The Genesis Wave: Book One

by John Vornholt

  Unable to calm her nerves, she walked briskly through the now-quiet streets, just as she had done many hours earlier. Deanna felt vaguely guilty about leaving Mother and the sanctuary, but there wasn’t anything she could do there but get in the way. Her idea to use the sanctuaries as shelters had been a good one—it would work, as long as everything else worked. If the interphase generators failed, at least the people would perish in a comfortable place that gave them peace. It wasn’t much consolation, but it was all she had.

  As she wandered, she heard the sound of voices rising on the twilight breeze. It sounded much like the chanting and praying that was happening inside the sanctuary, but she knew these worshippers had to be outside by the way their voices carried.

  Following the chanting sound, she came to one of the parks with the giant communal vegetables. Gathered in the center of the clearing was a group of Bolians numbering about thirty, and half-a-dozen others were lying on the ground, sleeping. That was odd enough to make her stop to watch the proceedings. The Bolians were passing a large horn around, drinking a dark liquid from it. With a start, Troi realized that the sleepers on the ground were not sleeping—they were dead. The dark liquid was poison!

  Without thinking, she charged into their midst and shouted, “Stop! Stop! What are you doing?”

  A large Bolian glowered at her. “This is none of your concern! Haven’t you brought enough disaster upon us?”

  “Go away! Leave us in peace!” shouted others.

  “But you don’t have to die!” she insisted. “There’s safety in the Sanctuary of the First Mother. Come with me, and I’ll—”

  She never saw the rock sailing through the air. It hit her in the head with enough force to knock her to the ground, and Troi lay there unconscious, blood streaming from her forehead. Those bent on suicide went on with their grim task, believing they had done the Starfleet officer a favor by sparing her undue suffering.

  twenty-six

  “Captain,” said Data from the ops console on the Enterprise, “the last of the Klingon fleet is leaving orbit.”

  Picard looked up at the viewscreen in time to see a huge Negh’-Var-class warship bank away from the planet and careen into space, thrusters burning. The Romulan ships had pulled out fifteen minutes earlier, and the skies over Myrmidon were returning to a semblance of normal. But it was only a semblance, Picard knew, because there was nothing normal about the awesome force which was bearing down on them. Very soon those peaceful skies would turn an electric shade of green, and the fiery curtain would raze Myrmidon as it had razed every other object in its path.

  “Any sign of the wave?” asked Commander Riker, pacing behind the command chair.

  “Yes,” answered the android as he scanned through information on his console. “The outmost planet of the solar system has already been transformed. This is only an estimate, but I would say we have twenty minutes until contact.”

  Captain Picard rubbed his chin thoughtfully. They had been through this before—on Persephone V—but this time it was different. This time they had hundreds of Starfleet personnel down on the planet. The Enterprise had contributed La Forge, Linton, Mot, and four technicians to the effort. This would be either the greatest success in the history of Starfleet or the greatest disaster.

  He heard his first officer say, “Riker to transporter room two.”

  “Rhofistan here,” came the reply.

  “Has Counselor Troi come back to the ship yet?”

  “No, Sir. She hasn’t reported in or asked for transportation.”

  “Stand by.” He tapped his combadge. “Riker to Troi.” There was no response, so he tried again. “Enterprise to Deanna Troi.”

  Again there was no response, and Riker looked beseechingly at the captain. “Can we beam her back?”

  “Go ahead.”

  “Transporter room two, lock onto Deanna Troi’s combadge and beam her back immediately,” ordered Riker.

  “Yes, Sir,” responded the chief’s voice.

  Riker looked relieved to have issued the order, until the chief’s voice sounded again. “Sir, there’s been a problem.”

  “What kind of problem?” asked Riker impatiently. “Didn’t you beam her back?”

  There was a pause that seemed to last an eternity, then came the response. “We beamed back the person wearing her combadge, but it turns out to be a Bolian child about eight years old.”

  “What?” bellowed Riker. He looked worriedly at the captain.

  “Go ahead and investigate,” said Picard. “But I don’t want to lose anybody else. Get back here in time.”

  The first officer nodded and charged toward the turbolift. After he was gone, it was the captain’s turn to pace nervously across his bridge. He felt like contacting Nechayev, La Forge, or somebody on the planet, but what good would that do? It was far too late for second guessing, and last-minute heroics didn’t work against the Genesis Wave. From all reports, the vast majority of Bolians had either found their way to shelters or had been evacuated. They had done all they could.

  Then why did he feel so lousy?

  At least Picard took consolation in knowing that Beverly Crusher was safe aboard the Neptune, which had left orbit about ten minutes ago. He had also gotten a promise from Captain Tomalak that he would replicate and reinstall the interphase generators on his ship, so that he could use cloaking again. As soon as it was safe, the Romulan had promised to come back to retrieve the admiral, La Forge, and the others.

  Still, none of it seemed to be enough.

  “Data,” said Captain Picard, “take over the conn. Mister Perezo, you take over ops.”

  Swiftly, the two officers reconfigured their consoles so that they had switched responsibilities. The captain looked at the calm, efficient android and was very glad to have him on the bridge at the moment.

  He walked behind the android and bent over to whisper in his ear, “Mr. Data, I want you to get us out of here before that wave hits, and I don’t care who is—or isn’t—on board. Don’t wait for my order. Do I make myself clear?”

  Data turned to regard him with those cool yellow eyes. “Yes, Sir.”

  Now, thought Picard, I have done all I can.

  Will Riker strode purposefully into the transporter room and looked at the chief, who pointed to a small, blue-skinned person sitting on the edge of the transporter platform. The female child was still wearing the gleaming Starfleet combadge in the center of her blue tunic. He told himself to be patient and remember that he was dealing with a child, who was probably frightened and disoriented.

  He walked over and knelt down in front of her. Smiling, he pointed to the insignia badge. “That’s a very pretty pin. Where did you get it?”

  “I want to go home,” she whined.

  Riker clenched his teeth and tried to stay calm. “Listen, I’m not mad at you, but I know that pin belonged to somebody else. You can keep it, but I just want to find her. She’s a good friend of mine.”

  “Will you take me home?” asked the child. “I miss my mother.”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact, I’ll be glad to take you home. But I need to find my friend, too. Can you show me where you were when you found that pin?”

  “I didn’t find it,” she answered. “My mother gave it to me.”

  Riker nodded slowly. Now it was making sense. Some distraught parent had hit upon a clever way of saving her child, if not herself. He clapped his hands together. “Let’s go try to find my friend, and your mother.”

  He stood up and lifted the child to her feet, then he took her hand. “My name is Will. What’s yours?”

  “Dezeer.”

  “A pretty name,” said Riker, mustering a smile. He steered her toward an empty pad. “Why don’t you go stand over here, and I’ll stand just over here. And the nice man will take us home.”

  He motioned to Rhofistan. “Do you have the coordinates where you picked her up?”

  “Yes, Sir. But I’m not picking up any other life-forms around th
ere.”

  “That’s all right,” muttered Riker grimly. “We haven’t got a lot of choice.” He glanced at the child to make sure she was still standing in the center of the pad, and she was. “Energize.”

  Tricorder in hand, Geordi La Forge circled nervously around the two interphase generators he had set up in the lowest part of a dry riverbed. For at least the twentieth time, he checked all the couplers, power connections, and gel-packs. Although most of the shelters were in the religious sanctuaries, Dolores Linton had convinced them to put a few in open air. She had determined that the seasonally dry riverbeds offered the greatest chance for success—she liked the low altitude and the sandy, porous soil, which allowed for good penetration of the phase-shifting pulse.

  Plus the riverbeds held a lot of beings, as demonstrated by the huge throngs of baying animals and praying Bolians. It looked like a scene from one of those old Biblical epics—with a whole nation stuck in the desert.

  Geordi stopped and glanced at Admiral Nechayev and Dolores Linton, who were conferring with some nervous Bolian dignitaries. Dolores and the admiral had become fast friends in the last few hours, and La Forge figured that her career was going to take a major leap forward . . . if they survived. Dolores had been such a stalwart and cheerful presence that Geordi was beginning to feel very fond of the geologist. He hadn’t stopped thinking about Leah Brahms for one moment, but he had decided that Dolores was a real keeper.

  Although he had no idea where Leah was, at least she was safe. At the moment, it seemed highly unlikely that he would ever see her again. He looked up at the sky, which was just beginning to turn a rosy shade as dusk hit this part of Myrmidon. A cool breeze blew across the dry river, rustling the tall trees and grasses which grew there. It seemed altogether too beautiful of a day for this world to end.

  The conference with the Bolians broke up, and Nechayev and Linton waded through the crowd to get back to Geordi’s position at the generators.

  Dolores lowered her voice to say, “We assured them that they were going to die quickly, and with no pain. Of course, I don’t think any of us are going to die.”

  “We’ll know soon,” said Nechayev. “I’ve just received word that the wave is moving through the solar system and should hit here in about ten minutes. I’ve ordered the fleet to leave, although one or two ships will stay until the last minute. The Klingons and Romulans are already gone.”

  “Is the Enterprise still in orbit?” asked La Forge.

  The admiral gave him a slight smile. “What do you think? I can always count on your captain to take the risks nobody else would.”

  “What are you worried about?” asked Dolores.

  Nechayev sighed. “I don’t know, but my career has taught me to believe strongly in Murphy’s Law. Besides, we need someone to alert us when the countdown has started.”

  “Right.” Geordi noticed that he was wringing his hands nervously, and he quickly dropped them to his side. With a smile, Dolores grabbed one of his hands and gripped it tightly. He could feel her pulse throbbing in his palm, and he realized that her cheerfulness was a brave act.

  “As soon as we have two minutes left, we’ll start the countdown,” said the admiral. “I can’t begin to express my gratitude for the two of you staying here. Suffice to say, it’s good to be among comrades at a time like this.”

  There was nothing left to say, and all three of them gazed anxiously at the deepening auburn sky.

  Gripping the little girl’s hand, Riker tried not to drag her through the deserted streets of the capitol, but it was difficult not to hurry when time was running short—less than five minutes by Data’s latest estimate. The Bolian child, Dezeer, was crying and fearful, and Riker couldn’t blame her. He might be crying soon too if he couldn’t find Deanna. It didn’t help that darkness had descended on the great city, and every building and side street looked the same.

  They stopped at another intersection, populated only by leaves and bits of trash which skidded along the sidewalk. “Does this look familiar?” Riker asked. “Is this where your mother gave you that pin?”

  “I don’t know,” she answered, looking sorrowful.

  Riker gritted his teeth. “Do you know this part of town? Please take a look around. Do you know where we are?”

  Wearily, the child gazed at the triangular-shaped buildings and broad thoroughfares. Finally she nodded and pointed. “Yes. My school is down there.”

  “Good!” exclaimed Riker. “Now try again—do you know where your mother was going when she left you?”

  Dezeer nodded. “To the park, I think.”

  “To a park,” repeated Riker. “Do you think you could take me there? I would love to see your park.”

  “Where is everybody?” asked the child, puzzled.

  “They’re probably in the park, having a party. Why don’t you take me there, and we’ll have a party with your mother and all your friends.”

  The little girl nodded, and for the first time, she took his hand and led him down the deserted street.

  “One-hundred-twenty . . . one-hundred-nineteen . . . one-hundred-eighteen . . . one-hundred-seventeen,” droned the voice of the computer over the shipwide intercom. Captain Picard turned and looked at the viewscreen, where a small magenta dust cloud glimmered in the firmament. He watched, transfixed, as the dust cloud seemed to implode, forming into a gaseous ball a split second before it was obliterated completely by a seething, fiery curtain of green. Although he had seen it before, the awesome sight made him shiver. Now that the dust cloud was gone, nothing stood between the Genesis Wave and Myrmidon.

  The captain tapped his combadge. “Enterprise to Riker.”

  “Riker here,” came a breathless reply.

  “I’m sorry,” said Picard, “but we need you to return.”

  “Captain, we’ve just reached a park where there are a lot of dead bodies. I need to look through them.”

  “Dead bodies?”

  “It must be the site of a mass suicide,” answered the first officer. “Take the girl back, but give me another few seconds.”

  Before he could reply, Data spoke up urgently. “Captain! One of the Starfleet ships has returned, and . . . they have opened fire on the shelters!”

  “What?” barked Picard. “Which ship? Hail them!”

  The android looked up, a glimpse of shock in his yellow eyes. “Sir, it is the Neptune. Dr. Crusher does not answer our hail. I will put it on screen.”

  Captain Picard stared at the viewscreen, where the once-derelict ship was firing torpedoes and phasers in rapid succession. On the planet’s surface, bright flashes indicated where the deadly weapons were wreaking their toll. Picard gripped the back of his command chair, hesitant to order the destruction of Beverly’s ship.

  “Eighty . . . seventy-nine . . . seventy-eight . . . seventy-seven,” continued the computer, calmly counting down the destruction of Myrmidon and the fifty million souls who dwelled there.

  twenty-seven

  The first explosion blew up a mammoth chunk of the riverbed, along with scores of innocent Bolians. There were smoke, dust, carnage, and wailing everywhere, and Geordi instinctively dove on top of the interphase generators in order to protect them. That was his first instinct, but the second one was better. Without hesitation, he threw the switch to initiate phase-shifting, even though they were over a minute early.

  Then he cowered in the dirt, as the unexpected onslaught continued. Lifting his head, he squinted through the smoke and chaos to see both Admiral Nechayev and Dolores Linton lying on the ground, amidst dozens of other casualties. He fought the impulse to dash to their aid, because he had to stay with the interphase generators and power packs. As horrible as this was, the real horror was yet to come. Some of the Bolians were fleeing from the deadly explosions, running out of the field of protection. He tried to yell at them to stop, but his ragged voice was lost in screams, chaos, and explosions.

  * * *

  Captain Picard rousted himself from his moment
ary hesitation and pointed to Data on the conn. “Pursue the Neptune, full impulse. Tactical, target phasers on their impulse engines and fire at will.”

  “Yes, Sir!”

  He slapped the companel on his chair, and his voice boomed over the ship. “Transporter room one, as soon as we get into range, lock onto the life-forms on the starship Neptune and beam them aboard. All security personnel, report to transporter room one and take the crew of the Neptune into custody. Use force if necessary.”

  Riker! he thought in a panic. He had forgotten about his first officer. “Transporter room two, lock onto Commander Riker and the Bolian girl right now and beam them aboard.

  “Thirty . . . twenty-nine . . . twenty-eight,” droned the voice of the computer as the Genesis Wave streaked ever closer.

  Riker heard the explosions ripping through the city, and his small companion screamed in fear. Now he wasn’t gentle at all as he lifted the girl and hauled her from corpse to corpse, looking for anyone among the bodies who wasn’t Bolian.

  He finally spotted her by her mane of dark hair, splayed outward from her bloody face like a black halo. Clutching the girl in one hand, he fell on top of Deanna’s unconscious body, trying to protect her from the blasts. In that same instant, all three of their bodies dematerialized in the shimmering haze of the transporter beam.

  Mot and his parents huddled in the vestibule of the sanctuary and tried to ignore the jostling, weeping, and wailing all around them. They could hear the distant explosions, but they couldn’t figure out what they were. Mot had feared that some residents might commit suicide, but they weren’t likely to blow themselves up. He also couldn’t tell if the technicians had switched on the phase-shifting, but he certainly hoped so.