David Mack - Star Trek: Vanguard #1: Harbinger

Historians Note

Harbinger begins in early 2263, shortly before the promotion of James T. Kirk to captain of the Enterprise, and concludes in 2265, between the events of Where No Man Has Gone Before and The Corbomite Maneuver.

Commodore Matt Decker wasnt entirely certain what to call the swath of fuzz that currently adorned the lower half of his face. It was too long to be stubble, but far too sparse to be a beard. Scratching it gently during the turbolift ride to the bridge, he found the description he was looking for: It was scruff.

Well, that wont do, he decided. In his opinion, the commanding officer of a starship could be clean-shaven, bearded, or even a bit prickly from time to time. Scruffy, however, was not an option. Unless its an intermediate stage on the way to a beard, he mused. That would be all right. Every few months he toyed with the idea of growing a beard. Then hed note yet another subtle increase in the number of gray follicles populating his chin, and once again the dense bramble of hair would be shorn away until the next piquing of his curiosity.

The hum of the turbolift crested and fell quiet; then the doors swished open. A cascade of gentle synthetic chirps filled the bridge of the U.S.S. Constellation. As the burly commodores first step hit the deck, his deceptively fragile-looking first officer, Commander Hiromi Takeshewada, rose from the center seat and greeted him with a single, graceful nod. He gave her a curt half-nod in return as he strode quickly past the gamma-shift communications officer, whose name once again eluded him, despite his repeated attempts to commit it to memory.

At the science station, Lieutenant Guillermo Masada - whose own neatly trimmed beard Decker struggled not to envy - peered into the sensor hood, which cast a pale blue glow across his brow. The science officers short ponytail didnt violate any regulations, but it drew a sharp contrast between Masada and the vast majority of Starfleets close-cropped male officers. Though Decker rarely said so, he often found Starfleets lockstep mind-set more than a little stultifying.

Takeshewada joined Decker in flanking Masada, who looked up from his sensor readings with an apprehensive side-to-side glance at his superior officers.

Report, Decker said, cutting straight to business.

Masada reached behind his ear as if to scratch, then gave an almost absentminded tug on his ponytail as he straightened and pivoted toward Decker. We were running a routine gene-sequence scan on the biosamples from Ravanar IV, he said. Most were nothing to write home about. He gestured for Takeshewada to look at the sensor data for herself. Then we found this.

Decker tried to be patient, but at times like this it was hard. Guillermo, please dont keep me in suspense.

Sorry, sir. Its a gene sequence unlike anything weve ever seen before. My best guess would be that it has several million chemical base pairs, and its more complex than simple G-A-T-C. It has molecules were still trying to identify.

Takeshewada lifted her gaze from the blue-gray sensor hood. Her already fair complexion looked paler than normal. Thats incredible, she said.

Folding his arms across his chest, Decker said to Masada, Where did it come from? Some kind of uber-life-form?

Hardly, the science officer said. From a simple mold.

Simple? Decker shook his head, as much in disbelief as in sheer wonderment at the never-ending tricks the universe had up its proverbial sleeve. Thats a lot of DNA for something Id scrape off my breakfast. Speaking of which - He turned toward his yeoman, who happened to be walking past. Lawford, get me some coffee, will you?

Lawford transferred to the Yorktown two weeks ago, sir, the yeoman said. Im Guthrie.

Decker squinted in disapproval. And that has precisely what to do with my coffee?

Nothing, sir.

The commodore pointed the yeoman toward the food slot. Milk, no sugar.

I know, sir.

Thanks, Lawford.

Guthrie, sir.

Whatever. Decker turned back toward the science station while the yeoman plodded away, muttering quietly. Returning his attention to Masada, Decker said, Why would mold need that much genetic information?

I dont think it does, Masada said.

Decker was getting annoyed. Thats what Im saying.

No, sir, Masada said. What I mean is, I think only a very small portion of the genetic string has anything to do with the mold itself. The rest is well, just kind of there.

Takeshewada tilted her head in a way that implied she found Masadas answer less than satisfactory. But what does it do, Guillermo?

The science officers eyes widened as his lips tightened into a thin line and his shoulders rounded into a shrug. No idea. I can tell you that its big, but other than that He just shook his head.

And our tradition of excellence continues, Decker said with a sour inflection. His darkening mood was brightened by the arrival of his coffee. He accepted the mug from Guthrie, then turned immediately back toward Masada. How soon can you finish some tests and get me a real report?

Im not sure I can, Masada said. Our labs good, but its not this good. Were gonna have to send all of this - the samples, the scans, the whole kit and kaboodle - back to Starfleet Command and let them handle it.

Deckers shoulders slumped with disappointment. Are you serious? We make a once-in-a-lifetime find, and youre telling me we have to punt?

Im afraid so, sir. Masada looked even more disappointed than Decker felt. With our hardware and manpower, we could spend years on this and not make a dent. Dejected, he added, Its just too big for us to tackle alone.

With a heavy sigh, Decker resigned himself to the situation. Theres an old saying on Earth, he said as he gave Masadas shoulder a consoling squeeze. Theres no I in team. Sipping his coffee carefully, he walked down the short stairs to his seat, settled into it with a muffled grunt and a few pops from his aging knees, and pivoted around toward the communications officer. He opened his mouth to issue the order, then remembered that he didnt know what her name was. Glancing at Takeshewada, he gave her a quick nod to carry on.

To the first officers credit, she knew exactly what Decker needed her to do and covered his lapse seamlessly. Ensign Ponor, open a secure channel to Starfleet Command, she said. Prepare to relay information from Lieutenant Masadas station, on his mark. Ponor acknowledged the order, and minutes later Masada finished the data transfer. Takeshewada appeared at Deckers side as he finished his coffee. Transmission complete, sir. And we have new orders from Starfleet.

Do tell, Decker said, handing his empty cup to Guthrie, who was breezing past at precisely the right moment to relieve the commodore of his petty burden.

Weve been ordered back to Federation space, Takeshewada said. To begin patrolling the Klingon border in the Gariman Sector, before putting in for resupply at Deep Space Station K-7.

Decker looked at the mesmerizing drift of warp-distorted stars on the main viewer. Looks like the Taurus Reach will have to wait for someone else to plant our flag. Helm: Plot a course for Station K-7, and hug the border all the way there.

Aye, sir, the helmsman said.

It cut against the grain of Deckers nature to turn his back on a mystery such as the meta-genome that Masada had uncovered. Even more difficult was turning away from the exploration of such a vast unknown as the Taurus Reach in favor of a mundane border cruise. But as the starfield on the viewer blurred and shifted, and the Constellation turned homeward, he knew that the work he and his crew had begun here, hundreds of light-years from home, was no doubt in very good hands.