Leah herself had dug a small grave and buried the indecipherable remains found in the bottom of the Aluwnan transporter booth. The sample she had taken had revealed its secrets quickly to a medical tricorder—it was crawling with the dangerous fungus. Perhaps someday this planet would be habitable, even pleasant, but that day seemed a long way off, when one couldn’t even breathe unfiltered air without an inoculation she had not had time to get, and that worked poorly on her Klingon colleagues, if at all. The ones she felt sorriest for were the refugees sitting by the lonely campfires. They were alive, but their planet and civilization were dead. All of them must have lost family members and friends, and the fate of millions of Aluwnans was still uncertain. It was a blessing, thought Leah, that she couldn’t see their distraught faces, even if their defeated body language spoke volumes.
The good guys had won, and the enemy were dying by the thousands in their customized world—but this did not seem like victory.
“Is that you, Leah?” asked a deep voice.
She looked up to see a hulking Klingon in an environmental suit, wearily holding a bat’leth at his side. The double-bladed weapon was streaked and caked with greenery, reminding her of the lawnmower blades she had seen as a child. “Hello, Worf, how goes the war?”
“Tiring,” he grunted. “I don’t want to use too much herbicide, but the plants here grow like a targ’s mane.” He looked around and noted the gloomy Aluwnans. “I see some natives have returned.”
“They were beaming them down quickly, until one of them got mangled in the transporter,” said Brahms, wincing behind her face mask. “There was fungus all over the remains—it wasn’t pretty, you can ask Alexander. I would guess that the bioneural network in the satellite was infected by the fungus. I wonder how many others are?”
The big Klingon dragged over a camp chair and slumped down beside her in front of the fire, warming his hands. “The flames keep the moss beings away,” he explained. “And there is a lot of rubbish to burn.”
“I was wondering about all the campfires,” answered Brahms with a wan smile. “But it does make the camp a little more cheery.”
They sat in silence for a moment, and she added, “Listen, Worf, there’s something I meant to tell you before now. You may hear that it was the Romulans or the Enterprise who stopped the wave and those responsible, and they helped. But the one who really stopped them was an old Klingon warrior named Maltz. He had a personal blood oath against Genesis, and he pursued it all the way to the end. Maltz saved the Alpha Quadrant, and died doing it.”
Worf nodded slowly and intoned, “Maltz celebrates his victory with Kahless the Unforgettable in Sto-Vo-Kor.”
“Yes, he does,” agreed Leah, gulping down a lump in her throat. “Someday I want to write his story, and that of my husband.”
“I will help you,” promised Worf. “It will be a good change of pace . . . from this.”
After a few moments of listening to the crackling fire and the subdued conversation all around them, Leah Brahms asked, “Worf, did we arrive too late?”
He shrugged his beefy shoulders and didn’t give her an answer.
PART THREE
REVENGE
Nineteen
Captain Jean-Luc Picard stood stoically on the bridge of the Enterprise, a smile plastered to his face as he listened to a harangue from Vedek Orojop, whose stout physiognomy took up most of the viewscreen.
“This report you have sent us is woefully inadequate,” complained the clergyman from Bajor. “What exactly happened to Vedek Yorka on Solosos III? Why in the name of the Prophets were you and the Federation meddling in our affairs, anyway? On one of our most hallowed historical sites! As far as I can tell from this muddled mess, you killed a member of the Vedek Assembly while destroying a precious gift from the Prophets—the Orb of Life!”
Captain Picard took a deep breath and tried to maintain his temper as he replied, “Our actions were in response to a grave threat, and I myself was somewhat incapacitated during this incident. But I can assure you of one thing, Vedek, the so-called Orb of Life was not an Orb of the Prophets. It was called that—for better or worse—as a sort of publicity stunt.”
Vedek Orojop scowled. “A publicity stunt? I can assure you, Captain Picard, that the Vedek Assembly does not perform publicity stunts. If the orb wasn’t an orb, what was it?”
“A small, portable Genesis device,” answered Picard, shifting uneasily on his feet. “With all due respect, Vedek, I am uncomfortable discussing this matter on an open subspace channel, because many aspects of this incident are classified. When we arrive on Bajor and I can address the Vedek Assembly directly, I will answer all questions and supply all pertinent data. These events were an unfortunate offshoot of the terrible disaster that struck the Alpha Quadrant. Many inhabited worlds and billions of innocent people have been completely wiped out, which makes the death of a handful of profiteers unfortunate but minor, in comparison.”
“Minor?” roared the vedek. “This is twice now that the Federation has devastated Solosos III. Do you know what that planet means to us? The martyrs of the Maquis made their last stand there.”
Picard tried to resurrect his smile, realizing he had lost both it and his temper. “Yes, I know all about that. When we meet, I look forward to giving the Vedek Assembly a full explanation,” he lied. “But there is really nothing else I can say at present.”
The stout vedek scowled and sputtered for a moment; then he said, “Very well. But if I were you, Captain, I wouldn’t be surprised if the Chamber of Ministers didn’t put out a warrant for your arrest.”
“I will face that prospect when it occurs,” said the captain cheerfully. “Respectfully, Captain Jean-Luc Picard of the Enterprise out.”
When the image finally faded from the overhead viewscreen, Picard let his shoulders slump with relief. He turned to the rest of his bridge crew and found his first officer, Will Riker, suppressing a smile. Riker turned quickly to Deanna Troi, seated beside him in the second command seat; and La Forge, Data, and the rest of the crew went about their business as if they hadn’t heard the laborious conversation. It wouldn’t be so bad, thought Picard, if I hadn’t been under the spell of that Elaysian and could remember everything that had happened.
With resignation, he ordered, “Conn, set a course for Bajor.”
“One moment, sir,” said Data at the ops console. “I am receiving a hail from Admiral Nechayev on the Javlek, and she requests an audience before we get under way.”
“I’ll take it in my ready room,” answered Picard, moving toward his private office off the bridge.
Data looked up and cocked his head quizzically. “That is unnecessary, sir. She wishes to address the entire bridge crew.”
“Very well,” said the captain, returning to the spot where he had been standing during the vedek’s lecture. After having made a romantic fool of himself the last few days, he was willing to make amends. “On screen,” he ordered.
Admiral Nechayev’s visage appeared on the viewscreen, and Picard was relieved to see that she was back to her pinched-faced, stiff-backed self. “Hello, Captain Picard, Commander Riker, and the rest of you,” Nechayev began. “I was able to listen in to your conversation with Vedek Orojop, and I admit to feeling a pang of guilt. You’ve been through so much lately that I hate to subject you to the wrath of the Vedek Assembly. When it comes to being obtuse and argumentative, very few species can challenge our friends the Bajorans. I also happen to have another diplomatic mission, with scientific overtones, which I was going to attend to myself. I thought I would give you a choice of the two missions.”
Picard glanced at Riker, and the big first officer raised an eyebrow as if to say, “This is unusual.”
“One of the planets devastated by the Genesis Wave was Aluwna,” the admiral continued. “That’s a nonaligned world that has always been cordial to the Federation, but I don’t think they hold much love for us now. They’re in a desperate situation, because they’ve got e
ight million people stored in a network of transporter satellites. And they’re battling to reclaim a world overrun with moss creatures and everything else endemic to a Genesis planet.”
She went on to give a few more details, concluding with a promise to send them reports and dispatches. “Ambassador Worf is already there with a Klingon task force,” she added, “and Leah Brahms arrived there three days ago.”
Geordi La Forge looked up with interest from his engineering station, and he watched the viewscreen intently with his ocular implants.
“Let me understand,” said Picard. “We have the choice of dealing with the Bajorans and the Vedek Assembly, or joining Worf and Leah Brahms in helping this unfortunate planet?”
“That’s correct,” answered the admiral. “Do you need to take a poll?”
“I don’t think so,” answered Picard with a slight smile. He turned to his shipmates and said, “Does anyone object to going to Aluwna?”
He never saw so many heads shake “no” so quickly. “Admiral, we volunteer to go to Aluwna,” replied Captain Picard.
“Very well, maintain your position,” answered Nechayev. “I want to beam Raynr Sleven and Regimol back to your ship, because I feel they might be useful. In fact, Regimol was on Aluwna just before the wave struck. Both of them are now mission specialists assigned directly to me. We should rendezvous with you in less than half an hour. I’ll give your regrets to the Vedek Assembly, but they’ll be happier to get an admiral. Don’t worry, I’ll set them straight on the Yorka incident.”
Picard suddenly felt some pity for the Bajorans, because he knew that Nechayev could be brutal in setting people straight. “Thank you, Admiral.”
“Nechayev out,” she replied, and the screen went dark.
The captain crossed to the ops station. “Mr. Data, see what you can find out about Aluwna and this transporter network of theirs.”
“Yes, sir,” answered the android, his fingers skimming across his board with blazing speed.
Picard again strode toward his ready room. “Conn, set course for Aluwna and get under way at maximum warp just as soon as Regimol and Raynr Sleven are on board. I’d like to see both of them in my ready room when they arrive.”
“Yes, sir,” answered the Deltan at the helm.
Data reported, “We are receiving data transmissions from Admiral Nechayev.”
“I’ll read them in private,” said Picard. “Make sure everyone on the staff gets a copy.”
Picard entered his ready room, sat at his desk, and brought up the newly arrived reports on his terminal. Frowning with concern, the captain read about Aluwna’s Genesis experience, as told in their own voices and by Worf, Nechayev, Brahms, and others. It was a tragic story that had been related a dozen times over, from Seran to Hakon to Myrmidon, and on countless planets that had been uninhabited until becoming incubators for the moss beings and their version of paradise. But each new iteration of this story had its own sorrows and triumphs, heroes and villains.
This Marla Karuw is a fascinating character, decided Picard, having come out of obscurity in an Aluwnan jail to lead her people in a desperate evacuation. Despite her daring actions and difficult decisions, the success of the evacuation was still in doubt, and she was under investigation for the murder of the overseer, the person who had yanked her from obscurity. Had power corrupted her, or had the natural politics of a beleaguered world turned against her?
One thing was clear: At the moment, Aluwna was no more than a handful of ships, thousands of transporter satellites, and a world under siege by frightening new life-forms. Only the Klingons, Leah Brahms, and Marla Karuw stood between partial success and total disaster.
Riker notified him that they were en route to Aluwna, so Picard prepared himself for the arrival of Regimol and Raynr Sleven. Both of them had undergone extreme changes from where they had started in life, but they had ended up in the same position—hired guns for Admiral Nechayev. He wanted to make sure that they understood their role in his crew, because each possessed unusual attributes that could present a problem.
His door chimed, and he rose to his feet and said, “Come.”
The door slid open, and a distinguished-looking Romulan entered his ready room, followed by a hulking but humble Antosian, his raven hair tied in an elaborate topknot. Both of them wore nondescript jumpsuits without any insignia or ranks. Regimol gave the captain an insouciant smile, and Raynr Sleven lowered his head submissively.
“Captain,” said Regimol, “it seems that our departure from the Enterprise was premature.”
“Hello, Captain Picard,” said the Antosian sheepishly.
“Hello, gentlemen, welcome back,” began the captain, choosing his words carefully. “Regimol, I know that Admiral Nechayev has considerable faith in you, and that you are accustomed to operating independently. But I want you to know that as long as you are on this ship, you are under my command. We had a very disturbing incident with another Romulan who was wearing an interphase generator, and I want you to curtail walking through walls and becoming invisible while on this ship, unless I give you an order to do so. Is that understood?”
“Perfectly, Captain,” answered the Romulan, his smile fading. “That other Romulan stole my invention—it was never intended to be used for espionage against Starfleet. That’s the main reason I broke with the Romulan Star Empire.”
“I understand that,” said Picard, mustering a smile. “And I’m very glad you’re on our side. It’s just that past events cannot be ignored, and there may be some on this ship who harbor ill feelings about that device you wear on your chest.”
Regimol furrowed his brow, forcing his angular eyebrows downward. “You know, the Romulans have put a high price on my head, and they are always looking for a way to kill me. I reserve the right to use my invention to save my own skin.”
“I don’t think that will be a problem while you’re on the Enterprise,” answered Picard succinctly.
Now he turned his attention to the large, almost childlike Antosian, who looked away with embarrassment. “Mr. Sleven,” he began, “I was hoping that you would never have to see Alyssa Ogawa and her family again, because she definitely harbors ill feelings toward you.”
“And I don’t blame her,” insisted the Antosian. “You rescued me and saved my life, and I repaid Nurse Ogawa by impersonating her husband. I won’t do it again. I hate what that treatment did to me—sometimes I wish I had died on the Barcelona.”
Picard pursed his lips together, troubled by this outburst of emotion. “Mr. Sleven, there’s an old Terran saying: ‘What doesn’t kill us makes us stronger.’ In your case, the cellular metamorphosis has granted you the power to shapeshift, without destroying your mind, and that has made you a valuable operative to Admiral Nechayev and Starfleet. However, this gift carries great responsibility, which you are learning. As I just told Regimol, your powers are not to be used on this ship, unless I order you to do so.”
The Antosian nodded humbly. “I promise, Captain, I won’t. I also promise to stay far away from the Ogawas.”
“I’ll assist you in that,” answered Picard, “by assigning you to guest quarters ten decks away from them. I also want you to continue the counseling treatments you began with Counselor Troi, because I think you have some distance to go before you fully accept what’s happened to you.”
“I’ll look after him,” promised Regimol, patting his colleague on his broad back. “I feel like we’re kind of a team now.”
One of the most dangerous teams in the galaxy, thought Picard, but he didn’t say that. Instead he went to his computer terminal and selected adjoining staterooms for the two of them on deck nineteen. After he gave them their assignments, he said, “I don’t want to restrict you to quarters, but I would suggest you keep your interaction with the crew to a minimum. How much do you know about our mission to Aluwna? I understand you were there, Regimol.”
“Yes, and a quite delightful planet it was,” he answered with an emphasis on the pas
t tense. “They weren’t without their political intrigue, of course, and their class structure wasn’t fair by Federation standards. Still it reminded me a lot of Romulus, if you could turn the Romulans into a peaceful, insular people.”
“Their overseer was recently murdered,” added the captain. Regimol shrugged. “See, reminds me of Romulus.”
“They hate us, you know,” said Raynr Sleven.
Both the human and the Romulan looked quizzically at him. “How do you know that?” asked Picard.
“Technology we invented killed nine-tenths of their population,” answered Sleven. “How could they not hate us?”
For that question, the captain had no answer.
* * *
“It’s taken me three days to get in to see her,” complained Leah Brahms, crossing her arms and looking expectantly at Alexander Rozhenko. “Is she under house arrest or what?”
The young Klingon shrugged his shoulders and said, “Marla Karuw is under confinement in her laboratory, but she’s allowed to see people. The fact is, she doesn’t want to see anybody. She’s desperately trying to get the last of the transporter booths down to the planet, and she says she’ll entertain visitors after that. It’s been difficult for me, because I’ve got a murder investigation to conduct.”
Leah could clearly see that getting transporter booths to the surface of Aluwna was more important than anything else at the moment, because the transporter room of the Darzor was filled with the ubiquitous blue enclosures. Every minute or so, brawny Aluwnans loaded a new one onto the transporter platform, entered coordinates, and sent the box to some forsaken spot on the planet, where Klingons were hurriedly hacking, burning, or poisoning the rampaging plants into submission. It was almost a miracle that they had even stopped long enough to allow her and Alexander to board the royal yacht. They certainly didn’t go out of their way to make them feel welcome.
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