“We’ll get them back,” vowed Picard, “but we can’t let that thing reach the main hull. Data, jettison the forward torpedo module.”
“Yes, Sir.”
On the viewscreen, the crew trapped in the torpedo room suddenly became weightless, and their panicked thrashing increased as they floated helplessly. With a jarring shudder, clamps released and powerful thrusters shot the entire module away from the Saucer Module of the Enterprise. One of the most dangerous parts of the ship, loaded with armaments, the torpedo module was designed to be ejected if its contents proved unstable. But it was never meant to be jettisoned with people in it.
“Patch me into them again,” ordered Captain Picard, straightening his tunic. The image on the viewscreen was now obliterated by static, although the desperate struggles of the crew were plain to see . . . or imagine.
“Captain,” said Data, “life support is failing in the module.”
“Prepare to transport them,” ordered Picard. “Data, can we surround the transporter room with a containment field?”
“That is inadvisable,” answered the android. “If our battle shields had no effect on the intruder, we can assume our force-fields would not either.”
Helplessly, the bridge crew gazed at the viewscreen, where the new image was more disturbing than the one inside the torpedo room. The trapezoid-shaped module was now misshapen and throbbing, which had to be an optical illusion, thought Picard. It hardly seemed possible that thick bulkheads could twist and mutate like that, no matter what power they were under. “Am I patched in?”
“Yes, Sir.”
He stuck his jaw out. “This is Captain Picard to the members of the repair crew in the torpedo module. We’re working on a way to rescue you from—”
“Captain,” said Data, “the comlink has gone dead. No lifesigns either.”
“Keep recording this,” ordered Picard with a scowl, pointing to the abomination on the viewscreen. “But take us back another million kilometers, half impulse.”
“Yes, Sir,” answered the Bolian at the conn.
Feeling weary and saddened, the captain slumped into the captain’s chair. Deanna Troi joined him in the center of the bridge, her face drawn with shock, and she lowered her head. “You tried, Captain. It all happened so fast—”
“You always think a miracle will happen . . . but sometimes it doesn’t.” The captain’s gaze finally focused on the face of his long-time comrade. “I had to protect the ship.”
“Yes, you did,” agreed Troi. “You undoubtedly saved the ship.”
Picard pointed to the ops station. “Data, make sure you send copies of this data to Admiral Nechayev. How much longer before the Sovereign is here?”
“Sixteen hours at our present position,” answered the android, “although we could meet her sooner by backtracking.”
“As long as we’re collecting useful information, maintain position,” said the captain. “I have to make a shipwide announcement.”
He pressed a companel on the arm of his chair, and his voice reverberated throughout the ship. “Captain to all hands. I regret to announce that all members of the repair crew who answered the emergency in the forward torpedo room have been lost. There was a breach in the hull and a threat to the ship, for which we had no defense. So I made the decision to jettison the torpedo module.
“We will now all observe a moment of silence for our fallen comrades, who risked their lives many times on our behalf. Today they died valiantly on our behalf.” Picard stood still for a moment, his hand resting on his chest, wishing there was more he could tell them about the peril which claimed their shipmates’ lives.
“There will be an announcement about a memorial service later,” he concluded. “That is all.”
Picard slumped back in his chair and stared at the molten green object on the screen, an object which had once been part of his ship. Had they been able to observe this phenomenon without losing any lives, it would have been fascinating. But now it was just disgusting and frightening. “It almost looks alive,” he said to no one in particular.
“It is alive,” agreed Data. “The mass which was formerly the torpedo module has generated into simple lifeforms, which continue to evolve.”
“What do you mean, evolve?” asked Deanna Troi.
“Single-celled animals are in a rapid state of growth,” answered the android, “forming more complex creatures as they develop. It is like a hundred million years of evolution condensed into a few minutes. Without firsthand observation, I cannot be more specific than that.”
“We’re not getting any closer,” vowed Picard. “I feel rather helpless just sitting here, but without more information, we can’t do anything.” He tapped his fingers nervously on the arm of his chair. “What is that thing?”
After floating in space for a while, cut off from her sullen crew inside the shuttlecraft, Leah Brahms began to relax and enjoy the excursion outside the ship. She was fairly dexterous, often wielding a soldering iron or a laser torch in her normal routine, and installing the makeshift comm array was just construction on a bigger scale. The work would have gone faster if she’d had real Starfleet-approved replacement parts, but she didn’t. So she had to do some drilling, bending, and creative kludging, with advice from Maltz and Paldor. She soon discovered that she knew as much about the comm system as either one of them.
Fortunately, her radiation suit had been designed with the expressed purpose of doing manual repairs, and the gloves worked well. Also she was able to kneel on the outside of the boxy shuttlecraft, using the magnetic fields on the suit. Handling the bonding gun was no problem, and Leah found the repetitive manual labor to be soothing. At least it felt as if she were doing something, rather than running for her life. Or mourning.
“How much longer, Captain?” came Maltz’s gravelly voice over the intercom. He didn’t sound frightened, exactly, but there was an urgency in his voice.
“It might work now,” she said. “But if we want clean subspace on all channels, we’ll have to get the signal preprocessor and the Doppler compensator working. But . . . what’s the matter?”
“Do you remember that big asteroid belt we passed a while ago?”
“Yes,” she answered, a sudden fear gripping in her stomach.
“It’s gone!” cut in Paldor’s voice. “And there’s something that looks like a new planet in its place.”
“I think I’ve done enough for now,” said Leah, stuffing her floating tools and extra parts into a large net bag. “Reel me in. And make it quick!”
eleven
Geordi La Forge dragged himself out of his bed at the first alarm, still groggy from a deep sleep. As quickly as possible, he dressed in his uniform and was about to dash out of his quarters when he was stopped by Captain Picard’s shipwide announcement. He didn’t know offhand who was on that repair team, but he was sure there were people who had served with him in engineering, maybe some who currently served there. Despite the tragedy, it sounded like the Enterprise had dodged a bullet.
La Forge finished buttoning his collar and stepped toward the door, waving his hand at a panel to open it. He was so busy charging ahead that he nearly plowed into Dolores Linton, who was in the passageway just outside his door.
“Oh, my gosh, Geordi!” she exclaimed, grabbing him in a forceful hug. “I’m so afraid.”
“It’s okay,” he said, returning the embrace and drawing some strength from her warm body. Her voluminous dark hair smelled fragrant and clean as it billowed just centimeters from his nostrils. He finally whispered hoarsely, “It sounds like the danger is over.”
“But all those people!” She pulled slowly away from him and gazed at him with her sultry eyes. “How many?”
“In a crew like that, probably ten.” He shook his head and felt guilty for having slept so soundly while the ship was in turmoil. He would hear the whole story later, but probably not from Dolores. “What were you doing out here?”
“I was pacing around,” she
admitted, straightening her khaki jumpsuit and looking ready to climb mountains that didn’t exist on the Enterprise. “I don’t really have any place to go—no station. I learned from the computer that you were off duty, and I was coming down here to bug you when the alert happened. I’m sorry if I behaved unprofessionally. I’ve been known to act very cool when there’s a rockslide or a mudslide. I just feel a little helpless inside this ship.”
Geordi gave her an encouraging smile. “We’ll look out for you. But it’s too bad you couldn’t have picked a quieter time to travel with us.” He stepped away from her, anxious to get to engineering.
“Are you still off duty?” she asked, following him down the corridor.
“Well, technically, yes. But we’ve just had a hull breach and casualties—and we’ve lost a chunk of the ship. I think I’d better check on things in engineering.”
She smiled wistfully. “I was just going to ask if you wanted to have breakfast. It is breakfast time for you, isn’t it?”
“Yes it is,” he admitted, still moving to the turbolift. “Let’s have a late breakfast in two hours. I’ll give you that tour of the ship I promised. Meet you back here?”
“All right,” answered the muscular brunette, mustering some bravado.
Maybe she is interested, thought Geordi as he dashed into the turbolift, but her timing is nearly as bad as mine. It must be tough to be a passenger during a crisis like this, with nothing to do but sit and hope for the best.
“Main engineering,” he said to the computer. The turbolift had barely begun moving when his combadge beeped. “Bridge to La Forge,” came the familiar clipped tones of Captain Picard.
“La Forge here,” he answered. “Is everything all right?”
“As well as can be expected. I’m sorry to disturb you on break, but I doubt you were sleeping any longer.”
“No, Sir, I’m on my way to engineering.” The turbolift door opened, and Geordi stepped into his familiar workplace. It was bustling, the Red Alert having drawn plenty of hands to their posts. At the same time, the mood was subdued and somber after the tragedy.
“You might want to come to the bridge,” said the captain. “We think we may have found your mystery shuttlecraft. They’re broadcasting information about the nature of this disaster.”
“I’m on my way. La Forge out.” He glanced at the duty commander, Krygore, and waved. “I have to go to the bridge. Is everything under control?”
“We didn’t take any damage,” answered the dignified Kerelian. “But I guess there’s nothing left of the forward torpedo module. The casualty list is just coming in. What’s out there, Sir?”
“We don’t know . . . yet. I’ll look at the list on the bridge.” With a troubled sigh, Geordi stepped back into the turbolift. “Stay alert down here.”
“Yes, Sir.”
A few moments later, he stepped off the turbolift onto the bridge, where it was also somber. The viewscreen was full of startling images: an entire planet wilting under vivid green flames; a shimmering curtain sweeping across space; a moon ripped apart by what looked like solar flares. The images were followed by columns of raw data, moving so swiftly that only Data could keep up with them.
“Where is that coming from?” asked Geordi.
“It’s from Seran,” answered Picard gravely. “We also saw images from Hakon which confirmed our fears about what happened there. Who knows how many planets and stars have been destroyed in between?”
“Can we talk to these people?” asked La Forge, stepping closer to the screen.
“We can’t contact them at the moment,” said the captain. “They’re using all their bandwidth to broadcast raw data on every channel. It’s gone through one cycle already. We’re on course to intercept them.”
“In approximately two hours,” added Data. “Based on this new information, we are taking an elliptical course to stay out of the way of the phenomenon.”
“Do we know who they are?” asked Geordi.
Data shook his head. “No. From the warp signature, it appears to be a type-8 shuttlecraft, but I am assuming their communications equipment is damaged. They appear to be on course for the inhabited planet, Pelleus V, which could indicate that Pelleus V is in danger.”
“What else do thay say?” asked Geordi, leaning over his friend’s shoulder.
“The most interesting thing is what they do not say,” answered the android. “They claim to have more information—of a sensitive nature. And they do not identify themselves.”
“Do you need help analyzing this stuff?” asked Geordi, sitting at an auxiliary console near his friend.
“Your perspective would be welcome,” answered the android.
“What is their speed?” asked Captain Picard.
“Approximately warp three.”
La Forge gave a low whistle. “Wow, that’s fast for a type-8 shuttlecraft. They must have their foot to the floor.”
Data cocked his head. “I fail to see how having their feet on the floor would make them go faster.”
“It’s an old analogy,” answered Geordi. “It means they’re not taking any precautions. They probably overrode the safeties.”
“That is inadvisable,” said Data with concern.
“Not when that thing is chasing you,” concluded Captain Picard, gazing at the awesome destruction on the viewscreen. “Let’s hope we reach them before it does.”
“We need to get out of its path!” shouted Paldor, leaning uncomfortably over Leah Brahms’ shoulder.
Leah tried to remain calm while she got a course correction from the computer, but panic had begun to sink in among her ragtag crew.
“We have to come out of warp to change course,” she patiently explained. “It’s right behind us—we don’t know how far.”
The Tellarite pressed forward, his ample stomach pushing the back of her head. “It can’t take more than a few seconds. Maybe you can swing around a celestial body—”
“Will you back off!” she yelled at him, planting an elbow in his midsection.
The obstinate Tellarite pushed forward even more, which was a mistake. Maltz jumped to his feet, planted a fist in Paldor’s chest and knocked him backwards; he sprawled in the aisle, bumping into Bekra’s amputated leg. The Capellan groaned with pain, and Paldor shrieked as he thrashed about on the deck.
“The captain said to back off,” explained the Klingon simply. “I will put you out the airlock next time.” He sat down at the copilot’s seat and continued to monitor the sensors.
Paldor jumped to his feet and sputtered in anger, shaking his fist. Leah tried to ignore him to concentrate on the job at hand. As long as they kept moving in their current course, she didn’t think the wave could catch them, unless they stopped. If they changed course, they might flank the wave and get out of its path. Then they would be safe, but that was risky. They had estimates but no real idea how much the wave had expanded in girth, and if it caught them . . . there weren’t any second guesses.
They continued to broadcast raw data on all channels, which had been Maltz’s idea. He also suggested that they keep the information anonymous, so that everyone could take it at face value. As their projections increasingly showed, this was not just a Federation problem, and they didn’t want it to sound that way.
From the corner of her eye, Leah saw Bekra motion to the Tellarite, and they were soon conversing in urgent whispers. Neither one of them liked the Klingon very much, but his lively presence was like a tonic to Leah, reminding her that there was nothing pretty about commanding a ship in the middle of a crisis. This desperation must have been what it was like for Geordi when he created a duplicate of her on the holodeck to consult with. A person could get crazy trying to operate under such stress, searching for a solution while death hovered all around. Leah suddenly had a great deal more compassion for Geordi and spacefaring engineers.
“Maintain course for Pelleus V?” asked Maltz, breaking into her troubled thoughts.
“Yes,” she a
nswered decisively. “And keep the message going out. Do you think it’s getting through?”
The Klingon scowled, “If it isn’t, it’s not for lack of trying.”
Suddenly the blackness of space lit up as if a thousand flares had gone off, and something streaked past their window, rocking the tiny ship. Leah had her hands full trying to control their rapid drop in speed, but she finally stabilized the small craft.
“That brought us out of warp,” reported Maltz.
“What was it?” wailed Paldor behind them.
“A comet?” asked Bekra.
“No,” answered the old Klingon. “Offhand, I would say it was a warning shot across our bow.”
“From where?” asked Leah.
“Right there.” Maltz pointed upward as a massive golden warship cruised overhead, blocking out the starscape. “I think we had better stop broadcasting and put on local two-way.”
“Go ahead,” rasped Leah with a squeak in her voice.
“We haven’t got time for this!” shouted Paldor. “Unless they’ll take us on board. Tell them to take us aboard!”
“Shut up,” said Maltz as he fooled with his instruments. “Here we go. Let’s see what they have to say.”
After a screech of static, a deep voice which sounded stiff and mechanical came on the comlink. “Unknown spacecraft, you have entered Pellean space. Pelleus V is not a member of the Federation, and entry to the Pellean Principality is restricted. Please turn around and go back the way you came.”
“We can’t do that,” said Paldor with alarm, echoing all of their thoughts.
“Come to a complete stop now,” ordered the voice. Leah quickly obeyed him and brought the shuttlecraft to a full stop. But her eyes were on the sensor readings, and so were Maltz’s. Although they couldn’t pick up the exact location of the wave, they were learning to recognize the kind of incredible damage it left behind.
With anger and fear in her voice, she pressed a panel and responded. “Listen, we are running from a terrible energy wave that has already destroyed half a dozen solar systems. Millions of people on Seran and Hakon are dead, and we’re going to be dead unless we both get out of here.”
The Genesis Wave: Book One Page 12