STAR TREK: TNG - The Genesis Wave, Book Two

by John Vornholt

  She also had a new charge in her life—Dezeer—and she was going to make sure that nothing else happened to the child. Deanna couldn’t remember anything about her rescue from Myrmidon, but she knew that Dezeer had saved her life when she led Will Riker to her unconscious body just seconds before the Genesis Wave hit the planet. The counselor considered the young Bolian to be a good-luck charm, and vice-versa. After all, Troi’s combadge, pinned on Dezeer by her dying mother, had been the child’s own salvation. But how many other children had not been so lucky? Despite their monumental efforts, the death toll had to be in the thousands, maybe millions. They wouldn’t know for sure until the Romulans went back, and that might be a grim and pointless journey.

  She gave Dezeer a wan smile as she watched her play, although the child’s preternatural calm continued to disturb her. Dezeer was about the size of a human eight-year-old, but Troi had quickly discovered that she had the mental development of a five-year-old. She might be an exceptionally large child, even for a Bolian, or she might be suffering from some sort of disability. The girl had spoken very little since losing her parents to suicide and nearly losing her own life on Myrmidon. It had only been a couple of hours, and Troi wasn’t going to push her. She had left her alone for short periods, but she wasn’t going to let Dezeer be shipped off at the first port with the other evacuees. She considered the child to be her personal responsibility.

  Her combadge chirped, and a familiar voice said, “Picard to Troi.”

  “Troi here,” she answered, rising from the couch and walking out of earshot of the child. Anything she said in these trying days was liable to be disturbing.

  “Dr. Haberlee says that Beverly and the others are out of danger,” began the captain. “In fact, he says he can wake her up and let us question her.”

  “Is that wise?” asked Troi with concern. “She’s been very ill.”

  “If it wasn’t for our missing crewman, Ensign Paruk’N, I wouldn’t be taking these measures. But we have to find out what happened over there ... and what might happen here.”

  “Yes, sir,” answered Troi, knowing he was right. “When are they going to awaken her?”

  “As soon as possible. I’m on my way to sickbay now.”

  “Yes, sir.” Deanna lowered her voice and said, “I have to leave my patient with a Bolian family, then I’ll meet you there.”

  “Thank you, Counselor. Picard out.”

  With a sigh at the unpleasantness facing her, Deanna turned back to her young patient. Mustering a smile, she strode toward the girl and leaned over to look at her doll. “I think Miss Barbara is ready for her party. Are you ready to meet some more people?”

  The blue-skinned girl shrugged and continued working on the doll. “It doesn’t matter ... my mommy’s here.”

  Troi frowned, her smile fading. “Your mommy is on board the Enterprise?”

  “I’ve seen her.” Dezeer picked up the doll and carefully put it in a duffel bag Troi had given her, as if she didn’t have a care in the world.

  Deanna hated dashing the child’s illusions, but accepting reality was part of getting well. “Dezeer, your mother isn’t on board the Enterprise. We picked up very few passengers on Myrmidon.”

  The blue-skinned being looked with pity at Troi, as if she were the one who was delusional. She put her fingers to her lips and made a hissing sound—the traditional sign for a secret. Then the child bounded off her seat and headed out the door, forcing Troi to rush to catch up with her.

  At least, thought the counselor, this delusion was giving the child some peace. Dezeer remained calm, if quiet, when Troi dropped her off at the quarters of the Hutamps, a Bolian couple whose own children were grown and living elsewhere. Dezeer didn’t say anything to them, but she complied with their wishes. Most important, Deanna was able to leave the child there and head to sickbay, as per the captain’s orders. Still she felt guilty about deserting her charge even temporarily.

  When Troi reached sickbay, she found Captain Picard, Dr. Haberlee, and Nurse Ogawa conferring in the anteroom. Through the windows, she could see the sick crew members from the Neptune, and the security guards hovering over their beds.

  “Hello, Counselor,” said Picard. “I’m just getting up to date on their condition. You were saying, Doctor?”

  The young man cleared his throat and looked very serious. “Dr. Crusher is quite weak, but the fungal infection is in remission. Her lungs are clear, and she can breathe on her own. But she’s not leaving that bed for a while. The others are in the same condition, a little behind or ahead of her.”

  “When would she wake up on her own?” asked Troi.

  “That’s hard to say—in a day, maybe in an hour,” replied the doctor. “Since the fungus has infected her brain, we’re leery about this comatose state. We would probably bring her out of it, anyway.”

  Ogawa nodded in agreement. “Yes, it’s the right thing to do. I’m sure Dr. Crusher would want to take the risk.”

  “What risk?” asked Picard, his eyes narrowing.

  Dr. Haberlee cocked his head and looked apologetic. “Although we’ve done lots of scans and don’t see any major damage, some things may have escaped us. The fungus entered through the bloodstream, and possibly the nostrils and ears, and we don’t know exactly what it’s done to her. It could be safer to wait until all trace of the fungus is out of her system, but that could be a few more days.”

  “There are only four days until the Genesis Wave reaches Earth,” said Picard grimly. “The Romulans will arrive any moment to conduct a rescue mission to Myrmidon, and we’re their only support. We have to function at peak efficiency, and we can’t do that with this illness hanging over our heads. We need answers. Proceed, Doctor.”

  “Yes, sir,” answered Haberlee hoarsely. The young doctor nodded to Ogawa, his beseeching eyes asking the veteran nurse to take over the procedure.

  Ogawa led the way toward the row of examination tables in central triage, where all seven patients lay unconscious. An empty bed at the end of the row, plus the presence of a half dozen security guards, reminded Deanna that Beverly’s crew was in serious trouble as well as being seriously ill.

  Troi thought about all the millions of people—even billions—whose lives and homes were being destroyed as they talked. Yet their attention was riveted upon these seven people, and the eighth who had mysteriously disappeared within the bowels of the Enterprise. It was just one more horror in a chain of horrors, which showed no sign of letting up.

  Shaking off her fretful reverie, Deanna turned her attention to Ogawa. The efficient medical worker disconnected nourishment tubes while an orderly applied restraints to Beverly’s pale limbs. Her good friend looked as wan and ill as she had ever seen anyone, and Troi had to gulp back her conflicted emotions. Part of her wanted to beg the captain to let Beverly heal before she had to be interrogated, but the other part knew that time was their most immediate enemy.

  Ogawa took some tricorder readings, checking them with the overhead display. When she was satisfied with the status of her patient, she lifted a hypospray and carefully loaded it with a fresh vial. “Synaptic stimulant ready,” she told Haberlee.

  The young doctor nodded, looking grateful for having Ogawa at his side. “Go ahead.”

  The nurse pressed the instrument to Crusher’s neck. After delivering the injection, she immediately passed the hypospray to an orderly and took up her tricorder. The security officers pressed forward, as did Deanna, and the captain motioned them back. “Give them some room to work,” he said calmly.

  Troi returned her attention to the troubled face of Beverly Crusher. Beverly’s furrowed brow looked troubled, and she puckered her mouth as if she were tasting something sour. Deanna started forward, disturbed by these involuntary muscle contractions.

  “She’s not in pain,” explained Ogawa to the observers. “This is a typical reaction. Look, her limbs are moving, too.”

  They all glanced down to see her arms struggling weakly against th
e restraints, and she moaned softly as if coming out of a dream. “If she falls into normal sleep,” Dr. Haberlee said, “I won’t use another stimulant to wake her up. Even in a semiconscious state, she may be able to answer your questions.”

  “Mmmm,” said Beverly, her tongue darting over her lips, her eyelids fluttering. “Need to stop them ... the attack ... target their bases.” Her voice was a croak, barely audible, but her instinctive struggle against her bindings grew more intense.

  Captain Picard leaned over the doctor and gently brushed the hair from her right temple. “Beverly, what do you see down there? Why are you firing at the planet of Myrmidon?”

  “The Dominion,” she answered hoarsely. “We’ve seen them. Starfleet told us ... to watch ...” Crusher shook her head and seemed to run out of energy as she slumped back onto the table. Deanna Troi let out a nervous breath, hoping she was okay. She wanted Beverly to be allowed to rest, but she doubted if that would be the case.

  “Vital signs unchanged except for brain activity,” said Ogawa, monitoring the readouts carefully.

  Without warning, Crusher’s eyes popped open, and she stared wide-eyed at her companions, seeming to recognize them for the first time. “Wesley? Is Wesley okay?”

  “Your son?” asked Deanna uncertainly. “Wesley’s not here, but you’re safe, Beverly. You’re back on the Enterprise.”

  Crusher screwed her eyes shut and wept quietly. “But he was on the ship with us. I saw him.” She struggled involuntarily against the straps on her wrists.

  “Can’t we take her restraints off?” asked Captain Picard.

  “Certainly.” Dr. Haberlee loosened the restraints, and Beverly finally relaxed, letting her body sink into the bedding.

  “Wesley?” she asked again. “Is he okay?”

  “I’m sure that Wesley is just fine,” said the captain soothingly. “He’s ... not here now, though.”

  Crusher nodded, and her eyes closed as she seemed to drift off to sleep. “Yes, he’s gone ... I can tell he’s gone.”

  After a moment, Nurse Ogawa reported, “She’s asleep.”

  “I don’t think Wesley would have told her to attack her own shipmates,” said Troi. “For whatever reason.”

  “I don’t believe Wesley was ever on that ship,” answered Picard. “It must have been part of her hallucinations—along with the Dominion and everything else she mentioned. Has she talked about him lately?”

  Troi nodded. “We talked about him just a few days ago, as we often do. She misses him a lot, and the strain of their separation—without any word at all—is beginning to show. But I didn’t think it was serious. In fact, it’s normal.”

  “Not anymore,” muttered the captain. “The question is, what if these aren’t delusions?”

  “If her crew thought the Dominion was down there, wouldn’t they have contacted us?” asked Troi.

  “Perhaps they were all having delusions ... some kind of mass hysteria,” answered Dr. Haberlee. “Maybe they didn’t know we were here.”

  Silence followed, as everyone in the room considered the possibilities, all of them troubling. The captain’s combadge sounded, and a familiar voice broke in, “Riker to Picard.”

  “Yes, Number One.”

  “We’ve been contacted by the Romulans, who should arrive in about fifteen minutes.”

  “Give my regards to Captain Tomalak,” answered Picard absently, his attention still on Beverly Crusher.

  “It’s not the Terix but the D’Arvuk that’s coming,” answered Riker. “We’ll be dealing with Commander Jagron. He was the young one, as I recall.”

  Now the captain frowned and looked away from the sleeping woman. “Yes, that’s right. I hope nothing has happened to Tomalak.”

  “This is a dangerous mission,” conceded Riker. “They sent their youngest—let’s hope he’s their best.”

  “Alert me when they’re in transporter range,” said the captain, his gaze returning to Beverly. “I’d like to be left alone until then. Picard out.”

  Dr. Haberlee looked as if he had been thinking hard during their conversation. “I’d like to run more tests before I bring any more of them around. I don’t think you’re going to get much more information than you’ve already gotten.”

  “Do you think she has further brain damage?” asked the captain.

  “I don’t think so.” Haberlee turned to Ogawa, who was busy checking her tricorder. “Did you catch anything, Nurse?”

  “We have a lot of data to analyze,” the sickbay veteran answered, “but I don’t see anything offhand. It’s natural for her to be disoriented. In truth, she’s doing as well as can be expected, and I hope to have her up and eating very soon.”

  “I hope so,” said the captain. “If any of them should wake up and want to talk about what happened, make a log of it, and notify me as soon as possible.”

  “Yes, sir,” answered Dr. Haberlee, still massaging his sore neck. “Just to be on the safe side, we’ll get started on making a vaccine for the fungus.”

  “Make it so,” ordered Picard.

  “I’ll stay for a bit.” Troi gave her captain a look of confidence she didn’t entirely feel.

  “What do you sense?” he asked, looking pointedly at his half-Betazoid counselor.

  The question shouldn’t have surprised her, but Deanna appeared stunned for a moment as she considered her answer. The truth was, she didn’t have an answer. It was as if her empathic skills were clouded.

  “I haven’t sensed anything yet,” she said with puzzlement. “Maybe my senses are overloaded ... with all the death, uprooted families, and misery.”

  “Don’t forget your head injury,” Dr. Haberlee added. “You probably are a bit foggy. You really ought to take the spare bed on the end.”

  “No, thank you,” answered Troi. She shivered, thinking that she did sense an emotion, one which had been prevalent lately: fear. Only she wasn’t sure if the fear emanated more from those around her—or herself.

  “Keep me posted.” Captain Picard lowered his head and strode toward the door. From the stiff angle of his shoulders, Deanna could tell he was tense, and she could think of no way to console him. At this point, giving him the merest word of encouragement seemed like offering false hope.

  Captain Picard stood in Beverly Crusher’s quarters, scrutinizing the tasteful surroundings. In her choice of furnishings, Beverly revealed a romanticism that she didn’t show in her everyday demeanor. There was the delicate oil lantern on the antique desk and the embroidered pillows on the settee, arranged just so. He noticed gifts he had given her, a Regulan horned beetle encased in amber and a collection of nested dolls from Ogus II. It was the kind of room that showed its owner to be meticulous yet sentimental and playful—a person like Beverly Crusher.

  Normally he wouldn’t have taken the liberty of letting himself inside a crew member’s private quarters, even one he had visited many times; but this was an exceptional case. Beverly was facing a court-martial, demotion, or worse for her actions, unless they could come up with a justifiable explanation. Picard wasn’t sure what he could possibly find in her quarters to exonerate her, but he was determined to spend a few minutes looking.

  The captain paused at her vanity to view three holographic photos he had seen many times before. One featured Jack Crusher on a fishing trip, grinning and holding up a freshly caught trout. Beverly’s husband had been his best friend, and Jack’s death was still a painful wound after twenty years.

  As a third wheel to the Crushers, Picard had spent so many years hiding his feelings for Beverly that he still couldn’t quite bring himself to admit them. If she had only met him before she met Jack, how different their lives might have been.

  The second photo was of Wesley, looking impossibly young and fresh-faced. Of course, there were no recent photos of him, and he had to be a man by now, with the glow of innocence gone. Picard shook his head, thinking that Beverly must have been in agony for years now, wondering if her only child was safe. They
hadn’t been callous about Wesley’s absence, but they hadn’t given her much solace either.

  The third photo showed Beverly snuggling on a couch with Jack, while cuddling Wesley in her lap. The boy was little more than a toddler. Beverly looked achingly beautiful and deliriously happy in the photo, which only produced a deeper pang in the captain’s heart. There was much to be said for devoting one’s life to serving others, but delirious happiness wasn’t usually the result. With planet after planet falling to the Genesis Wave—and Earth in the direct path—all of their sacrifices felt oddly hollow. Instead of a family to protect, he had the Enterprise. The ship was important, but somehow it didn’t seem as important as the happy grin on Beverly’s face in that photo.

  Would anything ever make her that happy again?

  “Captain?” said a voice. Startled, Picard whirled around, almost expecting to see one of the ghosts from the photos, but instead he saw Data, standing in the doorway. The android looked curiously at him, having never quite understood the tendency of humans to daydream.

  “Yes, Data,” said Picard. “Is something wrong?”

  “No, sir,” answered Data. “You asked to be left alone until the Romulans arrived, and they have arrived.”

  “Yes, of course,” said the captain apologetically. “What is our status?”

  “Commander Jagron is transporting over to meet with you, and Commander Riker suggested I accompany you to the transporter room.” The android glanced around the tasteful stateroom. “Have you discovered any cause for Dr. Crusher’s actions?”

  “Perhaps.” Picard looked wistfully at the photo of Beverly, Jack, and Wesley in happier days. Tugging on his tunic, the captain shook off his nostalgia and said, “Shall we go?”