STAR TREK: TNG - The Genesis Wave, Book Four - Genesis Force

by John Vornholt

  The Klingon nodded solemnly. “We shall send probes into your solar system to see what we can learn. As I understand it, the most devastating effects of the wave—wholesale molecular changes—occur once and are over.”

  “What do you mean by ‘wholesale molecular changes’?” asked Tejharet worriedly.

  “What you saw on your video feed,” answered Worf. “This wave causes more than destruction—it takes the existing matter and converts it into something new. Even the sun in your solar system has been changed. I have not yet seen these effects firsthand, but we will see them together.”

  “There’s no time to waste,” insisted Marla Karuw.

  “Very well.” The Klingon touched the com medallion on his sash and said, “Worf to Captain Kralenk of the Doghjey.”

  “Kralenk here,” came the reply. “Ambassador, I was just about to contact you. We’ve received a message from Starfleet saying the source of the Genesis Force has been discovered and neutralized. We don’t have any other information, but Starfleet [110] says we should proceed with extreme caution into any areas affected.”

  “Send probes into the Aluwnan solar system,” replied Worf. “If it is safe, we will proceed as soon as possible. Worf out.” He turned to his hosts and said, “That is good news.”

  “Good news that’s too late for us,” muttered Marla Karuw. “Can you ask your ships to help us maintain the integrity of the transporter buffers? I know that a Starfleet officer was supposed to have lasted seventy-five Terran years in a transporter buffer, but I’m not convinced.”

  “I can assure you it happened,” answered Worf. “I was serving aboard the ship that rescued a retired Starfleet engineer named Montgomery Scott, who survived a fatal crash by suspending himself in a transporter. I am very impressed that you came up with such a novel solution.”

  “We were desperate,” answered Karuw. “And we still are.”

  “We will do what we can,” promised Worf. “In a way, I feel like Noah.”

  “Who’s Noah?” asked the regent.

  “The hero in an epic story from Earth,” answered the Klingon. “I will send it to you—you may draw inspiration from the tale. Now I had best return to my ship. Should I direct-beam?”

  “Please,” answered the regent. “We haven’t got any power to spare for transporter operations.”

  “Very well.” The big Klingon again tapped his com device. “Worf to Doghjey. Beam me back to the ship.”

  “Yes, Ambassador.”

  Marla Karuw watched the fearsome-looking Klingon disappear from their bridge, having promised the Aluwnans to help them return to their homeworld. But she wasn’t mollified, nor was she reassured by the sight of seven huge Klingon warships just off the port bow of the royal yacht. This normally empty stretch of space was crammed with ships at the moment—eight [111] freighters, three royal yachts, the Klingon task force, and a ragtag collection of shuttlecraft and other small vessels that had helped them escape the disaster. None of them meant as much as the thousands of transporter satellites tethered to the Aluwnan ships; that was where the future of their world awaited, suspended in the bioneural networks of their computers.

  “Marla, you look so grim,” observed Overseer Tejharet. “I know nothing can replace the great loss we have suffered, but your plan worked. We made it to safety, and now we have help.”

  “We were lucky,” she grumbled. “I guess I wasn’t ready to hear that we would have to fight to reclaim Aluwna. I thought we could simply return, rebuild, and reseed—but it’s not going to be that easy. I’m afraid to go back there ... and see what has become of our beloved home.”

  The overseer moved to the bridge station where the regent was seated and gently touched her shoulder. “We’re all afraid, Marla, but we owe it to those who have perished to go on. I was heartened by Ambassador’s Worf visit, because now we know from a firsthand account that a person can survive in a transporter for a long time. Plus we have experienced fighters on our side, if fighting is what we have to do.”

  “I suppose,” answered the regent, feeling unconvinced. “Captain Uzel, what is our status?”

  “Impulse engines are maintaining power to the satellites,” answered the captain as he leaned over his science officer’s shoulder. “All of the ships bearing satellites report stability, which should last as long as we don’t tax our engines too much. By the way, several of the smaller ships wish to talk to you.”

  “About what?” she asked.

  “Mostly looking for instructions,” answered the silver-haired captain. “One small runabout, the Klamath, says it’s urgent that they speak to you. This ship has Federation registry.”

  “Federation?” asked Marla, rubbing her tired eyes. “Did they say what they wanted?”

  [112] “No, but they dropped a name they said you would know,” the captain answered. “Does the name Vilo Garlet mean anything?”

  “Vilo Garlet,” she echoed, jumping to her feet and moving toward the viewscreen. “Put the captain onscreen.”

  A few moments later, Karuw and everyone else on the Darzor bridge was astounded when the pointy-eared countenance of a Vulcan appeared on their overhead screen. Then she remembered that this was a Federation ship, inexplicably caught in Aluwna’s catastrophe.

  “I am Regimol, captain of the Klamath,” he began. “Am I addressing Regent Karuw?”

  “Yes,” she answered. “Is Vilo Garlet on your vessel?”

  “He is, and so is another Aluwnan who may be of use to you. I must go elsewhere, and I request permission to transfer my two passengers to your ship.”

  “We’re packed beyond capacity,” Captain Uzel reminded her.

  “We can take these two,” she answered. “Yes, Captain Regimol, transfer them directly to our bridge. Do you have our coordinates?”

  “I do,” answered the Vulcan somberly. “Please accept my regrets over the tragic destruction of your planet. Preparing to transport passengers. Live long and prosper. Klamath out.”

  The first Aluwnan to materialize on the bridge of the Darzor was her old colleague Vilo Garlet, and she was thrilled to see him, although she maintained her reserve. Marla was surprised when the other passenger turned out to be a very young woman wearing a Federation-issue jumpsuit.

  “Vilo, I’m glad to see you made it to safety,” said the regent, warmly clasping the scientist’s hand. “You’ll be able to help us after all.”

  “I suppose so,” he answered noncommittally.

  “And who’s your friend?”

  “This is Candra,” he answered, presenting the young lady. [113] “We just met, but she’s a very good friend of the new seeress consort.”

  “Is that so?” asked Overseer Tejharet with interest. “I haven’t even met my new family member yet.”

  The girl stared at him, awed by the presence of the monarch. “Pleased to meet you,” she answered with a gulp. Then she turned to Marla and asked, “Are you the new regent?”

  “Yes, my dear,” she answered with a smile. “And you’re a very lucky young lady.”

  “I know,” said Candra humbly. “Did it ... did it happen?”

  “Yes, it’s all over,” replied the regent, casting down her eyes. She took a breath, lifted her chin, and declared, “With the help of the Klingons, we’re going to return home very soon. And with the help of my friend Vilo, we’re going to remake Aluwna into the paradise it once was.”

  The girl twisted her hands together and looked at the overseer. “Can I see my friend Farlo? He married the seeress ... at the Institute of Devotion.”

  “My wife’s shuttlecraft is out there somewhere,” answered Tejharet, pointing toward the ragtag fleet floating in the vastness of space. “We know he’s on board, but we haven’t spoken to them yet. Let’s allow the captain and his crew to attend to urgent matters, and we’ll have our reunions later. In the meantime, you two must be tired. If we could find you a place to sleep—”

  “We have no empty quarters,” said Captain Uzel.


  “Candra can stay with me,” replied Marla Karuw, taking a liking to the young woman, who seemed very unpretentious for a person who associated with Vulcans, scientists, and high-bred royalty. “And, Vilo, you can stay in the laboratory.”

  “My lot in life,” said the grizzled physicist with a shrug. “You know, Marla, what you want to do won’t be easy. We haven’t perfected the chromasynthesis process, and we’ve never done anything large-scale before.”

  “This is the time to do it,” answered the regent. “We won’t [114] know what, we have to deal with until we see it, but we have a huge canvas, and a whole world to re-create. So let’s get started.”

  Worf swung his bat’leth and connected hard with the practice weapon of his opponent, feeling a shudder run up the length of his brawny forearms. Before the big Klingon could recover, his helmeted foe whirled around, ducked, and jabbed him in the ribs. Despite his protective armor, Worf grunted and had to gasp for air, while his opponent laughed and circled the training room. Anger rising, Worf tried to smash his foe in the head, but his adversary was too fast and lithe, easily dodging the overhead shot. Snarling like a targ, the ambassador swept the bat’leth along the deck, trying to catch his foe’s foot and trip him. Once again the youth was too quick, and he easily made a vertical leap while he slashed at Worf’s weapon arm, dealing a blow that numbed the Klingon from wrist to elbow.

  Clearly outmatched and losing momentum, Worf went into parry mode. He relied on footwork to keep out of reach of the weapon, while he did his best to neutralize his opponent’s frantic flurry of blows. His foe had always been quick, but the ambassador was surprised at how strong he had become since their last training exercise.

  Using every trick to avoid another painful strike, Worf tried to figure out how to counterattack. Sensing victory, his opponent pressed forward, lunging, slashing, and trying to overpower the older fighter. Worf was careful to feint and jab, trying to keep him honest while retreating. Grunting with the effort, he was tired, and he pretended to be even more tired. When his foe tried an overhead kill shot, Worf lifted his bat’leth as if to parry again, but instead he pulled it back and stepped aside, allowing his off-balance opponent to stagger forward. That was when Worf stuck out a big foot and tripped him. The enemy somehow maintained his balance until Worf swept his weapon like a [115] scythe and connected with the back of the lad’s neck. That blow sent him sprawling onto his stomach.

  Panting and grinning, Worf yanked off his helmet and said, “If this was a sharp bat’leth, your head would be bouncing across the deck.”

  His opponent rolled over and pulled off his own helmet, revealing a shock of blond hair and a handsome human face. Jeremy Aster rubbed his neck painfully, but still laughed as he looked up to his foster father. “I thought I had you that time!”

  “You did,” said the Klingon sternly, “but you are too impatient. Toward the end, you were so anxious to finish me that you were off-balance and out of control. Had you been content to wear me down, you would have done so, and soon. I may be old and slow, but I am patient.”

  He reached down and helped the young man to his feet. Although technically the R’uustai ceremony had made them brothers, their difference in age—and the boy’s need for a father figure—had allowed Worf to treat him like a son.

  “It’s a pain being the only human on this ship,” complained Jeremy. “None of the other crew members will fight me. They think it’s beneath them.”

  “You would probably best some of the younger ones,” answered his father, “if you kept your patience. I will teach you how to challenge them in such a manner that they cannot refuse. By the time you finish the Officer Exchange Program, you should know a great deal about Klingons.”

  “Can we go again?” asked the energetic youth, lifting his wooden bat’leth and begging for more.

  Worf sighed wearily. “No, not right now. We must clean up and dress for dinner. Your brother is coming over from the Ya’Vang.”

  “And he won’t fight me either!” complained Jeremy.

  “Alexander has much to do lately,” countered Worf. “They just made him third-shift duty officer in engineering, and he is studying our culture and language.”

  [116] “Yeah, well.” Jeremy sighed. “I’ll never get a promotion. I don’t think Captain Kralenk likes me.”

  “What did I just tell you about patience?” snapped Worf. “I was the only Klingon on a Starfleet ship, and do you know how many years it took me to get a promotion? But once the promotions started coming, they came rapidly. Now I have such influence that I can demand that both my sons serve with me, and here you are. But I wish this were a happier assignment.”

  “At least Starfleet ended the threat,” said Jeremy.

  “Yes.” Teeth clenched, Worf shook his fist and added, “I wish I had been there to kill the ones who unleashed it.”

  Jeremy smiled slyly. “Dad, you don’t really like being an ambassador, do you?”

  Worf looked around and lowered his voice to answer, “No. I would gladly trade places with you and be a junior weapons officer. So you see, promotions are not all they are cracked up to be.”

  “But we have a hundred weapons officers on this ship,” muttered Jeremy, hefting his bat’leth. “It’s hard to get noticed.”

  “Believe me, they notice you,” answered the Klingon. “You’re hard to miss.”

  The com panel on the bulkhead made a sharp squeal, and a voice said, “Bridge to Ambassador Worf.”

  He walked across the training room and tapped the com panel. “Worf here.”

  “This is Science Officer Jagrow,” came the reply, “and we have received data from the probes we sent to Aluwna.”

  “Go on,” said Worf with interest.

  “First, all probes are functioning as normal, so the captain assumes it’s safe to proceed into the solar system. Secondly, Aluwna is still a habitable planet, although the atmosphere is hotter and more humid than our records show. Plant life has increased oxygen levels in the atmosphere by twenty percent. Carbon dioxide, hydrogen, and helium levels have slightly decreased but are holding steady.”

  [117] “Plant life?” asked Worf curiously. “I thought the planet had been razed.”

  “This is new plant life,” replied the science officer, “growing at an accelerated pace. Most unusual of all is a reading of a hundred thousand humanoid-sized life-forms.”

  “What kind of life-forms?” asked the ambassador.

  “They match nothing in our database,” answered Jagrow. “The sun in the solar system is also undergoing increased thermonuclear fusion, which may be adding to the accelerated growth. Without firsthand observation, we can’t tell if these trends will stabilize or continue to mutate into an unreliable ecosystem. Considering the number of life-forms, Captain Kralenk wishes to proceed in battle readiness.”

  “Agreed,” answered Worf. “Inform Regent Karuw on the Darzor of these findings, and prepare to get under way. As before, we will have to tow the Aluwnan ships and their satellites.”

  “Yes, sir. Bridge out.”

  The big Klingon frowned and looked at his foster son. “It appears that dinner with your brother will have to be put off. However, it also appears that you may have a chance to fight someone else besides me.”

  “Good!” said Jeremy Aster with a broad grin. “I’m looking forward to it.”

  twelve

  “I can’t stand being cooped up in here anymore!” yelled Seeress Jenoset, slamming the back of the seat where Farlo Fuzwik was sleeping fitfully. The lad blinked himself awake and gazed up at the regal blond woman, who had spent many units pacing back and forth in the short aisle of the shuttlecraft. The pilot, the copilot, and the pilot’s family cowered from her anger, while Seeress Consort Padrin yawned wearily.

  “Darling,” said Padrin, “we could have gone on one of the larger ships, but you insisted on having autonomy.”

  “But they could keep us informed!” railed the monarch. “What is the point of sitting here
, surrounded by Klingons? When are we going to go home?”

  “I’ve been hailing the Darzor,” said the pilot, Hajhor Kanow. “They say there is no news and no orders. But several units ago, the Klingons fired probes toward Aluwna. I presume we’re waiting to hear the results.”

  “You presume a lot,” muttered Jenoset. “Perhaps the Klingons are making demands, or that bungling regent is being too cautious. In truth, we don’t know what is going on.”

  [119] “We know our world has been destroyed,” said Farlo simply. “And millions and millions of people are dead.”

  That brought Jenoset’s tirade to a halt, and everyone on the small craft lowered their heads in quiet introspection. Farlo had lost as much as anyone, but he didn’t think it was fair to complain when everyone in this barren region of space was lucky just to be alive. He also felt sorry for those millions more suspended in the transporter satellites, because that was almost death.

  “I owe you my life,” he told Seeress Jenoset, “but you’re wrong to be angry at anyone. All of us here ... we should feel nothing but grateful.”

  Jenoset patted her newest husband on the shoulder and said, “You’re wise for one so young. Very well, I’ll sit down and wait, but not for long.”

  “Maybe it won’t be long,” said Farlo. Through the bow viewport he could see one of the big Klingon warships edging slowly forward. “The Klingons are starting to move out there.”

  The seeress stepped toward the cockpit. “Kanow, get confirmation on whether we’re getting ready to move.”

  “I am,” answered the pilot, working his board. After a moment, he reported, “There’s lots of traffic on the com frequencies. It would appear that the Klingon vessels are activating their tractor beams. We must be getting ready to move out.”

  “Good,” said Seeress Jenoset, returning to her seat. “We’ll be home by tomorrow.”

  “But what will home be like?” asked Padrin. His fellow passengers diverted their eyes, because nobody had an answer for him.

  Flanked by Overseer Tejharet and Captain Uzel, Marla Karuw gazed at the lush green planet on the overhead viewport. It looked perfectly habitable, with its plethora of plant life, gleaming polar icecaps, and azure veins of rivers and [120] deltas. Nevertheless, they were all stunned after their daylong journey home, because this was a planet none of them recognized.