. As he shed them, Picard felt better, as if a great responsibility had been lifted from his shoulders. He still loved Kaylena fiercely—in death as well as life—but he no longer felt beholden to prove his devotion to her. He had loved and now lost, and the burning had been replaced by sodden embers of grief.

  With a cough, Captain Picard picked himself up off the deck, and he looked around at his young crew, who quickly turned back to their instruments.

  One of them cleared his throat. “Captain, there’s a message from the Enterprise.”

  He nodded gravely. “I know ... the Javlek has been destroyed.”

  The young Ardanan stared at him, mouth agape. “Sir, how did you—”

  “Do they have Genesis?” he asked.

  “They don’t say, but we are to continue with our mission.” The young ensign looked wild-eyed at his captain.

  “Relax, Ensign,” said Picard, tugging on the bottom of his tunic. “I had a special attachment to someone on that ship. So what is our ETA to Solosos III?”

  “Three hours, twenty-five minutes,” answered the Ardanan.

  “Start looking out for Cardassian patrols,” ordered Captain Picard [269] as he headed aft. “Alert me when we get close. I’ll be in the sleeping compartment. I think I can sleep now.”

  “What planet is Vedek Yorka using for the detonation of the Orb of Life?” demanded Admiral Nechayev, staring at the Bajoran assassin. He was barely a slip of a man, thought Commander Riker, almost a boy. But his wary eyes bespoke experiences that no boy should have.

  “I will never betray my Prophets,” he said defiantly.

  “But you would kill for them?” muttered Nechayev. She looked with exasperation at Teska. “Will you use it?”

  “Let me ask first,” said the Vulcan. “I would like to perform a mind-meld with you. Do you agree?”

  “No!” shouted the prisoner, glaring at her with indignation.

 
Teska raised an eyebrow and said, “Then I apologize for this assault and can only justify it because billions of lives are in danger if he detonates Genesis. Hold his head.”

  Riker nodded, and the big human got a tight grip on the lad’s head, keeping his struggles to a minimum. Without hesitation, Teska extended her long fingers and made contact with his cheekbone. At once, the Bajoran relaxed, and the Vulcan’s head rolled back.

  “I am sorry,” she muttered. “Do not fight me ... do you understand why you must cooperate?” After what seemed like an unpleasant, even painful experience, Teska twitched and broke free. She almost slumped to the deck, but Riker grabbed her and steadied her.

  “Thank you,” said Teska gratefully. “It is Solosos III, and they have elements of the Bajoran militia protecting them.”

  “Damn!” Nechayev winced and began pacing the brig. “Let’s continue this conversation outside. Ensign, return the prisoner to his cell.”

  “Yes, Sir,” answered the brig officer, taking charge of the dazed Bajoran.

  A moment later, Nechayev, Riker, and Teska stood in the [270] corridor outside the brig, and the admiral was still pacing in agitation. “We have a little over a day left,” she grumbled, “and it would take a day to send another ship to Solosos III.”

  “The Enterprise is too damaged,” said the first officer. “We can’t manage a sustained flight at warp speed, but I agree—we should send someone to back the captain up.” Riker didn’t add, “in his condition,” but it was implied in his tone of voice.

  “Yes, that’s clear,” the admiral agreed. “And you have experiments to perform, in addition to watching the rift. Regimol’s runabout is also out of commission, so that leaves the Sequoia. But if I take a Starfleet ship into the DMZ, we risk a war with the Cardassians, and we won’t make the Bajorans very happy either.”

  “We could speed up repairs on the runabout,” said Riker, “make them a priority. But we haven’t got anybody who can legally travel in the DMZ.”

  “Incorrect,” answered Teska. “You have a Ferengi on board.”

  “Ah, yes,” said Riker with a smile. “I forgot about Chellac, and we’ve got an Antosian who can look like a Ferengi. I’ll get busy on that runabout.” He started down the corridor.

  “Teska and I will check on La Forge,” said Nechayev. “We need that test as soon as possible—to see if there’s a connection between the rift and Genesis.”

  In a laboratory off engineering, Geordi La Forge and Data presided over a busy team of scientists and engineers, taking a crash course on Genesis technology and its specific use in a portable device. Because they had been told they could replicate the device, they had, and there were work benches all over the room with emitters spread out in various stages of disassembly.

  After conducting a brief tour, La Forge escorted the admiral and the mission specialist to Data’s work bench, where the android was measuring tolerances on the outer hull of the dented chrome box.

  [271] “This is the original,” said the chief engineer. “It doesn’t appear to be damaged too badly, but we’ve only opened up the replicates. We understand the power system and the relationship of all the components, but we hesitate to touch the protomatter injector or the programming module. With those gizmos, we’re operating in unknown territory, and the wrong adjustment could make it useless or extremely dangerous.”

  “How will we test it safely?” asked the Vulcan.

  La Forge deferred to Data, and the android put down his tools. “Time is too short to reverse-engineer or alter the programming, but we can achieve a crude measure of control by regulating the power output. The power contes from a pair of traditional fuel cells and is relatively uncomplicated, being a single-use device. I believe that we can perform a mild detonation in a controlled environment by installing nanocapacitors to limit the field dispersion and mutagenic flux. We might also be able to reverse the polarity and create other complementary effects.”

  Nechayev nodded. “So you supply enough power to trip the emitter, but you lower the output.”

  “Yes,” answered the android. “However, the result of this experiment is still unpredictable, requiring a large amount of isolated, expendable land.”

  “I feel we’re no better than they are, setting off one of these things,” muttered Nechayev. “But we’ve got to see if it’s related to the rift. If we can limit the damage—”

  “We will,” promised La Forge.

  “All right,” said the admiral, “the two of you get over to the Sequoia, and I’ll give them orders to take you to an appropriate test site. Test it, but do it within the hour.”

  Even the android looked somewhat flustered by the accelerated pace. “Sir, we have not done our preliminary—”

  “No time for that,” snapped Nechayev. “Do the best you can to muffle it, but set off one of those boxes. I’ll notify Starfleet to have [272] everyone pull back from the anomalies. I wouldn’t ask this, but we’ve got to know how important it is to stop Yorka. Can you do it in an hour?”

  “Yes, Sir,” answered both La Forge and Data.

  He found her in transporter room one, where Deanna Troi looked rather incongruous hunched over one of the Brahms prototype suits, cleaning a filter. Will Riker heaved a sigh and walked over to his beloved. “Imzadi,” he said softly, “what are you doing?”

  “Just making sure the suits are in good repair,” answered the ship’s counselor. “Call it a hobby—or a necessity—but I’ve taken a real interest in these radiation suits. I’ve got a feeling we’re going to need to use them again. Soon.”

  “Well, Data and La Forge didn’t take them when they went to test Genesis,” said Riker. “I wish they had.”

  “They won’t need them for that,” answered Troi, screwing a clean filter into the condenser intake valve. “But we’ll need them when we go into the rift.”

  “We’re not going inside there,” claimed Riker. “Specifically you are not going inside there.”

  The beautiful Betazoid raised an eyebrow at him. “I’m the ideal one to go inside, because I’ve faced it several times now and have overcome the mind control. La Forge wasn’t able to stand it, and neither can anyone else.”

  “No,” said Riker adamantly. “It’s bad enough that the captain, Data, and La Forge are gone—we’re not risking anyone else on some foolhardy stunt.”

  “Just in case, I’ll keep these suits in repair,” insisted Troi, closing the compartment where she had been working.

  “What do you say to dinner?” asked Will hopefully. “That’s why I came to find you, not to argue. It might be the last quiet moment before all hell breaks loose.”

  [273] She smiled fondly at him and took his arm. “Then we’d better make the most of it.”

  Teska found Regimol in a repair facility near the shuttlebay where he and the runabout had landed a day earlier. He was standing by himself, thoughtfully watching a six-member repair team working briskly on his ship. Since the runabout now had the highest priority, crack Enterprise crews were working around the clock on her, while their own damaged systems waited.

  The Romulan seemed to sense her arrival, and he turned to look at her. But the smile Regimol manufactured seemed forced and melancholy. Watching the warbird go down to destruction had sapped the spirit from him, and he seemed to be questioning his choice of profession, or perhaps his allegiance. Possibly guilt was involved, too, because his actions in cutting the shields had resulted in the Javlek’s demise. Teska would be more inclined to blame the Romulans, who were by nature stubborn, untrustworthy, and prone to violence.

  The Vulcan said nothing as she strode to Regimol’s side. She knew what it was like to be an outcast, although she had never been as outcast from her own people as Regimol was from his. They had used his very notoriety as bait to work their devious plot; his hands had doomed the Javlek, along with the crews’ arrogance. Had he been Vulcan, she might know what to say to him, but even then it would be difficult.

  “How are repa
irs progressing?” she asked finally.

  “Oh, fine,” he answered. “They’re good, and it’s going to be first-class after this, with a new warp reactor and four micro torpedoes. They’ve disguised the torpedoes as probe launchers. This craft will be very valuable—I hope they let me keep it. I know what I will name it.”

  “The Javlek?"

  He nodded, gulping down a lump in his throat. “I forget that [274] when you work for Nechayev, there are no insignificant jobs. Everything is life and death, on a grand scale.”

  “You sound like a person who is tired of his job,” observed the Vulcan.

  Regimol shook his head in frustration. “How do we get like this? How do we dig ourselves into these trenches? I never chose this path for myself, yet here I am. Oh, I know, at some point I grew to love the game, especially the moments when I defied the odds to grab the prize. But what do I pay for this thrill? I risk my neck constantly, live in a stolen shuttlecraft, and work with a devil like Nechayev.”

  “She speaks highly of you,” said Teska.

  “You know, I call her a devil in the fondest sense,” Regimol replied with the ghost of a smile.

  “You could have been a conformist,” said Teska, “but you have taken risks to make your life interesting. We have both been cursed to live in interesting times.”

  “I heard about your husband,” said Regimol gently. “You’ve been on the front, too, in your own way. Don’t you ever want to get a quiet farm someplace, grow hydroponic vegetables?”

  “I believe in something bigger than myself,” she answered. “We were destined for a higher calling than most humanoids realize.”

  He laughed hollowly. “Oh, this is where I get the sales pitch for your Vulcan mumbo-jumbo. Are you going to tell me to try a mind-meld? I heard you converted that killer in the brig, and now he’s as gentle as a sehlat. But I doubt it—I think he would still slit your throat as soon as look at you. So save your speech for someone else.”