Without warning or provocation an alien weapon appears above Earth and unleashes a blast that kills millions across two continents. A second such weapon could destroy the entire planet. In a desperate bid to save Earth and its people, Starfleet must change its mission from one of peaceful exploration to one of military service.
Only the Starship Enterprise is fast enought to stop the production of a second Xindi weapon. But the crew cannot do it alone, and Captain Jonathan Archer accepts a contingent of Military Assault Command Operations personnel -- battle-hardened soldiers known as MACOs -- on board his ship.
Starfleet and the MACOs are two very different services sharing a common goal, but divided in their views of how to attain it. It is a culture clash that echoes across centuries of military service. The men and women on board the Enterprise understand that somehow they must succeed in working together or the price will be paid in blood -- failure is not an option.
There are no customer reviews available at this time. Would you like to write a review?
Pocket Books/Star Trek
April 24, 2006
Number of Print Pages*
Adobe DRM EPUB
* Number of eBook pages may differ. Click here for more information.
Excerpt from Star Trek: Enterprise: Last Full Measure by Michael A. Martin
Tell Paul his big brother is having a ball at summer camp.
Just kidding. It's been eighty-four days since we entered the Delphic Expanse. There's nothing new to report, unfortunately; we've still found neither hide nor hair (nor scales) of the Xindi, or the large-scale particle-beam weapon they're preparing to deploy against Earth. Everyone aboard Enterprise is getting good and cranky about the lack of results so far in our search.
If we succeed, you and Paul will eventually get to read all of these entries in order. (But I'll certainly understand if you're tempted to skip forward to the end, where we finally catch up to the alien killers we've been chasing.)
If we fail, you'll find that out when the Horizon receives word that the entire planet Earth has been blown to rubble by a hidden weapon built by those very same aliens.
As always, I am hoping for the best while preparing for the worst.
Your loving son,
Friday, September 7, 2153,
Yet another alpha shift passed uneventfully, almost like a milk run aboard the freighter where he was born and raised.
But that's not a good thing, Ensign Travis May-weather thought as he left his post following the shift change and headed for the bridge turbolift. Boredom always exhausted him far more than vigorous activity did.
And he knew that boredom was the last thing the crew of Enterprise needed right now. It was the last thing humanity needed at the moment.
Because it meant that the search for the aggressive aliens known as the Xindi, the mysterious race whose unprovoked attack on Earth had killed more than seven million human beings, was very quickly going nowhere.
Mayweather stopped the turbolift on E deck, then trudged from the turboshaft toward the port-side rim, where his quarters awaited him.
He hesitated for a moment outside the door, not exactly afraid to go inside, but not quite eager to do so either. I could go to the gym instead, he thought. Work off some of this energy.
But he'd need his workout clothes. And to get them, he'd have to go into his quarters. Chang might be there, and Mayweather simply wasn't in the mood to deal with his MACO roommate at the moment.
Dammit, these are my quarters, he thought as he slammed his palm against the reader mounted on the bulkhead beside the door. Chang is only a guest here.
The door slid open obediently and Mayweather entered the cramped room. He eyed with suspicion the alien presence that had taken it over these past few hectic months.
Corporal Chang sat cross-legged on the bed -- My bed! Mayweather thought indignantly -- dressed in the khaki fatigues that many of the Military Assault Command Operations personnel wore when they weren't on duty. His eyes were closed as though he were lost in meditation. The corporal's relaxed yet formal posture reminded Mayweather of the stoic Sub-Commander T'Pol.
Only Chang made the fastidious T'Pol look almost slovenly by comparison. Although he was wearing what amounted to casual exercise clothing, it was neatly pressed and pleated, all spit and polish, as though a MACO general might conduct a surprise inspection at any moment.