The Brave And The Bold Book One

by Keith R. A. DeCandido

  “That’s quite a combination.” Archer knew his words didn’t do their meaning justice. He thought back to the tyrants of human history, and imagined what Julius Caesar, Genghis Khan, Napoleon Bonaparte, Adolf Hitler, or Colonel Green would have done with even one of those devices, much less all four. Hell, he thought, any sufficiently crazed Japanese sh¯ogun or Russian czar would have a field day. “So what happened to the devices after Malkus was overthrown?” He snorted. “For that matter, how was he overthrown?”

  “We haven’t found that part, yet,” Sato said. She had moved to stand next to T’Pol. “Captain, each of the cubes we found had different things on it, but the information we’re giving you about Malkus’s devices is on all of them. I think that’s why the box was so well preserved—the Zalkatians wanted someone to find these chronicles in the future.”

  “Why?”

  T’Pol said, “As a warning. The devices proved impossible to destroy. According to the chronicle, they tried every method they could imagine, including dropping the devices into a sun.”

  “That didn’t work either?” Archer asked, surprised.

  “No. The devices were able to resist the gravitational forces of the sun and drift back out, unscathed. However, the Zalkatians could not risk another possessing even one of them, much less all four.”

  “Smart move. So what’d they do?”

  “Spread them to the nine winds,” Sato said with a grim smile. She started pacing again. “The Zalkat Union was huge, Captain. It included parts of the galaxy we’re probably never gonna see in our lifetime. And the rebels buried them in four different places on the outskirts of their territory.”

  “Where?”

  “That information was deliberately withheld,” T’Pol said, “in order to keep anyone from finding them. The only definitive information is that they are in four separate locations and that they are simple black boxes.”

  A wry smile played across Archer’s face. “The Zalkatians have a thing for ordinary-looking boxes, don’t they?”

  Sato also smiled.

  T’Pol, of course, did not, but simply went on as if Archer hadn’t commented. “This rather generic formmakes recognizing the devices visually difficult. However, the devices do give off a distinctive energy signature when they’re active. That signature is encoded into all of the cubes we found, and can easily be programmed into Enterprise’s sensors.”

  Archer stood up. “We need to do more than that.”

  Sato frowned. “Sir?”

  “Think about it, Ensign—we’re not the only ship out here. More to the point, we’re not the last Earth ship to explore; we’re the first. If someone comes across one of these devices when it’s active, they need to know what it is—especially if they’re so unassuming looking.”

  The look of trepidation on Sato’s face showed that she was thinking about it now, and understood the potential danger.

  “Ensign, prepare a message to Admiral Forrest. I want him to know everything you just told me—along with my strong recommendation that the information about these devices be programmed into every Starfleet ship and also be made available to any civilian ship.”

  T’Pol nodded what Archer guessed was an approving nod, and said, “I would like you to prepare a similar message to the Vulcan High Command, Ensign.”

  Archer’s eyes widened as an idea hit him. “Actually, I think the recommendations to both Earth and Vulcan should come from both of us, Sub-commander. And we might want to provide this information to the Axanar, too—as a goodwill gesture to our new friends.”

  Another approving nod. “An excellent idea, Captain.”Enterprise had made first contact with the Axanar only a couple of weeks earlier. At last report, diplomatic relations with them were going well.

  Sato headed toward the door. “I’ll start preparing the message right away, sir.”

  “One other thing, Ensign,” Archer said. Sato stopped, her arm hovering over the door control. “I also want to recommend to the admiral that a general order is created that requires any Starfleet vessel that does encounter this energy signature be ordered to confiscate the device immediately.”

  “Yes, sir.” Sato touched the control to open the door and departed.

  “Another excellent idea, Captain,” T’Pol said.

  “Twice in one lifetime, Sub-commander,” Archer said with a wide grin. “When you’re hot, you’re hot.”

  Archer waited expectantly for some kind of comeback. When none was forthcoming, he realized that T’Pol knew that Archer was expecting some kind of rebuke, and she had decided not to give him the satisfaction of rising to the bait.

  Well, I did bring her along to keep me on my toes. “What say we head belowdecks so you can take a look at the other goodies we dug up down there?” Archer asked, heading for the door.

  T’Pol nodded in acknowledgment. “After you, Captain.”

  Part 1: The First Artifact

  2266

  This portion of the story takes place shortly before the Star Trek first-season episode “Balance of Terror.”

  Chapter Two

  SHE WAS PRETTY SURE the vacation sounded good when Alvaro suggested it. As the wind sliced through her thermal suit and snow obscured her goggles, however, it didn’t sound nearly as appealing at the moment.

  Pirenne’s Peak had gotten warm enough to be habitable to humans only in the last few years. It was almost virgin territory. She had always liked hiking and climbing, and finding a new mountainous area of Alpha Proxima II to explore was certainly tempting.

  And it wasn’t like she had anything better to do now.

  Of course, “habitable to humans” was a relative term. Proxima was a colony world, after all, and, though it was Class-M, no sentient life had ever evolved on it. That was, many felt, because it was so hot on most of the surface. There were exceptions, of course: the parts of the northern continent where the colony had been founded and now, almost a century later, thrived; and the mountaintops, above the cloud layer, where temperatures plunged to well below the freezing point.

  After spending so long in the oppressive heat of Sierra City, she had thought she would welcome the cold. It matched her mood.

  Damn them all to hell.

  It’s normal, they said. This sort of thing always happens when someone new takes over, they said.

  But someone new shouldn’t have taken over, didn’t they understand that? That job was hers, by every right. Hers, dammit, and they had no right to take it away from her.

  Take a vacation, they said. You’ll feel better, they said.

  Right now, she didn’t feel better. She felt cold and miserable and like she was being attacked by wind and snow and she wanted it to stop.

  The path she was on would lead to the top of the peak. It had been cleared by the tourist bureau as a way of encouraging hikers like herself to come to the peak. Unfortunately, the path made things too easy. If she had had to work a bit harder to get up to the top by navigating the natural crevices and outcroppings, she might have been able to actually accomplish what Alvaro had suggested: keep her mind off her recent misfortunes.

  Misfortunes? Hell, it was thievery. That job was mine, dammit, mine ! They had no right!

  She touched a control on the lining of the glove of her thermal suit. A display appeared on the inside of her goggles, showing the route that would take her to the top. She then had the image pull back and expand to show the entire region.

  As she had hoped, there was another way to the top. It would take twice as long, and involve clambering over ground much more treacherous than this path—including at least one section that, according to the map, was covered in ice. But she was hardly in a rush—it wasn’t as if she had a job to go home to—and she’d been in far more dangerous climbs when she was a child. This would be easy.

  Half an hour later, sweat poured down her forehead, staining her goggles (which obediently cleaned themselves), her arm and leg muscles ached from the exertion of climbing in the bulky suit, an
d she hadn’t thought about the misery her life had turned into for the entire time.

  She paused, having found a small rock to sit on. Using one control to call up the map, she used another to activate the water dispenser. As refreshing water poured through a straw into her dry mouth, she looked over the display. Only about another twenty minutes or so, she thought. Had she taken the beaten path, as it were, she would have been there ten minutes ago. She preferred this.

  I’ll just wait here for a few minutes, get my breath back, then go on.

  The cold and the snow and the wind somehow didn’t matter as much now. Finally, she had found something to distract her. To make her forget her misery and what they took from her.

  You can do better.

  She sat up. “Who said that?” she asked aloud, not sure that anyone would even be able to hear her in the fierce wind.

  You can get revenge.

  Now she stood up. “Who is this?”

  I can help you.

  Almost against her will, she found herself looking between the rock she sat on and the one next to it. She squinted, and saw a faint green glow.

  You can have your revenge. Just take me with you and everything you want will be yours.

  Her arm just barely fit between the two rocks. She reached in, felt around near where the green glow was. She felt the metal shape, which was warm even through the protection of her gloves.

  Unfortunately, she couldn’t fit it through the small space between the rocks. Indeed, she could barely fit her hand through.

  Consumed suddenly by an all-encompassing need to get the whatever-it-was out from between the rocks, she clambered off the rock, got on her knees, and examined the space. The rocks were close together, but the gap between them widened closer to the ground. They were also buried in snow. Maybe if I dig down a bit, they’re farther apart!

  No. Not maybe. They were farther apart. She just had to dig into the snow. Somehow, she knew this.

  On her knees, the peak, the vacation, the climb, everything forgotten, she started to dig with her hands, clearing away the snow at a great rate.

  She had no idea how much time passed before she cleared out enough room to reach in between the rocks and grab the item. But as soon as she had, she did so.

  It was a black box. It felt amazingly warm in her hands.

  Now you can have your revenge.

  She smiled.

  “Y’know, I really hate the night shift, Dad.”

  Sitting in his quarters on the U.S.S. Constellation, Commodore Matthew Decker laughed at the image of his son set in the desk monitor. Commander Willard Decker—whom his father would have sworn was only a child a week ago—sat in the operations center of Starbase 6, where he served as Admiral Borck’s adjutant.

  “It’s space, son, it’s—”

  “—always night,” he finished, “I know, I know.”

  Both father and son laughed. It was an old joke dating back to when Will was four. His parents had told him it was time for bed because it was night. Even then, Will had been thinking about following his father’s footsteps into Starfleet, and he had said, “Mommy, Daddy, when I go to space I’m’na have to sleep all the time. ’Cause, in space it’s always night!”

  “C’mon, son, it’s only for another day.”

  “I know, I know. I just prefer to be in the thick of things.” Will leaned back in his chair and sighed. He looked, his father had to admit, good in his gold shirt. Won’t be long before he has a command of his own.

  Something on the console behind Will beeped. He brushed a lock of blond hair off his forehead and checked the console. “Damn—I’ve got to take care of that. I’ll talk to you later, okay, Dad?”

  “That’s Commodore Dad to you, mister!” Decker said with mock authority.

  Will saluted sloppily. “Yes, sir, Commodore Dad, sir !” Then he nodded. “Starbase 6 out.”

  The monitor on Matt Decker’s desk faded to black. The commodore leaned back in his chair. He was proud of his son. The boy’s record was spotless. Truth be told, it was cleaner than his old man’s, which had enough reprimands to choke a sehlat. Matt Decker had clawed his way through the ranks. His Academy professors had deemed him not fit to be command material. He came up through security, and wasn’t expected to advance all that far. Most of his commanding officers considered him to be insubordinate—though never to the point of court-martial—and overly opinionated.

  No one was more surprised than he when Admiral Fitzgerald gave him his captain’s braid and command of the Constellation all those years ago.

  Will, though, was a Starfleet poster boy. Although Decker hadn’t told his son this, the next high-level starship first officer position to become available was probably going to go to Willard Decker.

  The commodore got up and pulled his golden uniform shirt over his head. As he did so, he felt like all the energy drained out of his body—almost as if the shirt had been keeping him awake. It had been another long day on their two-week scientific mission examining the emissions from the neutron star in the Beta Proxima system. His second officer, Lieutenant Guillermo Masada, had been pushing his people pretty hard to get all the readings that they could before their next assignment three days hence—the oh-so-exciting hosting of a diplomatic conference in the Crellis Cluster. Even as Masada had been gathering enough sensor readings to challenge the storage capacity of the Constellation computer, Decker’s first officer, Commander Hiromi Takeshewada, had been working with security to get all the details ready for the conference.

  Bleary-eyed, Decker looked at himself in the mirror, scratching his rough, stubble-covered cheek.

  “Bridge to captain.”

  It was Masada. Decker was about to ask what he was still doing up, then realized it was a silly question. Guillermo has hardly slept since we warped into Beta Proxima.

  Thumbing the intercom on his desk, he said, “Decker here.” Then he winced, realizing how slurred his words were. He wondered if he had sounded that bad when talking to Will.

  “Sir, we’re picking up a distress call from Alpha Proxima II.”

  In an instant, he was wide awake. Alpha Proxima was almost literally the star system next door to the Constellation’s present location, so they were ideally situated to respond to the call. “Specifics?”

  “Medical emergency—some kind of plague has broken out. That’s all we’ve got.”

  “That’s enough. Set a course, maximum warp, and have Commander Takeshewada and Dr. Rosenhaus report to the bridge. I’ll be right up. Decker out.”

  “Sir, I—”

  Decker thumbed the intercom off before Masada could finish the sentence. He knew that tone in his science officer’s voice. He was going to try to talk Decker out of changing course until they had more information so he could squeeze more sensor readings out of the neutron star. But the star wasn’t going anywhere, and he had a duty to respond to the medical emergency immediately.

  Throwing his shirt back on, he went out into the corridor, rubbing the sleep that had already started collecting in his eyes. I haven’t even gone to bed yet, and I feel like I just woke up.

  He approached the turbolift just as Hiromi Takeshewada did likewise from an adjacent corridor. Decker nodded down at her by way of greeting. Decker was a tall man, relatively broad shouldered, and starting to get the inevitable paunch that all the men in his family got after they hit fifty-five. In complete contrast, the slim Takeshewada only came up to Decker’s shoulder. Where Decker’s lined (and, at the moment, stubbly) face had all his years etched on it, Takeshewada’s porcelain-like features probably allowed her to still pass for a cadet. Some had even been foolish enough to not take her completely seriously because of that—though never twice.

  Right now, she looked as tired as Decker felt. “I take it you were roused out of bed, Number One?” Decker said with a smirk.

  “Not quite,” she said. “I was heading for bed. I could see my bed from where I was standing when Guillermo called me. But no, I didn�
��t actually make it to the bed.” As the turbolift doors opened and they entered, she looked up at Decker’s face. “So you gonna grow that beard, or what?”

  Decker chuckled as he grabbed the turbolift’s handle and said, “Bridge.” Takeshewada had been on him to simply grow a beard. Decker hadn’t been entirely comfortable with the idea, but he also hated shaving. “Still thinking about it.”

  As soon as the doors opened to the bridge, Decker noticed that any signs of fatigue were erased from Takeshewada’s smooth features. Nodding his approval, they both entered the Constellation’s nerve center. “Report,” Takeshewada said to Masada, who had been sitting in the command chair, and vacated it for Decker.

  Masada, whose normally well-trimmed beard was now thick enough to obscure his lips, ran his hand over his receding salt-and-pepper hair as he moved to the science console. “Alpha Proxima II reports that a plague of some kind has broken out and they need medical attention. Like I told the commodore, that’s all the detail we’ve gotten so far.”

  As Decker sat in his command chair, Yeoman Guthrie appeared at his side with a cup of coffee—milk, no sugar. Decker accepted the cup with a grateful smile.

  Takeshewada walked to the console directly behind Decker, where the night-shift communications officer—whose name Decker could not for the life of him remember—sat pushing several buttons. Before the first officer could say anything, the young ensign said, “I’ve been trying to raise Proxima since we received the distress signal, Commander. They have yet to respond.”

  “Have any other ships answered the distress call?”

  He nodded. “The Enterprise.”

  Decker turned around. “Isn’t that Chris Pike’s ship?”

  “No, Jim Kirk has her now,” Takeshewada said. “Has since Pike was promoted to fleet captain.”