STAR TREK: TNG - The Genesis Wave, Book Three

by John Vornholt

  Half an hour later, Captain Picard was wearing the Bajoran environmental suit as he again followed the electrical cable to its source. Behind him walked one of his ensigns, wearing a Starfleet suit so that he could communicate with the yacht. Picard stationed his man in the spot where he had subdued the Bajoran, then he continued on his own. Dressed in a disguise that covered him head to toe, he saw no point in being subtle.

  [285] Ghostly buildings loomed ahead of him in the fog. As he drew closer to the deserted village, Picard noticed that one of the buildings had a protective tent stretched over it. A figure suddenly emerged from the. mist, startling the captain, but when he saw the Bajoran suit, he waved in a friendly fashion. Picard waved back and continued on his way, but he never took his hand off the phaser in his pocket. In his other pocket was the padd which contained his instructions from Data.

  In the middle of the street loomed another recognizable shape—a Bajoran troop transport. There were probably people inside, but his destination was the tented building, which he assumed was the headquarters of this misguided mission. A portable airlock had been constructed over one door, and a guard stood outside it. The guard waved as he approached, and Picard drew his phaser and drilled him with a stun beam.

  The captain quickly dragged the unconscious Bajoran into a foggy sidestreet, then he took his place at the door. When no one seemed to have noticed the switch, Picard slipped inside the airlock.

  He found himself in a house of worship—it was hard to tell what denomination, but there were pews, an altar, and a small stage. There was also breathable air, because several unsuited Bajorans were hovering over a portable generator. Electrical cables snaked from the machine out every door and window, and a Genesis Device blinked ominously in the corner.

  A heavyset Bajoran paced in front of the altar, glancing frequently at his work crew. A young blond woman lounged in a pew in the front row, calmly filing her nails. They had to be Vedek Yorka and Cassie Jackson, respectively, thought Picard. It was hard to believe that these blundering fools were about to shred the fragile curtain between dimensions, but possessing Genesis made them the most dangerous force in the galaxy.

  “What’s taking so long?” complained Vedek Yorka. “We’re behind schedule. We’ve promised people—they’re waiting for this moment!”

  [286] “Excuse me, Your Holiness,” said one of the technicians. “The stress tolerances have to be exact if we wish to activate all the emitters in unison. We’re almost there—just one final diagnostic check.”

  “All right, but hurry up!” He began to pace anew.

  “Will you relax?” said the blond woman. “Why don’t you pray to the Prophets for some patience?”

  The rotund vedek waggled his finger at her. “Don’t you take the name of the Prophets in vain. You’re only doing this for profit, I’m doing it for the greater good of all Bajor.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Right. I’ll just be glad when it’s over.”

  “So will I.” Yorka wrung his hands nervously as he paced. “I think we’re doing the right thing. Really, I mean, the Orb fell into my hands for a reason, didn’t it? It was meant to do some good for people.”

  “It’s done some good for me,” claimed Cassie.

  As they talked and the technicians worked, Picard maneuvered along the back wall, hoping to make it down the side aisle and get closer to the generator. As he moved, he drew his phaser out of his pocket and put in on a destructive setting. His intent was to take out the generator and worry later about Data’s instructions.

  Yorka suddenly spotted him. “You there! Get back outside—get back on guard duty!”

  The suited figure waved and turned to leave, but Picard stumbled as he walked, trying to stall for time. At the same moment, another suited figure charged through the airlock, and he was holding a Starfleet environmental suit in his hands.

  The new arrival pulled his helmet off and yelled, “Vedek Yorka! There are intruders on the planet! We caught one, and we spotted a shuttlecraft.”

  “What?” bellowed Yorka.

  Suddenly all eyes turned to look at Picard, and the guard at the door rushed him, grabbing his phaser hand and forcing the weapon upward. The captain didn’t mean to shoot, but he blasted a thick blue beam at the ceiling. With a monstrous explosion, a chunk of [287] the ceiling disintegrated, and plaster and debris rained down on them. Worse than that, the deadly yellow fog rushed into the room like a pale ghost, and the Bajoran gagged and went limp in Picard’s arms. Gasping for breath, he dropped to his knees and then to the floor.

  In a panic, his comrades rushed toward a pile of environmental suits, but none of them made it. Within a few seconds, everyone in the room but Picard had collapsed. They lay on the floor, choking, writhing in agony—victims of the trilithium-tinged air.

  Unable to help them, the captain instantly drew the padd from his pocket and rushed to the generator. He studied Data’s notes, then looked at the generator and the cables snaking away from it. Movement at the back of the building caught his eye, and he looked up to see an armed guard dash through the airlock. Picard took aim with his phaser and drilled him, and his body exploded as the ceiling had.

  Suddenly, three transporter beams glowed like shimmering columns in the center of the building, and Picard almost shot them, too. It was fortunate that he waited a microsecond until he identified their environmental suits, which were Starfleet.

  They aimed their weapons at him, and he held up his hands. “It’s me! Picard! It’s me!” he shouted, trying to be heard through his helmet.

  One of them strode toward him. “Could you use a little help?”

  “Yes, guard the door!” His order came just in time, as the Bajoran militia began their assault in earnest, and his rescuers were forced to return fire.

  Dying Bajorans were gasping for breath all around him, but it was too late to help any of them. Picard tried to clear his mind and concentrate on his task. Fortunately, he had everything at hand he needed to execute Data’s instructions, including tools and power. He wouldn’t have to patch into the network, because the hub was right in front of him. Still it seemed ludicrous to set off the string of Genesis Devices when they had tried so hard to prevent them from being [288] used. But Data’s instructions were explicit, and there was no one in the universe he trusted more than that unique being.

  As a phaser battle raged and technicians vomited in the last throes of death, the captain carefully reversed the charge and set the system to overload. Suddenly there was an explosion, and the front wall of the building was nothing but smoke and rubble. His unknown comrades fell back, firing intently at the advancing militia, and Picard knew he didn’t have another moment to lose.

  He pushed the button.

  The Genesis box in the room with them began to hum like a bad transformer, and smoke wafted from its glowing circuitry. Picard held his breath, thinking they would all be blown to bits or mutated into primordial sludge. Instead, he began to feel enormously happy and relieved.

  The firing stopped, and both sides dropped their weapons and stood perfectly still, gazing in awe at each other. Even the dying Bajorans, who had been writhing in agony a second before, smiled blissfully at one another. Throughout the galaxy—in the depths of the oceans, in grimy caves, in palaces and prisons, in starships and starbases—every form of life from Melkotians to amebas experienced one shining moment of peace. All living things felt connected, part of a single wonderful creation.

  “What has happened?” croaked a voice.

  Picard turned to see Vedek Yorka crawling toward him, his eyes begging for understanding. Also in his eyes was imminent death, and Picard dashed toward the Bajoran, knelt down, and put a hand to his feverish brow.

  “You have done this,” he said. “With the Orb of Life, you have brought peace to the universe.”

  The joyous smile which graced the monk’s face brought a round of tears to Picard’s eyes. Yorka gripped his hand and nodded with exultation, then the strength in hi
s fingers began to wane. A second later, Vedek Yorka was dead.

  [289] Picard looked up to see the girl, Cassie Jackson, staring at him. Then she smiled as innocently as a child. The captain rushed to her and held her, until the life ebbed from her body.

  Without saying anything, the Bajorans began to collect their dead. One of the Starfleet officers approached Picard and offered him a hand. When he stood up, the captain got a good look at his rescuer for the first time, and he was surprised to see it was a Ferengi.

  “Good thing you started blowing things up,” said the grinning humanoid, “or we never would have found you. Ready to go home? I’ll take you in my nice new runabout.”

  “Whose runabout?” asked another suited savior. This one appeared to be a Romulan.

  “I don’t know who you people are,” admitted Picard, “but I’m glad you’re here. I am ready to go home.”

  twenty-two

  As she stood in the transporter room of the Sequoia, Admiral Nechayev extended her hand to her former first officer, Commander Marbinz. “I speeded up the paperwork for you,” she said with a smile. “Get yourself another pip for your collar—this is now your ship. But if you mess up, I’ll be on your case faster than rust on a bucket. Ask any captain of mine.”

  “Thank you, Admiral,” said the Benzite with a broad smile which caused his blue tendrils to lift upward. “Please give my regards to Starfleet Command. I understand that you’re getting some pips back.”

  She shrugged. “They’re just metal. The important thing is that you surround yourself with good people. May you be as fortunate with your first officer as I was.” With that, the admiral stepped upon the transporter platform.

  “Coordinates laid in for the Javlek,” said the operator at the console.

  She shook her head. “I’ll never get used to that name, but that’s okay. It’s not my ship. I’m perfectly content not to have a ship. Have a good journey to Vulcan, Captain.”

  [291] Marbinz frowned for a moment. “Are you sure that’s a wise idea, releasing that Romulan assassin to Teska’s custody?”

  “I promised her,” answered Nechayev. “Besides, haven’t you heard? Prisoners have been released all over the place. It’s a new dawn of peace and understanding. Even the Romulans have volunteered to destroy their Genesis emitters, after what’s happened. We’re going to make sure they do.”

  The Benzite nodded. “I hope so. It’s been a pleasure serving with you, Admiral.”

  “You, too,” replied Nechayev sincerely. “Energize when ready.”

  A moment later, she stood on the much smaller bridge of the runabout Javlek, facing the Romulan, Regimol; the Antosian, Raynr Sleven; and the feisty Ferengi, Chellac.

  “Our crew is complete,” said Regimol with a broad smile. He sat down at the controls and brought up a navigational chart. “Where to, Admiral?”

  “Our first stop is Ferenginar,” she replied, sitting in the copilot’s seat. “We need to get our friend Chellac home.”

  “Wait a minute,” said the Ferengi angrily, “is that it? I risk my life I don’t know how many times, and you just drop me off! Is this the kind of thanks I get for saving the universe?”

  “We save the universe all the time and don’t expect a reward,” replied Regimol. “Isn’t that right, Raynr?”

  “Um,” said the big Antosian doubtfully, “I guess so. Although I’m not sure what I’m doing here. I may save a food replicator or a pylon grid every now and then, but I usually don’t save the universe.”

  “That’s going to change,” said Nechayev. “Your talents make you too valuable to be a technician. I think you’ll find the new assignment I have for you to be a bit more exciting. As for you, Chellac, you like this runabout so much that I’ve arranged for one to be delivered to you. It should be orbiting Ferenginar by the time we get there. You’ll also get the exclusive holodeck concession on our revamped starbase, 411, which I understand is a very lucrative contract.”

  [292] “Oh, Admiral, thank you! Thank you!” The Ferengi fell to his knees and began kissing her hand. “Are you single?”

  “That’s enough of that,” she replied, quickly withdrawing her appendage.

  “There’s a certain holodeck program I want to be sure to get,” said Chellac, tugging on his earlobe.

  Nechayev turned to her pilot. “Captain Regimol, I think we can be going now.”

  “Admiral,” said Raynr Sleven with concern, “I never got a chance to say good-bye to the Ogawas.”

  “That’s all right,” Nechayev answered with a smile. “I have a feeling they won’t mind.”

  “Daddy!” screamed the little girl, charging into her father’s arms.

  Andrew Powell lifted Suzi high over his head and swung her around joyfully. Then he gave her a great big hug, and Alyssa Ogawa joined them to make it a group hug. Tearfully, the reunited family clung to each other for several moments, unable to speak or do anything else.

  Standing in a corner of the Enterprise’s transporter room, Beverly Crusher dabbed a handkerchief to her eye as Captain Picard put his arm around her.

  “I don’t understand,” she said. “Why were the Satarrans holding him prisoner?”

  “They misunderstood the Genesis Wave and thought it was something we had done to their colony,” answered the captain. “I think they automatically blame us for everything that goes wrong. But after the wave of harmony swept over everyone, they forgave their prisoners and released them. If not, we might never have known what happened to him and three other officers.”

  “And you?” she asked warily as she put the remaining antidote away. “How do you feel?”

  [293] Picard scowled. “I’m never touching anything on a Romulan vessel again. Truthfully, the pain of Kaylena’s death still hurts. No matter how or why I was in love with her, I really loved her. I would have killed for her, betrayed Starfleet—whatever you can think of, I would have done it. In one way, I’m grateful, because I never knew I could love like that.”

  “I was more shocked before,” said Crusher, “but now I’m really jealous.”

  He gave Beverly a tender squeeze and a sly smile. “I’m still in a romantic mood.” The captain began to steer her toward the door.

  “But Alyssa ... we were going to have dinner with her and her family.”

  “I don’t think they need us,” said Picard with a glance at the jubilant family. The door slid open, and the doctor and the captain slipped away.

  Deanna Troi sat in the Saucer Lounge of the Enterprise with Will Riker, gazing out the observation window at space. Just space. There was no blackness, no rift, no sea of sparkling debris—nothing but blessed, beautiful space. Although Troi was relieved that the threat was over, in a way she was sad that the mysterious entity had again vanished into its own dimension. Twice now she had encountered the being while convinced it was the enemy, only to find out it was actually the victim. Someday she would like to renew their acquaintance under less adversarial conditions.

  “A penny for your thoughts,” said Will.

  “I have many thoughts,” she answered. “One of them is that I’m very happy to be here with you.”

  “Even though I fought you over making those EVAs?”

  “Well, you’re not always right, are you?” She gave him a playful smile. “I’m glad I was right this time, and that so were Data and Geordi.”

  “It’s ironic,” said Riker thoughtfully, “that after all the trouble [294] Genesis has caused us, it was finally used for good. And those sub-space cracks that Data discovered—they have a lot of potential for faster communications, power transmission between worlds, and maybe even a new form of space travel that is almost instantaneous. It’s all hypothetical of course, but we never would have known about subspace cracks without Genesis and its aftereffects.”

  “Yes,” mused Deanna, “but will we finally ever leave it alone? Will we ever stop playing God?”

  Will gave her a shrug and shook his head. “I don’t know. It seems to be a n
atural tendency of our species to want to play God. We always want to improve things, make them faster, better, more efficient. Or maybe we just want to understand life and how it works.”

  “For all our meddling,” said the counselor, “we still don’t know much. The problem is that we tend to learn through trial and error, but playing God isn’t one of those places where error is easily forgiven. We were lucky this time.”

  “I can’t argue with that.”

  Deanna took a sip of her hot chocolate while she gazed out the window, and another thought occurred to her. “What is to become of the Brahms suit? Can we keep using them?”

  “We’re in negotiations,” answered Riker. “They’d like to get Leah Brahms in custody and put her on trial for espionage, but we’re not going to let that happen. No matter how much peace there is in the universe, some things never change.”

  The first officer sat up stiffly. “While we’re talking business, we’re going to need you when we get to Bajor. We have a lot of ruffled feathers to smooth over, and a lot of explaining to do. For example, they think Captain Picard killed one of their vedeks. We may be there for weeks sorting this out, but you and I might be able to slip away for a little side trip to Deep Space Nine.”

  “I’d like that,” answered Deanna Troi, holding her beloved’s hand.

  * * *

  [295] Two solitary figures stood on a foreboding mountaintop overlooking an arid, copper-colored plain, which was bubbling with lava pools. One of them was dressed in the regal scarlet and beige robes of a priestess, and the other wore a simple monk’s garment. It had taken the better part of a day to climb to this isolated place, but Teska felt she had to make the trek. It was a place where she and Hasmek had come often to meditate. The priestess took the Romulan’s hand and motioned across the breadth of the rugged plain.

  “Do you like it?” she asked. “It is called the Valley of Everlasting.”

  Jerit smiled. “Yes, I like it. I’d always heard that Vulcan was an ugly planet ... a barren wasteland. But this is beautiful.”