“You plan on spending the rest of your life here, Jim?”
Kirk looked up, his eyes bloodshot. “If you’re here to reprimand me, Commodore—”
“What the hell would I want to do that for?”
“I failed,” Kirk said, sounding surprised that Decker would ask such a foolish question. “I was supposed to take Laubenthal into custody, and I didn’t do it.”
Decker held up a small handheld computer. “Know what this is?”
Kirk shook his head.
“Laubenthal’s diary. Vascogne found it when he and Bronstein went through her house. Most of it’s pretty dry—until she lost her job. After that, she completely lost it. Jim, the woman was several crystals short of a warp core—there was nothing you could have said. She was completely insane. Those people you talked to at the SCMC were just scared, normal people. Words work on rational people. Crazy people, though, that’s a no-win situation.”
“I’ve never believed in the no-win situation.”
Decker snorted. “Yeah, well, I don’t like to lose, either. Doesn’t mean it isn’t gonna happen.”
Kirk said nothing in response to that.
“Vascogne also recovered the Malkus Artifact. For all the trouble that thing caused, it’s pretty dull. Just a square piece of metal with a slight green glow, and this weird marking on it. It can’t be transported, so the Enterprise is sending a shuttle down.”
That got Kirk’s attention, and he looked up at Decker. “The Enterprise?”
Decker smiled. The last Kirk knew, his entire ship was under sedation. “That’s right, Jim. You’ve got your ship back. Whatever Rosenhaus and McCoy came up with worked. They’ve been administering the antidote on your ship, and the hospitals have been handling it down here. It’s not an instant cure, but your people should be ship-shape again in a few hours.”
Kirk let out a long breath. “That’s good news, Matt. Thanks.”
“Not only that, but you and I can finally get out of here. The minister of state is going to be Acting Chief Representative until they can hold another election in a month or two. Once she’s released by the hospital, she’ll take over, and we can revoke martial law.”
At last, Kirk smiled. “That’s even better news.” The smile then fell. “What was the final death toll?”
“Four hundred and fifty-six. Well, technically, four hundred and fifty-eight, if you count Laubenthal herself and that other wrongful death Bronstein has had to deal with that was unrelated.”
“That’s more than the crew of either of our ships,” Kirk said in a quiet voice.
“True,” Decker said as he sat down next to the younger man on the bench. “On the other hand, over four hundred thousand were infected. That’s a point-one-percent fatality rate.” He sighed. “That doesn’t change how much it stinks, but it could’ve been a lot worse.”
Kirk stared straight ahead. “It could’ve been a lot better, too.”
“Look, Jim, I know this wasn’t easy. You sit in that chair on that bridge, and you know that everyone’s relying on you—and when you don’t come through, it’s rough. But don’t go beating yourself up over it. You did some damn good work here. Look what you did at the SCMC—hell, Vascogne and I were all set to stun ’em and sort it out later. Instead, you talked ’em out of it. That’s a rare gift you’ve got there, my friend. All right, so it didn’t work on Laubenthal—but trust me, she was so far gone, I doubt that the entire Federation Diplomatic Corps could have talked her down.”
Letting out a very long breath, Kirk said, “You’re right, Matt—I know you’re right in my head. But I’ve still got this sense of—of failure.”
Decker stood up and put an encouraging hand on Kirk’s shoulder. “Keep that sense of failure, Jim. But don’t let it overwhelm you. Just make sure you try to do better next time. That’s what separates the good captains from the great ones.”
Kirk stood up and chuckled. “I’m hardly a ‘great’ anything, Commodore.”
“Maybe not yet. Give it time. So, you done sulking? You’ve got a planet and a ship waiting for you.”
“That I do, Commodore. Let’s go.”
As they walked toward the aircar Decker had arrived in, Kirk asked, “So what’s next on the Constellation’s agenda?”
“Well, we have to spend the next few hours getting everything together for handing power back over. And there’s a memorial service tonight that I think you and I should attend.”
“Agreed.”
“So, by the time that’s all finished, we’ll have just enough time to get to the Crellis Cluster.”
“The diplomatic conference?” Kirk asked, wincing. “I was wondering who got saddled with that.”
Decker shuddered. “Yeah, lucky us. Hiromi’s handling most of it, but I still need to at least be visible.
I’m barely gonna have time to shave,” he added with a rueful rub of his stubble-filled cheek. “As it is, I haven’t slept in two days.”
“Actually, Matt, I’ve found that half-asleep is the best way to deal with diplomats.”
Decker considered that. “Good point. Have to remember that.” As he climbed into the aircar, he asked, “Don’t believe in no-win situations, huh? You must’ve just loved the Kobayashi Maru test back at the Academy.”
“Oh, it was a challenge,” Kirk deadpanned.
Frowning, Decker asked, “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“The night before, I reprogrammed the simulation so I could rescue the Maru and got away from the Klingons.” He smiled. “You’re not the only one who doesn’t like to lose, Matt.”
Decker didn’t know whether to be outraged or amused. The bark of laughter that exploded from his mouth settled the debate. “You’re a piece of work, you know that?” he said as the aircar took off.
“That’s what the instructor said when she gave me the commendation for original thinking.”
“You got off easy—and I’ll bet that wasn’t all she said, either.” Decker shook his head, then offered his hand. “It’s been a pleasure ruling the world with you, Captain Kirk.”
Kirk returned the handshake. “Likewise, Commodore Decker, likewise.”
“So this is it, huh?”
Guillermo Masada stood outside the Shuttlecraft Galileo with Spock and Leonard McCoy. They were preparing to bring the Malkus Artifact—currently cradled in Masada’s arms—into orbit. The Enterprise’s next port of call was Starbase 10, whereas the Constellation was going straight to the Crellis Cluster, so the former ship would drop the artifact off at the starbase, for its ultimate transfer to the Rector Institute on Earth. Spock and Masada had contacted the institute directly, and the director was champing at the bit to get his hands on it, as was a team of human and Vulcan anthropologists. T’Ramir herself was catching the next shuttle from Vulcan to Earth.
Meanwhile, a day and a half after Tomasina Laubenthal took her own life, most of the infected population had been given the serum to cure them of the virus, the senior staffs of both ships had attended a general memorial service led by Chief Bronstein and the new Acting Chief Representative, and life on Proxima was starting to return to a semblance of normal.
And all this because of a ninety-thousand-year-old artifact. Masada wondered if the folks at the Rector Institute would react the same way McCoy did upon seeing the thing.
The doctor continued: “It’s just a box.”
Spock did his eyebrow thing again. “I believe, Dr. McCoy, that there is a human saying about judging a book by its cover. Sometimes the outer form gives no indication of inner capabilities.”
“Oh, I don’t know, Mr. Spock. Looking at you, one would expect a cold, emotionless Vulcan—and they’d be absolutely right.”
“And looking at you, they would see an overly emotional human,” Spock said, “which is why I used the adverb ‘sometimes.’”
Masada chuckled. “There you go again. You really do crack me up.”
Before either Enterprise officer could reply to that, the arti
fact—which had been glowing a slightly greenish color—suddenly let loose a quick burst of bright green light.
So surprised by this action was Masada, that he dropped the box—right onto his right foot. “Yeow!” he screamed as the metal corner of the artifact slammed into his boot.
As he pulled his foot out from under it, he noticed that the artifact’s green glow had disappeared altogether.
Both Masada and Spock took out their tricorders. To Masada’s surprise, he was now getting a reading from the thing—whatever interference it had been running before was gone—though the reading he got was, in essence, nothing.
“The artifact has gone inert,” Spock said, his words matching what Masada’s own tricorder was telling him. “Fascinating.”
“Maybe it’s shutting down,” Masada said. “According to the records, it was attuned to Malkus. If it became similarly attuned to that Laubenthal woman, her death may have caused it to go inactive again.”
McCoy said, “She died almost two days ago.” He had taken out his Feinberger, and was now running it over the three of them.
Masada shrugged. “So it’s not a perfect hypothesis.”
“Well,” McCoy said, “that discharge doesn’t seem to’ve done any harm. Low-level radiation, only about half a rad. No damage to any of us that I can find.” He smiled. “Well, except for that foot.”
“The artifact was a tool of an absolute monarch,” Spock said. “It is logical to assume that any displays it is programmed for would be ostentatious—much like the lieutenant’s histrionics.”
“Histrionics?” Masada asked angrily as he knelt down to massage his hurt foot.
“Yes. Although, I do admire your continued quest for knowledge. Having already exhausted the possibilities inherent in deconstructing Vulcan speech patterns in order to extract a nonexistant humorous intent, you have now moved on to the much simpler examination of the form of humor known as slapstick.”
Having satisfied himself that nothing was broken, Masada stood up. “I have not been studying slapstick, all I did was drop the artifact when it surprised me. For that matter, I haven’t ‘exhausted’ anything, I was just pointing out what I observed and you know all of this already, don’t you?” He shook his head, and also noticed that McCoy was trying, and failing, to keep a straight face. “You’ve been pulling my leg all along, haven’t you?” “I can assure you, Lieutenant,” Spock said gravely,
“that I would never assume such an undignified position. I leave that to you, as you have just proven yourself quite adept at it.”
McCoy abandoned all pretense of the straight face, and was now grinning. Holding up his hands, Masada joined McCoy in his grin and said, “Fine, fine, I surrender.” He indicated the artifact. “Anyhow, that thing’s all yours. I need to head back up to the Constellation. Commander Spock, it was a pleasure working with you.” He held his hand up in the Vulcan salute. “Peace and long life.”
If Spock was surprised at Masada’s knowledge of Vulcan ritual greetings, he didn’t show it. Instead, he simply returned the gesture and said, “Live long and prosper, Lieutenant Masada.”
To McCoy, he offered his hand. “And Doctor, congratulations on surviving the experience of working with Lew. I don’t know whether to offer condolences on having to work with him or give you a medal for not killing him.”
“Ah, he’s not that bad,” McCoy said, returning the handshake. “He’s got good instincts, he just needs a little more experience. Give him a couple years, he’ll make a damn good physician.”
“Tell you what, in two years, I’ll let you know if he’s gotten tolerable.”
“Fair enough,” McCoy said with a smile. “For now, I’d just settle for him slowing down a little. When we were on the Enterprise, he jostled my arm while we were preparing some of the antidote. Spilled some Capellan acid on my lab table. I’ll never get that damn spot out.”
“Really?” Masada grinned. Rosenhaus had twice been involved in incidents in the mess hall that resulted in food and drink on the floor—once with a particularly aggressive Tellarite security guard. Vascogne and Takeshewada had managed to defuse both situations, but they had quickly become part of the Constellation’s gossip network. Masada was looking forward to adding this to it, as well.
The two Enterprise officers boarded the shuttle, Spock now carrying the artifact. Masada took out his communicator. “Masada to Constellation. One to beam up.”
As the transporter returned him to his ship, he wondered if he’d get a chance to work with them again.
He hoped so. If ever anyone needed a practical joke played on him, it was Lieutenant Commander Spock…
The third planet in the Narendra system was Class-M. Located in territory proximate to Klingon space, the empire had been eyeing the planet as a possible base for some time.
Buried deep under the ground of the smallest of Narendra III’s twelve landmasses lay a metal box, emblazoned with the name of its former owner on one side. The slight green glow it gave off was lost in the rock and dirt that encased it.
Within the box, a telepathic voice screamed. Unencumbered by the limitations of a larynx, it had continued this scream for over ninety thousand years. That mind had lived alone in the box for all that time.
The first chance for freedom had finally come after so long—but she turned out to be weak and foolish. A nobody with insignificant dreams of a pointless vengeance.
Suddenly, and only for a moment, the artifact glowed brighter. When the glow dimmed back to normal, three brain patterns had imprinted themselves on the box.
Now the telepathic voice had company, after a fashion. Three minds that could be controlled.
When the time was right, in any case…
First Interlude
Captain’s personal log, U.S.S. Enterprise, Captain James T. Kirk, Stardate 4208.5.
In my official log, I noted that Matt Decker died in the line of duty when he piloted the Enterprise shuttlecraft into the so-called planet-killer. Though his actions were tragic, it did lead us to the solution to stopping the planet-killer before it reached the Rigel Colonies.
In this personal log I wish only to add that I regret that the commodore was unable to take the advice he had given me on Proxima over a year ago: not to let my sense of failure overwhelm me. Ultimately, Matt was unable to get past the deaths of the crew of the Constellation, whom he had beamed down to the third planet of System L-374 only to watch helplessly as that world was destroyed.
I also wish to express my regret for the loss of the Constellation crew—Commander Takeshewada, Lieutenant Masada, Dr. Rosenhaus, Lieutenant Vascogne, and the rest of the men and women who served on that fine vessel. I only hope that the Enterprise can live up to their example of courage and bravery.
Part 2: The Second Artifact
2370
This portion of the story takes place shortly before the Star Trek: Deep Space Nine second-season episode “The Jem’Hadar.”
Chapter Eight
“WELCOME TO THE ODYSSEY, Commander Sisko. I’m Joseph Shabalala, first officer.”
Joe Shabalala offered his right hand to Benjamin Sisko as he stepped off the transporter platform. The U.S.S. Odyssey had just arrived at Station Deep Space 9, a Bajoran station administrated by Starfleet and commanded by Sisko. Shabalala knew of the tall man—as tall as Shabalala himself, in fact, not a common occurrence—only by reputation, mainly due to the sudden prominence both Bajor and DS9 had gained almost two years earlier when Sisko had discovered a stable wormhole in the Denorios Belt. That wormhole linked the Alpha Quadrant to the Gamma Quadrant and turned the station from an insignificant backwater to the most important port of call in the sector.
The handshake Sisko gave in return was firm, the smile that accompanied it friendly. “A pleasure to meet you, Commander. I was sorry to hear about Captain Simon.”
Shabalala blinked in surprise. “You knew the captain?”
“She was two years ahead of me at the Academy—and,” Sisko add
ed with a grin, “captain of the wrestling team when I joined.”
Chuckling, Shabalala said, “Ah yes, what she called her ‘misspent youth.’”
Sisko looked around the transporter room. “You seem to have done well for yourself. First officer of a Galaxy-class ship.”
Thinking about the disastrous final mission of the U.S.S. Fearless at Patnira, Shabalala said gravely, “Perhaps. But I’d rather have the captain back. We’d been together on three different ships, you know—going back to when she was a full lieutenant and I was an ensign on the Bonaventure. And then she chose me to be her first on the Fearless when they gave it to her. It’s—very odd to be serving under someone else.” Banishing thoughts of the past out of his head, he forced a smile onto his face and indicated the door to the transporter room. “Speaking of which, we shouldn’t keep Captain Keogh waiting. Shall we?”
“After you, Commander.”
They walked in companionable silence to the captain’s quarters. Sisko suddenly seemed a bit skittish. As they approached Keogh’s quarters on deck nine, Shabalala asked, “Is everything all right, Commander?”
Sisko shook his head as if trying to shoo away a fly. “It’s nothing. Just—some odd memories of my last trip aboard a Galaxy-class ship.”
Nothing more was forthcoming, so Shabalala shrugged it off and touched the doorchime for Keogh’s quarters. “Come,” came the captain’s deep voice from behind the doors, and they obligingly opened.
Keogh was standing near his desk, ramrod straight, his hands behind his back, as if he were conducting an inspection. When he had first reported to the Odyssey three months earlier, Shabalala had thought that Keogh was just an on-duty pain, but he’d since seen the older man in a variety of situations, both on and off duty, ranging from a meeting with the admiralty to drinks in Ten-Forward to a pitched fistfight against members of his own crew that had been mutated by spores. No matter what, he always stood perfectly straight, always maintained a hard, cold expression on his face, and—if at all possible—had his hands behind his back. It had been a difficult style for Shabalala to get used to after so many years of Captain Simon’s easygoing manner.
The Brave And The Bold Book One Page 11
