The Genesis Wave: Book One

by John Vornholt

  When they reached the transporter platform, all three of them climbed aboard. A very nervous transporter operator cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, Commander Jagron, but the protocols call for every commander to bring one aide, no more.”

  Centurion Gravonak folded his hands in front of him, as if expecting the intelligence officer to step down. Commander Jagron gazed from the stuffy first officer to his beautiful intelligence officer; he had already made his decision, but he wanted to make it look as if he were deliberating.

  “Gravonak, return to the bridge.”

  “Sir?” asked the centurion as if he hadn’t understood. But Jagron was not going to humor him with another request. He simply motioned to the transporter operator, who sent the commander’s molecules and those of his lover into the bowels of another warbird only five kilometers away.

  They were met on the Terix by Commander Tomalak, who smiled pleasantly at the new arrivals. An old veteran, Tomalak could afford to be more personable than the usual Romulan commander. He had seen almost everything in his long and distinguished career, and he never let you forget it. Jagron respected, envied, and hated Tomalak, but he was never anything less than cordial to the venerated commander.

  “Welcome aboard, my young colleague,” said Tomalak, grasping Jagron’s shoulder. “You’re the last one—even the Praetor was here before you.”

  Jagron shrugged, not explaining that he had planned it that way. “Are we supposed to be guarding the Neutral Zone or sitting around in a conference room?”

  “You’re jaded at rather a young age,” observed Tomalak with amusement. He led the way out the door. “The Praetor and the Proconsul—this is undoubtedly the most important meeting you’ve ever attended.”

  Jagron motioned to his intelligence officer, Petroliv. “Why could we bring only one aide?”

  “Apparently the number of people who are allowed to know about this will be kept small.”

  “Do you know?”

  Tomalak stopped and shook his head, a scowl on his craggy face. “No. And I don’t remember ever hearing of a similar meeting in all my decades of service.”

  They said no more until they reached the briefing room, which appeared to be a small classroom near a row of laboratories. A large viewscreen dominated one wall of the room. Already seated were two more commanders, Horek and Damarkol of the Livex and the G’Anohok respectively, plus their aides. The Praetor and the Pro-consul were not in evidence.

  After a few quick pleasantries, Tomalak said, “Our most distinguished guests will be joining us soon. They wanted us to watch some video logs first. I am told these were sent to us by the Federation.” After finding a seat, he said, “Computer, begin playback.”

  Jagron had never pretended to have seen as much in his life as Tomalak and these veteran captains had seen, but his jaw was hanging open a few seconds into the presentation. In one harrowing scene after another, they watched as an eerie wall of flame destroyed planets, moons, stars, nebulas, cities, mountains, skies—everything that stood in its way. “Destroy” was not quite the right word, Jagron decided, because planets and suns were left in the wake of this awful wave. But they were drastically altered.

  When the horrendous images finally ended, a Romulan scientist came on the screen to explain what they had just witnessed. Although Commander Jagron didn’t understand half of what he said, he grasped the gist of it perfectly well. A secret Federation weapon, which had been outlawed by every power in the Alpha Quadrant ninety years ago, had been unleashed in a new attack. This mass destruction was happening in the Federation right now. The only thing which had stood up to it so far was phase-shifting technology copied from the Romulan Star Empire.

  The image of the scientist blinked off, leaving a blank screen and equally blank expressions among the audience. “That’s not the worst of it,” said a voice behind them. Jagron turned to see the round face and pudgy body of Proconsul Woderbok, head of the Senate. “If the Federation cannot contain this Genesis Wave, it will cross the Neutral Zone and strike deep into our territory, endangering dozens of inhabited worlds.”

  “No,” whispered Commander Damarkol. She might have once been beautiful, but now the commander was gray and wizened. “How can they do this to us? What’s the matter with those fools? Can’t they control their own weapons?”

  “Apparently, they don’t know who unleashed this attack,” answered the Proconsul, “or who perfected the Genesis Device to be employed in this manner.” He went on to explain about Dr. Carol Marcus and her abduction.

  Commander Horek sneered in disbelief. “How do we know this is even real? Maybe it’s some kind of trick to make us move our fleets . . . or abandon our worlds.”

  “It has been verified by one of our operatives in the area,” answered the Proconsul, “as well as our own long-range sensors. Believe me, we wish this was a hoax, because the reality of it is staggering.”

  Commander Tomalak looked ashen. “What are we supposed to do?”

  “You will receive your orders from the highest source. Please rise for the Praetor.” Everyone in the briefing room jumped to their feet, and the stocky Proconsul stepped back from the doorway to allow a bent, gray-haired man to enter. He wore the regal charcoal and lavender robes of state, bedecked in elaborate insignias, medals, and ribbons, all of which connoted this order or that society. Although the Praetor was elderly, a spark of anger and intelligence burned in his hooded eyes.

  “Sit down, Commanders,” said the Praetor in a gravelly voice, and they all did so. “If it were only the Federation in danger, we would do nothing to help these pathetic fools. However, this may be the gravest threat our empire has ever faced. I am ordering you to go to the coordinates which are being sent to your bridges as we speak. Proceed at maximum warp—you will receive free passage through the Federation. If hailed, just use the code word ‘Genesis.’ Upon reaching the Starfleet vessels Enterprise and Sovereign, you are to hand over your interphase generators to their scientists.”

  Commander Damarkol opened her mouth as if she wanted to speak, but she held her tongue, apparently realizing she would be interrupting the Praetor. Commander Jagron now saw the need for all this firepower. If anybody other than the Praetor had ordered them to go into Federation space and relinquish their interphase generators—the guts of their cloaking systems—they would have resisted. When the news came from their supreme leader, they all realized how truly grave this crisis was.

  “In short, you are to assist Starfleet in any way they see fit to use you,” rasped the Praetor, the mealy words twisting his lips into a scowl. “You’re only the advance party. The Third Fleet is being mustered as we speak, but the Federation is in dire need of our technology now. We are in dire need of your courage. Go with the speed of the bloodhawk. You are dismissed.”

  They stood again as the Praetor shuffled out of the room. Tomalak sighed and said, “If the Enterprise is on duty, that’s a small token in our favor.”

  “We should have destroyed the Federation years ago,” muttered Damarkol, striding out the door.

  Horek sneered. “Those fools. They set out to do terraforming and end up creating the most horrendous weapon in the galaxy!”

  Jagron didn’t trust himself to say anything profound, so he kept his mouth shut. From the corner of his eye, he saw the pudgy Proconsul motion to him. “Stay a moment, Commander Jagron. I have news from home.”

  This seemed odd, but Jagron kept an indifferent look on his face while the others, including his intelligence officer, filed out of the classroom.

  It wasn’t until the door shut that Proconsul Woderbok stepped closer to him. “You’re looking well, Commander.”

  “A message from home?” asked Jagron doubtfully.

  The Proconsul snorted a laugh. “I sincerely doubt if I know any of your family. You’re not of the same bloodlines as the others. Why, you’re almost a commoner.”

  Jagron maintained his stoic expression, because this was hardly news. There was some reason
why the Proconsul wanted to see him. And why he needed him.

  “You’re not of noble birth,” said Woderbok, “but you have distinguished yourself by your actions. This mission is one more opportunity for you to take the initiative. There’s something that needs to be done, and I can’t ask one of the others to do this. In fact, I can’t ask you to do it.”

  Jagron nodded. “You want me to steal this Genesis Device.”

  The Proconsul smiled, increasing his double chins. “Hypothetically, if someone were to come into possession of such a device, it couldn’t be known to anyone. He would have to cover his tracks and make sure no one knew, especially not the Federation. He would have to take full responsibility, if caught.”

  The pudgy man drew closer, his voice a whisper, “If this person were successful in smuggling the device back to me . . . well, the stars are the limit for a young man with such initiative. He would have backing from the highest levels.”

  “I can’t even tell the other commanders?” whispered Jagron.

  “No. Their careers are on the downward path—they have no ambition beyond sitting in their command chairs. They would argue with me. Or you. They don’t understand that this Genesis Wave makes their mighty warships obsolete. I need somebody who will be bold—with no thoughts of treaties or alliances.”

  Commander Jagron shook his head slowly, running through the possible pitfalls in this risky plan. “It may be hard to hide it from the other commanders, and I won’t fire on them.”

  The old politician smiled and put his hand on the commander’s padded shoulder. “You leave that to me. Copy me on your dispatches, and I’ll know when the time is right to withdraw the others and leave you in a position to snatch the prize. And the glory.”

  Jagron tried not to smile, but the corners of his mouth tilted slightly upward. He was already one of the youngest commanders—maybe he could be one of the youngest senators.

  “Maybe we’ll have ill fortune, and you’ll never get an opportunity to grab it,” said the Proconsul with a shrug. “So be it. However, a rich future awaits us if we’re successful. As you have seen, Genesis means food for multitudes, a convenient way to terraform planets, and a painless way to destroy our enemies. It would be a shame if the only ones to possess this technology were the Federation.”

  “Besides,” said Jagron, “they used our phase-shifting technology without permission.”

  The old Proconsul laughed. “Yes, Commander. As usual, right and justice are with the Romulan Star Empire.”

  Captain Picard and Admiral Nechayev stood on the observation deck of Starbase 393, watching a stream of refugees disembark from the Enterprise and file down the extendable docking port into the space station. The Sovereign was docked at another pylon, disgorging its passengers as well. The starbase was beginning to look like a Paris tube station during rush hour, except that the people milling about had no place to go.

  Picard had never seen the admiral so despondent, not even after other missions had gone awry. Although she tried to mask her feelings, Nechayev looked about ten years older, and there was a sadness in her eyes that he had never seen before. Normally she was the type who could give a suicide order, lose all hands, and never show a scintilla of regret. But the Genesis Wave had Admiral Nechayev gazing deeply into her soul.

  “I can’t say I’m sorry to see the evacuees go,” remarked Picard, just trying to make conversation. “But we can be justly proud of all the lives we saved.”

  “What about all the lives we didn’t save?” she muttered. “Did you read the final casualty reports from Persephone V?”

  “No. I didn’t see much point in it.”

  “You’re wise, Captain. I wish I hadn’t read them.” Nechayev rested her elbows on the railing and looked down at the sea of people below them. “We lost more people in three minutes than we lost during the entire Dominion war.”

  “Don’t be too hard on yourself, Admiral; we did all we could do.”

  She gave him a withering glare. “You may have done all you could, but I didn’t. It’s not that I didn’t move quickly enough once I knew the threat was real. I did. But I erred six months ago when I didn’t make full disclosure about the abduction of Carol Marcus. I should have put Starfleet on alert right then and there.”

  “If you’re going to have twenty/twenty hindsight,” said Picard, “we should have handled Project Genesis differently ninety years ago. We should have known that we couldn’t sweep technology like that under the carpet.”

  Nechayev narrowed her gaze at him. “We were virtually at war with the Klingons back then. We were trying mightily to keep the peace with a stubborn, hostile power. You and I know how difficult that is—we failed with the Cardassians. So we appeased everyone and hushed it up. As with most appeasements, it only delayed the inevitable.”

  “Speaking of Klingons,” said Picard, “I kept Consul Maltz on board at Leah Brahms’ request. He might also be helpful in dealing with the Klingons when they arrive. Plus we kept the specialists we had on board from our aborted mission. They’re proving to be helpful.”

  “That seems like a long time ago, doesn’t it? When it’s only been a few days.” The admiral rose to her feet and stuck out her chin. “The Klingons have started arriving, and they’re taking over much of the evacuation. But we have to find someplace to make our stand.”

  “I agree,” said Picard. “We can’t keep running, saving a fifth of the population here and there. Once we get the interphase generators from the Romulans, Brahms and La Forge think we can arrange shelters big enough to protect large groups of people and animals. Our latest long-range scans show that the planets revert to a livable state sooner than we thought.”

  “The task force has already skirted around Seran,” said the admiral, lifting her chin. “Soon we’ll have another front. Maybe they can find the source of the wave . . . and shut it down.”

  Picard nodded, unable to add anything to that fervent hope.

  twenty

  Captain Landwaring of the Defiant-class starship Neptune peered curiously at the dark boulders, debris, and dust cluttering his viewscreen. According to the charts, this was the Boneyard, a vast asteroid field—the remains of some cataclysm when the universe was new. It had never been explored, except with sensors, because it was too dangerous. There were trillions of rocks in there, ranging in size from Earth’s moon to the tiniest dust particle. With the naked eye it was impossible to pick out much detail—it looked like an avalanche frozen in midfall. Landwaring did notice several large asteroids that were shaped like rubber dog bones.

  According to the latest projections, this was ground zero—where the Genesis Wave began. Of course, here the wave was hardly bigger than a laser point and undetectable by their sensors. It was nothing like the destructive force it became light-years from here.

  The five Defiant-class vessels had small crews but the speed and firepower of much larger ships. To do a physical search of the Boneyard would take them a lifetime. They had come fully armed, ready to fight to the death with a ruthless adversary—and all they found was a galaxy’s biggest rock pile.

  The Neptune observed the Boneyard from a cautious distance of two hundred thousand kilometers. Even so, the captain felt inexplicably nervous.

  “Probe three reporting back,” said his ops officer, a young blond woman named Herron. “No life-forms reported, although there are amino acids, proteins, and other building blocks.”

  “That kind of residue is commonly associated with the wave,” said his science officer, Mitchell. Normally the Neptune didn’t have a science officer, but on this mission it did. So far, the mousy fellow hadn’t been much help.

  “That residue often occurs in regular space dust, too,” said Ensign Herron.

  “What about signs of a power source?” asked the captain. “Electrical interference? Fluctuations?”

  “All over the Boneyard,” answered the ops officer, shaking her head. “Half of those rocks must be magnetically charged, and the o
ther half are kelbonite, which distorts the readings. There could even be fake, hollow asteroids in there—we couldn’t spot them with a few probes.”

  “It’s a good haystack in which to hide a needle,” conceded Landwaring. “Is anybody here a hunter?”

  No one volunteered to have ever been a hunter, and the captain went on, “Sometimes you have to flush the game,” he explained. “You know, fire a couple of wild shots and see if you can roust anything from the brush.”

  “I advise against firing willy-nilly into there,” said the science officer.

  “Why?”

  Mitchell hemmed and hawed for a second then came up with, “Well, you’re liable to send that debris flying in all directions.”

  “And so would a wandering comet or a meteorite,” answered Landwaring. “If you have a better idea of how to proceed with our search—the fastest way possible—I’m listening.”

  The science officer hung his head. “I know these are dire circumstances.”

  “They sure are,” said Captain Landwaring. “Tactical, open up a secure channel to the task force.”

  “Yes, Sir,” answered the bald-headed Deltan, working his board. “Channel open.”

  “To all ships in Task Force Javelin,” began Landwaring, stepping behind the tactical console. “I’ve decided to fire a brace of torpedoes into the Boneyard, to see if we can stir anything up.”

  The captain reached over the Deltan’s shoulder to enter a target, his best guess. “We’re transmitting targeting information to you. On my mark, fire torpedoes in firing pattern delta nine. Remember that we can’t fire and forget. We have to change position—just as we did with the probes—because the Genesis Effect has been known to follow the deuterium trail back to the firing ship. Rendezvous thirty thousand kilometers dead to port. Keep all logs running, and look for anything . . . I mean, anything. Landwaring out.”

  He nodded to the Bajoran male on the conn, Jorax. “Set new course. Be ready to go to full impulse as soon as we launch.”