Star Trek: The Next Generation - 083 - The Genesis Wave 3 by John Vornholt & Gene Roddenberry

Author:John Vornholt & Gene Roddenberry [Vornholt, John & Roddenberry, Gene]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Action & Adventure, Fiction, General, Science Fiction, Space Opera, Adventure
ISBN: 9780743451642
Publisher: Simon and Schuster
Published: 2002-01-02T08:00:00+00:00

Through a dust devil of leaves and plastic bits, a black-hooded figure strode from the entrance of Dormitory 16, a bustling sleeping station for male miners. He turned a comer and joined a crouching confederate, who rose to his feet at his approach.

“Is he there?” asked Jerit.

The younger Romulan shook his head. “I don’t know where he could be. If he’s on the move, we might be passing each other. I say we use communications.”

“No!” snapped Jerit. “He knows his orders are to stay put. There’s one more place—the water fountain—and that’s on the way to the vessel. That would be his final fall-back position.”

Something caught the Romulan’s eye, and he pulled his confederate out of the way just as two humans and a Bajoran exited from the dormitory. They were holding tricorders, making no attempt to hide their scans of the area.

“Move out,” he whispered urgently, slapping his cohort on the back. The youth dashed into a dark alley, with Jerit on his heels, because he heard voices right behind them. Then he heard unmistakable footsteps, and he lowered his night-vision goggles to cut through the dust and gloominess of the alley.

As they ran, Jerit removed a stun grenade from his belt and hefted it in his hand, ready to flip up the safety with his thumb and push the button underneath. “Keep going! To the next spot.”

In fear, his comrade took off like a shot, while Jerit slowed to get a good look at his pursuers. They obliged by stopping to fire a wild phaser beam at him, which streaked by his head and scorched the [153] corrugated metal—he got a good estimate of their distance. Now he ran, pushing up the safety with his thumb, then hitting the trigger. Twisting his body athletically, Jerit bowled the grenade along the ground, not chancing a bounce. After that, he ran full out, yet he could feel himself being swept helplessly off his feet by the detonation of the concussion grenade. The pufflike sound followed a split-second later.

Sapped of energy, the Romulan’s body was as limp as a beanbag, and he bounced across the pavement and crashed into a trash can, spilling a family of snapping voles into the alley. Mustering all his willpower, he managed to shield his face, but the rodents kept fighting among themselves with mad squeaks. Some scampered away, and they seemed confused and disoriented. He took some comfort in being able to hear, because the footsteps behind them had definitely stopped.

Jerit felt hands shaking him, and the touch seemed to bring back other sensory nerves. With effort, he rolled over and saw his young subordinate nodding reassuringly at him. “Well done, Sir.”

The squad leader tried to speak, but only a grotesque mimicry of words came out of his mouth. His young apprentice reached into his boot for the handle of a dagger. “At ease, Sir. You’ll be fully recovered in a minute or two. Do you want me to go back there and slice their throats?”

Jerit nodded weakly.

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