The Brave and the Bold Book Two

by Keith R. A. DeCandido

  Before he could, a hand gripped the Klingon’s shoulder, and he fell to the ground, unconscious.

  Another Klingon, this one wearing a floor-length coat that, from what Aidulac knew of Klingon traditions, meant he held some kind of high office, rolled Aidulac’s attacker off her. “Thank you,” she said. “I wasn’t aware of any Klingons who knew the Vulcan nerve pinch.”

  “It is a long story,” he said. “I am Worf, son of Mogh. You do not appear to be in Malkus’s thrall.”

  “No,” she said, putting pressure on her wound. “I am Aidulac, and I’m here to stop Malkus.”

  Worf’s eyebrow rose—another Vulcan gesture. “Fascinating. How do you intend to accomplish this?”

  Before she could answer, a Vulcan approached, wearing once-elegant robes that had not weathered travel through this forest particularly well—the black cloth was spattered with dirt and grass stains. Bloodstains were present as well, but they were not green, so they did not belong to him. His movements were also odd, for a Vulcan—and he was carrying a Klingon weapon.

  “Two of our foes—” the Vulcan started, then noticed the other one on the ground. “Three of our foes have been defeated. We must hurry, before the others catch up.” He looked at Aidulac and then spoke irritably. “Who is this?”

  “I am Aidulac. I am here to stop Malkus—forever. I’ve waited ninety thousand years for this day.” She frowned. “You two have mind-melded?”

  “Yes,” Worf said. “It was the logical way to resist Malkus’s control.”

  “Very wise.”

  “I am Spock,” the Vulcan said. “We don’t have much time. The mind-meld will start to fade soon, and both Ambassador Worf and I will be helpless if that should happen. Do you have a method of neutralizing Malkus?”

  Aidulac nodded. “I believe so. I have had many millennia to construct the device, but no way to ever test it. My attempts to do so with the previous artifacts met with resistance.”

  Spock raised his eyebrow in the exact same manner that Worf had done a moment ago. “I do recall a report of a woman named Aidulac attempting to land on Alpha Proxima II when the first artifact was found there. Are you the same woman?”

  “Yes.”

  “Fascinating,” both Worf and Spock said simultaneously.

  Worf continued, “But not relevant at this time. We must press forward before Malkus’s thralls catch up to us—or he sends more.”

  “We don’t have far to go,” Aidulac said. Keeping the pressure on her wound, she started walking.

  After a moment, the Vulcan and the Klingon followed.

  Within a few minutes, they had arrived. They took up position behind a large tree that overlooked the hill. Aidulac saw two humans—a younger one in a Starfleet uniform, and an older one in a variation of the same—standing near a table on which sat all four Instruments.

  Three of them, Aidulac noted, were connected. The fourth was separate. She smiled. “I see he tried to construct the Great Rectangle.”

  Worf turned to her. “We have received no resistance since we met you. Why is that?”

  “I am invisible to Malkus thanks to this.” She removed the component from the third Instrument from her belt.

  “That is the missing component from the third artifact,” Spock said.

  Aidulac nodded. “I found it five years ago. Then I waited here for the final Instrument to be unearthed.”

  Just then, two humans and three Klingons approached Malkus from the other side of the clearing.

  “You were right,” Worf said to Spock. “He did enslave our fellow prisoners.”

  “It seemed a reasonable hypothesis,” Spock said. “How close do you need to be to the artifacts in order for your device to work?”

  “Closer than this,” Aidulac said ruefully. “We shall have to go out into the open.”

  “Wait,” Worf said. “Look.”

  The humans and Klingons all left—including one of the two Starfleet officers who had already been present—leaving only the elderly human to guard Malkus.

  “They’ve probably gone to keep searching for you two.”

  “Indeed,” Worf said. “Leaving only Dr. McCoy—and as the admiral himself might say, he is a doctor, not a fighter.”

  Worf unsheathed a disruptor pistol, and Spock hefted the Klingon blade. They exchanged a nod, and then charged, Aidulac behind them.

  Unsurprisingly, by the time they reached the Instruments, some of the thralls had returned. Worf, however, took two of them out with his disruptor, and the one that charged in at close quarters was dealt with by Spock. They covered her approach to Malkus quite well.

  McCoy made a halfhearted attempt to attack Worf, but the human was far too aged to be any real threat. Worf grabbed his neck and said, “Sorry, Doctor, I have no time to discuss this logically.”

  As Worf gently set the elderly human on the ground before turning his attention to other mind-controlled foes, Aidulac deactivated the component from the third Instrument. She no longer needed its protection from Malkus’s influence. “It’s been a long time, Mighty One.”

  You! Then she felt his laughter in her mind. Of course, you survived. I should have known.

  “I only survived for one reason, Mighty One—to see you and the Instruments I made for you destroyed.”

  She switched on the device. In theory, it would neutralize all four artifacts.

  NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

  Both the Klingon warrior that Spock was sparring with and the Starfleet officer that Worf was wrestling with stopped fighting. Spock was able to disarm the Klingon, and Worf knocked the Starfleet officer to the ground.

  The Starfleet officer frowned. “What happened? Ambassador Worf? What the hell’s going on?”

  “My apologies, Captain DeSoto,” Worf said, offering the man a hand up.

  The Klingon warrior stared at Spock. “Why am I fighting a Vulcan?”

  “All will be explained in due course,” Spock said, then turned to Aidulac. “It seems you were successful. Malkus’s telepathic hold appears to have been broken.”

  Aidulac smiled.

  “Captain, the birds-of-prey have broken formation!”

  Klag whirled around at Rodek. “What?”

  “The other ships as well—they have ceased firing.”

  Toq said, “Sir, we are being hailed—by all the ships. They wish to know what is going on.”

  Getting up out of his command chair—once again not stumbling—Klag thought, Something must have happened to Malkus.“Get me Picard, now!”

  “Channel open,” Toq said.

  “Activate your deflector now, Picard!”

  “Understood, Klag.”

  Klag watched the viewer as the Enterprise lowered its shields. Then its deflector dish lit up with a harsh light as the Starfleet vessel changed position.

  To the new pilot, the captain said, “Koxx, keep us between the Enterprise and any threats, in case Malkus reasserts himself.”

  Toq said, “The Enterprise is firing!”

  The device exploded in Aidulac’s hands.

  Unfortunately, the explosion took Aidulac’s hands with it.

  She screamed in pain and collapsed to the ground. Never, in all her millennia of life, had she ever felt anything remotely like the agony she felt now.

  But the physical pain was as nothing compared to the mental anguish of her failure. All my work for naught. I was a fool to think I could defeat the Mighty One. I never could then—why would it be different now?

  She heard Malkus’s laughter in her mind.

  It was a brave attempt, Aidulac, Malkus said to her. But I am Malkus the Mighty. With but a gesture, I destroyed entire solar systems. You are as nothing to me. The galaxy is as nothing to me. Soon, I will—

  Then she heard nothing. It was as if someone had simply turned Malkus off in midsentence. His presence was completely gone from her mind, as much as it was before she deactivated the component.

  Looking over at the table that th
e four Instruments sat on, she saw that they had suddenly gone dead.

  The voice of the android Data sounded over the Gorkon’ s speakers. “I am reading no emissions from the Malkus Artifacts. They have been rendered inert.”

  Toq added, “Confirmed. None of the mind-control readings are present, and neither are the Malkus emissions.”

  The ensign at the engineering station cried, “Victory!” Several others followed suit.

  Klag ignored the cries. Instead, he walked over to the body of Commander Tereth, still lying on the deck next to the helm control. Turning her body over, Klag pried open her eyes.

  She had been the best of them, serving him well, working with the crew, being his eyes and ears and hands on the Gorkon. He doubted he would ever be able to properly replace her.

  And how did she die? In battle, covered in glory?

  No. She died saving the life of an undeserving animal.

  Rearing his head back, Klag screamed.

  Next to him, Koxx did the same.

  After a moment, so did everyone on the bridge—almost a score of warriors, screaming to the heavens. Klag’s ears rang with it, and it prompted him only to scream louder.

  The Black Fleet in Sto-Vo-Kor now knew that Tereth, daughter of Rokis of the House of Kular, was crossing the River of Blood to join them.

  The screams finally subsided. Klag looked down at the empty shell that was once his first officer. Then he looked up to see Colonel Kira standing over them.

  “I would have liked to have shared that drink with her,” she said.

  “You and I shall share it in her honor,” Klag said as he got to his feet.

  He did so by bracing himself with his right arm, and got to his feet gracefully.

  Chapter Seventeen

  WORF TOOK A LONG SIP OF PRUNE JUICE, wishing that the human beverage were more useful for driving out splitting headaches.

  The ambassador sat in the Ten-Forward lounge of the Enterprise, perusing the report that Giancarlo Wu had sent along from Qo’noS. Wu had attended to the difficulty on Mempa V with his usual efficiency—the Tellarites were freed after paying a hefty fine, and escorted out of the Empire with all due haste—and the fifth draft of the Klingon/Tholian resolution had apparently met with approval by both sides.

  “May I join you?” said a familiar voice.

  Worf looked up to see Ambassador Spock, looking much as he had when Worf first saw him on the St. Lawrence. He had cleaned up and put on fresh robes to replace the blood-and-dirt-stained ones from the surface. In addition, he was walking like a Vulcan again instead of the ready-to-fight demeanor that Worf himself favored.

  “Of course,” Worf said, happily putting the padd down as Spock took the seat opposite him.

  “Forgive the intrusion, but I wished to inquire after your health. The mind-meld can sometimes be difficult even for native-born Vulcans, much less outsiders.”

  “I am fine,” Worf said. “Although—” He hesitated.

  “Yes?”

  Worf took a bracing sip of prune juice before continuing. This wasn’t easy for him to say. “I would like to apologize for my behavior on the St. Lawrence. I should not have questioned your motives. The mind-meld has given me—a new perspective on your position. Your thoughts are not of the Romulan government, but of the Romulan people—the ones who lost their brothers and sisters to the war. Those are—noble goals.”

  “I have spent a great deal of time over the last few years with the Romulan people. They should not be punished for the shortsightedness of their government—or of someone else’s. However,” Spock said quickly, “I too feel the need to offer an apology. I now understand the crux of your argument: that, while the Klingon Empire and the Federation went to war with the Dominion in order to preserve the Alpha Quadrant, the Romulan Empire went to war to preserve the Romulan Empire. A subtle distinction that I, in my zeal to protect the Romulan people, lost sight of.”

  Worf shook his head. “Not at all. I believe that both arguments have merit.”

  “Indeed. And we shall have many opportunities to present them at Khitomer.” Spock paused and regarded Worf with a penetrating gaze. “You have led a most—intriguing life, Mr. Ambassador. If you have time—and the inclination—I would like to discuss certain elements of it with you.”

  Had anyone else made the request, Worf would have refused. But, just as Spock had obviously been intrigued by Worf’s life, so too was Worf by Spock’s. The man was truly a living legend, and Worf had gained some—there was no other word for it—fascinating insights into the man behind that legend. It left him with a great desire to learn more.

  Then he remembered something. “Computer, time?”

  “The time is 1105 hours.”

  “I am sorry, Mr. Ambassador. I would like to have those discussions—but not at the moment. I have an—appointment on the Gorkon.”

  Spock inclined his head. “Of course. We will have ample opportunities to converse over the next few days in any event.”

  Worf stood up and drained the rest of his prune juice. “I look forward to it.” Truly, he did—had he not made the promise to Klag, he would have stayed to talk with Spock for as long as the Vulcan ambassador wished. Leaving aside his interest in discussing the things Spock had seen, the battles he had fought, it was also an infinitely preferable alternative to the mindless drudgery of Worf’s life as Federation Ambassador to Qo’noS. Khitomer promised plenty of that as it was—talking with Spock would be a welcome palliative.

  Leonard McCoy was tired.

  Less than a year from his hundred and fiftieth birthday, McCoy got tired fairly easily these days. On top of the usual fatigue of daily existence as a cranky old man, he had to put up with Malkus invading his cranium. Admittedly, dealing with it was less of an issue than it might have been for a younger person. After all, your limbs not doing what you intend them to do was a fact of life the longer you spent on the wrong side of the century mark. Still, it wasn’t usually the whole body.

  McCoy sat in the Enterprise’ s Ten-Forward lounge, sipping a syntheholic mint julep that tasted about as dreadful as he expected. But his cardiovascular system couldn’t really handle the real thing all that much these days—especially after the exertions Malkus put him through.

  “How are you feeling, Doctor?”

  The sudden voice at his back almost made McCoy drop his glass. He turned around to see Spock standing behind him. Only a few minutes ago, McCoy had noticed Spock sitting with Worf. The doctor looked over to see that their table was now empty.

  As his old comrade sat down across from him, McCoy said, “I hate it when you do that. And to answer your question, I was fine until you scared the daylights out of me. How ’bout you?”

  “The effects of the mind-meld have almost faded. There will always be a residue of Ambassador Worf inside me and of me in him, but that is to be expected.”

  McCoy chuckled. “After all the melds you’ve done in your time, your cerebral cortex is probably more crowded than Paris on Inauguration Day. As for me, I like to keep my head to myself, thanks. It was bad enough when I had to share my brain with you way back when. Malkus was a helluva lot worse. One thing I don’t get, though.”

  “Only one thing?” Spock asked in his usual deadpan.

  “Don’t start with me, bucko, we’re both too old,” McCoy muttered. “Back when you core-dumped your brain into mine before you died, I couldn’t do that damn neck pinch of yours. Worf only had some of your marbles, and he was distributing neck pinches right and left.”

  “The mind-meld is not a precise tool, as you well know, Doctor. It would seem that Worf was simply luckier than you.”

  “Got that right,” he said, taking another sip of the julep.

  “However, that experience from ninety years ago is a primary reason why I was able to resist Malkus’s control enough to perform the mind-meld in the first place. My death and resurrection on Genesis altered my brain chemistry sufficiently to make Malkus’s grip on my mind tenuou
s at best.”

  “As opposed to your grip on reality, which is completely tenuous,” McCoy said with a smile.

  Spock’s eyebrow shot up. “I thought we were too old for this sort of thing?”

  McCoy shrugged. “I lied.”

  Before Spock could reply, Picard entered the lounge and headed to their table. “Gentlemen, may I join you?”

  “Of course, Captain,” Spock said, indicating one of the seats between them.

  “How’re things dirtside?” McCoy asked.

  “Settling down. Captain Klag’s ground troops have been able to restore order. Dr. Crusher was able to cure as many of the Klingons imprisoned in the sports arena as were still alive.”

  “Still alive?” McCoy frowned. “There wasn’t time for the virus to—Oh, hell. A virus that pumps adrenaline into Klingons.”

  “Yes,” Picard said gravely. “I’m afraid that the virus combined with the enclosed space to cause no small amount of violence, even by Klingon standards.”

  McCoy shook his head, thinking about all those who died before he and Lew Rosenhaus came up with the cure the last time it reared its ugly head on Proxima a century earlier.

  “How is Aidulac, Captain?” Spock asked.

  “Dr. Crusher has fitted her with prosthetic hands. She has requested that she be allowed to take the artifacts into her personal custody.”

  “Makes sense—she helped build the damn things,” McCoy said.

  Picard’s head tilted to one side slightly. “Unfortunately, she also has several warrants out for her arrest—some dating back over two hundred years. For obvious reasons the Federation is not very interested in turning over four powerful weapons to her—and very interested in fulfilling those warrants.”

  “Understandable,” Spock said.

  “In any event, the artifacts will be returned to the Rector Institute—with security heightened, obviously,” Picard added with a wry smile.

  “DeSoto’s not gonna get in any hot water, is he?” McCoy asked.