The Genesis Wave: Book One

by John Vornholt

  “They’re dead . . . all dead,” she rasped. “I’m only alive because I’m in the suit.” As slimy grubs tried to wrap around her foot, Leah stepped back and shook them off, suppressing her revulsion.

  “Dead,” muttered Paldor in disbelief.

  With effort, Leah shook off grief and despair long enough to keep thinking. “What hit us? Did you see anything on sensors?”

  “I didn’t see anything before, but I see it now,” answered Paldor. “An energy wave of some sort. It’s past Seran . . . on its way to the moon!”

  “Beam me up! Now!” shouted Leah.

  She waited, while the ground continued to spew forth obscene, writhing life-forms unlike anything she had ever seen, even in her nightmares. Monstrous stalks and vines sprouted into the swirling sky, towering above her like prehistoric beasts. “Get me out of here!” she shouted.

  “I can’t,” he answered. “There’s something wrong . . . I can’t get a lock!”

  Leah tried to remain calm, even as slimy tentacles and vines curled around her feet, trying to absorb her into the mad convulsions of the planet. The wave might be causing interference, but their comm signal was strong.

  “Maybe it’s the phase-shifting,” she said evenly. “I’ll turn it off.”

  “But you might—”

  There was no point thinking about what might happen, because she knew she couldn’t stay here. With a gulp, Leah flicked off the interphase generator and held her breath. Although the soil continued to mutate beneath her feet, she found that she could still escape from the twitching slime, but the soles of her feet were starting to smolder. Leah yelled, “Now try it! Hurry!”

  She would try to remember that the wave’s effect, awful as it was, apparently did its damage and left. As her encased body escaped from the graveyard of her husband and friends, Leah made a desperate vow. She had to stay alive long enough to warn others of this cataclysmic disaster.

  When she materialized in the cargo bay, she found Paldor running around, stuffing tins of food into a shoulder bag. “The wave will be here in a few seconds!” he shouted.

  “Direct-beam us to the shuttlecraft! Punch it in, and get up here!”

  Nostrils flared, eyebrows bristling, the Tellarite rushed to the transporter controls and entered the coordinates. Then he leaped onto the platform, moving swiftly for a big fellow. A moment later, they were deposited inside the roomy cabin of a type-8 personnel shuttlecraft. Leah needed the extra space in order to thrash about in the bulky suit until she got her bearings.

  Paldor immediately rushed to the controls. “Should I start the ignition sequence?”

  “Yes, and start the sensors and video log!” responded Leah, even though Paldor was hardly a shuttlecraft pilot. She pressed the escape button, opening the suit with a pop, then she pried her sweaty body out. As Leah tumbled to the deck, she heard the faint whine of the impulse engines powering up. “Open the space doors!”

  Paldor did as he was told, opening the launch doors. Through the black expanse of space, they could see a rippling green wave reaching toward them.

  “Oh, Mizerka!” cried the Tellarite, gaping at the awesome sight. Leah dropped into the seat beside him and punched the thrusters. They were both thrown back in their seats as the sleek shuttlecraft zoomed toward the hangar doors. The craft raked the doorway on its way out, shearing off a shielding cowl and a subspace dish. But the dent in the door didn’t matter, because the entire moonbase was consumed in hellish green flame a second later.

  The shuttlecraft banked away from the shimmering curtain as it rippled across the moon, turning pitted rock into living tissue, pulsing with freakish energy. Explosions ripped the planetoid, and the resulting clouds were also consumed in the churning maw. Leah watched this remarkable transformation in her viewscreen, as she pushed the shuttlecraft to top impulse speed. Even with her grief and shock, the scientist in her wanted to understand this phenomenon. What kind of alchemy turned a peaceful planet into a seething quagmire in a few seconds?

  They were still outrunning the unknown wave, but not by much. It seemed to pick up speed as it left the devastated planet and her moons for the vacuum of open space. At the very least, it wasn’t diminishing in size or force.

  “Getting ready to enter warp drive,” she said.

  “Yes, warp!” agreed the Tellarite, nodding his approval. “Good idea.”

  Leah punched in maximum warp for the shuttlecraft, and they soared away from the solar system. For the first time, she sat back in her seat and paused to take stock . . . and reflect.

  Paldor cleared his throat. “Are you sure . . . I mean, there’s no way—”

  “They’re all dead,” she answered numbly. “All dead.” Like a robot, Leah rose from her seat and went to the locker, taking out a standard blue jumpsuit. She pulled the clothing over her shivering body, hoping it would staunch the chill, but it didn’t.

  Leah sniffed, thinking about the mate she had loved, and taken for granted. Mikel was gone now, and it was too late to do the things and say the things she should have said. He was struggling to get back to her when he died, even though she was the only one who was safe. Just like that, everything in the universe could be turned upside-down, until nothing mattered but a moment’s worth of survival.

  “What is that thing?” grumbled Paldor, studying the scanner readouts. “I’ve never seen anything like it. It must stretch across a hundred thousand kilometers!”

  “I don’t know what it is, and I’ve seen it up close.” Leah sighed and looked gratefully at the radiation suit that had saved her life, functioning just as it was supposed to. But her survival was small consolation, unless it served a larger purpose. “We’ve got to warn the Federation.”

  “That won’t be easy,” said the Tellarite, working the board. “Our communications are out. Probably from that launch . . . it was a little rough.”

  Leah nodded solemnly and stared out the window at the endless starscape, looking slightly blurred and unreal at warp two. She could feel a tightness under her eyes where her tears had dried. How could something as vast as space be vulnerable? Yet it was. How many planets, stars, and moons would be consumed by the relentless force behind them?

  “The distress signal may still be working,” said Leah hopefully. She took her seat at the pilot’s console and brought up a damage report. She had never claimed to be the greatest shuttlecraft pilot—Mikel did most of the flying—and she needed more practice. She would get that now.

  “You know, there are a lot of my people in this part of the quadrant,” said Paldor, wrinkling his snout.

  “A lot of everybody’s people.” Brahms studied her readouts and made sure they were headed into the heart of the Federation. Then she began calculating how she could coax a little more speed from the shuttlecraft. “We’ll keep running until we find somebody,” she promised.

  “Or until it catches us,” muttered the Tellarite.

  Ship’s pipes sounded softly in the bowels of the Enterprise-E, noting the end of the second watch in main engineering. Geordi La Forge looked up from a display of schematics, adjusting his perception to deal with ambient light instead of digitized images. He checked the chronometer over the door to make sure it was time to quit, and it was. Not that Commander La Forge kept regular hours as chief engineer of the Enterprise, but he had to make sure that he scheduled time for other pursuits. If not, he was prone to workaholism. He rubbed his eyes, something he could do now that he wore ocular implants instead of a VISOR.

  Geordi glanced around the bustling engine room. Nearly twice as big as the old one on the Enterprise-D, it had multitiered access points to the warp drive, a dozen control rooms, twenty workstations, and three master situation displays. But he still missed his old engine room, with its tight corners, bright lights, and cramped displays. This room was more efficient and ergonomically correct, but it lacked that homey feeling of a place that had been wrecked, repaired, and refitted many times.

  Montgomery Scott had once to
ld him that he felt the same way about the engine room on the first Enterprise. There was something about your first command that always stayed with you.

  He heard the distinctive squeak of Data’s footsteps a moment before he heard the android’s clipped voice. “Geordi, you asked me to—”

  “I remember,” said the engineer with a smile. “Time to knock off. Thanks for reminding me.”

  The yellow-skinned android nodded thoughtfully. “I, too, am leaving engineering. The lateral arrays and the torque sensors appear to be operating within accepted parameters.”

  “That’s what I tried to tell the captain,” said Geordi, lowering his voice. “But he still thinks he can hear the torque sensors go out of alignment.”

  Data cocked his head. “His hearing did improve during the time we spent with the Ba’ku.”

  “Yes, but that was months ago, and we’re back to normal now. At least, I’m back to normal now. Aren’t you?”

  Data considered the question. “As I am a unique being, there is no ‘normal’ to which I may compare myself. As for appearing normal, you almost always appear normal to me.”

  “I think that’s a compliment,” said Geordi with amusement. Then he frowned and looked back at his friend. “Exactly when are the times I don’t appear normal?”

  “When you are trying to make small talk with a suitable, available woman.”

  “Okay,” muttered Geordi irritably. “We don’t need to get that specific.” He moved quickly to the exit, acknowledging the nods from his subordinates, many of whom had just come on duty. “Lieutenant Keenayle, take over.”

  “Yes, Sir,” answered the white-haired Argelian, snapping to attention. “Computer, log Commander La Forge off duty. Direct hails to me.”

  “Change in command noted,” answered the computer.

  The door slid open as La Forge strode into the corridor, followed by Data. To his relief, Geordi saw that there was no one around, and he could talk freely to his best friend. “I guess you mean Dolores Linton.”

  “Yes,” agreed Data, “Mission Specialist Linton. At the reception, I skillfully drew you into our conversation, turned the topic to one of mutual interest to both of you, made a witty parting remark, then left. What more could I do?”

  Geordi scowled and looked around again to make sure they weren’t being overheard. “Okay, so I froze and didn’t know what to say. You were programmed to make small talk; some of us weren’t so lucky.”

  “I have adjusted my programming over the years,” replied Data as if confiding a secret. “As I was originally programmed, I was deficient in conversational skills. Standard replies often do not fit the context or the occasion, so I made a conscious effort to improve my programming.”

  “And you’re saying I haven’t?” snapped Geordi, realizing it was true.

  “Specialist Linton is only going to be onboard for sixty days,” observed Data. “As they say, you should move with alacrity.”

  La Forge groaned. “Maybe the problem is that I’m getting romantic advice from an android.”

  “If you prefer Commander Riker—”

  “No, no,” sputtered Geordi. “I couldn’t take a single one of his lines and make it come out right. I can’t smile like he can.”

  “But you also have dimples.”

  “That’s not the point.” Exasperated, Geordi stopped at the turbolift door and folded his arms. It took a few moments for the door to open, and when it did, Mission Specialist Dolores Linton stood inside the lift all alone. She was a few years younger than Geordi and quite a vibrant woman; stocky and muscular, she looked as if she could break him in half. He had no problem believing that she was a geologist who spent her life hiking and climbing.

  “Specialist Linton,” said Data cheerfully, as he grabbed Geordi’s arm in a viselike grip and ushered him inside. “We were just discussing you.”

  “Oh, you were?” she said warily.

  Geordi tried to wave off this conversation or find some way to escape from the turbolift, but the door closed behind him. “Level ten,” he muttered to the computer.

  “Level six,” said Linton.

  “Bridge.” Without mercy, Data plowed onward. “Yes, Commander La Forge was saying that he planned to come to my violin recital at twenty-two-hundred hours, and he wondered if you would enjoy it.”

  “Yes, I love violin music.” Linton glanced politely at Geordi, but her eyes returned to Data. “What are you playing?”

  “Bach’s Sonata in G Major, on baroque violin.”

  “Oh,” she said, sounding impressed. “Are you using real gut strings?”

  “Yes, I constructed them myself according to seventeeth-century techniques.”

  Geordi tried to figure out how he could enter this conversation, but the turbolift door opened before he did. He did manage to say, “I’ll pick you up at your cabin fifteen minutes before.”

  “Thank you, Commander.” At least she was polite, if totally uninterested.

  On his way out, Geordi whispered to Data, “You still need work.” The android gave him a quizzical expression, but the engineer had left the lift.

  As the door shut behind him, La Forge breathed a sigh of relief. He knew his friend was well-meaning, and he had certainly spotted an area that needed improvement. But Geordi had been trying to improve his love life since he was a teenager, with very little success. He could be perfectly okay around women once he got to know them, but making small talk with strange women was beyond his ken. He probably could have taken advantage of his position to woo the young engineers under him, most of whom were unattached, but that wasn’t his style.

  No, being a lonely nice-guy is my style, he thought ruefully.

  After a slow stroll down the corridor, Geordi stopped at the entrance to his quarters and touched a panel to identify himself and open the door. He stepped inside a friendly suite of rooms that were decorated in the earth tones of Africa—dark green, rust, red, and yellow. There were masks from Africa, but Geordi’s art collection was eclectic, reflecting his taste in modern sculpture and mixed-media works made from a variety of materials. Their tactile and infrared qualities were as important to him as the way they looked to others.

  The sofa, tables, and chairs were homey and comfortable, because Geordi wouldn’t put up with furnishings that weren’t functional. The room was soothingly dark, because he didn’t need visible light to see. But he left minimal lights on for any guests who might accompany him. Always hopeful, thought Geordi, chuckling to himself.

  Although he had just left a bank of viewscreens in engineering, he went immediately to his desktop terminal and sat down in his old armchair. “Computer, check new messages, personal file.” He loosened his collar and put his feet up on a hassock.

  “Twenty-two new messages,” said the computer dryly. His compact viewscreen gave him a page of headings, and he read them over, amazed that he had fallen so far behind in his correspondence. He found that he had missed a meeting of the Physicists Society, failed to respond to two invitations, including one from Data for tonight’s recital, and had ignored a great many polite queries for papers or engineering advice. But he would make it up to his friends. Which apology should he issue first?

  Geordi kept scrolling down until his implants caught a name that stopped him cold. Leah Brahms. It was probably a thank-you note for the gift he had sent, but any contact from Leah was a major occasion, even if it left him feeling like an also-ran. He said hoarsely, “Computer, play message nineteen.”

  La Forge sat forward in his chair as Leah’s angelic face and form appeared on the screen, surrounded by the jumbled accoutrements of her laboratory. There was something new—a hulking white form loomed behind her, looking like an abominable snowman about to attack. Geordi also liked her short haircut, because it finally let her delicate cheekbones stand out. Now that Leah was older, her face had more character and less of that cherubic baby fat that had made her seem so young for her wisdom.

  “Hi, Geordi,” she said ch
eerfully. “I’ve just got to tell you about the new project we’ve been working on—and thank you for sending the fresh kiwi! I know we can replicate it, but it’s not even close to the same.”

  Another person strolled through the background then stepped out of the frame. “Is that Geordi?” asked a male voice. “Tell him to send more kiwi. And guavas!”

  Her husband, thought La Forge with a pang. Mikel was always in the background, and Geordi could never quite get a clear picture of him. He knew he worked with Leah and handled most of the political and paperwork aspects of the operation, but La Forge had a hard time imagining Leah needing anyone’s help. She had started to explain about the radiation suit standing behind her, but he had been so lost in his own thoughts that he didn’t catch it.

  “Freeze playback,” he said.

  Now Leah Brahms was frozen on the screen, looking both radiant and excited, her delicate hands hovering in the air, trying to explain her enthusiasm. This frozen image, in all its glory, told Geordi all he needed to know about his love life. Not only had he made every possible wrong move with Leah, including turning her into a holodeck character, but he had fallen hopelessly in love with her—a married woman! It sounded like something Reg Barclay would do.

  There you have it, as many boneheaded mistakes as one fool can make. Geordi shook his head, realizing he had only himself to blame. He persisted in comparing every woman he met to Leah Brahms, an exercise in futility if there ever was one. Maybe he could move on in that part of his life, if he could just get over her.

  With determination, he had maintained a long-range friendship with Leah by concentrating on their mutual interests instead of his feelings, which he kept hidden. This piecemeal friendship over hundreds of parsecs was better than nothing, and he felt as if he had to prove to her he was an okay guy, after the rocky start to their relationship.

  It had not been this Leah which had gone to the beach with him and held his hand under the palm trees. No, that had been a dream from a holodeck, created to help him solve a problem—only to create a bigger one. This Leah was a real person with a husband and a busy life that only peripherally included him. Still she was here in front of him, talking to him; that was consolation enough for the moment.