Genesis Force

by John Vornholt

  “Very well. Kralenk out.”

  A roar sounded, and Alexander looked up to see the departing shuttlecraft streaking over the treetops. He glanced around the motley camp, which consisted of two geodesic domes that had been pounded into the charred soil, plus two muddy shuttlecraft. His father, Jeremy, and the remaining warriors were making a slow walk around the perimeter, occasionally hacking at the vines that continued to encroach upon their hard-won spit of land. Even though the wind continued to howl and the temperature grew colder, the sunset gave the swaying trees and rugged mountains a golden glow that made them beautiful, in a primitive fashion. He couldn’t imagine the kind of creature who would find this place to be a custom-built paradise, but he could see promise in its raw forest and fiery terrain. Gazing at the sheer force of life in this place made a person feel alive.

  Twilight was a strange time anyway—a delicate stage between two different worlds of light and dark, visible and invisible. Alexander had often felt like that, suspended between two worlds, sometimes rejecting both of them. He was thinking about all he had missed, and why, when he heard a soft voice calling to him from the unruly jungle.

  “Alexander,” said the feminine voice, “I am here.”

  He whirled around to see if anyone else had heard the mysterious voice, but Worf, Jeremy, and the others were on the far side of the clearing, partly obscured by a shuttlecraft. They weren’t paying any attention to him. He peered into the swaying boughs of the primeval forest and thought he saw a figure, somewhat obscured by the lengthening shadows of dusk.

  As she strode toward him, the vines and thornbushes seemed to part for her, and Alexander recognized her long hair, beautiful face, and prominent head ridges. She stopped just at the edge of the forest and smiled at him, and he heard her soothing voice in his mind.

  “Alexander,” she said, “it’s so good to see you again.”

  “Mother!” he croaked, hardly believing his eyes. He hadn’t seen K’Ehleyr since he was a lad, but he remembered that calm, implacable face and quiet authority. He wanted to run and grab his father’s hand and show him that his beloved mother had returned. But then something in his mind clicked, and he remembered an important fact.

  K’Ehleyr was dead.

  “Come with me,” she urged, holding out her hand. More than anything in the universe, he wanted to grab that hand and be with his mother, even in this tumultuous world, because he missed her so much. Her murder had been the one huge turning point in his life, and not for the good. Her appearance seemed to represent a way to turn back time and make up for all the wrong that had happened in his life. Alexander held out his hand, longing to be with her, even as the logic centers of his brain screamed out that this couldn’t be real.

  A disruptor blast startled him, and he turned to see two officers shooting something in the brush just off to his right. That broke the spell, and he staggered backward. In desperation, Alexander turned to look for his mother, but she was gone, consumed by the shadows that were gradually swallowing the great forest. He almost screamed in anguish over losing her again, and a hand caught his arm as he staggered.

  “Brother,” said Jeremy Aster with alarm. “I hardly ever see Klingons look pale, but you look pale.”

  “Did you see her?” he asked, gripping the human’s shoulders. “She was just out there . . . in the forest.”

  “Who?” asked Jeremy with confusion. The blond man peered into the gloomy jungle along with his brother, but there was nothing to be seen, except rampant plant growth and wispy fog.

  “I was just thinking about her,” muttered Alexander, “and there she was.” He shook his head, feeling as if he had just awakened from a dream and was in between reality and imagination, unsure of either one.

  “What were they shooting at over there?” he asked, pointing to the officers to his right.

  Jeremy shrugged. “I don’t know . . . phantoms. It’s getting dark, and people are seeing things in the shadows.”

  “Where’s Father?” asked Alexander. It was suddenly urgent that he see Worf, to make sure he was alive, still flesh and blood.

  Jeremy pointed to one of the shelters, and the young Klingon jogged in that direction. He entered the geodesic dome and found Worf entering data onto a padd. “What is it, son?” asked the Ambassador.

  “I don’t know,” answered Alexander, shaking his head. “Come with me, please. It’s urgent.”

  Worf nodded and set down his padd on a small table. Seeing the wild look in his son’s eyes, he picked up his bat’leth on the way out.

  They strode to the edge of the forest, where Jeremy was still standing. Now it was Alexander’s turn to be shocked at the human’s appearance.

  “I saw her!” exclaimed Jeremy, pointing wildly into the underbrush. “She was out there!”

  “Who?” asked Worf.

  “My mother.” As soon as Jeremy said the words, he shook his head in confusion, realizing that couldn’t be true.

  “We share a bond,” said Alexander, “because both of our mothers died when we were young. Yet we saw both of them here tonight.”

  “What are you talking about?” asked Worf worriedly.

  Alexander gripped his father’s forearm and said, “Think about my mother, K’Ehleyr, and call to her.”

  “This is stupid,” said Worf bluntly.

  “No, it’s not,” answered Alexander. “Clear your mind, except for K’Ehleyr, and call to her.”

  Frowning deeply at such nonsense, Worf did as he’d been told. “K’Ehleyr,” he whispered. “K’Ehleyr.”

  Man-sized shapes began to emerge from the forest, moving toward them in a ghostly procession. One of them was K’Ehleyr, another was Jeremy’s mother, whom Alexander recognized from old photographs, and a third was K’mtar, a strange visitor from the future Alexander had once encountered. None of them should exist.

  “By the beard of Kahless!” said Worf with a gasp. “It is her! Your mother—”

  “Gowron!” shouted a voice to the right of them, and Alexander turned to see a Klingon security officer drop to his knees before one of the wispy figures emerging from the fog. Although the officer saw a dead Klingon leader, Alexander again saw his mother in the same apparition. Everywhere he looked, he saw his mother—dozens of them, all smiling beatifically.

  “Come with me, Worf,” said the beautiful K’Ehleyr, holding out her arms. “We are waiting for you.”

  Fourteen

  “We’ve got to get out of here!” shouted Alexander, grabbing his father’s arm and trying to drag him away from the shadowy, ghost-filled jungle of Aluwna. “Something is affecting our minds!”

  When Worf refused to move, Alexander clenched his fist and slugged him in the jaw. That staggered the big Klingon and nearly dropped him to the ground; it also shattered the hold that the apparition had on the ambassador, and he stared in alarm at his son.

  “Jeremy!” yelled Alexander, trying to pull the human away from the edge of the forest.

  “I can’t leave her now,” insisted Jeremy Aster. “My mother—”

  “It’s not your mother!” shouted Alexander. “Your mother’s dead.”

  “Everyone to the shuttlecraft!” ordered Worf. “Immediate evacuation! Everyone to the shuttles!”

  That took some doing, since so many of the officers were entranced by the ghostlike beings emerging from the forest. In desperation, Worf ran up to one of the creatures and cut it in half with his bat’leth. What fell to the ground was a weird clump of moss and gray-green vegetation. The enraged Klingon, whose dear one had just been dispatched with such cold-blooded ruthlessness, turned on Worf and drew his knife. Alexander feared that his father would be killed, but Jeremy leveled a Starfleet phaser and hit the officer with a stun beam. He slumped to the ground, unconscious.

  “We are under attack!” bellowed Worf. He pointed to his fallen comrade. “You two, pick up that officer. Everyone to the shuttlecraft! Now!”

  Those who were too enchanted to obey orders were stun
ned into unconsciousness by Jeremy’s phaser. Dragging, cajoling, yelling, and slugging it out with each other, the small force of Klingons and one human somehow retreated into the two shuttlecraft. Worf wouldn’t allow them to take off, however, until he made sure that the pilots were possessed of their full mental faculties. After the pilots had reported to Worf, confirming their fitness, he ordered the two shuttlecraft aloft. Through the viewport, Alexander could see an army of shadowy beings emerging from the trees to reclaim the burned-out clearing.

  As they rose over the dense forest of Aluwna, Worf tapped his com medallion and said, “Worf to Doghjey—urgent.”

  “Kralenk here,” answered the captain. “What is it, Ambassador? You are deserting your post.”

  “We were under attack,” reported Worf, “by creatures which could assume the appearance of people we know—loved ones who are dead or certainly not on Aluwna. We are returning to the ship, but I request quarantine measures.”

  “Very well,” answered the captain, sounding unhappy. “This will set back our timetable. We’ll turn on the forcefields in the shuttlebay, and I’ll have a medical team meet you. Worf, are you saying that the planet is inhabited?”

  The big Klingon frowned in thought for a moment, then replied, “Let us just say that something lives here besides trees, bushes, and slugs. I suggest you contact Starfleet and see if they’ve had similar experiences on the other Genesis planets.”

  “Acknowledged. Kralenk out.”

  Heaving a sigh of relief, Worf sunk back in his seat; then he glanced at his son across the aisle. Alexander shook his head wistfully and said, “I had forgotten how beautiful my mother was.”

  “K’Ehleyr’s death is seared in my memory,” answered Worf. “But that wasn’t your mother. I hope to find out exactly what it was.”

  From the seat in front of Worf, Jeremy turned around. “When you killed that one . . . it looked like vegetation.”

  “That won’t be the last one we kill,” vowed Worf. “Next time we go down in force.”

  * * *

  On the bridge of the royal yacht Darzor, Marla Karuw paced angrily, slamming her fist into her palm. “This is an absurd directive from the Klingons,” she muttered. “We still cannot transport down to Aluwna—why not? Unless we can transport to the planet, eight million survivors are in jeopardy. Now they say that we can’t even go down there in shuttlecraft! Who are they to tell us we can’t walk on our own world?”

  “They are looking out for our safety,” said her aide, Komplum, twisting his hands nervously. “Maybe we should err on the side of caution.”

  “Caution?” she scoffed. “Caution will get eight million people killed! You are aware that the temperature of the bioneural networks on some of the satellites has dropped another two degrees, and there are other signs of degradation. Those satellites have been through a lot, and we are not going to be able to keep our people stored in them for seventy-five Terran years. I want our people to be freed in a few days, at the latest.”

  She turned to Captain Uzel, who had been watching the regent with interest. “Captain,” she asked, “now that most of the satellites have been disconnected from our engines, do we have enough power to use our transporters?”

  “Very sparingly,” he answered. “What do you have in mind, Regent?”

  “I want to prove our Klingon friends wrong,” Marla declared. “I’m going to go to the transporter room and beam down to the planet.” She started for the corridor at the rear of the bridge.

  Both Komplum and the captain shouted after her to stop. “What if the Klingons are right?” asked Uzel. “At least ask for a volunteer!”

  “I am a volunteer,” she replied, pausing in the doorway. “I wouldn’t ask anyone else to do what I wouldn’t do myself. It’s essential that we be able to transport down to the planet. If we can’t do that . . . then all of our rescue efforts have been in vain. Tell them I’m coming.”

  Marla Karuw turned on her heel and walked down the corridor to the transporter room, which was only a few doors away. When she arrived, the transporter operator was ending a conversation over the com channel. “Yes, Captain, we’ll be careful,” he promised. “Transporter room out.”

  He stepped behind his console and asked the regent, “Do you have a specific destination in mind?”

  “Do you have the coordinates where the Klingon shuttlecraft landed?” she asked.

  The officer checked his board and nodded. “Yes, I do. The shelters are still standing, but the Klingons pulled out only a short time ago. It’s also night there.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Karuw answered, climbing aboard the transporter platform. “This is simply an experiment, and I won’t be down there long.”

  The operator left his post for a moment to hand her a small device to be worn on her wrist. “Press this alert when you are ready to return. That will get you back the quickest.”

  “Thank you,” she said, granting the young officer a smile as she strapped the device to her wrist. “Proceed when ready.”

  “Yes, Regent.” He worked his board, and she felt the slight tingle that indicated that her molecules were being dispersed. As she nervously caught her breath, Marla realized that this might be the last breath she would ever take. But someone had to prove that it was safe to transport. Either she would do that in the next few instants, or she would join the seventy million souls who had perished on Aluwna.

  When Marla smelled the awful ammonia-and-sulfur-tainted air, then shivered from the cold, she realized that her transporter experiment had been a success. What did those stupid Klingons know? They were supposed to be so brave, yet they had deserted their camp only half a day after settling it. She looked at the two domed shelters, which were the only things which stood out in the Aluwnan night, and she wondered what their rush to evacuate had been. The distant mountains were tipped with fire from volcanic eruptions, but the wind had died down along with some of the more malevolent plant growth. She still was afraid to look at the squishy things on the ground, but it was too dark to see them, anyway.

  No, there was almost a peace here now that gave her hope that they could resettle Aluwna and make it their home once again. More than anything, Marla Karuw just wanted to know that the desperate acts she had committed were necessary and would pay off in the long run. There were likely to be more desperate acts, such as this transporter experiment, but she was heartened to know that her luck was still holding.

  Marla heard an odd shuffling noise behind her, and she turned around to see a slight, bent figure walking toward her. “Hello, Regent,” said a familiar voice.

  No, it couldn’t be! Marla gasped and stumbled backward a few paces. “Curate Molafzon!” she croaked.

  “Yes, I am here,” said the elderly clergyman, “even though you tried to kill me.”

  “But how?” she rasped, shaking her head with disbelief. “It’s really you?”

  “I have friends,” he answered calmly, “friends who spared my life and made sure I could be here to greet you upon your return.”

  “And you’re living . . . here?”

  The curate shrugged. “Where else would I be living but our beloved home? I want you to know that I bear you no ill feelings. You did what you had to do, and I am proud of you for fulfilling your vision and saving so many. I have revealed myself to you, because I want you to know that it is safe for our people to return to Aluwna. The sooner the better, as you always say.”

  “Don’t worry, I will make sure all the survivors return,” promised the regent. “But now I must go back to the ship. And you should come with me.”

  “No,” he answered quickly. “You are not the only one who thinks I am dead, and it’s best for you to keep our secret for now. I am perfectly safe here, as will all of our people be. Once again, I forgive you for what you tried to do to me.”

  He held out his wizened hand, and Karuw dropped to her knees and gratefully kissed it. “You are truly the instrument of the Divine Hand,” she said with
immense respect and admiration.

  There was rustling in the brush, and she thought she saw other figures moving in the dark forest. “You are not alone?” asked Marla.

  “Never am I alone,” he answered. “But all of this must be our secret. You continue with your plans to return our people to their home, and all will be revealed in time.”

  “Thank you, Curate,” answered Marla, rising to her feet. “I was feeling so guilty—”

  “Don’t,” he answered. “All of this is part of the Divine Plan. But the strangers—”

  “The Klingons?”

  “I don’t trust them,” said the elder. “Beware of them. Now you may return to the ship.”

  “Yes, Curate.” Bowing gratefully, Marla Karuw pressed the alert button on her wristband, and her molecules swirled upward in a shimmering column of refracted light.

  * * *

  Worf paced sullenly in the confines of the brig on the Doghjey, where he, Alexander, Jeremy, and the other members of the landing party had been direct-beamed from the shuttlebay. He was proud to be a Klingon—and to have the responsibility of directing this task force—but there were times when he missed the luxurious sickbay on the Enterprise. A Klingon sickbay was hardly better than this brig, and it didn’t possess any quarantine facilities. Klingons were expected to fight and perform duties as normal when wounded, and if they were too wounded to be useful, they might as well be dead. The medical staff consisted of one doctor and two part-time medics, and it often took forever for them to deal with a complicated medical problem.

  “Dad,” said Jeremy, “all that pacing isn’t going to get us out of here any sooner. And you’re the one who insisted on quarantine. Klingons don’t normally believe they can get sick.”

  Alexander cast a jaundiced eye at his brother. “And humans think they’re sick when they have a stuffy nose and a slight headache.”

  “We’re not sick,” answered Worf. “At least I don’t feel sick. But seeing dead people is not the mark of a healthy person.”

  “And it’s something which affected all of us,” added Alexander.