From the book

One: Kirk

Transparent aluminum spun a delicate membrane between the spindly green of transplanted Martian foliage and the blue-black Martian sky. As he watched one of the shipyard's many crew transports crawl patiently starward along a sparkling length of duranium filament, it occurred to James Kirk that man-made atmospheres were always the most fragile. Mars's chilly surface, although no longer the frigid wasteland of just a few centuries before, still clung to the planet only through the heroic efforts of her tenants. Outside the tame habitat of interlinked domes and tunnels, carefully tended flora transplanted from Earth's highest mountains and harshest tundras braved Mars' seasonal extremes, while the excess carbon dioxide from captured comets and a few million adventurous humans preserved just enough water on the surface to reward the plants with the occasional rain shower. The end result was a certain defiant beauty -- spidery junipers and upright bracken reaching toward the teal spark of a homeworld their ancestors had left generations ago.

Not unlike humanity. Granted, humans pampered themselves with heaters, oxygen cogenerators, and pressurized suits and homes. But they still survived where nothing larger than a dust mote had survived before them, and Kirk liked the view they'd created.

Utopia Planitia's shipyards stretched from the skirt of the colony's main dome to beyond the horizon, arcing magically upward in the guise of shuttle-bees and crew elevators. The twinkling strings of force and fiber bound the orbiting ships only temporarily. Some nearly finished, others bare skeletons of the great leviathans they would become, they'd all turn outward soon enough. Darkened engine rooms would thunder with the pulse of great dilithium hearts, and the blood and muscle organs in the chests of her eager crew would leap up in answer, until that combined symphony of animal and mineral, creature and machine finally ignited her sleeping warp core. It was a song that kept an officer's heart beating long after no other passion could. Old captains never die...

Kirk stepped off the moving walkway in the northernmost Agridome, the one dedicated to the sparse rock gardens and dark succulents of a Terran gulf environment whose name Kirk no longer remembered. It wasn't crowded the way so many of the lux-enhanced Agridomes always were. Everyone wanted to watch the crews ship out while surrounded by bright Colombian parrots or Hawaiian orchids, as though they'd never really dared to leave Earth at all. But here the lack of tall plant life offered an unobstructed view through the sides and top of the dome, and the foliage reflected the reddish moonslight in silver washes, as though leaves and stems were spun from raw pewter. Kirk remembered coming here as a freshly minted ensign the night before he rode a crowded elevator up to his first assignment on board the U.S.S. Farragut. He'd stayed here until dawn, trying to count the multitude of stars he could see in the single patch of sky surrounding the ship that was to be his home, his life, his family for the next five years. That was more than forty years ago, but it felt like only yesterday. He could still hear the reverent hush of the leaves against his trousers as he picked a path through the foliage, and he still remembered the cool surface of the rock that served as his perch at the foot of the dome's widest panel. Best seat in the house.

He found the man he was looking for seated in exactly the same spot, shoulders square, head high, hands folded neatly in his lap. Beyond him...

From the book

Chapter One

Captain Kirk was in his quarters when the Kauld ship attacked. It was late in the evening -- past eleven -- and he had been trying for the last hour to put down the twenty-first-century potboiler he had picked up for a little mindless entertainment before bedtime, but Ryan Hughes's tale of piracy and romance in the early Lunar colonies had proven more engaging than he'd expected. He was three-quarters of the way into it when the intercom whistled for his attention.

He pressed the reply button on the wall panel beside his bed. "Kirk here."

"Captain," Spock said. "Sensors have picked up a Kauld warship approaching the planet. It is a single vessel traveling through normal space under half-impulse power. It does not respond to our hails."

For a moment Kirk couldn't make sense of it. Kauld ships on Luna? In the twenty-first century? But then his own reality reasserted itself and he remembered where he was. This was the Belle Terre system, and the Kauld had been harassing the Federation colonists ever since they had arrived here, nearly a year ago.

"Go to yellow alert," Kirk said. "Move to intercept. I'll be right there."

"Acknowledged."

Kirk looked for a bookmark, but there was nothing within reach that would work. He fingered the pages -- real paper, printed especially for the colony library -- then dog-eared page 248 and set the book on his bed. He would probably hear no end of grief about that from the librarian, but it was either that or lay the book facedown and risk breaking the spine. That would probably lose him his library card, one of the few pleasures this colony world, far beyond the edge of civilization, had to offer.

He was alone in the turbolift on the way to the bridge. This time of night, most of the crew were in their quarters or at their graveyard-shift duty stations. He wondered if the Kauld knew that, and if they expected it to affect the Enterprise's ability to respond. If so, they would get a rude surprise. The same people who worked the day shift rotated through night duty as well; there wasn't an inexperienced crew member on board.

And few of them would regret kicking some Kauld butt in the name of defense. It wasn't professional, it wasn't Starfleet, but there it was. These sapphire-skinned, bad-tempered, antagonistic aliens had been a thorn in the Enterprise's side ever since the colony convoy had entered the Sagittarian sector. What had originally been intended as a simple escort mission while on her way into deeper space had instead become an extended peacekeeping job -- in part because of these alien troublemakers.

The turbolift doors opened and Kirk stepped onto the bridge. Normally at this hour, the lights would have been at half-intensity to simulate a diurnal schedule, but during a yellow alert everything went back to full operational status. He noted that Sulu was at the helm and Thomsen was at the navigation console. Thomsen was less experienced than Sulu, but she was a good navigator, and she had been gaining much more experience since Chekov had left to join the Reliant.

Spock was seated in the captain's chair, but he vacated it as Kirk stepped forward.

"Report," Kirk said.

Spock stepped through the gap in the railing around the captain's chair and stood by his science station. "No change. The Kauld ship is continuing on course toward the planet and refuses to respond to our warnings." He studied one of his displays for a moment, then added, "Deep-space scans do not reveal any other supporting ships. It appears that they are acting...

From the book

But neither of them were prepared for what actually came through the doors. First came the woman, Mistrae, looking quite amused. Then eight young men entered, bearing long, slender trumpets. They took up positions in two rows flanking the doors, and when they raised the trumpets toward one another, purple and white banners unfurled from the shafts. The men blew an elaborate fanfare, then crisply snapped the trumpets downward to stand at attention.

And in strolled a tall, overweight, nearly baid-headed man dressed in a billowy green shirt and loose gray pants, the legs of which had been tucked into the tops of his tall black boots. He had a wide, cherubic face, and an even wider black handlebar mustache. He had hooked his thumbs under his belt, and he swaggered like a king at his coronation.

Kirk recognized him instantly, by his mannerisms as well as his appearance. "Harry Mudd!" he ex-claimed.

For indeed it was. The same Harry Mudd who had trafficked in beautiful women, "wiving settlers," as he called it, and who had nearly destroyed the Enterprise in the bargain. The same Harry Mudd who had later found a planet full of androids, and who had nearly trapped the Enterprise crew there as enslaved subjects for the androids to "serve." Oh yes, Kirk knew this man, though he devoutly wished he didn't.

But if Mudd sensed any of his animosity, he didn't show it. He just smiled broadly at Kirk and said in his booming, exuberant voice, "Harcourt, please. Harry is so ... uncivilized."

"That's true enough," muttered Chekov.

"Ah, Mr. Chekov," Mudd said. "Clever as ever, I see. And the lovely Lieutenant Uhura. Certainly the most pleasant aspect of either of my stays on board the Enterprise. Thank you for accepting my invitation." He bowed deeply as he approached her, then caught her right hand on the upswing and brought it to his lips in a gentle kiss.

Uhura smiled wryly and said, "Hello, Harry. Good to see you again. I think."

Mudd chuckled. "Ah, such warmth and affection from my dear old friends. It truly warms my heart."

He turned to McCoy, and fluttering his right hand near his breastbone, said, "Stay near, good doctor. I may need your services if I become overwhelmed with emotion. And Mr. Scott. Your engines still look to be in tune." Mudd turned last toward Spock. "I know better than to expect an effusive greeting from you, sir, so allow me to greet you warmly for both of us." He grasped Spock's right hand and shook it enthusiastically-for about a second, until Spock tightened his muscles and his arm became as rigid as a steel beam. Mudd continued to shake for a moment, his whole body quivering with the effort, then he stopped and let go, saying, "As always, you're a veritable pillar of friendship, Mr. Spock."

The Nevisians-and Dr. McCoy-laughed at Mudd's antics, but Spock's reply was direct and to the point. "How did you escape from the android planet?"

As punishment for his role in capturing the Enterprise for the androids, Kirk and his crew had left Mudd there when they escaped-with five hundred android copies of his nagging wife, Stella, to make sure he got into no more trouble.

"Well," said Mudd, turning to Kirk, "the terms of my stay there were that I would be free to go when I was no longer an . . . 'irritant' I believe you called it. Of course since I never was an irritant, it was a simple matter of arranging for transportation once I decided to take my leave."Kirk knew how to interpret Mudd's statements. Arranging for transportation meant. . . "You stole another ship," he said.

"Nothing of the sort!" Mudd protested indignantly.

"The androids provided me...