The Brave And The Bold Book One Page 10

  “A house in a residential section just outside Sierra City.” She read off a series of coordinates. Decker checked the wall map and saw that it was the Karsay’s Point neighborhood, about half a kilometer outside the city. Takeshewada continued, “We’re still waiting on a profile of the occupant of that house. I’ve already talked to both ships’ security chiefs. I’ve got a team of twenty set to meet up at Posada Circle.”

  Kirk looked at the map. “I can be there in ten minutes.”

  “Fine,” Takeshewada said, once again utilizing her we’re-going-to-talk-about-this-later tone. “Takeshewada out.”

  Decker closed his communicator. At this rate, he thought, Hiromi and I’ll be talking for hours when this is done.

  “Don’t worry, Commodore,” Kirk said as he grabbed his phaser from out of the drawer of the desk where he’d been keeping it, “we’ll have this taken care of by the time you wake up.”

  “Like there’s a chance in hell I’m gonna be able to sleep,” Decker said with a snort. “Hey, Jim.”

  Kirk stopped midway between the desk and the door and gave the commodore an expectant look.

  “We don’t know what we’re dealing with—for all we know, there’s an army down there. Even if it’s just one nutcase, it’s someone who’s attempted mass murder. Be careful.”

  For one second, Jim Kirk looked just like Will did the day he got his commission—sober, calm, yet obviously ready to face whatever was coming. “Thanks, Matt. And don’t worry.”

  As soon as he left, Decker let out a long breath that sounded more like a snort. “Don’t worry, he says. What’m I supposed to do, sleep?”

  He fell more than sat into the chair behind his desk and called up a report from one of Bronstein’s people. May as well get some work done…

  Hiromi Takeshewada took a moment to lean back against the statue of Captain Bernabe Posada, look up, and let the setting sun shine on her face. It’s been too damn long, she thought.

  Growing up in Tokyo on Earth and moving around to various cities all over the Sol system, Takeshewada had always considered herself a city person, never one for “the great outdoors.” A career in Starfleet was a natural for her after living in tall buildings in the midst of cities.

  But after spending so long indoors—whether on planets or in starships—she had grown to truly appreciate breathing fresh air, feeling the light of the sun on her face, and the unique tactile experience of standing on real ground. In her younger days, serving as an ensign aboard the U.S.S. Mandela, she never really appreciated what it was like to feel a planet under her feet instead of a constructed floor. Now, though, with age came wisdom, and she knew to appreciate when she stepped on a planet.

  She never knew when it might be her last chance.

  The Mandela had been destroyed less than a month after Takeshewada had transferred off the ship to take a post as a lieutenant aboard the Potemkin. She had lost a lot of good friends there. Right before she left, she had passed up the opportunity for shore leave on Starbase 13, which orbited a lush world. But she had had paperwork to catch up on, so she didn’t bother, figuring she’d do so the next time.

  If her promotion hadn’t come through, there wouldn’t have been a next time.

  So she stood now in Posada Circle—like the statue that was its centerpiece, the circular road was in honor of the captain of the colony ship S.S. Esperanza, and also the first Chief Representative of Proxima’s government—surrounded by a detail of Constellation and Enterprise security. As she waited for Kirk and Vascogne to arrive, she made sure she took a moment to bask in the sunlight. Because the Constellation could be destroyed tomorrow—or the next day—or next year. And if it does happen, I will have done this. And it feels good.

  Then a government aircar landed six meters from the statue of Captain Posada, and Kirk stepped out of it. As the young captain walked toward Takeshewada, she noted that he was shorter than she had been expecting, though he was still taller than she was. Most people were, to her great irritation.

  Kirk carried himself with a confident air. Takeshewada might almost have called it smug, though she admitted that she may have been overlaying her own annoyance at the way Kirk had muscled into this operation. Takeshewada had always been a hands-on type. She had bristled at spending so much of this mission on the bridge, and was looking forward to leading this party herself.

  Rationally, of course, she knew that Kirk’s reasons for being here made perfect sense. He had indeed been the “face of the government” to the Proximans in these hard times, and putting him at the forefront of what they hoped was the arrest of the person responsible was good politics.

  Takeshewada hated politics. She was good at playing the game—a blessing when serving as XO to Matt Decker, who was as anti-political as they came—but she still hated having to do it.

  “Are we ready to move, Commander?” Kirk asked.

  “We’re just waiting on Vascogne. He’s supposed to have the information on our suspect. Right now, we just know that her name is Tomasina Laubenthal. I’ve already had our people clear the streets between here and her house.”

  Just as Kirk nodded in acknowledgment, Takeshewada heard the whine of a transporter. Several of the security guards turned sharply, and one or two put their hands to their phaser holsters, just in case.

  However, the two forms that coalesced in the beam were familiar ones: the bald head and compact form of Etienne Vascogne, and the taller, blonder, and slimmer form of his assistant chief of security, Helga Litwack.

  “Sorry to beam in like this, Hiromi, but I was running late,” Vascogne said as the transporter whine faded. “Captain!” he said upon sighting Kirk. “Didn’t realize you were joining the party, sir. Or are you here to give another speech?”

  “This time I’m hoping to commit some actions to speak louder than my words, Lieutenant,” Kirk said with a disarming smile. Takeshewada hated to admit it, but it was a damn good smile. No wonder he was the one doing the broadcasts. I love Matt, but he comes across as the irritating old uncle you could never stand. Kirk is much more personable.

  “What’ve you got, Etienne?” Takeshewada asked.

  “A doozy,” Vascogne replied, running a hand over his smooth head as he looked down at his notes. “Our Ms. Laubenthal is a single caucasian female, fifty-three years old, born and raised here on Proxima. Graduated with a degree in political science from Yasmini University in ’34, she’s worked a variety of civil-service jobs since then, and then went into politics six years ago. Until about two months ago, she was the deputy assistant to the Proximan secretary of the interior.”

  Kirk frowned. “What happened two months ago?”

  “The secretary’s an appointed position,” Vascogne said, glancing up from his notes. “When the old secretary retired, rather than promote from within, the Chief Representative decided to give it to someone new from outside. That new person also brought her own people in—Laubenthal was let go. According to some people Litwack and I talked to, she had been expecting to get promoted to assistant, with the assistant becoming secretary. Instead, they were both dismissed.”

  “Chikushou.” Takeshewada muttered the curse.

  With a wry smile, Vascogne said, “Yeah, I was thinking that sounded kind of motive-like.”

  “But why wait two months?” Kirk asked.

  “That’s the real fun part—she took a vacation to Pirenne’s Peak. It’s in a mountain range about a hundred kilometers south of here. It only recently became a popular spot because the weather’s gotten milder in that area over the last five years or so. Once I saw that, I got Litwack here to help me question some people about her. That’s why we were late. Most of the people she worked with are under sedation or dead, but we found a friend of hers named Alvaro Santana who confirmed that she was bitter after being dismissed. He’d been bugging her to take the vacation, and she only did so recently—Santana said he was half-convinced she only went to shut him up about it.” He looked at Takeshewada with a grave
expression. “Nobody’s seen her since she got back. And, according to the tourist bureau, she spent her entire time on the peak alone and unescorted—and she left sooner than planned. So if she did find the artifact…”

  “I think we have a suspect,” Kirk said dryly. “Time we apprehended her.” Unholstering a phaser of his own, Kirk signalled to the security people. “Let’s go!”

  As a unit, they moved toward Laubenthal’s house. Within minutes, they arrived at a nondescript three-story white house with a small lawn area in front. The first level was taken up with an aircar garage, with white stairs leading up to a door on the second level. The architecture was your basic prefabricated colonial standard—Takeshewada mused that it probably dated back to the colony’s founding over seventy-five years earlier. Where most of the colony had, over time, developed its own architecture—varying from neighborhood to neighborhood—some still stuck with the functional original structures.

  A sense of the practical outweighing the aesthetic, Takeshewada thought. She wasn’t sure what it meant, really, but she noted it anyhow.

  One of the Enterprise guards—a woman named Leskanich—set up a comm system on Laubenthal’s lawn. Vascogne handed Kirk an amplifier, which the captain attached to his uniform shirt. The rest of the guards moved into formation, surrounding the house, covering all the possible exits (the garage door, the front door, and a back door) and windows. Takeshewada tried to get a tricorder reading inside the house, but couldn’t. Something was interfering with the scan—presumably the Malkus Artifact.

  “Attention, Ms. Tomasina Laubenthal,” Kirk said, his voice now loud enough to be heard for blocks around, “this is Captain James T. Kirk. I’m about to contact you directly—please answer.” He then gave Leskanich an expectant look.

  For her part, Leskanich had brushed aside a lock of curly brown hair to place an earpiece in. She seemed to be staring at nothing while her fingers played across the controls of her portable comm unit. Then she looked up and nodded just as Kirk’s communicator beeped.

  Kirk turned off his amplifier and flipped open his communicator. “This is Kirk. Am I speaking to Ms. Laubenthal?”

  “I’ve got a hostage!”

  For a second time, Takeshewada muttered, “Chikushou.” This was a complication they didn’t need.

  Muting his communicator, Kirk asked Takeshewada, “Can you verify that?”

  Takeshewada shook her head. “I can’t even verify that she’s in there right now.”

  Kirk set his jaw, then de-muted the communicator. “Ms. Laubenthal, I need you to listen to me. We don’t want to hurt you. Please, let the hostage go, and we can talk thi—”

  “There’s nothing to ‘talk’ about, Kirk! They took it all away from me, don’t you understand? Soon they’ll all be dead and this will be over. Them and you and your precious starships.”

  “Ms. Laubenthal, you don’t need to do this.”

  “Oh, I don’t, don’t I? What do you know about it, anyhow?”

  “I know that you feel you were cheated out of your job, and I—”

  “I feel ?! You don’t have the slightest idea how I feel, Kirk! They took everything from me! That job was mine, they had no business taking it away from me!”

  Takeshewada sighed. She whispered to Vascogne, “She’s hysterical. I don’t think reasoning with her’s gonna cut it.”

  “Maybe, maybe not,” Vascogne said with a shrug. “We can’t do anything else as long as she has a hostage. Besides, I’ve seen the captain in action before. Stopped a mob in its tracks. Damndest thing I ever saw. Give him a shot.”

  “I’d rather give Laubenthal a shot.”

  Vascogne grinned. “Well, we’re working on that.” He opened his communicator, which was set on a separate frequency from the one Kirk had Laubenthal on.

  “Talk to me, people.”

  Each member of the team reported in, but nobody could see anyone through the windows of the house.

  Shaking his head, Vascogne said, “I can’t believe this—how’m I supposed to work without tricorders? Who depends on line of sight, anyhow? It’s like firing blindfolded.”

  “Life’s full of little frustrations for you,” Takeshewada said with a small smile.

  Kirk, meanwhile, was continuing to try to talk Laubenthal down. “Ms. Laubenthal, I don’t pretend to understand what you’re going through—but I do know that we can work this out.”

  “Really?” Laubenthal let out a rather disturbing laugh. “Why should I believe you? You really think anyone here is going to work anything out with me?”

  “You forget—Commodore Decker and I are in charge of the planet now. I can guarantee that you won’t be harmed if you free the hostage and turn yourself and the artifact in now—before anyone else is hurt or killed.”

  “No—I can’t take that chance! It won’t be over until everyone is dead!”

  “And then what?” Kirk said quickly. “Once everyone’s dead, what will you do then? You’ll be left with nothing but an empty planet. Starfleet knows what’s happening here. When no one replies to any of their calls, they’ll send someone else.”

  “Then I’ll kill them, too. I’ll kill everyone, if I have to!”

  “Don’t you understand, they’ll keep coming—until they’ve stopped you, once and for all. In force if they have to, but they will come. If you end this now, we can keep the damage to a minimum. Please, Ms. Laubenthal, end this now—before it gets beyond your control or mine.”

  Takeshewada heard only heavy breathing through the communicator for several seconds. I don’t like this, she thought as she opened her own communicator, tuning it to the frequency the security guards were using. “Does anyone have a shot?”

  Several choruses of “Negative” met her query.

  Laubenthal’s breaths got progressively slower. Takeshewada tried to convince herself that it was a good sign, but found herself unable to do so. The number of instances of psychotic episodes were many fewer than they were even fifty years ago, but Takeshewada had been present for one of them—when they established a mining outpost on Beta Argola six months ago. One of the miners had an episode and nearly killed both Vascogne and Takeshewada. After that she read up on the phenomenon.

  Right now what she remembered most was that oftentimes psychotics were quite calm when they committed their most hideous acts.

  “Maybe—maybe you’re right.”

  Takeshewada held her breath. Laubenthal sounded much too calm for comfort.

  “I am right, Ms. Laubenthal,” Kirk said in a honeyed voice. “Please—let the hostage go.”

  “Maybe you’re right, Captain,” Laubenthal repeated in an even calmer voice. “Maybe this does need to end. Maybe it needs to end now. Right now.”

  Then they heard a phaser blast, followed by a scream.

  Takeshewada didn’t hesitate as she screamed into her communicator, “Move in! Everyone, move in!” I can’t believe she shot the hostage, she thought angrily.

  As fast as the commander and the security detail reacted, Kirk reacted even faster. The second the phaser blast sounded, Kirk was running full tilt toward the staircase that lead to the front door. By the time he reached the top of the stairs, his phaser was out. By the time she reached the top of the stairs, Kirk had tried and failed to get the door open. As Takeshewada was wondering if Vascogne had brought a P-38 with him, Kirk aimed his phaser at the door mechanism and fired.

  The door opened a second later.

  “Nothing like the direct approach,” Takeshewada muttered as she and Kirk ran in, past the smoking remains of the door mechanism. She could hear Vascogne and several security guards running up the stairs behind them.

  Dimly, Takeshewada registered the décor of the house’s interior—several pictures of a woman at varying ages. A few trophies—a quick glance showed that they were for sports, and all dated from her time at Yasmini University. Several of the pictures of her in her younger days had her in climbing or hiking gear, which fit the profile of someone wh
o’d take a vacation on a mountain.

  Oddly enough, there were no pictures of anyone else. No family, no significant others, nothing. Just Laubenthal herself.

  The furniture was fairly ugly to Takeshewada’s eye—and she was no interior decorator—but the place definitely felt lived in. The gaudy flower-print couch was piled with readers, and there were more on the shelves. Most of it was fiction, with titles Takeshewada didn’t recognize.

  The commander followed Kirk through a hallway and a sitting room—then he stopped short at a doorway. Kirk was, of course, taller than Takeshewada, so she couldn’t see past him to determine what the room was, nor why he stopped.

  “What is it?” she prompted.

  That had the desired effect, and he moved out of the way, his head lowered.

  What the hell—?

  As Kirk walked back into the sitting room and Litwack and two others came into the room, Takeshewada looked into what turned out to be the dining room.

  A white plastiform table sat in the middle of the room, surrounded by white plastiform chairs. A comm unit sat on the table.

  Takeshewada registered that in her subconscious. Her conscious mind was taken up with the dead human female body on the floor next to the table with the very large hole in her chest.

  The face on the body matched that of all the pictures.

  Vascogne stuck his bald head into the room. “There’s no one else in the house.”

  “Well, I was right,” Takeshewada said with a heavy sigh. “She did shoot the hostage.”

  Chapter Seven

  MATT DECKER found Jim Kirk sitting on the bench next to the statue in Posada Circle. It had been almost eighteen hours since Tomasina Laubenthal had killed herself. Decker, who had indeed been unable to sleep, had dealt with everything since then, as Kirk had left the scene and wandered back to this bronze likeness of Captain Bernabe Posada.