She was startled out of her musing by the sharp buzz of her Klingon communicator. “HoS to away team!” called a frantic voice. It was Kurok, sounding more perturbed than she had ever heard the second officer.
“Brahms here,” she answered for the team. “What is it?’
“A large Romulan warbird has just shown up, and they are demanding to board us.”
“No!” bellowed Maltz. “Tell them to take their shoulder pads and stuff them up their—”
“Belay that!” cut in Brahms. “They’re supposed to be our allies. Tell them we have an away team on the surface.”
“I did,” answered Kurok. “They are demanding that we transport to their vessel and turn over all records to them. They act as if they want to take us prisoner, but I have yet to lower shields.”
“They want all the glory!” yelled Maltz in rage. “I am not leaving until I fulfill my blood oath. Listen to me, Kurok, do not lower shields to transport us. Or for any other reason. Get out of there as fast as you can! The Romulans won’t pursue you.”
Brahms caught her breath, wondering if she should override Maltz’s rash orders. But she realized two facts—she didn’t want to lose her ship to the Romulans, and she wasn’t ready to leave this planet yet. “Go on, Kurok, get away from here. Come back when they’re gone.”
“Yes, sir,” answered the second officer.
Herbert flapped his arms, looking incongruous in his bulky environmental suit on the sunlit beach. In a squeaky voice, he asked, “Captain Brahms, are you sure you want to defy the Romulans?”
“We’ve come too far to let anyone stop us,” the engineer declared with grit in her voice. She drew one of her phasers and handed it to the young man. “Here, you may need this.”
twenty-one
“Commander!” called the centurion standing at the tactical console on the bridge of the D’Arvuk. “The Klingon vessel is powering impulse engines. Shall I open fire?”
The cadaverous Romulan commander turned to his ornate viewscreen and saw the outdated Klingon cruiser suddenly veer away from the ugly planet. “Are their shields still up?” asked Jagron.
“Yes, sir.”
“Then don’t bother. Unless we destroy them, it might cause an incident.” The commander of the mighty warbird returned to his planetary sensors. “It is interesting that they would leave a landing party on the planet, unless that was a lie. Do we sense any life-forms?”
“No, sir,” answered the centurion on tactical, “but it will take us several hours to complete a scan. Lomar would appear to have very little life ... only a few plants.”
“Hmmm, what kind of plants?” asked Jagron with interest.
“Unknown from these scattered readings. Shall we prepare an away team?”
“Prepare ten away teams,” answered Commander Jagron, glowering at the gray, misty planet. “We are going to search every centimeter of Lomar. But use caution, and make sure everyone is vaccinated against the fungus. The creature that took over the Enterprise wanted to come here, and so did the Klingons. There must be something here.”
“Sir,” said the centurion with urgency, “I have just detected a shuttlecraft. Civilian Federation design.”
The corners of Jagron’s thin lips curled into a smile. “For a deserted planet, there’s considerable traffic here. I will lead Team One myself.”
Cautiously, Leah Brahms approached the front door of the quaint beach house just off the glittering copper beach. Neither one actually existed, because this was a holodeck; but the simulation had been done with considerable detail. If time were unlimited, she would have preferred to linger by the sparkling lagoon, watching the mysterious black shapes glide under the turquoise water. But she knew she had to access some real technology if she was going to learn anything.
As her gloved hand touched the doorknob of the front door, the knob suddenly turned from rustic wood to a glittering chunk of faceted crystal, and she found herself standing on the porch of an antebellum mansion. The scenery behind her also switched from the tropical isle to a flower-laden garden in the center of a quaint city, like New Orleans. On the other side of a hedge of flaming bougainvillea, she saw and heard pedestrians strolling by, filling the air with pleasant chitchat. Their voices only added to the rich sounds, which included birds and the gentle buzz of the bees as they darted among the colorful daffodils and petunias.
Disruptor beams suddenly tore into the strolling crowd, who completely ignored them and continued on their way.
“Don’t fire!” she ordered, turning to see Maltz and Gradok, ready for action. “They’re not real—they’re part of the program. As much as I’d like to look around here, this holodeck is unstable. We need to get out of here.”
“Holodecks,” grumbled Maltz, his voice filled with disdain. “I know some Klingons use them for exercise and battle drills, but I never liked them.”
“Holodecks are a favorite pastime among humans,” agreed Brahms, walking across the porch and stopping at a setting of old-fashioned wicker furniture. “And this one is decidedly human. I would say this is a scene from Earth.”
“And who do we know from Earth?” Maltz proclaimed triumphantly. “Dr. Carol Marcus!”
“It’s incriminating, but it’s still not proof,” said Leah. “We need to find something definite to link this complex with the Genesis Wave.”
“Captain Brahms!” Herbert’s high-pitched voice said loudly in her headgear. “I think I may have found another exit.”
It took her and the Klingons a moment to locate the lad, who was in a far corner of the garden, standing over what looked like a wishing well, complete with hand-cranked bucket and overgrown vines. Beside the well stood some small, weathered statues of garden gnomes. The wishing well was the only feature in the otherwise cheerful garden that looked at all foreboding.
Herbert stood over it with a tricorder. “According to my readings, this is a real hole,” he declared. “Before the scenery changed, it was a sinkhole near the lagoon. If we want to explore it, I think the rope will support us.” He gave the rope a forceful tug, and it didn’t fall off the crank.
Maltz leaned over the well and aimed the light from his helmet into the pit. “It looks dark down there. And wet.”
“I think the water is an illusion,” answered the boy hesitantly.
“You think?” replied the Klingon. “Then you go first.” He shoved the boy forward, and Leah said nothing. She was too busy watching a commotion on the other side of the hedges. The happy pedestrians were suddenly bustling about in agitation, running into each other, but she couldn’t see the cause of the problem through the thick bougainvillea.
“Hurry!” she urged them.
Without hesitation, Gradok slung the disruptor onto his back and leaped into the well, grabbing the rope on his way down. He disappeared into the dark water without a splash, and Maltz shoved Herbert toward the opening. The lad hurriedly stowed his tricorder and phaser before he took hold of the rope and leaned over.
A rustling sound alerted Leah, and she whirled around to see the bougainvillea split asunder by a wedge of thick boughs. She wondered if the hedges had been programmed to move, until she realized that a horde of moss creatures was trying to break through. A distruptor beam sliced into them, cutting the shrubbery to shreds and filling the air with debris. At once, Herbert flung himself into the well with surprising agility in the bulky suit.
“I’ve got you covered, Captain!” insisted Maltz, laying down more fire. Moving seemed the prudent thing to do, and Leah rushed for the hole, swinging her legs over the side of the stone wall. As the bougainvillea completely disappeared—to be replaced by the inside of a physics laboratory—Leah grabbed the rope and plunged feetfirst into the watery hole.
Her feet hit the shimmering surface with absolutely no sensation. As she passed through the illusionary water, the rope disappeared from her hands, and Leah plummeted into darkness.
Strong arms caught her and yanked her out of the way, just as Malt
z tumbled down from above, landing headfirst on the hard floor and smashing his lamp to pieces. The only light they had was from Herbert’s helmet, and he tried to sweep the room while Gradok rushed to help Maltz.
The old Klingon sat up, shaking his head. He stared at the weapons master, who shrugged apologetically and said, “I could only catch one of you.”
“Where are we?” grumbled Maltz, gazing upward at the dark hole he had fallen down.
“I don’t know, but it’s cold in here,” answered Gradok, his scarred body shivering.
“It’s another storage area, I think.” Leah turned on her light and directed the beam upward into the rafters, where what looked like sides of beef were hanging. That was her first impression, but the reality brought a gasp to her lips. They were not sides of beef but hundreds of naked humanoids in all shapes and sizes. They were encased in transparent bags, which expanded and contracted at the rate of normal breathing; the poor souls appeared to be in some kind of suspended animation.
As Leah looked more closely, her stomach tightened, because the bodies were being fed by vines and clumps of moss, snaking everywhere among the dark rafters.
“Holy cow,” murmured Herbert.
“Do I see Klingons up there?” asked Maltz in rage.
“All kinds ... all kinds of humanoids.” Brahms guided her light to two small forms in a single bag, fed by twin stalks. “Look, there’s a pair of Bynars.”
“Are they still alive?” asked Gradok, his teeth chattering from the cold.
“Yes, according to the tricorder,” answered Herbert.
“What fiends these are!” seethed Maltz. “If I were convinced the Romulans would do a good job, I would beg them to raze this planet. But they would more than likely befriend the devils and turn the Genesis Wave on us.”
“We still don’t know who they are,” insisted Brahms. “Like the old miner said, this planet is riddled with weird plants, but who’s in charge? Could a bunch of plants have built this complex? I don’t think so. These beings, who are hanging in stasis until they’re needed again, could have built this place. The question is, are they captives, or are they here of their own free will? This could be some kind of cult, or a conspiracy against the Federation.”
“No Klingon would live like that!” shouted Maltz, shaking his fist at the gently breathing bodies hanging above them. “I say we cut one down and ask him.”
They were hanging so low that Maltz reached a lanky arm upward and grabbed the foot of the closest encased humanoid. With his other hand, he drew his disruptor.
“Maltz, be careful,” warned Leah. “I don’t want a murder on our hands.”
The Klingon nodded, then with pinpoint precision, he shot a beam into the vines and sheared them off around the head of the suspended captive. When the vines snapped, they spewed a vile, greenish sap all over the bag as it tumbled down. Gradok rushed to help Maltz catch the fallen dead weight, and he got the sap all over his bare skin.
“Aiyyagh!” howled Gradok, slapping at his skin as if it were on fire. That left Maltz to lower the body to the floor by himself, and he did so with surprising gentleness. Both Leah and Herbert moved forward, shining their lights on the naked humanoid in the bag, who was gasping for breath.
“Open the bag,” ordered Leah.
The old Klingon reached for a small slit in the top of the bag, which was over the man’s head. That feat alone wasn’t easy, because the suddenly lively corpse was struggling for air and fighting blindly. Nevertheless, Maltz braved the onslaught long enough to get his fingers into the hole and rip it downward, tearing the squirming package open like a ripe banana.
“Oh, God!” croaked Herbert, turning away. The lad’s action resulted in only half the light being cast on the afflicted man, but that was just as well, decided Leah. She cringed in horror but kept her eyes focused on the poor creature, whose mouth, ears, nose, and other orifices were plugged with moss and leaking vines.
Meanwhile, Gradok rolled around on the floor, writhing in pain. Brahms was glad that she had told the rest of them to keep their environmental suits on. She took a step toward the weapons master, but he motioned her away. “I will live,” he said hoarsely. “A warrior can survive discomfort.”
“Let me know if you need help.” She turned to Maltz and motioned to the being he had cut down. “You’ve gone this far, so finish the job. Pull that stuff out of his mouth, so he can talk.”
With a grimace that was clear even behind his faceplate, the grizzled Klingon bent down and began yanking weeds from the man’s face. As he worked, Leah stepped closer to give him more light, and she tried to look beyond her disgust to see what species he was. From his high forehead and his black hair pulled into a severe ponytail, she assumed he was Antosian.
“Do you still think he’s an accomplice, or a victim?” asked Maltz, panting from the exertion of clearing the man’s windpipe and nostrils of the ubiquitous moss. “Even an Antosian is not so stupid as to agree to this.”
Leah leaned in a bit closer to the afflicted man. As his breathing came more easily, he relaxed and stopped his struggles, slipping back into a comatose state. From a pouch on the side of her environmental suit, Brahms took out a small first-aid kit and quickly assembled a hypospray.
“What are you going to give him?” asked Maltz.
“A stimulant. We haven’t got time to wait around here for him to wake up, do we?”
“No,” agreed the Klingon. He gazed upward at the disturbing contents of the cold chamber. “Hurry, Captain.”
Squelching her disgust at the slimy, naked body, Brahms bent down and stuck the hypo in his neck. Instantly his body twitched to life, and his eyes opened, staring around with shock and horror. Before the Antosian could focus his eyes on the frightening figures in dark armor, Leah said softly, “Try to relax, you’re among friends. We’re here to rescue you—to help you.”
“Huh? Erghh?” His lips moved, and he seemed to want to talk, but the motion skills were just not there. “Mouth ... sore,” he finally croaked, working his jaw.
“That’s a start,” she said encouragingly. “Do you know where you are?”
He shook his head and looked around, then he curled into a fetal position and shivered. Brahms pulled out her phaser and shot it at the floor, heating a small area to a red-hot temperature—enough to warm both the Antosian and Gradok, who huddled near the spot.
“Captain Brahms,” said Herbert with concern. “According to the tricorder, his vital signs are abnormally high, as if his system was racing.”
She bent down in front of the Antosian, trying to get his attention. “What do you remember about being here? What did they make you do?”
He looked at her with confusion and puzzlement. “I ... I thought I was somewhere else ... my homeworld. My job ... I did my job! I was never so happy.”
“What is your job?” demanded Maltz.
“Biomolecular physiologist,” said the Antosian, his eyes flashing with remembrance as he stated his title. “Where are my wife and children? They were here, too!”
Leah grimaced, because she didn’t think his wife and children were here. At least she hoped they weren’t. “Do you know what you were doing? What was the project?”
“Programming ... theoretical.” He shook his head. “We had synthesized several genomes into a matrix that could be exchanged over a carrier wave.”
“Exchanged?” asked Maltz suspiciously. “Exchanged with whom?”
The Antosian shook his head. “Listen, I need some clothes ... I need to get out of here!” He tried to stand, but his legs were none too stable, and he collapsed back to the floor.
“Do you know a way out of here?” asked Herbert, moving forward. “We’ll be glad to save you.”
With a trembling hand, the Antosian pointed into the darkness. “I remember ... that way ... I think.”
Then he clutched his throat and began coughing and wheezing for breath. Leah moved to his side, as did Maltz, but they were too late. With a
massive seizure that shook his whole body, the Antosian cried out in pain, then he went limp. The color drained instantly from his flesh, and he looked as if he had been dead for days.
Herbert spoke up, his voice cracking. “He’s dead. He was dying even while he was talking to us.”
Gradok leaped to his feet, rubbing his arms to keep warm. The Klingon jogged off into the darkness. “He said this way—come on.”
As they followed, Maltz fell in beside Leah, and Herbert brought up the rear. “It sounds to me like he was working on the Genesis Wave,” said the old Klingon.
Brahms nodded. “But the question is—what do we do about it? We’re four strangers, lost inside this planet, with no ship and a Romulan warbird circling us.”
“There is Craycroft’s shuttlecraft,” answered Maltz.
“If we can get to it,” answered Brahms.
As they walked, the room began to narrow, and there were no longer bodies swinging over their heads. With Gradok leading, they moved quickly but warily, casting light ahead to look for dangerous plants in the shadowy corners. Soon they were inside a tunnel that appeared identical to the one they had passed through to reach the room with the crankshafts and silos. Moss grew at intervals, and vines snaked the length of the dark passageway. Although none of this vegetation was moving, it didn’t look innocuous anymore, and they eyed the moss warily as they passed.
Brahms had the disturbing feeling that they were walking in circles when they saw light shining ahead of them. A few seconds later, they came upon a gleaming chamber with closed metal doors—it looked like some kind of secure portal. There was a small console standing at the side of the doorway, and Leah went straight toward it.
Herbert tagged along, still reading his tricorder. “It doesn’t look like a hologram. It’s giving off energy readings.”
Leah shook her head and squinted at the small, unfamiliar console, which blinked at her with a cyclopean eye. She finally pressed the eye, and the door slid open. The inside of the chamber blinked and beeped invitingly.
STAR TREK: TNG - The Genesis Wave, Book Two Page 23
