“Let’s end it here,” said Leah Brahms with determination. “Far too many have died.”
Eighteen
Leah Brahms never thought she would see Klingon gardeners, but there they were—an army of them hacking their way with scythes, bat’leths, and machetes through the thick, gloomy jungle of Aluwna. It wasn’t just brush removal, because the morass of vines, roots, trees, bushes, and succulents was alive and fought back, making their chore more enjoyable for them than it looked. It was difficult to tell how many of the moss creatures they shredded along with innocent shrubs, but nothing stood in the way of their sharp blades. Where mounds of dirt or giant slugs interfered with their progress, the gardeners stepped back to allow warriors armed with disruptor rifles to blast the impediments into dust and flaming embers. If the resulting fires grew too smoky and dangerous, firefighters armed with extinguishers put out the flames, and the scythes and machetes were quickly put back to work.
Wave after wave of well-organized Klingons assaulted the forest, carving a path thirty meters wide and two kilometers long in less than an hour. Cleanup crews followed behind, spraying an herbicide on the residue of the defeated plant life, making sure it didn’t grow back anytime soon. It helped that the Klingons were wearing environmental suits, or else they might have suffered ill effects from this deadly poison. Leah Brahms followed the column at a safe distance, marveling at their efficiency. Still it would take them a lifetime to tame the entire planet in this fashion.
As Worf had explained to her, they were only trying to clear a belt of land to allow the Aluwnans to erect their transporter booths. Behind them, the locals were beaming down blue enclosures almost as fast as the Klingons carved up the forest. Technicians pounced on each box as soon as it arrived, making it ready for immediate use. As soon as the technical crews moved on, the boxes began to disgorge confused survivors. Medical teams were standing by to inoculate these poor souls with anti-fungals the moment they were freed from their silicon prisons in orbit around the planet. Even though almost ten days had passed, for the evacuees it was just an instant since they had left their beautiful world, only to emerge upon this overgrown, foul-smelling hellhole. If they were looking for shelter, there was none—just an environmental suit.
Frantic activity was everywhere, and Leah knew that other Klingon bands were hacking their way through other regions of the planet. Even if this strange scene was being repeated everywhere at once, the progress still felt too slow to Leah. At this rate, it would take weeks to free all the people in the transporter satellites. Brahms didn’t need a computer model to know that they were racing against time, and moving at a snail’s pace. If anything were to go wrong—
“Dr. Brahms,” said a familiar voice, and she turned to see Alexander Rozhenko, accompanied by an Aluwnan female dressed in an environmental suit identical to her own. “Dr. Brahms, this is Marla Karuw.”
“Are you responsible for the Genesis technology?” asked Karuw in an accusatory tone.
“No,” answered Leah calmly, “I’m responsible for fighting it. The ones responsible are these moss creatures the Klingons are killing at an impressive rate.”
“But it is Federation technology,” insisted Karuw, obviously using this opportunity to vent her rage. “They told me you were an expert on Genesis.”
Leah took a deep, calming breath before replying, “We abandoned the Genesis technology ninety years ago, long before either one of us were born. Unfortunately, we didn’t protect the secrets of Genesis well enough. These invaders can impersonate close friends and family members, if you’re not protected from their fungus, and they were able to kidnap the one actual expert we had.”
Marla Karuw backed off a step and seemed somewhat mollified by this news. “I was infected by the fungus,” she admitted.
“You were?” asked Worf’s son, sounding shocked at this revelation. “Have you received treatment?”
Karuw nodded. “Yes, I have, and I feel much better. Thanks to you, Alexander, our doctors have been testing and treating everyone on our ships. We’ll continue that practice with all the survivors. I guess I’m looking to fix blame for this somewhere, and I don’t know where.”
“Welcome to the club,” said Leah Brahms. “I really came here to see if I could help you with your transporter satellites, but I guess you have—”
A bloodcurdling scream cut short her words, and the three of them whirled around to see two Aluwnan technicians scurrying away from a newly arrived transporter booth. One of them ripped off his protective headgear and vomited on the charred ground, and the other collapsed to his knees. Most of the Klingons were some distance away, still slashing through the jungle, so Leah, Alexander, and Marla Karuw rushed to see what had caused this consternation.
The door of the compact transporter booth was open, as if another shocked survivor were about to step out at any moment. Instead a wisp of steam curled from the enclosure, and Leah slowed her step to approach cautiously. Alexander and Marla Karuw did likewise, and the young Klingon drew a disruptor pistol from his belt. When they peered into the angular blue box, Leah’s stomach heaved so drastically that she feared she would also be ripping off her helmet. Alexander held out an arm to brace himself against the box, and Marla Karuw whimpered and held her hand over her mouth.
There on the floor of the small transporter platform was a steaming, oozing pile of skin, hair, blood, bones, viscera, and unrecognizable biological matter, mixed with fabric and writhing maggot-like things. The horrible mass quivered, as if it still possessed some spark of life.
“What is it?” muttered Alexander.
“One of my countrymen,” rasped Marla Karuw. She tore herself away from the awful sight and slumped against the enclosure, even while she tapped the com device on her wrist. “Karuw to Vilo Garlet,” she said. “Vilo, answer me, please!”
“Yes, Professor, I’m here,” replied her colleague.
“Stop transporting from the satellites immediately!” she ordered. “Something has gone terribly, terribly wrong.”
Karuw dropped to her knees and checked the base of the enclosure for a serial number. Mustering her poise, she said, “I’m at booth one-six-zero-eight-five, and there’s been an accident. The subject beamed down . . . dead. In fact, mutilated. Whatever satellite it came from, it must be diagnosed immediately. I’m returning to the lab as soon as I can, although I won’t be transporting. Do you understand all this?”
“I do,” answered her assistant somberly. “Do you want to stop putting up the transporter booths?”
“No, we have to proceed, or we’ll fall way behind schedule. Just stop until I get there. Karuw out.” She turned to Alexander and asked snidely, “I’m in your custody—is it all right if I go back to my ship?”
“Of course,” answered the young Klingon. “I’ll commandeer a shuttlecraft to take us.” He rushed off toward the large group of Klingons, who were still clearing the rabid jungle.
“What can I do to help?” asked Leah Brahms, feeling totally helpless.
Karuw scowled and lowered her head. “I hate to turn this . . . tragedy . . . over to you, but the Klingons have scientific facilities. Perhaps you could analyze it for me.”
“I will,” promised Brahms, dreading the task. “Do you have any idea what caused this?”
She shook her head. “It could be a dozen things. Alexander has been warning us not to use transporters at all, for anybody, due to residual radiation from the Genesis Wave. Some of the bioneural networks have been slowly degrading ever since we left the planet, even before we returned. Perhaps there’s a malfunction with this transporter unit alone. I don’t know, but we have to find out.”
“I’ll do what I can from here,” promised Leah, “but don’t you think it would be wise to suspend—”
“No!” snapped the Aluwnan. “It’s crucial that everybody keep working. This is a momentary setback.” She turned to the two technicians who had made the gruesome discovery and said, “The two of you assist Dr. Bra
hms. Alexander!”
“I’m coming!” called the young Klingon. He hurried to her side and said, “We can use shuttlecraft number five.”
“Let’s hurry!” insisted Marla Karuw, marching off into a swirling snowstorm.
* * *
Back in the laboratory on the Darzor, Marla Karuw felt hemmed in—trapped—by so many people around. Not only were Vilo Garlet, Candra, and numerous assistants present, but Alexander Rozhenko, two constables, and two shuttlecraft pilots also watched her every move, as if expecting her to crack up or confess to being a murderer. It was true, Marla felt as if she were on the verge of a nervous breakdown, but she couldn’t allow herself any kind of respite from her duties, not even the sanctuary of insanity. In truth, she was a murderer, but she hadn’t killed Tejharet.
They had used the Klingon shuttlecraft to drag the aberrant satellite back into the laboratory, where they studied it as best they could without cutting the power. Losing power could cause the death of the four thousand people stored in the satellite’s pattern buffers, and she tried not to consider the possibility that they were already dead . . . or maimed beyond recognition like that poor individual in the transporter booth. Millions were depending upon her, and what they found out here could affect the success of the entire rescue operation.
After she bumped into a constable on the way to a computer terminal, Marla stopped, balled her hands into fists, and almost screamed. “Will some of you people get out of here? Alexander—I can’t work like this. Help me!”
“Who do you want to leave?” asked the young Klingon.
“I want everybody to go but Vilo,” she answered. “If we can’t find out what’s wrong, nobody can.”
“Alexander,” said Vilo Garlet, “we do need one person to help us. Will you please fetch Dr. Gherdin?”
Karuw looked puzzledly at her colleague, wondering why they needed a medical doctor, but she didn’t question him. She simply stared at Alexander, expecting him to obey the order.
“All right, everybody out!” bellowed the Klingon, sounding much like his father. “We need to make room here—everybody out!”
“But the overseer’s orders,” protested one of the constables. “We’re supposed to stay and—”
“I’ll take responsibility,” Alexander assured him. “I don’t think the professor is going anywhere.”
When they were mercifully all gone, and Marla could draw a breath without bumping into someone, she turned to look at Vilo. “Why do you need Dr. Gherdin?”
He scowled at the satellite spread across two workbenches, its colored lights and beeping sounds making it seem alive. “With all the biological components in this thing, it’s as much a sick patient as it is a sick machine. I want the doctor to verify a hunch, or tell me I’m crazy.”
Venerable Dr. Gherdin arrived a short time later, and he had already heard about the unfortunate accident in the transporter booth. Marla wearily took a seat while the two men discussed Vilo’s hunch, whatever it was, and the healer took out his diagnostic instruments and began to inspect the satellite. Deprived of sleep for days, Marla drifted off to slumber while she sat in the chair, and a fitful dream overtook her mind. In this nightmare, a group of children were behind bars—in the same cell where she had spent so many recent cycles—and they were begging her to let them out. But she couldn’t find the key to open the lock. She looked everywhere, including the old haunts of her own childhood, but the secret to freeing the children was gone. Marla was almost in tears by the time Vilo shook her awake.
“Marla,” he said gently. “Marla?”
“Huh!” she exclaimed, jerking awake. “Oh, thank the Divine it was just a dream. I was asleep.”
“I noticed,” he answered with a sympathetic smile. “Dr. Gherdin just left, but he confirmed my suspicions. It’s bad news, but at least we have a cause for what happened.”
She bolted to her feet. “What is it?”
Vilo pointed back to the satellite and said, “The biological components . . . they’re infected by the same fungus that’s found on the planet.”
Marla gasped and sunk back into the chair and buried her face in her hands. “Oh, no . . . the fungus! Was that one of the satellites—”
“Yes,” he answered grimly, “it’s one of the satellites you handled personally when we were experimenting. But you mustn’t blame yourself, Marla—you didn’t know. How could you know?”
Her voice was almost a sob as she replied, “That trip I took alone down to the surface. I was so stubborn and cocksure . . . and I jeopardized everything!”
“No,” he said sympathetically, shaking his head. “You were only in contact with two or three satellites, and we know exactly which ones they are.”
“But others came into contact with them . . . and could have infected them. The Klingons, our own work crews—we didn’t start to take precautions until a few days ago.” Karuw jumped to her feet and began to pace frantically. “We’ll never know how many are infected by this fungus, until we try to bring the people back.”
Vilo gulped hard and said, “The doctor has plenty of medicine, and he can treat this. He’s already given this unit a preliminary treatment, and we’ll keep monitoring it.”
“That damnable Genesis Wave!” cursed Karuw, shaking her fist in the air. “Even after they say it’s gone, it keeps haunting us! I hate everything about the planet that Aluwna has become. We must kill the alien plants and microbes, and put it back the way it was.”
“We’re working toward that,” said Vilo meekly.
She fixed him with a baleful glare. “Working toward it is not enough. As soon as the last transporter booth is on the surface of Aluwna, I want to start the chromasynthesis process.”
Vilo gaped at her. “Before our people are even down? Before we even run a single test?”
“I won’t bring my people to that monstrous inferno!” she declared, stomping across the laboratory. “We have it within our power to undo the horrors of the Genesis Wave, and we must. You know, we’ve replanted some of our native flora, and those damned vines and roots strangle them every time! If we want to save Aluwna, we can’t go halfway with any of our measures.”
Marla Karuw stopped pacing and clenched her fist. “Tell no one our plans—but be ready to act as soon as the last box is in place.”
“Yes, Professor,” replied Vilo Garlet with a bow. “The new Aluwna has no room for the hereditary monarchy either.”
“You’re right,” she answered, “we’ll destroy it, too.”
* * *
“It’s fascinating!” said Candra as she sat down across from Farlo in the mess hall of the Darzor. “We had Klingons in the lab, and scientists and shuttlecraft pilots, because one of the new transporter booths went really crazy. I didn’t see it, but I guess it turned one of the people from the satellites into a steaming lump of flesh. Regent Karuw—well, I guess she’s not the regent anymore, but she went totally crazy and kicked everybody out but my friend, Vilo. It sounds like Aluwna is a nasty mess, and nobody can live there . . . except Klingons. Maybe I’ll get to go down there soon!”
Farlo scowled and picked at his food. “It sounds like you’re having more fun than I am. I don’t do anything but sit around and tell Padrin and Jenoset that everything will be okay. Ever since the overseer died, they keep thinking they’ll be next. It’s very depressing. You don’t think they’ll try to kill me, do you?”
“You?” asked Candra in amazement. She wrinkled her triple row of eyebrows. “No, because you haven’t done anything.”
“What did Overseer Tejharet do?” asked Farlo.
“It’s what he represents,” she said. “When all of this is over, we need a fresh start, with new leadership.”
Farlo sat up and stared at his best friend. “Who have you been talking to? You never cared about politics before.”
Before she answered, Candra looked around to make sure no one was listening, then she leaned forward to whisper, “My friend Vilo. You know you would
n’t be a high breed if he hadn’t invented that black tube, and he did that to throw the whole hereditary DNA testing into confusion. Of course, the Genesis Wave came and threw everyone into even more confusion.”
“But everyone thinks Seeress Jenoset killed the overseer,” whispered Farlo, “and I know that’s not true. But nobody trusts her now, and constables are keeping her in her quarters. I mean, is that fair?”
“Is it fair that she married you, a young boy?” Candra’s lips pouted, and her eyes narrowed at him.
“I’m not a young boy,” he answered angrily. “I’m not any younger than you, and look at the clothes you wear now. And look at the things you do.”
“And what do I do?” she asked testily.
“You hang out in the laboratory with that Vilo person, and you plot against the government. Once you’re in it, like I am, you realize that it’s a hard job, an impossible job. Especially now.” He shook his head sadly. “I don’t know . . . it seems like we’re on two different sides.”
Candra frowned deeply at this thought and glanced away from her best friend. “I’m sorry about that, Farlo. I’d better go back and see if they need me.”
Grabbing the leftovers of her meal, she hopped to her feet and walked away. To his shame, Farlo watched Candra’s backside as she moved, thinking that she had indeed grown up and was a woman now. Almost no man would think of her as a child anymore, just as Padrin had immediately sent her to the pleasure palaces of the esplanade.
She could fool a man, he thought somberly, almost any man . . . even an overseer.
* * *
During her odyssey across the Alpha Quadrant, fleeing from or chasing the Genesis Wave, Leah Brahms had spent many nights in strange places, from a Klingon bird-of-prey to the moss creatures’ homeworld of Lomar. But she could not recall a more eerie place than Aluwna by night. Thick clouds, which looked like curdled milk, floated eerily over the lush treetops, and the vines and shrubbery rustled in the chilly breeze, as things slithered through the roots and shadows of the rutted soil. More than once, Leah ground wormy slugs under the heel of her boot. Bonfires burned in front of geodesic domes in the Klingon camp, and displaced Aluwnans sat in front of them, looking like ghosts in their ill-fitting environmental suits. The Klingons themselves were only now returning from a day spent hacking through the jungle. The hulking, weary figures looked like abominable snowmen tromping their way back to the base.
Genesis Force Page 19
