STAR TREK: TNG - The Genesis Wave, Book Two

by John Vornholt

  When Gradok took another step toward her, Leah realized this could quickly get out of hand. She was alone with this muscular stranger in a deserted part of the ship, and he knew every access shaft and air lock. She could run from him, hit her combadge, and call Maltz for help; but that would make her a laughingstock. Once again, Brahms told herself to be as tough as Admiral Nechayev.

  She punched him in the chest as hard as she could with the heel of her hand, knocking him back a step. “Keep your distance, Crewman! I’m not on the HoS for fun and games—I’m here to fulfill my Blood Oath.”

  Gradok blinked at her and nodded with surprise. Before he could get his momentum back, Leah spun on her heel and marched quickly toward the turbolift. This time, she was going straight to the bridge, and she wouldn’t be taking any more long walks by herself in unfamiliar parts of the ship. She had always heard that being captain of a Klingon vessel was not for the fainthearted.

  Brahms strode onto the bridge, where it was overly warm and smoky, but it was still beginning to feel like home. Maltz rose from the elevated command chair and motioned for her to take it, but she shook her head. Making a leisurely inspection of the manned stations—ops, tactical, and conn—Leah strolled to the most distant corner of the bridge. She motioned for the grizzled old Klingon to follow her.

  When Maltz caught up with her, Leah was staring out a small triangular viewport, watching the stars streak past at warp speed. “What’s the matter, Captain Brahms?” asked the lanky Klingon.

  In a low voice, she answered, “Keep your voice down. One of the crew cornered me and tried to get romantic.”

  Maltz nearly thundered in disapproval, but with considerable effort, he controlled himself and whispered, “Who was it? I’D hang him by his heels over the warp core.”

  “That’s why I’m not going to tell you,” answered Leah. “I just wanted to know if I handled it correctly.”

  “What did you do?”

  She told him more or less what she had done, and the old Klingon chuckled. “You handled it like a true daughter of Kahless, because you left him with his honor. And you put the emphasis on our Blood Oath and duty. That is where it should be.”

  “Then I won’t have any more problems?” asked Leah.

  Maltz scratched his white stubble and leaned against the bulkhead. “That’s hard to say. Often a female captain on a Klingon vessel will choose a consort from among the crew. But no one would be so presumptuous as to volunteer. This crew member showed a lack of respect.”

  “Well, they’re probably still trying to figure out why exactly I’m captain of this ship.” Leah shrugged and gazed out the viewport. “I’m still trying to figure it out myself. But I know what we want to do—what we have to do.”

  “And that is why you are the captain,” Maltz answered confidently. “I would not have volunteered to be your first officer if you hadn’t shown that you could lead and act quickly in an emergency. That’s all anyone expects from a captain.”

  “That’s not all,” answered Leah. “They expect a captain to act a certain way—especially a Klingon captain. I’ve been in charge of research stations with dozens of people under me, but that was different. This is life and death, and there can’t be any hesitation when it comes to following my orders.”

  “I will enforce your will,” declared the Klingon.

  “But as we’ve seen, you aren’t always there.” Brahms paced for a moment, thinking that if she had learned anything in this prolonged nightmare, it was that she couldn’t depend upon anyone but herself. “My husband, Mikel, was like my first officer, and he spent a lot of time shielding me from things. And now he’s not around.”

  “Did he die bravely?” asked Maltz.

  “He died with a look of terror and surprise, not knowing what hit him,” answered the engineer. “I’ve never seen such stark terror.”

  “And that is why you are here,” answered Maltz through clenched teeth. “Because a death like that must be avenged. Trust me, this is something our crew can understand. Maybe they’re not the best or the brightest in the fleet, but they have seen enough of war to know when it’s serious. I’ll keep an eye on them, anyway.”

  She turned her pale-blue eyes on the old Klingon and smile gratefully. “Thank you, Maltz.”

  His aged eyes twinkled for a second. “In the meantime, if you would like me to pose as your consort, that might work to kefep them in line.”

  Leah smiled in spite of her dour mood. “Thanks for the offer but I want to keep it strictly business with everybody. Why don’t you let them know that my mate died only a few days ago ... that I’m still in mourning.”

  “I will remind them.” Maltz’s eyes narrowed to bloodshot slits “Take heart, Captain—there is no cure for grief like revenge And we’re going to get the ones responsible for this, starting with Carol Marcus.”

  Brahms nodded and turned back to the triangular port with its view of the blurred starscape beyond. She certainly hoped the old Klingon was right, because at the moment all she felt was rage and emptiness. Maltz had a focus for his anger—Marcus, the scientist who had invented Project Genesis, the one who had been kidnapped six months ago. But Leah wasn’t sure who to be mad at. That’s why she needed a profile of the intelligence behind this monstrous weapon.

  She looked around and spotted an unused console, blinking in readiness. “I need to do some work. Can I use this terminal?”

  “Use any terminal you like—you’re the captain.” Maltz snapped to attention. “Do you want to check the efficiency of engineering?”

  “No,” answered Leah, sitting down at the console. To her lack of surprise, the seat was very hard. “I want to get to know our enemy. What are they like?”

  “Despicable! Cowardly! Murderous!” Maltz started to sputer and curse in Klingon, and Brahms cut him off with a wave.

  “You’re right, of course,” she said. “But that’s only our viewpoint. We hate them, but what do they think of us? Nothing. From their actions, they think we’re like the worms you crush under your feet as you walk. They don’t think we or any part of our planets are worth saving. The Dominion, the Borg, the Cardassians—they all wanted to plunder and steal what we’ve got. Not this enemy. They don’t want a single thing that we have, not even a building to live in once they get here.”

  Maltz stroked his stubbled chin thoughtfully and said, They’re probably not humanoid.”

  “Yes,” agreed Leah, entering a few shorthand notes on the membrane keypad. “What else do we know?”

  “They couldn’t do this thing by themselves,” answered Maltz, pacing rapidly. “They had to kidnap Carol Marcus and obtain her cooperation.”

  “They could have been planning it for years. How do you think they found out about Project Genesis, when it was such a big secret?”

  Maltz stopped pacing in order to scowl and shake his head. “That could be my fault. I can’t remember how many strangers I have told about Genesis over a mug or two of ale. I’m a fool—and all of this could be my doing.”

  “It’s too late now to blame yourself,” said Brahms, working her console. “Although the details were a secret, other people knew about the Genesis Planet and what happened there. All of this tells us something about the enemy. They, or their agents, are able to move among us, collecting information. And they kidnapped Carol Marcus under heavy security.”

  “Who would cooperate with fiends like this?” growled Maltz.

  “Maybe people like you, who didn’t know they were cooperating,” Leah answered. “You know how the changelings infiltrated the Klingon High Council and Starfleet just before the Dominion War.”

  “Yes!” said Maltz urgently. “Do you think the Dominion has returned?”

  “No, they couldn’t have mounted an operation like this so deep in Federation space, and I heard that a changeling from the Alpha Quadrant is running the Dominion now. But that brings up a good question: How did this enemy remain hidden in the middle of the Federation?”

&nb
sp; Maltz frowned in thought, then grinned triumphantly, “They’re not humanoid, and they don’t live on a class-M planet.”

  “Bingo!” answered Leah, her fingers flying over the keypad. “So we look for a planet like the ones that are being created with the wave. Now we know what that is, class-L, bordering on M.”

  The Klingon leaned over her shoulder. “Your task force thought the wave originated near an asteroid field, called the Boneyard. That’s where they disappeared.”

  “Okay, so let’s avoid the Boneyard for now—we’ll look for a planet near there that fits the bill. I know exactly where it is.” Her fingers never stopped moving over her console, bringing up star charts. A few seconds later, she cried again, “Bingo!”

  “What does this ‘bingo’ mean?” asked Maltz curiously.

  “It means, ‘victory.’ ” Leah looked happy for the first time in a week as she pointed at her screen. “It also means that we have a new destination—a planet called Lomar.”

  “Helm!” barked Maltz. “Prepare to change course!”

  Carol Marcus awoke from her troubled dream and sat up in bed, sweating and feverish. Her white-blond hair was plastered to her square-jawed Nordic face, and her blue eyes stared straight ahead The dream—about the death of David and the awful destruction of the Genesis Planet—was the first vivid dream she’d had in months. In fact, it had been years since she’d had such a memorable dream. What did that dream mean, after so many months of tranquil bliss? She loved her life—living here on her peaceful island, going to work in the lab with David and Jim. David wasn’t really dead—she saw him every day.

  Still, the old woman shivered, although it had never been cold in her bedroom before. The temperature had always been just right. Carol pulled her blankets around her slight frame and lay back on her bed, trying not to be troubled by the dream, which had dredged up repressed memories. Although frightening, the dream had also been exhilarating, like an unexpectedly scary adventure. It was the first memory she’d had since returning to her work ... that Klingons had murdered David over ninety years ago.

  This place and my new life shouldn’t exist, she told herself with awestruck realization. The joy at being reunited with David and Jim Kirk had made her overlook two troubling facts: Both of them were dead.

  Carol sneezed violently, and followed it with a ragged cough. It felt like she was coming down with a cold, which might explain her fuzzy brain and grim disposition. She looked around her bedroom, a faithful reproduction of the simple, sunny room she had on Pacifica. The breeze blew through an open window, rustling the white linen curtains. In the back of her mind, the scientist had always known she couldn’t be near the planet Pacifica and her Regula I space station at the same time. They were light-years apart and in different time periods—two more facts she had conveniently overlooked.

  Her body feeling achy and weak, the old woman forced herself out of bed and to her feet. After casting off her blankets, she shivered as she dressed herself in her usual white scrubs and lab coat. Then she crossed to the door and grabbed the door knob, giving it a turn. Only it wouldn’t turn—it was locked.

  “What the—!” the old woman exclaimed. She didn’t even know this door could lock! And why would it lock from the outside, turning her bedroom into a cell? That made no sense at all!

  She tapped the combadge pinned to her lab coat. “Marcus to Marcus. Come in, David.”

  When there was no reply, she tried, “Marcus to Kirk. Jim, are you there?”

  “Yes, of course I’m here,” came the familiar voice with its boyish enthusiasm. “What do you need, sweetheart?”

  “I need to get out of my bedroom!” she snapped, her voice sounding hoarse and raw. “I’m locked in!”

  “I know,” answered Jim Kirk, sounding terribly upset and sympathetic. “You don’t feel too well today, do you?”

  “Well, no,” she admitted. “But what’s that got to do with me being locked in my bedroom?”

  “You’re sick. You have an infection, and you’ve been quarantined. None of us can come into contact with you. Doctor’s orders.”

  “What doctor? I don’t remember seeing any doctor.” Carol began to pace the confines of her room, growing agitated. She made a dash toward her open window, only to be propelled backward onto her bed by a force field.

  “Relax, Carol,” Kirk said soothingly. “He examined you while you were asleep and left some medicine for you. Just take it with the food we’re transporting into your quarters, and you’ll be good as new.”

  Carol leaped to her feet and sputtered with indignation. “That ... that’s absurd! I want to see my doctor on Pacifica. His name is—”

  “No one can see you,” said Jim slowly, as if talking to a child. “You’re very contagious, and none of the rest of us need to be sick at the moment, not when there’s so much work to do. In fact, this is going to be our last conversation for a while. Just take your medicine, eat well, and rest. Soon life will be back to normal. I promise, my love. Good-bye.”

  “What! Come back! How can you do this to me!” shouted Marcus, dissolving into a coughing fit. She finally had to sit back on the bed, but she continued to cry hoarsely, “Jim! David! Somebody talk to me!”

  With frustration and anger, she plucked the combadge from her chest and hurled it across the room, where it skittered into a corner.

  Taking a wheezing breath, Carol tried to remain upright, but all the agitation had weakened her, leaving her suddenly feeling all of her 135 years. With a tinkling sound, an elegant serving tray appeared on the nightstand beside her bed. On it was a bowl of her favorite soup, split pea, a large glass of orange juice, and a standard Starfleet hypospray.

  With a snarl, Marcus gave the tray an uppercut and sent it spinning; the soup flew across the room and decorated a wall, and the hypospray clattered to the floor. Although a bout of coughing followed this outburst, the moment of insubordination felt good.

  An instant later, another tray with the same contents appeared on her nightstand, and Carol wept into her trembling hands. Now she was moving from an unpleasant dream into a brutal and disturbing nightmare. Those people out there weren’t David and Jim. Her son and his father were dead and had been dead for decades. Whoever—whatever they were—she had told them everything! They knew more about Genesis than she did. Worst of all, she had helped them to perfect a beamed delivery system which could span light-years.

  “What was I thinking?” she rasped through her ragged tears. “I was their reference manual ... their source material. This isn’t paradise, it’s hell!”

  What everyone had feared would happen for ninety years had finally happened. An unfriendly force had seized her and had plumbed her mind for knowledge of Genesis. Her own guilt and loneliness had only made it easier for them to fool her. Anger welled within the old woman, making her more feverish and nauseated than the unknown disease. What they had done to her was bad enough, but God only knew what they had done to billion! of innocent souls!

  “It’s my fault!” she told herself, weeping. “All my fault!”

  Choking back furious sobs, Carol rummaged through the drawer of her nightstand until she found a small pair of cuticle scissors. Her first instinct was to ram the scissors into an artery and take her own worthless life. But that was the cowardly way out. She was sick and disillusioned, but she was no longer confused. The enemy was out there, somewhere beyond that door, and she had to survive long enough to defeat them. Whatever else she had done with her life—whatever opportunities she had squandered or seized—nothing mattered as much as this one moment of clarity.

  “It’s not my fault!” she bellowed hoarsely. “It’s them! Them!”

  Marcus knew that she had to grip reality and hang onto it like a life vest. Chills overwhelmed her, and so did a wracking cough but the sickness was good. Somehow the illness had freed her mind ... had given her another chance. She would take their medicine, eat their food, and get stronger, while waiting for a chance to get revenge on them.
Whoever, or whatever, they were. With firm resolve, Carol reached toward the tray on her nightstand and seized the hypospray. She lifted the device to her neck, but she paused before administering it. What if it’s the food and medicine that are keeping me under their spell? she wondered. But that didn’t make sense, because she had first seen “David” at her secure compound on Pacifica.

  Then she had another worrisome thought: These beings have exerted extraordinary control over me, and that only stopped because of my illness. What if I get well, and I’m not strong enough to resist their mind control?

  I have to remember how much I hate them, came the answer. I have to remember that David and Jim are dead.

  As a little girl, Marcus had seen her mother use a trick to remember things ... important things. She put down the hypospray and grabbed the scissors, and she cut a small slit in the hem of her nightgown. Very carefully, Marcus drew a long pink thread from the slit and wrapped it around her left finger. Using her right hand and her teeth, she tied the thread tightly, but not too tightly. Her captors would have no clue what it meant if they saw it, but she would know.

  When I see that thread on my finger, I will remember that my captors are evil ... and that David and Jim are dead.

  Feeling faint, Carol picked up the hypospray, and she used her last scrap of strength to administer the injection to her neck. Within moments, a grogginess overcame her, and the tightness in her lungs and throat seemed to ease a little. The old woman forced herself to drink half a glass of juice, then she slumped onto her bed. Even though she was obeying their orders, she had to get well in order to resist them.

  I will remember, she told herself. Carol Marcus gathered the blankets around her frail form and closed her eyes.

  I will remember what they did to me.

  four

  The blue-skinned child smiled as she groomed a human doll’s hair, under the watchful eye of Deanna Troi. Although Dezeer had no hair of her own, she seemed to know exactly what to do with it. They were in the counselor’s office, having been released from sickbay just before the crew from the Neptune were brought in. Troi was anxious to find out what had happened to Beverly and the others, but she also knew that she had to stay away and let the sickbay team do their job. Besides, she had head injuries from which to recover, and she was still feeling groggy, her empathic skills reduced.