Genesis Force

by John Vornholt

  “We still need Marla Karuw,” he finally said. “As long as our people are trapped in those satellites, we still need her leadership. As soon as they are freed, I will review this decision.”

  The overseer rose unsteadily to his feet and rubbed his eyes. “Now I’m tired—if you would leave me, I’d like to go to bed.”

  “Let me rub your back,” offered Jenoset. “That will ease your tension.” She looked pointedly at Padrin and Farlo.

  Padrin jumped to his feet at the signal and grabbed Farlo by the collar of his silky tunic. “Come on, lad, let’s go watch the shuttlecraft put the satellites back into orbit.”

  As Uncle Padrin hustled him out of the royal stateroom, Farlo breathed a sigh of relief. This would apparently be another night when he would not be required to perform any consort duties. He felt for the ebony tube in his pocket, to make sure he still had it. Until he and Candra were back on Aluwna, and life was less uncertain, he had to remain a high breed.

  * * *

  “Ambassador Worf, you and all the members of the landing party are free to go,” announced a security officer as he turned off the forcefield in the brig of the Doghjey. “The doctor says the treatment worked, and you are cleared.”

  “It’s about time,” muttered Worf as he strode from the cell, followed by his sons, Alexander and Jeremy, plus a dozen warriors.

  The officer added, “The captain is assembling a squadron of warriors to return to the planet and secure Base Two. If any of you wish to participate, report to the shuttlebay at ten hundred hours.”

  “Good, that gives us time to eat,” said Jeremy with a grin.

  Worf turned to Alexander, who was not the most avid fighter. “Perhaps you’d prefer to return to your ship.”

  “No thanks, Father,” answered the young Klingon. “Last time I fought at your side, I didn’t appreciate it. This time, I will.”

  Worf nodded, allowing himself a smile. “maDo’choH,” he said warmly.

  * * *

  From the moment their shuttlecraft landed roughly in an overgrown crater, which had been cleared of vegetation only yesterday, Alexander Rozhenko knew they were in for a difficult fight. Huge vines and vinelike creatures wrapped around the small craft and obscured the viewports, and the warriors had difficulty moving in their gray environmental suits. Klingons weren’t used to wearing much protection, and every one of them bristled at the restrictions forced upon them by the suits, especially the helmets. But the necessity had been drummed into them. At least the environmental headgear had special biofilters that allowed them to breathe ambient air and talk to one another.

  Through the blurry, leaf-streaked window, Alexander could see four of the other ten shuttlecraft plunk down in the three hectares supposedly cleared by yesterday’s bombardment. Some of them were immediately encased in a cocoon of thorny vines and thick boughs, and monstrous beings shuffled from the jungle and marched toward them en masse, shifting into recognizable shapes as they came. Unable to read their minds, the bizarre creatures took on the forms of the few humanoids they had learned about the night before, so there was suddenly an army of Gowrons and K’Ehleyrs striding toward them. Alexander recoiled in horror as his dead mother suddenly peered at him through the window.

  “Remember, take no prisoners!” shouted Worf. “Kill everything that moves, unless they are wearing one of our suits! Dalegh wa’ yIHoH!”

  Rising with difficulty and bumping into each other, the suited Klingons moved clumsily toward the hatch, disruptors leveled for action. Worf pushed the hatch open and was instantly encircled by thorny green tendrils and the naked arms of fake K’Ehleyrs. He was pulled from the craft and engulfed, but Jeremy was right behind him. The young human blasted the leafy heads of the enemy, and a blazing fire erupted in the hatchway. Ignoring his own safety, Jeremy jumped out and began clubbing the clinging, flaming arms of the enemy, as Worf rolled to the ground to allow others to jump out. High-pitched, unholy screams rent the air as the creatures burned and died, but countless more were right behind them, engulfing the warriors in nets of ungodly moss laced with humanoid arms and legs.

  Every centimeter of ground was fought over with blazing intensity, and it took Alexander almost fifteen minutes just to get out of the shuttlecraft. The battleground was chaos, and the entire crater was ablaze and filled with embers and smoke, whipped by the wind. The Klingons looked as ghostly in the choking haze as did the horrendous plant creatures. Dozens of brave warriors were pulled to the ground, and some had their helmets and suits ripped from their bodies. Alexander was one of those who carried a Starfleet phaser set to stun, and it was his job to incapacitate those who might be infected and used by the enemy. Before their minds could be raped, he blasted his own comrades, felling them where they lay.

  “Switch to bat’leths!” shouted Worf, which made perfect sense, because the fire and smoke was aiding the enemy and hindering the Klingon advance. The call echoed across the charred craters to switch to blades, and the warriors fought like crazed farmers, trying to cut down a field of tall cane which was on fire and moving swiftly at the same time. On Earth, Alexander had often heard of the underworld land called Hell, and he couldn’t imagine that it could be any worse than this, especially with having to watch his mother be brutally hacked to pieces a hundred times over.

  It seemed as if they fought for days, advancing only a few steps every hour. The enemy realized that this was the first but most important battle—if the suited invaders could be stopped here, the world of Aluwna was theirs forever. The vile, shapeshifting beasts must have mustered their forces from every corner of the planet, because they came in waves. Even some of the man-sized slugs got into the fight, snaking their way through the morass to latch on to legs and fallen comrades. Klingons were strangled by thick vines, burned by flaming tendrils, and bled by the giant lampreys; many fell to the phasers on purpose and the disruptors by accident. Despite the horrific carnage, not a single Klingon ever retreated. They pushed onward, hacking, blasting, and rending; and their cries and grunts echoed over the bloody ground. There was no doubt this was going to be a fight to the death.

  Alexander used his phaser to stun more than one comrade who was dying, and he often switched the weapon to full to blow apart a wall of swarming creatures. He cringed as he destroyed the visage of his mother, holding her arms out to hug him.

  Someone started lobbing explosive shells behind the enemy lines, to reduce their incredible number of reinforcements. Whipped by the wind, these explosions set the whole forest on fire, and they were soon fighting inside a ring of flames. Somehow the Klingons’ circle continued to widen even while their numbers lessened, and the enemy was on the retreat by the time dusk drew a curtain over the dreadful slaughter. The shadows were a welcome sight to Alexander, because the sights on this killing field were too awful for the harsh light of day.

  With their blood at high boil, the Klingons pursued the creatures into the flames, risking their lives in order to hack them to pieces. Even after the battle had been won and the base secured, the berserk warriors continued to slice the enemy to bits, no matter what form they took. Smoke wafted across the battlefield, and so did the howls of many Klingons as they performed the death ritual over their fallen comrades.

  Manning a tricorder to check for vital signs, Alexander ran from one wounded fighter to another; he tagged those still alive with a com medallion. “Father!” he called as he ran. “Father! Where are you?”

  “Over here!” shouted a weary, hoarse voice.

  Alexander’s heart sank to his bowels when he saw Worf bent over a fallen figure—one considerably skinnier than the brawny Klingons. Jeremy was not moving, and his suit was badly burned.

  Alexander gulped as he knelt down beside Worf. “Is he . . . is he alive?”

  “Barely,” answered the ambassador, bowing his helmeted head.

  “Despite the directive against transporting,” said Alexander, “we’ve got many wounded who need to get back to the ship immediately. C
an you give the order?” He placed his last com medallion on the chest of his human brother.

  Worf nodded and tapped the com device on his wrist. “Worf to Captain Kralenk on the Doghjey.”

  “Kralenk here,” answered the familiar voice. “You have been down there a long time. What is the outcome?”

  Worf lifted his chin and said, “We have won a great victory, killing countless hundreds of these monsters. But we have many dead and wounded. Since we cannot spare a single warrior or shuttlecraft, in case the enemy returns, I request permission to have the badly wounded beamed to the ship. My son has tagged them with com devices.”

  “Certainly,” answered the captain. “Tonight we will sing your praises over a goblet of bloodwine. Kralenk out.”

  Alexander stood wearily, thinking he wasn’t a full-blooded Klingon yet, because he didn’t feel like singing or praising. He felt more like weeping.

  “I hope the Aluwnans appreciate what we are doing for them,” grumbled Worf as he staggered to his feet. He put his arm around his son and said, “Join me in the death howl, the same as we did for your mother.”

  Alexander nodded solemnly, and he and his father threw their heads back and bellowed their grief and pride to the dusky, smoke-filled sky.

  Sixteen

  Her jaw clenched in rage, Marla Karuw leaned over the shoulder of her assistant, Komplum, who was manning the science station on the bridge of the Darzor. Both of them watched the curious sensor readings from Aluwna scroll across the screen.

  “What in the Divine are those crazy Klingons doing down there?” she asked with a scowl.

  “It appears to be a battle,” answered Komplum. “In the large area they bombarded yesterday.”

  Captin Uzel stepped to her side and added, “They must be fighting something on the planet . . . perhaps the creatures they’ve been telling us about.”

  “Creatures?” asked Marla in confusion. “The only ones down there are—” She stopped, because she was about to say that Curate Molafzon and his followers were already living on Aluwna, but that was a secret she had vowed to keep.

  “Haven’t you been reading the dispatches from Starfleet?” asked Captain Uzel.

  “No,” the regent answered brusquely. “Who has time to read all that drivel?”

  “It isn’t drivel,” answered the captain, eyeing his leader with mild disapproval. “These Genesis planets are dangerous places, according to Starfleet.”

  “That’s our home you’re talking about,” said Marla Karuw. “Whatever is down there, we can learn to live with it . . . or change it. Komplum, bring up the latest status of the satellites. Are they all in place yet?”

  “No,” answered the young scientist worriedly. “We’ve had outright failure in a handful of satellites when they went off solar power during the night.”

  “What!” she shouted. “And you didn’t tell me?”

  Her assistant cringed. “You were so busy in the laboratory with Professor Garlet, and we thought we had it isolated to a few bad plasma cells. I still don’t think it’s a systemwide failure, but we’ve slowed down putting them back into orbit until we could run diagnostics on all of them.”

  Captain Uzel cleared his throat and said, “The delay was partly my doing, Regent. We’ve had shuttlecraft pilots and technical teams working around the clock since we returned, and I approved a few hours of rest for them.”

  “There’s no time for rest!” snapped Karuw. Hearing her own shrill voice, she stopped to massage her aching head. “I’m sorry, but we’ve got so much left to do. Not only do we have to stabilize those satellites and get them back into orbit, but we’ve got to get the replicators on every ship making parts for the transporter booths. Then everyone will work to assemble them. We’ve got a new compact design—have you seen the prototype?”

  Uzel shook his head. “That’s one thing I haven’t had time for. But it seems to me that before we can put up hundreds of transporter booths, we need the Klingons to make Aluwna safe. Regent, I urge you to read the dispatches from Starfleet. For one thing, they’re sending us an expert on Genesis planets.”

  Marla Karuw furrowed all six of her eyebrows at him. “Oh, now they send us experts. First the wave, and then someone to explain it? After our eight million survivors are safe, I’ll listen to their experts and their excuses.” The regent paced anxiously across the small bridge.

  “Captain,” she ordered, “get your crews and your shuttlecraft back to work. Komplum, we haven’t got time to run diagnostics on every satellite, and we don’t need to—I know they’re degrading, and so do you. Way back in the Summer Palace, you told me that the biological components would degrade, and I knew you were right then. We didn’t have any choice then, and we still don’t have any choice—we must keep moving ahead or sacrifice those eight million souls, half of whom are children.”

  “Three of them are my children,” said Captain Uzel, gazing pointedly at her.

  “Well, if you ever want to see them again, get those satellites in place.” Marla Karuw turned and headed for the doorway at the rear of the bridge.

  “Where are you going, Regent?” asked Komplum.

  She scowled. “Down to the planet to see what the Klingons are doing.”

  “You’re going to beam down again?” asked the captain with concern.

  “I’ve proven that we can use our transporters,” she answered. “What have the Klingons proven, except that they can blow things up and set the forest on fire?” She strode into the corridor.

  “Regent Karuw!” called the captain. “The Klingons said that everyone going to the planet must wear an environmental suit.”

  Marla sniffed with disdain. “They don’t sound as brave as they’re made out to be.”

  Halfway to the transporter room, a sultry blond woman dressed in a dinner gown stepped from a doorway and moved in front of Marla. “Regent Karuw, may I have a word with you?” asked Seeress Jenoset.

  “I’m very busy,” answered Karuw, trying to slip past the elegant but useless monarch.

  “I’ve asked you politely,” said the seeress, mustering her considerable charm. “The overseer is not well, and I’m worried about him. You know, if he dies, one of my other husbands will become overseer, and they could rescind the decree making you regent.”

  That stopped Marla Karuw dead in her tracks, and she whirled on the elegant autocrat. “Are you threatening me? Or the overseer?”

  “I’m threatening no one,” answered Jenoset pleasantly. “I only asked to have a word with you. In private, not here in the hallway. Surely you can spare a few moments for your benefactor’s wife. For your lover’s wife.”

  Marla tried to keep a composed expression on her face; but she must have failed, because the seeress smiled in triumph.

  “Oh, you didn’t think I knew about that,” said Jenoset.

  “Well, I did. I chose not to bring it up at your heresy trial, because we had so much other evidence against you. But I can tell you that we could still use that information to have you removed from office. I don’t wish to do that—I only wish to talk to you. Woman to woman. Is that too much to ask?”

  Karuw glanced around to see if anyone had overheard; then she pointed down the corridor. “I’m headed to the transporter room. We’ll ask the operator to leave. Then we can talk there.”

  “Lead on,” said the seeress with a smile.

  A few moments later, they entered the transporter room, where the prototype of the new booth was already awaiting its trip down to the planet. One technician was working on the enclosure, and another was at the console. They stopped work immediately upon the arrival of the two most powerful women in their society.

  “Officers, could I ask you to leave for a few minutes?” asked Karuw. “Take a short break, please.”

  They glanced at one another, nodded, and shuffled out of the room. When the door whooshed shut, Seeress Jenoset turned to the regent and crossed her arms. “First of all, I’ve been impressed with what you’ve done,”
she began. “And I’m not saying that to curry favor or—”

  “We’re far from done,” warned the regent, “and I’m short of time.”

  “I know that. But someday we will be done, and we will still need you—but not for you to have all the power in the world. What has happened to us is bad enough, without completely overturning the order of our society as well. We Aluwnans have never been technocrats who need to be governed by a scientist, no matter how brilliant that scientist is. My husband is the rightful ruler.”

  “I thought you told me he was sick,” said Karuw.

  “Sick at heart,” answered Jenoset, her beautiful face frowning with concern. “It’s like he has no reason to live. I’ve never seen him like this. If you don’t believe me—”

  “I believe you,” said the regent. “And, as you say, I love him, too. But do you think a man who’s severely depressed is the one to rule us right now?”

  Jenoset held her palms out, begging. “What we need is to get back to normal as soon as we can.”

  “Normal?” scoffed the regent. “You haven’t been down to Aluwna to see what it’s like, have you?”

  “No,” admitted Jenoset hesitantly.

  Marla Karuw moved toward the transporter console and pointed to that platform. “Go stand over there. We’re going down to the planet to see what our Klingon friends have been doing.”

  “Now?” asked Jenoset in horror, tugging at her elegant scarlet gown. “I’m not dressed for it.”

  Marla smiled. “You’ll be an inspiration to the Klingon warriors. Go ahead, get on the platform.”

  Hesitantly, Seeress Jenoset stepped onto the transporter pad, and Marla Karuw fought the temptation to scatter her molecules into the stratosphere. She had already done that once with Curate Molafzon, and the guilt still haunted her, even if he had somehow survived. More and more, seeing the curate on the planet’s surface seemed like a dream, and she was beginning to wonder if it had actually happened. But of course it had.