“Turn around and go back the way you came,” ordered the stiff voice.
“Let me talk to him,” said Bekra, sitting forward in his chair with effort. “After all, I’m a diplomat.”
Maltz laughed. “It will not do any good. I ran sensors, and I do not see any life-forms on that whole ship.”
“You mean, it’s automated?” said Leah in amazement and distress.
“They’re claiming an awfully big chunk of space,” said Bekra indignantly.
“I heard they wanted a buffer zone during the war,” said Maltz. “The Federation was in no position to contest them, so they took it. Maybe they decided to hold onto it. Now might be a good time to try that course change we talked about.”
“Okay,” said Leah, working her board. “I want to skirt around their territory. I’ll try a bearing of two-seven-zero and see if they let us get away with that.” She piloted the shuttlecraft straight down, but the massive starship swiftly followed and barged in front of her, forcing her to stop.
“Insufficient,” said the voice. “Resume bearing one-eight-zero or equivalent.”
Bekra spoke up. “We’re diplomats! This is Consul Maltz, and I’m Consul Bekra. There’s been a terrible disaster, and your planet is right in the path of it. Escort us back to your leaders so we can talk. It’s urgent!”
“Leave now!” ordered the voice. “Or we will put a tractor beam on your vessel and escort you from our space.”
“I’m reversing course,” said Leah, her heart thumping rapidly in her chest.
“Are you crazy?” shouted Paldor. “That’s suicide!”
“No,” she answered evenly, “suicide would be letting that big drone get a tractor beam on us. We’ll stay on impulse.”
“Then what will we do?” asked Bekra.
“I’ll let you know when we get to that point.” Leah Brahms swallowed hard, wishing she had a hologram of Captain Picard to consult. She glanced at her copilot. “Are they following us?”
“No,” answered Maltz.
“That’s good.” Leah breathed a sigh of relief, and she peered into the endless distance. Only it didn’t appear so endless today, with a glowing, spiral cloud blocking out the center of the starscape.
“What’s that out there?” she asked. “A nebula?”
“No, not a nebula.” Maltz stared intently at his instruments, then back at her. “It is moving rapidly toward us—at warp speed.”
“Oh, no,” whispered Leah. She heard Paldor wail in alarm, then Bekra and Maltz began arguing about who was at fault for their being here. But the din in the shuttlecraft seemed to float over her head, and she felt as if she were back inside the radiation suit, removed from everything around her, concentrating only on the mission. Right now, the mission was to make a decision.
The right decision.
twelve
Without giving it a moment’s thought—because she didn’t have a moment—Leah reversed course again and slammed the shuttlecraft into warp two. Zooming into an elongated streak, the tiny craft hit warp just as a fiery green curtain wiped across their position, its fingers licking and lapping like solar flares. Ahead of them was a huge Pellean warship that was programmed to keep them from entering its space, which they did, anyway.
“Shields up,” said Maltz with a wide grin. He shook his fists at the enemy and roared, “qatlho! It is a good day to die!”
“Speak for yourself!” exclaimed Paldor, slumping into his seat.
“At least we spread the alarm,” muttered Brahms, hoping against crushing reality that it would do some good. Maybe the old Klingon was right, and it was a good day to die. Leah felt weary and miserable enough to die, but the old urge for self-preservation kept the adrenaline flowing, making her work to stay alive.
“Maltz,” she asked, “do you think they’ll fire another warning shot or go straight for us?”
“Perhaps they will be stupid enough to give us one more chance.” Suddenly the darkness in front of them erupted with a blaze of light, and the little ship was jolted hard. Once again, they spun out of warp.
“Unknown spacecraft, you have entered Pellean space,” said the cold voice. “Pelleus V is not a member of the Federation, and entry to the Pellean Principality—”
Leah slammed the ship back into warp—this time warp three. Worrying about the safeties didn’t seem to be a high priority under the circumstances. She was hoping they would underestimate her speed just enough to miss.
“Come to a complete stop now, or we will fire,” warned the Pellean ship.
She increased their speed five percent just as another volley lit up the darkness and jarred them—but it didn’t bring them out of warp.
“Ah, bad shots,” said Maltz, rubbing his hands together with delight. “If I had just one aft torpedo, I would get them off our tail for good!”
“We’ve got warp-equipped sensor probes,” said Leah.
Maltz scowled. “Sensor probes? What good is that?”
“They don’t know they’re sensor probes.” She looked pointedly at the Klingon.
“Yes, Sir.” The Klingon punched his board with enthusiasm. “I launched them all!”
“All two of them.” She gave him a wry smile.
After studying his readouts for a few moments, the Klingon grinned and banged his fist on his console. “Well done, Captain! They are coming out of warp . . . taking evasive maneuvers. Humans are so devious.” It almost sounded as if that were a compliment.
“Have we escaped them?” asked Paldor eagerly.
“I doubt if it will be that easy.” As the Klingon continued to study his board, his expression drooped like his old moustache. “No . . . now they are powering up phasers.”
“They can’t miss with those, can they?” asked Leah with a gulp.
“Not at this range. Brace for impact!”
In the next instant, the tiny shuttlcraft was shaken like a rabbit in a wolf’s mouth, and they were all dumped out of their seats, while lights in the cabin flickered and sparks spewed from the rear.
“There go the shields!” said Maltz over Paldor’s screams and Bekra’s groans. “The next shot, and we’re space dust. It has been a pleasure serving with you, Captain!”
Leah dragged herself back into her seat. “Do we still have warp?”
Maltz rose to his knees to look at his console. “Yes.”
The mechanized voice broke in. “You will cease hostilities, or we will destroy you. Prepare for our tractor beam to—” The voice suddenly became strangled and distorted, until it turned into a shrieking whine. Both Leah and Maltz stared at their screens, and they could see the ungodly curtain sweep over the golden starship, turning it into a lumpen mass.
“Full warp!” shouted Leah, working her console. The scorched shuttlecraft shot into space just as the fingers of the shimmering green curtain lapped at its stern.
“We are entering Pellean space,” reported Data from the ops station on the bridge of the Enterprise. “We should have been hailed by now.”
Geordi looked up from his console to watch Will Riker pace in front of the viewscreen, which showed what looked to be a peaceful stretch of space. The reality was far different, thought the engineer, because somewhere out there was a murderer, killing on a massive scale.
Captain Picard was getting some much-needed rest, and Riker was in charge. “What’s the protocol with the Pelleans?” he asked.
Data cocked his head. “According to our treaty with them, we are not allowed to enter their space unannounced. If we are not hailed, we are to wait until we are met by an escort.”
“There’s no time for that,” muttered Riker. “But we don’t want to rush into an ambush either. Conn, slow to impulse but maintain course. Data, what’s on long-range scans?” Geordi could see impatience etched on Riker’s face, plus blotches of heated blood vessels under his skin, even if his tone of voice was relaxed.
After a moment, the android reported, “It would appear that Pelleus V has undergone the s
ame sort of disaster and transformation that we have seen before. The particle field is also in evidence, as well as other indicators.”
Riker pounded a fist into his palm, and La Forge knew how he felt. Once again, they were too late. An entire civilization—a billion souls—had vanished from existence along with every other form of life on the planet. They were one step behind this monster, and the only ones who were ahead of it had gone silent again.
“How is Paul Revere?” asked Geordi.
“Paul Revere?” queried Riker. “What’s he got to do with it?”
Data spoke up, “That is Geordi’s nickname for the mysterious shuttlecraft which has been trying to warn planets in this sector. We have been unable to identify it, other than that it is of Federation design and probably from the planet Seran. They are the ones who furnished us with the data you saw.”
“And the captain’s orders are to find them,” added Riker, “not wait here for an escort who will likely never show up. So what is Paul Revere’s position?”
“We are still picking up a faint distress signal from the other side of the Pellean solar system,” answered Data. “But since they are no longer broadcasting on all frequencies, I cannot be one hundred percent certain that it is the same shuttlecraft.”
“It’s worth a try,” said Riker. “Keep after them.”
“Setting a course at warp speed is going to be tricky,” broke in Geordi. “We’ve got to avoid the energy wave, which seems to be expanding.”
“Data, you take over the conn,” ordered Riker. He nodded gratefully at the resident helmsman. “Sorry, Mr. Bollinger, but we need the best pilot we’ve got. You take ops.”
“Understood,” said the bald-headed Brekkian. Neither he nor Data had to move from their seats, because with a push of a button, the functions of their consoles were switched. Data was probably watching everyone’s readouts, anyway, thought Geordi.
After a few dizzying moments of working his board, Data reported, “Course laid in. I suggest a maximum speed of warp 4, which will give me time to make needed course corrections to avoid the anomaly. I estimate we can intercept them in one hour.”
“Sir,” broke in the young Benzite on tactical, “I’ve received a message from the Sovereign.” Now she had the attention of Riker, Data, La Forge, and everyone else on the bridge. With a slight tremor in her voice, she went on, “They want to know why we keep changing our position. It’s making it difficult for them to rendezvous with us.”
Riker stroked his clean-shaven chin for a moment, then said, “Tell them that Pelleus V appears to have been destroyed, and now we’re on a rescue mission.”
“Before you send that,” said Geordi, cutting in, “can I make a suggestion?”
“Go ahead,” answered Riker, “but make it good.”
The engineer spoke quickly. “We’ve got a Stellar-class shuttlecraft that can catch them as well as the Enterprise can, under these circumstances. Why don’t Data and I go chase them, and you stay here and wait for the admiral?”
Riker snapped his fingers and pointed to the turbolift. “Get going. I’ll contact the captain and try to have his permission by the time you get to the shuttlebay.”
La Forge and Data bounded out of their seats and rushed for the turbolift as relief personnel took their stations. It was a long shot, thought Geordi, and maybe a waste of time; but he couldn’t sit around and do nothing while the people who had risked their lives to save others were in danger.
He and Data were soon speeding through the Saucer Module en route to the main shuttlebay. Data was unusually quiet, and La Forge noticed an electromagnetic haze around his friend, indicating a high degree of processing.
“What’s the matter?” he asked.
“The nature of this threat has me puzzled,” answered the android. “It defies most of what we know about natural science.”
“Then it’s unnatural science,” said Geordi as the turbolift door opened.
“Artificial,” concluded Data, cocking his head. “Manufactured. This theory supports the facts, yet it raises even more questions.”
“I know somebody who has the answers,” said Geordi, striding ahead of him through the cavernous main shuttlebay. “Paul Revere.”
“You seemed convinced of that, yet they may prove to be nothing more than frightened refugees.”
“I don’t think so.” La Forge strode past the front row of shuttlecraft nearest the launch doors, ready for immediate launch. He stopped at the biggest, sleekest, and newest craft, named the Balboa. “This one?”
“It’s checked out, ready to go,” said a voice behind them. They turned to see Chief Halstert, a curmudgeonly, gray-haired human who ran the shuttlebay like his own fiefdom. He practically lived in the place. But since he had been on duty for four years, no one had stolen a shuttlecraft—a new record.
“Commander Riker called down and said you were cleared to launch,” reported the chief. “The Stellar-class is a real sweetheart, but watch your range if you spend a lot of time in warp. Good luck—I don’t think I’d want to get to close to that thing.”
“We intend to keep a safe distance,” answered Data, stepping through the hatch into the cabin of the shuttlecraft.
“Thanks, Chief.” With a wave, Geordi followed his friend onto the craft. He saw Halstert turn and jog away from them, seeking the safety of his observation booth. He must’ve remembered how quickly Data prepared for launch.
Less than a minute later, the great launch doors opened, and the doorstop-shaped Balboa, sporting twin warp nacelles, streaked into space.
The wind chimes tinkled merrily as a southernly breeze blew across the porch, bringing with it the sweet scents of lilac and honeysuckle, plus the gay laughter of children. Carol Marcus couldn’t see the children, but she was certain they were out there . . . just beyond the high hedges and pink bougainvillea. She rocked contentedly on the old porch swing, watching the hummingbirds flit around the honeysuckle bushes, and she remembered sucking the nectar from those same sweet blossoms as a kid.
It was wonderful how little the old family home had changed over all these years. She vaguely remembered her parents selling it, but that couldn’t be—or else they couldn’t be here now. She must have been mistaken about that, but then so many things had been hazy lately. The present was incredibly vivid, but the past was like a book she had read years ago and only partially remembered.
Carol knew one thing—it was good to be on vacation after all the hard work of the last few months. When she looked at it, though, the work hadn’t been that hard, thanks to her brilliant helpers.
She heard the screen door open with a creak, then slam shut, followed by footsteps crossing the porch. Carol recognized the sure footsteps right away, and she looked up to see Jim Kirk, holding a frosty glass of iced lemonade. When he gave her that winning smile, he looked impossibly handsome—about twenty-six years old with sandy hair and mirthful brown eyes. He was dressed in a tightfitting gold lieutenant’s uniform, just as he had been the day she first met him.
Jim touched her shoulder, and the old electricity still coursed between them. “I brought you a lemonade,” he said.
“Thank you, Darling.” She canted her head upward and closed her eyes, letting him kiss her longingly, yet gently. Finally Jim pulled away, still smiling at her with those dazzling dimples.
“Drink up,” he suggested. “You must be thirsty.”
“I am,” she decided all of a sudden. Carol took a sip of the lemonade, and it was oddly flat, not having the usual biting tang she remembered. Then she took another sip, and it tasted much better—more lemony.
“How is that?” asked Jim with concern.
“Fine,” she answered brightly. “It would be just perfect if David were here. When is he coming?”
“I talked to our son this morning,” answered Kirk, “and the tests are going very well. He thinks he’ll be able to join us tomorrow.”
“Wonderful!” said Carol, clapping her hands together. “Y
ou can stay longer, too, can’t you?”
“Of course, Sweetheart,” he answered, kneeling in front of her and taking her free hand in his.
“Don’t you have to report back to the Farragut?”
“No, I’m on special assignment,” answered Jim. “Taking care of you is my only priority.”
“And Genesis,” she added.
“And Genesis,” he agreed. “I haven’t worked on it for as long as you and David, but I feel it’s my baby, too.”
“Well, it has changed so much, hasn’t it?” she answered proudly. “The new delivery system . . . the carrier wave . . . the experimental life-forms. It means so much to me that Genesis is on the front burner again.”
“But still a secret,” Jim reminded her. “Not that you would ever tell anybody.” He gently rocked her in the swinging porch chair, his voice taking on a soothing tone. “Nobody will know, not after you managed to keep it a secret for so many years. You are amazing.”
“I was bursting to tell someone,” said Carol with a yawn.
Jim gently took the glass of lemonade from her hand. “Honey, I can see in your eyes that you look a little tired. Don’t feel that you have to stay awake on my account. You could take a nap right here on the porch. There’s no one around—no one to worry about. Go ahead . . . sleep.”
“Yes, I could,” rasped Carol, immense drowsiness overcoming her. “Why not?”
He touched her forehead, and his hand felt as cool and dry as the breeze. Carol took his hand and held it to her face as she drifted off to sleep, the happiest woman in the universe.
Maltz grumbled and cursed in Klingon for several seconds, then crawled out from under the instrument panel and looked forlornly at Leah Brahms. “It’s not going to work . . . we’re still leaking plasma, and I can’t fix the comm system.”
Paldor and Bekra crowded around the cockpit of the shuttlecraft, shooting questions at the Klingon, but he ignored them while waiting for Leah to respond. In desperation, she finally turned to the Capellan and the Tellarite and shouted, “Be quiet! I can’t hear myself think!”
The Genesis Wave: Book One Page 13