He heard muffled crying and moaning. With great effort, Mot lifted himself up on his elbows and crawled back to the slimy pool. First he pulled his mother out, then his father; and they lay flopping in the ashes like two fish in the bottom of the boat, gasping for breath. Moments later, others crawled out of the muck and lay on the ground, barely half alive.
Is there anything left? he wondered. Probably even the sanctuaries are gone now. The big Bolian began to weep.
After a moment, he felt a hand on his shoulder—it was his father. “Don’t cry,” breathed the elder. “We are still alive ... still together. There’s always hope.”
“No!” rasped Mot. “I should have talked you into going with me on the Enterprise. Captain Picard said he would take us. What a fool ... what an idiot I am! The ones who chose suicide are smarter than I.” Tears spilled out of him and ran down his blistered flesh, burning like the fire.
“There’s still time for suicide,” his father said helpfully. “I wouldn’t mind that either, as long as we are all together.”
“I think trying to live here is suicide!” groused one old man, who might have been a young man under his scars. There was wheezing laughter at that remark, and even Mot had to chuckle.
“The First Mother taught us to suffer,” said Mot’s mother. “Maybe we were too comfortable.”
The laughter died away as they considered that remark, and Mot began to sniff back his tears, wondering what they should do next. Surely these idiots weren’t still depending upon him for leadership? When it had been his idea to burn up the forest! He consoled himself that somebody else would have come up with that bright idea, once the awful nature of the threat was known. There were certain ways a Bolian would be quite happy to die, but hosting a parasite while living in a swamp wasn’t one of them.
“So, Son, where are we off to next?” asked his father, while the air still hung with ash and soot.
Mot shook his head and gasped for breath. “I’m fresh out of ideas ... maybe that’s a good thing.”
When no one else had the energy to speak, he went on, “You know, the humans I serve with always think you can ‘get a break.’ Something good will happen if you just hang in there.”
“What a stupid idea,” his mother said, aghast.
“Not borne out by the facts,” grumbled his father.
Mot wheezed. “I know, but I’ve seen it happen on the Enterprise. Let’s test it ... imagine that something good will happen next ... like the First Mother will appear in front of us and guide our weary souls to safety!”
In a bright flash, a dark, towering creature appeared in front of them, dressed in studded black armor and a pointed hood, and holding a disruptor rifle with bayonet. As smoke swirled around the frightening apparition, he stepped forward, his rifle aimed at Mot. After a moment, he lifted the weapon.
“If you’re still alive, raise your hand!” he demanded, his voice booming from his hooded head. Through the faceplate, dark eyes glowered at them.
Mot did as he was told, along with every other member of his tiny party. The mammoth figure suddenly jerked to the right, plunging his rifle toward the ground. Mot heard a squishing sound, and the armored man brought up a huge, squirming salamander, speared on the end of his weapon.
“Ah, good hunting here,” he said with satisfaction. With a heave, he tossed the creature into a swirl of smoke behind him. “Krombek to main transporter, nine to beam up from these coordinates. I will look for more.”
Then he waved to the survivors. “The accommodations on a Klingon ship are not much, but they’re better than this. “HIjol!”
Mot could do nothing but weep with joy and hug his parents as their molecules were whisked away to a ship orbiting high above the smoke and flame.
A mammoth tree towered above him—it seemed to be the ancestor of all trees—majestic, thick with bushy leaves, and unspeakably ancient. Its trunk was as wide as his engineering room, and the aged plant seemed to be just as complex and intricate. The forest itself was primordial, unsullied by civilization. Still, sunlight trickled cheerfully through the thick bows of the regal tree, illuminating a forest floor of delicate wildflowers and tiny ferns.
Geordi La Forge had never been much of a biologist, and he couldn’t identify the mammoth tree, except to know that it had to be the grandest tree in all creation. He touched its weathered, flaky bark and felt himself in communion with growing creatures all over the universe. La Forge could feel the life-force in the tree, pulsing with as much raw energy as any antimatter reactor under his command. He realized without being told that this tree was the pinnacle of life—the wellspring from which all good things flowed.
He heard a slight crunching in the leaves on the ground, and he turned to see an ethereal figure in a flowing white gown padding toward him. Her head was lowered, in deference to the tree; when she looked up, her radiant face was bathed in a shaft of golden sunlight. It was Leah Brahms, looking impossibly beautiful, her soft mane of brown hair encircled by a garland of yellow flowers.
Geordi’s already soaring heart went into warp drive at the sight of his beloved. Grinning broadly, he took her hands knowing that she had joined him in the forest—before the magnificent tree—in order to become his mate for all eternity. His throat was speechless at the sight and promise of her beauty, but his face and eyes blazed with unrestrained happiness.
A shriveled black leaf tumbled from the tree and drifted before his eyes, dispelling his giddy sense of joy. His mind uncovered a tiny shred of reality, and La Forge asked himself, How am I seeing this so clearly? Where are my ocular implants?
Geordi knew what normal vision was like, ever since their visit to the planet of the Ba’ku, where his eyes had miraculously begun to function. Once again, he was seeing through real eyes, but they had to be someone else’s eyes.
Desperately fearful he would lose Leah, he gripped her hands all the more tightly until she winced with pain. Leah mustered a brave smile for him, and her voice whispered in his ear, “Not yet, but soon.”
She touched his eyes—only they weren’t his eyes, they were thick, bulging scabs! Now everything was black, and Geordi had no vision whatsoever—not even the artificial impulses he had come to depend upon. In the black ink, he flailed his arms, trying to touch something—anything—to find out where he was.
Strong, unseen limbs struck from the darkness, grabbed his arms and legs, and pinned him to the ground. He struggled, but he knew he was as good as captured—he was so helpless. Geordi had experienced temporary bouts of blindness before, but for some reason this was more terrifying. Maybe it was because he was anxious about Leah, and he couldn’t do anything to help her in this condition.
“Calm down, Commander. You’re among friends,” said an authoritative but compassionate voice. Hearing her say his rank brought him back to another reality—that he was a Starfleet officer. Before he panicked, he always tried to remember that his job incurred unexpected hazards—he just had to live with the risks. Geordi let his shoulder muscles relax, and he tried to lower his hands to touch his face. There was some resistance by his captors to let his arms go.
“Let him feel the bandages,” said the female voice. With trembling fingers, La Forge touched the thin, rubbery appliances over his eyes—they felt like a second layer of skin.
“Good,” said the voice. “I didn’t want to give you a hypo. It’s Dr. Crusher, and you’re in sickbay. I can’t tell you how sorry I am that you can’t see, but it’s temporary.”
“What’s wrong with me?” asked Geordi. “Was the ship attacked?”
“Not in the usual sense,” answered Beverly testily, “but the assault by that damn plant goes on. You’re infected with the fungus.”
“But how can I be infected?” he asked with alarm. “I had the vaccine.”
“Originally, you weren’t infected. It was the bionic component of your ocular implants that became infected. This fungus is bad and it’s persistent—it looks for any opening. You got a strong e
xposure on Myrmidon. Although you passed through our biofilters and took our vaccine, your ocular implants were bypassed. I’d guess that the fungus lodged in the mechanical portion of the implant, where it was protected, then it migrated into the biological receptors, where it got to the rest of your body. Since there wasn’t a creature involved to control it, the fungus ran wild. I’m going to have to revaccinate everyone on the ship.”
“But how long will I be without sight?” asked La Forge, getting to the heart of the matter.
“The infection is centered in your eyes,” Crusher explained. “Even if you were a sighted person, your eyes would be covered, and I wouldn’t let you use them for forty-eight hours. We’ll replicate you another set of implants, but I can’t install them until you’re well.”
He held up his hand, and she jumped in. “Don’t even ask. You’re too sick to wear your old VISOR. The only break you get is that we caught this really early, and you shouldn’t be sick for long. Your fever is already gone.
“Go get his visitors,” she said, apparently talking to someone else in the room. He heard footsteps clacking away, and he tried to relax. It’s temporary ... I’m in good hands. Geordi wanted to tell the doctor about his dream, but that seemed so inane with all that was going on. Let her deal with my illness, not my love-life.
A moment later, he heard loud footsteps charge into the room, and his bed moved slightly as people sat beside him. Someone who smelled very good and very earthy planted a wet kiss on his cheek, and a cold hand grabbed his.
“Geordi, I am perturbed to see you ill,” said a polite voice, shaking his hand.
“Thank you, Data,” answered Geordi warmly. “Dolores, could I have another kiss?”
“Sure,” she purred, this time pressing against him as she did the honors.
“Don’t get my patient too excited,” warned Crusher. “He’s got to rest. I’m kicking you out in a few minutes.”
He heard Crusher walk away, and he called out, “Thank you, Doc!”
“I hope we’ve seen the last of this,” she muttered.
Dolores squeezed his shoulder and moved closer. “They say you’ll be fine in a couple of days, Geordi, and I’m not going anywhere. But I don’t know why I haven’t gotten sick yet.”
“You were taken over by an entire plant in a much cruder but quicker-acting form of symbiotic relationship,” answered Data. “The inexperienced plants on Myrmidon treated the humanoids as they did the trees, whereas experienced individuals can indulge in elaborate ruses to gain a humanoid’s trust. That is when exposure to the fungus is the most intense. I believe there may be numerous levels at which humanoids and these moss creatures can interact.”
“Okay, Data, okay,” said Dolores good-naturedly. “Sometimes you take all the pleasure out of asking dumb questions.”
“Thanks for coming to visit,” said La Forge, trying to muster some enthusiasm. “I wish I could enjoy this reunion more, but I’m really out of commission. Has anything happened since I’ve been in here?”
“I don’t know,” answered Dolores. “We just got back twenty minutes ago. But it doesn’t sound like much has happened.”
“I take it we’re on our way to that planet ... Lomar?” asked Geordi.
“We have not yet left the Boneyard,” answered Data. “Our departure is under discussion. I believe your illness had caused some concern to our Romulan escort.”
“I don’t blame them,” said Geordi glumly. He barely listened to what else they said in the mixture of scuttlebutt and smalltalk. At Dolores’s urging, Data agreed to do another violin concert, to lift the crew’s spirits.
Dr. Crusher was true to her word and returned to throw them out. La Forge accepted more sympathy and another kiss, then was left alone ... in the dark. Even though he was a blind man, darkness was something he seldom experienced, thanks to the devices he usually wore. The engineer didn’t care for it one bit, although it certainly made him notice his other senses. He could smell the antiseptics and hear the slight whirs and gurgles in the equipment. Distant, muffled voices were audible but maddening—in that he couldn’t make out distinctive words. Maybe with a little mare effort, he thought.
Geordi’s hands rubbed nervously against the bedding, which felt course and clammy—much like his emotions. Just when he was getting over Leah, she had to return in that startling and wonderful dream. Of course, that didn’t mean that he would ever see her again in real life, or that she cared if she ever saw him again. The dream was just his subconscious telling him he hadn’t gotten over her at all.
I have to be practiced and really try to forget her, he told himself, and give Dolores a chance. Why couldn’t I have met Dolores sometime when Leah was nowhere around?
Leah was unfair competition, at least for his heart. Geordi tried to forget about all of it and go to sleep, while his body and the medications fought the fungus. It was ironic to become ill from an eye infection, when his eyes were normally no more useful than his appendix or his tonsils. Still, they were a part of his body, and he had to accept that they were still his weakest part.
So La Forge lay there in the darkness, his sightless eyes swathed in bandages, urging sleep to make the darkness less frightening.
Captain Picard sat at the desk in his ready room, trying not to let anger creep into his neutral expression. He knew he had to undergo this tirade if he wanted to come to any kind of agreement at all.
The narrow, scowling visage of Commander Jagron of the Romulan warbird filled his computer screen. “Captain, I simply cannot believe that you are unable to control this fungal disease infesting your vessel. Perhaps you need some of our doctors to attend to your patients, as your medical staff seems woefully incompetent.”
At that, Picard bristled. “Our medical staff is perfectly competent, and we only have one patient. It was a bionic component of his that became infected. I hope for your sake that your ship continues to avoid infection ... and the moss creatures.”
“Certainly it behooves us to keep our contact with you at a minimum,” the Romulan said snidely, “but we can’t ignore the fact that we are wasting valuable time. The one good thing that came from your ship being infiltrated by the enemy is that we have the name of a planet. It may not be their homeworld, but it’s a start. So now we are off to Lomar, correct?”
Picard took a deep breath and replied calmly, “All of our indicators say that the source of the Genesis Wave is here, in the Boneyard.”
The Romulan rolled his eyes. “We’ve had twelve hours to run sensor scans and have turned up nothing.”
“We could run sensor scans for twelve years—”
“I know,” said Jagron with a conciliatory gesture. “This asteroid field is immense, and I agree with you that one of us should stay here and continue observation. So I propose that we split our forces, and I will take my ship to Lomar. You are the logical choice to stay behind, while you fight your ailments. If this is agreeable to you, we leave immediately.”
Picard almost replied that he never asked for the Romulans to come along, anyway. Instead he smiled and said, “Good hunting.”
Thank you, Captain. Jagron out.” The lanky Romulan nodded, and the screen went blank.
Captain Picard sighed and sat back in his chair. Although their enemy was despicable, he wasn’t sure if they deserved to have the Romulans turned loose against them, without any supervision. There was no doubt that the Romulans could be unusually cruel in their own right. Nevertheless, the Enterprise couldn’t be in two places at once, and both the Boneyard and Lomar required investigation. He took some consolation in knowing that more Starfleet ships were on the way.
He leaned forward and tapped the companel. “Picard to bridge.”
“Riker here,” came the familiar reply. “I see the Romulans are leaving.”
“Yes, they’re on their way to Lomar. We’re going to stay here and investigate. You know what we’re looking for. Have Data put together a plan that will make the most of our resources.”
>
“Yes, sir,” answered Riker. “Counselor Troi is waiting to see you.”
“Send her in.”
The door opened a moment later, and the dark-haired Betazoid entered the captain’s ready room. “You wanted to see me, sir.”
“Yes, Counselor,” he answered, rising to his feet. Picard searched for words for a moment, then explained, “Essentially, we’ve captured one of the enemy, and we need to interrogate it. Did you know that Beverly is growing one of the moss creatures in her lab?”
Deanna’s already pale expression lightened two more shades. “Yes, I knew before anyone told me. I went down to visit Geordi, but I couldn’t get two meters inside sickbay before I started to feel nauseated and dizzy.”
The captain frowned. “Then you couldn’t help us communicate with it?”
“No,” said Troi emphatically. “I get violently ill around that creature. It’s really incompatible with our kind of telepathy.”
Picard nodded understandingly. “Then we’ll just have to find some other way.”
Deanna’s dark eyes flashed. “We could always do what I did with the other one—strap an overloaded phaser to it.”
“I’m sure you could find many people who would support such a solution,” said the captain dryly. “However, I must say I’m a bit surprised to hear the suggestion from you. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you in such a vengeful mood.”
Her jaw clenched for a moment, but then she seemed to will the tension away with a sigh. “Telepathy should be used as a tool, not a weapon to deceive and kill. I can’t even begin to describe what I saw on Persephone V, what it tried to do to Will—”
“All right, Counselor, I get your drift.”
“I have a bad feeling this war is not over,” Deanna Troi said grimly.
nineteen
Lomar looked like a planet captured in ancient black-and-white photography, thought Leah Brahms. Every bit of color and life had been drained from its jagged features. Gray and foreboding, it looked like an oversized moon with a wispy white halo of sickly atmosphere. Its own moon, although distant, appeared to be half as large as the aged planet itself. Lomar had towering peaks and dingy gray poles. The forbidding terrain would have given the planet majesty had it not been for the great black bogs that pocked the ashen landscape.
STAR TREK: TNG - The Genesis Wave, Book Two Page 20