Genesis Force
Page 27
“Our shuttlecraft is without power,” replied Data. “As are the Klingon shuttles. What were those energy particles you released?”
Karuw sighed and answered, “A process that is unique to our science, I believe, called chromasynthesis. We hadn’t tested it on such a widespread application, and it must have reacted badly to some of the protomatter left over from Genesis.”
“That is putting it mildly,” said Data. “The kedion particles transmitted the energy into space, where all of our ships were badly affected. We must assume that your satellites were also adversely affected.”
Marla Karuw’s face was an inscrutable mask of determination. “I’m not proud of anything I’ve done recently, but I put those people into those satellites, and I’ll get them out . . . with your help. How badly damaged is the Enterprise?”
“She’s coming back online slowly,” answered Riker.
“Can she launch a shuttlecraft?” asked Karuw.
The first officer looked doubtful. “There are plenty of shuttlecraft on board, but hardly any crew. Our captain, our doctor, and the Romulan—that’s all there are.”
“Regimol can fly a shuttlecraft,” said Karuw. “He was piloting a runabout when I met him. I want to analyze a few of the satellites in orbit, and try to get the return sequence started. It has to come from a transporter booth or the main controller . . . and that was on the Darzor.” She cast her eyes downward and kicked at the calcified soil.
“May I?” asked Data, holding out his hand to take the isolinear chip, which Karuw surrendered reluctantly. “I would like to understand your transporter algorithms and matrices. I can analyze this aboard the shuttlecraft.”
“I’ll contact Captain Picard,” said Worf. He turned to Riker and added, “This is a diplomatic mission, and I’m the lead diplomat. And we’re clearly on the ground with the locals.”
“We’re at your service,” answered Riker with a quick smile as he patted Worf on the back. “Just don’t ever come back to work for me.”
“If there are any more missions like this—” muttered Worf, not finishing his sentence. He looked around at the tattered, dirty band of several hundred, who had been marooned on a schizophrenic planet with no food or shelter. He wondered aloud, “Who is now the head of the government?”
Marla Karuw looked as if she wanted to raise her hand but couldn’t.
“The seeress consort,” answered Alexander, stepping toward his father. “Now that Padrin and Jenoset are dead, he’s the only member of the royal family left. He also has the highest breeding of anyone, according to their DNA ranking. I know he escaped from the Darzor, because I followed him down here.”
“Take some men and find him,” ordered Worf. As his son gathered Klingons and a few able-bodied Aluwnans, the ambassador slapped the com medallion on his chest and bellowed, “Worf to Enterprise.”
* * *
When the stuffy air, pathetic whimpering, and aching joints grew a bit too much for Deanna Troi, she knew they had to get out of the cramped escape pod. They couldn’t hang forever in the netting, like sides of beef, and they couldn’t step on the muddy hatch below them for fear it would pop open and let in more tentacles and slimy critters. They had to stretch their legs and search for other evacuees from the Enterprise, because it wasn’t clear that help was on the way.
Troi turned to the three children and their teacher, the young human named Valerie, and she said, “We’re going out the top. We can’t stay in here anymore.”
“I agree,” said Valerie, and the tearful children nodded as well.
Deanna had learned all their names by now: Skyler, the precocious seven-year-old human; Taylen, the Deltan girl who was quiet but large for her age; and Cody, the curious eight-year-old boy. They were all old enough to know that living in space was uncommon, even in this day and age. Most of the crew members’ children shuttled back and forth between the Enterprise and a more mundane planetary existence, so they knew how special—and dangerous—it was to live on the Enterprise. To their credit, they didn’t speak much about the parents and care givers they were separated from, and both the teacher and the counselor did their best to talk about other subjects.
While they hung in the escape pod, Troi had told them many of the exciting stories that led to ending the Genesis Wave threat, although she left out the more gruesome details. It was hard to deal with the magnitude of death and destruction it had caused, and was still causing.
“Okay, I’m going out.” Deanna Troi opened a small locker and took out a personal hand phaser, making no pretense or mention of it to the children. They had seen such weapons before, and it was a survival tool stored with the other rations, fuel cells, flares, implements, and water pouches. A phaser could start a fire, warm rocks for heating, and do all sorts of things that Deanna hoped she wouldn’t have to show them. She stuck it in her utility belt, along with some flares and a flashlight, even though it looked like morning outside. It was hard to tell by looking out the viewport, because of all the muck smeared across the window.
No sooner did Troi unstrap herself from the harness than something struck the side of the pod and dropped her to the bottom. She landed on both rotting and living tentacles stuck in the half-open hatch, and the pod promptly fell to its side and slammed her against the bulkhead. She just missed landing on top of Skyler, who began screaming at the top of her lungs. Troi twisted around to see a grotesque stingray-like creature with huge flaps of slimy, scaled skin, trying to squirm its way into the pod. The counselor drew her phaser, took careful aim, and zapped the encroaching animal with a blue beam that rendered it unconscious.
She didn’t know what had tipped them onto their side, but now that the bottom hatch was open, they might as well escape that way. Deanna figured they would have to brave slimy things in whatever direction they headed, but she knew there was clear land only a few meters away. At least the flapping ray had plugged up the entrance for the moment, although more mud was slopping in. The teacher, Valerie, was hanging upside down, so Deanna concentrated on freeing her from her harness first. As soon as Valerie dropped to the bulkhead, both of them began to free the children. Soon they all were crouching in the curve of what felt like a short pipe sinking into the mud.
“What else should we take?” asked Valerie.
“Keep your hands free in case you have to climb or move branches,” answered Troi. “But stuff some rations into your pockets. We can always come back to get more stuff, but we have to close the hatch behind us . . . so these crawlers don’t get in.”
Troi waited until the children had armed themselves with packets of food, and the teacher grabbed a medkit that could be carried over the shoulder. “Valerie,” ordered Troi, “you help me close the hatch. The rest of you wait until we find the open ground. That’s where we’re headed—open ground. Let’s go!”
She kicked open the hatch, pushing the stunned ray-creature out of the way. Then Troi turned around and crawled out, braving the sulfurous, foul-smelling, oily goop that seemed to crawl up her arms and legs. Some of the children screamed in terror as the slop ran into the pod, and Deanna wrinkled her nose and crawled through the miasma. As she hauled herself into the chilly air, Deanna peeled off the black leeches that tried to cling to her arms.
“Don’t look at them, just hurry!” she shouted to the others. Beyond the hatchway, Troi staggered to her feet and shielded her eyes from the blazing sun. It probably wasn’t that bright, but it looked that way to someone who’d just spent hours stuck in a can. She held open the hatch and helped the kids out; they were troupers, even though Valerie was nudging them from behind.
Once they all got out, both women did a head count and reached for the hatch. They kicked out the clumps of mud and maggots and did their best to squeeze out the slop until they finally managed to shut the hatch. Troi was about to search for the clearing when Skyler screamed. All three children dashed into the woods, distracting Deanna and making her catch her breath before she could turn around.
“This way!” yelled little Cody, and both Deanna and Valerie stumbled in a new direction, following the child’s voice. Being small and agile, the kids made their way through the fallen timber and burnt stumps better than the adults. A moment later, all five of them emerged into the clearing, as ordered.
That swiftly turned into a mixed blessing, because it wasn’t solid ground but a meter of fine dust that rippled like a slow-motion wave with their slightest movement. With too much movement, the fine talc rose upward and caught in their noses and mouths, especially the children, who were closer to the ground. They were soon choking and coughing and had to flail away in thick clouds which rose up to engulf them.
Calling to them between coughs, Deanna gathered up small hands and was joined by the teacher, who was carrying the Deltan girl. She waded through the ocean of talc and led them to the muddy bank where the green zone began. They hauled themselves onto roots and mutant pads of fungus, trying to ignore the worms and maggots. Crying, coughing, and spitting up, they were a sorry lot, lying on the gelatinous beach. Still no one complained until a strangled roar issued from the jungle; it was so anguished that it had to be the cry of a dying animal, or a beast bearing children.
“I want my mommy!” complained Skyler.
They huddled together on the dividing line between two worlds, while Deanna Troi kept watch on the ominous forest. The reeking smells, the chilblain cold, and the general sickly milieu of the planet made her realize that they wouldn’t be exploring on their own anytime soon.
“We’re going to stay here for a little while,” she said, shivering from a blast of arctic air. “And I’ll show you how to make a fire. How does that sound?”
A crashing sound from the forest didn’t soothe their nerves, and they all huddled together. Two of the children whimpered, and Valerie couldn’t stop coughing. “Shhh!” the Deltan girl told them, and their noise level faded to panicked breathing.
That was when the swarm of insects attacked, and they were about as big as Deanna’s hand—primeval dragonflies buzzing so loudly it was like an attack of flying alarm clocks. They were suddenly everywhere, biting ferociously, and everyone in the group just cowered and screamed. Deanna set her phaser to a dispersal pattern and shot straight into the air above them. Dozens of bat-sized bugs suddenly blazed with red sparks and blue flames, and they dropped upon the cowering survivors, to be set upon by dozens of their ravenous fellows. Valerie led the terrified children farther along the bank, while Deanna did her best to extricate herself from the feeding frenzy. Shooting another wide beam, she singed another score of the flying things before she managed to crawl away. Even so, her face and exposed arms had tiny bite marks from the rapacious creatures.
Panting heavily, staring over her shoulder, Troi rejoined her party as they clung to gnarled roots and dripping gray fungus. All of them were now more in shock than panic, because the adventure had turned into a waking nightmare.
“The pod puts out a signal,” she told the children. “They’ll find us.”
“Yeah, they’ll find us,” muttered little Cody, “but what else will find us?”
As unseen things rustled and slithered all around them, Deanna Troi had no answer; so she kept her phaser pistol ready and her eyes on the branches, which trembled as much as she did in the sulfurous mist.
* * *
In a sickly part of the jungle, surrounded by majestic but fallen trees, Farlo and Candra sat in a circle of about ten Aluwnans who had managed to start a fire out of brittle wood and branches. Now they had a good-sized conflagration going, even though the sparks threatened to catch some of the neighboring brush on fire. It was still warm and communal, and they scooted back when the flames got too hot, as others joined their circle. It was easier to stare into the mesmerizing fire, even at midday, than to gaze at the ghostly remains of their homeworld. Farlo looked around, wishing he could do something to lift their spirits, but his spirits were down too. They had been safe on the ship, and now he was beginning to second-guess his decision to bring Candra down here.
Nobody in the despondent group felt like talking, except for one older constable, who felt like ranting. “They did this to us!” he harangued the others. “The blasted Federation, because they wanted to take over our planet. And you know who invited them in? The stupid royal family, that’s who! First they turn us over to that dunderhead regent—what’s her name? And she puts us into satellites, so we won’t make trouble. But where’s our families? Where’s the rest of us?”
He started mimicking someone he had never seen. “‘I’m afraid we can’t get you out now . . . so sorry,’ says the regent and the friendly Federation. Truth is, they don’t want too many of us here, because they can’t control us then. I heard that the Klingons wanted to rescue us, and the Federation turned them away . . . told them to come back later. And that’s why they killed Overseer Tejharet and made that fop into the overseer. Just to have a puppet.”
“Old man, you’re daft!” blurted Farlo. “That’s not the way it happened. You think Padrin wanted to be overseer? Ha!”
The grizzled constable fixed him with a rheumy gaze and lifted his stun stick. Fortunately, thought Farlo, he was on the other side of the fire. “And why, young one, is the Federation here? And how do you know so much?”
“We were passengers on the Darzor with the high breeds,” said Candra, kicking Farlo in the shin to get him to shut up.
“They were stunned by the overseer’s death, and the Federation wasn’t even here yet. I’m sure whoever did that feels truly bad.” Candra blinked a couple times and stared into the fire.
“You didn’t answer about the regent!” the constable declared, as if making a point. “She’s the one who’s in league with the Federation. I heard that she unleashed that second Genesis Wave on us, too! Didn’t you hear that, boys?”
He turned to the miserable refugees, looking for verification, and a few of them nodded somberly. “We heard that,” one muttered.
“I heard that all the royal family is dead,” said a newcomer to the fire circle, and two more nodded to that.
Farlo sat upright, despair on his face. “What do you mean, dead?”
“We heard that the Darzor was destroyed when that second pulse went off,” said the newcomer. “Well, they might as well be dead for all they care about us. They sent away the Klingons, who were the only ones keeping us going.”
Candra squeezed his hand, and he knew she sympathized. If that was true, they had both lost friends on the Darzor, and friends were hard to come by out here among this bitter lot.
The old constable looked teary eyed as he rasped, “Seeress Jenoset dead? Now there was the brains and beauty of the outfit. The Federation probably killed her, too!”
Farlo could tell that Candra wanted to keep arguing, and so did he—but it was his turn to kick her in the leg. It was best to lay low, because there wasn’t any advantage to be had in being the seeress consort down here. That wouldn’t make the air smell any better or make the wormy grubs stay off his leg. This talk of more death and worse destruction—it sunk Farlo’s spirits even deeper, and he just wanted to curl up somewhere. He had honestly liked Padrin and was beginning to like Jenoset, despite her selfishness. She had wanted to make him into a man, but there had been no time for marital bliss in these desperate days.
“Now I know who you are!” shouted the old constable with the stun stick, and he pointed his weapon straight at Farlo. “You not just lived on the Darzor . . . you’re one of them! You’re the young seeress consort, the one she plucked off the streets before we cleared out!”
Now all
eyes were riveted upon him, and Farlo appraised his surroundings from the corner of his eye, trying to pick the best escape route. If he broke free from all the adults sitting around the fire, they probably wouldn’t be able to catch him. He felt Candra tense beside him.
“Yeah, right!” responded Farlo with a big laugh. “Sure, I’m the seeress consort! Who are you—Overseer Padrin?”
Others in the circle laughed uncertainly at his joke, but he saw their eyes glaze over as if the absurdity of the old man’s claim discredited everything he had said. Sure, they were sitting around with the seeress consort, who was probably stone-cold dead with the rest of them . . . and almost everybody else who had ever lived on this forsaken planet.
“Sit down, Barbo!” cried one of the men. “You’re seeing ghosts. Those children are refugees, like all of us. Survivors, although I wouldn’t call us living. Whatever they were before, that’s what they are now.”
The veteran constable sputtered some old curses but finally sat down and shut up. The brief debate, which had lapsed into absurdity, had made them all weary and sad. It was best not to talk. Someone threw more charred wood onto the fire, and it flared up, forcing everyone to scoot back a seat-length, which made room for others to sit down. They went back to staring mournfully into the flames, thinking of all those who had gone to be with the Divine. They almost seemed like the lucky ones.
* * *
The Starfleet shuttlecraft cruised within twenty meters of the impressive wingspan of the satellite, which looked much the worse for wear, with a broken solar panel and many scratches and scorch marks on its casing. In the cockpit, Regimol piloted the craft, while Leah Brahms glanced over the shoulders of Geordi, Data, Marla Karuw, and Komplum, who were huddled around a bank of sensor readouts. Data had interfaced Karuw’s isolinear chip with the shuttle’s sensors and transporter and was running the emulation program. Leah told her that this was one of the Federation’s more advanced shuttlecraft, Navigator-class, and if it couldn’t tell them the condition of these satellites, nothing in their fleet could.