“Ship’s Log, Stardate 1128.5. Despite our proximity to the Klingon Neutral Zone, the ‘shortcut’ Lieutenant Moretta suggested has worked out well for us. We appear to have shaved a full two days off this resupply run, and the crew is looking forward to early leave. Nevertheless, we remain vigilant as we make our closest approach to the Zone in a few hours.”
Kojiro Vance set down the log recorder, exchanging it for the mug of chai his first mate had delivered moments ago. Inhaling the fragrant steam, Vance reflected on exactly how lucky he was to have convinced Roger Kelly to re-up as his chief steward. Kelly was nearing retirement, like much of the crew Kojiro had inherited from his father when the elder Vance was promoted to oversee all of Iwata Fuel Components’ operations in a four-sector area. That was the sort of affection and loyalty Thomas Vance inspired in most people. Kojiro aspired to be such a presence eventually, but was willing to settle for riding coattails until his career launched a bit higher.
Especially if the reward was fresh chai, brewed to perfection.
Scanning his small but serviceable bridge, Kojiro noticed his crew seemed to be enjoying the relaxed atmosphere he also preferred, even while underway. Some shipmasters, of course, were no-nonsense, sticklers for protocol and formality. Thomas Vance had set a milder tone for this vessel, and Kojiro saw little reason to change that. He had always been of the mind that a crew at peace with itself could operate with far more efficiency than one that was constantly on edge. Nearing the end of his second year as this ship’s master, he had learned to put some of the precepts learned back in his days at the Merchant Marine Academy into use in finding the middle way between too strong a hand and too loose. It had taken some time, but Kojiro was finally feeling rather comfortable in the center seat (which was actually in the aft area of the bridge, what with this being a fuel carrier rather than a starship and all).
The rest of the bridge crew seemed comfortable at the moment as well. The aforementioned Lisa Moretta, the ship’s navigator, was chatting quietly with helmsman Antonio Carter. Both were relatively new to the ship and, like Kojiro, were looking to make their marks before moving on to bigger and better billets. Moretta came from a line of spacefarers, both civilian and Starfleet, while Kojiro knew Carter was the first person in his family to even leave the surface of their homeworld of Tau Ceti IV since the first colonization. The ship’s first mate, Kurt Becker, another holdover from the Thomas Vance era, had taken several of the casings off the remote engineering station. Becker had a communicator in one hand, and seemed to be conferring with the ship’s chief engineer, Bill Charles, on some technical issue or another. Kojiro’s own interests tended more toward social sciences rather than hard ones, so he was quite happy to let Becker handle those aspects of command.
For obvious reasons, science and exploration weren’t really a major part of a fuel carrier’s mandate. But as the Vulcans were fond of pointing out, one never knew what one might encounter in the infinite diversity of the universe. Accordingly, the ship had been outfitted with a basic sensor pallet. It was certainly no comparison to a dedicated explorer or cruiser, but it was good enough for the occasional gaseous anomaly or agglomeration of exotic particles. The ship’s electrotechnical officer, a Liechti named Ramadipeekna. One of only two non-humans aboard (one of the steward’s mates was a Triexian, with the third arm making him a natural sous chef), Rama would likely have stood out even without dyeing her scalp a rather vivid blue, contrasting with the turquoise cast of the rest of her skin. She also stood out at the moment by being far more focused on her workstation than the rest of the bridge crew.
Curious, Kojiro rose, carrying his chai over to the sensor console, reveling in the cinnamon fragrance and savoring a sip upon arrival. “Anything interesting out there, Rama?”
The Liechti swung her head in a circle, her species’s approximation of a shrug. “Not really sure, boss. The sensors may have picked up a small gravimetric disturbance that isn’t on any of our charts. But it’s still too far away to be sure with this equipment.”
Kojiro chuckled and took another sip of chai. “I know, it’s a little old-timey. Do you think it’s going to impact our course?”
“Probably not, although as I said, it’s still at the edges of sensor range. I should know more in a few hours.”
Stretching a bit, Kojiro stifled a yawn. Too long sitting in the chair, he supposed. “Very well. Keep me posted.” Turning toward the engineering station, he saw Becker had half-disappeared into the lower bulkhead. Rapping his knuckles on the workstation’s surface, Kojiro leaned over and called down to the first mate. “Kurt, you’ve got the conn. I’m heading down to the gym for a bit.”
Becker shook one of his feet in acknowledgement, and went right back to his muffled chat with the engineer. Hopefully, they don’t blow up the antenna array or something crazy like that, Kojiro thought. He smiled, mostly to himself, and keyed the button for the turbolift. Although, really, who do we need to talk to? The ship’s in good shape, the Klingons have been pretty quiet since Axanar, and we know this course. Homeward bound.
Kojiro Vance gave virtually no thought to gravimetric ghosts, communication arrays, or even their somewhat-unusual course the rest of the day. After dropping off his now-empty mug back in the galley (and having the usual good-natured chai-vs.-Earl-Grey debate with old Roger), he spent an hour putting various pieces of aging exercise equipment to the test in the ship’s gym. As he was leaving, Nexon Ka Toth, the Triexian steward came in and, as usual, challenged Kojiro to a wrestling match. It was sort of a running joke among the crew, or at least with Nexon, who never failed to offer up a hearty belly laugh after each repetition. Most of the other dozen or so crew members smiled politely and moved on, but the lack of challengers never dissuaded Nexon from offering. After the gym was a shower and a stroll back to the engineering compartment, where he found Chief Engineer Charles leaning against his desk, squeezing the bridge of his nose. Three engineer’s mates were scurrying around in the usual bustle that Kojiro appreciated, but never quite fully understood. Another thing on the list, he supposed.
“Come on, Emma! Give me some good news here.” Bill Charles, like Kojiro, expected a lot from his people but treated them like family.
“Working on it, Chief.” Emma Nelson was tucked in behind one of the impulse engine coil mountings, hyperspanner in hand.
“Problems, Chief?” Kojiro inquired.
Charles sighed. “Always problems somewhere, skipper.” On his tabletop monitor, the engineer called up an image that Kojiro recognized as a diagram of one of the T12-model impulse engines. According to the label, it was the starboard engine, and several areas were highlighted in blinking red. “We were running some routine diagnostics when one of the coolant pumps malfunctioned and the pressure in the system spiked. It wasn’t long, but we’ve been locking down microfractures for two hours now.”
“Why didn’t you let me know earlier?”
“Well, while we’re at warp, the impulse drivers don’t really matter all that much, and the problems aren’t really all that bad, they’re just time-consuming. As soon as we patch one up, it seems another one opens.”
Somewhat mollified, Kojiro said, “Still, you know I like to keep abreast of stuff like that. Keep in touch next time, yeah?”
Charles nodded. “Sure thing, skipper. Sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it. Do you think you’ll make mess call?” Kojiro liked his more-senior crew to dine together as much as possible, as sort of a debriefing ritual at the end of every day. It was a de facto staff meeting, and although there usually wasn’t a great deal to catch up on, the shipmaster had come to enjoy the routine.
“Fifty-fifty. Depends on how we do the next time we try and pressurize the conduits.” A loud clang coming from the upper level of the engineering bay interrupted any more talking, and Joe Nelson, one of the engineering ratings, shouted down, “Hey Chief! Can you give me a hand up here? I think one of the synchros just popped.”
Kojiro clapped Bill Charles on the shoulder by way of dismissal, and walked out of the engine room to the waning sounds of his chief engineer asking how the hell a synchro could have popped NOW, of all times. One less for dinner, the shipmaster mused, as he resumed his tour.
Indeed, Bill Charles did not quite make it for dinner, although he did send Assistant Chief Mark Mangus, who updated the rest of the command staff that one of the synchros had, in fact popped then, of all times, but a replacement had already been pulled from stores and was halfway through being prepped. Both the synchro project and the coolant manifold repair were expected to be completed by ship’s morning, which pleased Kojiro. The rest of the meal passed exactly as the young skipper always enjoyed, with a variety of witty banter and the kind of comradely chatting only a comfortable crew could pull off. The good vibe continued on even as Kojiro settled down in his bunk, having just been informed by Chief Engineer Charles that the impulse leaks were actually finished ahead of schedule for a change, and that he was “heading up to get a damn sandwich, if anyone needs me.” Stretching out in the privacy of his cabin, Kojiro Vance laced his fingers behind his head and once again grinned contentedly. Maybe I’m getting the hang of this ‘captain’ stuff after all, he thought as he slowly drifted off.
“Captain to the bridge, please.”
Kojiro Vance was reminded that getting the hang of “captain stuff” also included being woken up smack in the middle of one’s sleep cycle when the 1MC annunciator rang, followed by the somewhat raspy voice of Rama, the electrotechnical/science officer. Liechti only needed sleep every few hours, so it wasn’t unusual to find Rama standing watch during ship’s night, to spare those with more human endurance the graveyard shift. It was somewhat odd for her to be calling in backup, however. So Kojiro opened one eye, reached over his head, and flicked the toggle on his intercom. “What’s going on, Rama?”
“We may have a problem with our trajectory. It would be best if you came up here, sir.”
Uh-oh. I only get ‘sir’d’ when there’s a REAL problem, thought Kojiro. I wonder how much this is going to cost Iwata. Dad’s going to be pissed. Aloud, he only said, “On my way.”
A few minutes later, after shrugging a robe emblazoned with the Iwata Fuel Components corporate logo on over his sleepwear, Kojiro found himself standing around the sensor station with both Rama and the duty helmsman, Fourth Mate Chase Page. “It’s doing what, now?” Kojiro was having some trouble understanding exactly what the issue was, mostly because he was still focusing on wanting to be asleep again. He wished he had some more of Kelly’s chai.
“The gravimetric anomaly I found earlier seems to be…growing, for lack of a better word,” explained Rama. The rasp in her voice seemed to be stronger than usual. Frustration? Anxiety? Kojiro wasn’t sure. “When we entered active sensor range, I illuminated the location using the primary array. The phenomenon doubled in intensity almost immediately, and the field affected began increasing geometrically, as well.”
The solution seemed fairly straightforward to the shipmaster. “Very well, alter course to give it a wide berth. Compute a parabolic course to avoid entering the Neutral Zone.”
Page spoke up. “It’s not that simple, skipper.” Kojiro was rather fond of the young man, not least of all because of his almost preternaturally calm demeanor. He was one of the most serene people Kojiro had ever met, except when playing his beloved trumpet. But now even Page seemed a little on edge about the situation. “The gravitational flux has increased to the point where we are actually being mildly accelerated toward the anomaly, outside of the thrust our warp engines our providing. Our maneuvering thrusters haven’t been able to adjust our course to any meaningful degree.”
Kojiro swore under his breath. Normally, the solution probably would be pretty simple. The impulse engines were far more powerful than the thrusters, and likely be able to push them clear of this bizarre gravity well. Unfortunately, even though the coolant manifold system had been repaired, the synchro failure meant the impulse drive was still inoperative until the engines themselves could be rebalanced. That would be four hours minimum, even after the installation of the new synchro was complete.
“How long until we reach the anomaly?”
Page and Rama glanced at each other. Page shrugged. “Call it an hour, at our present rate of acceleration.”
An hour. Not a lot of time for a solution, but not impossible. Hopefully. Kojiro took a deep breath. “All right. Sound general quarters. I want Bill and Kurt up here on the bounce. Get Emma Nelson here, too. We need all the ideas we can get. I’m going to run back to my quarters to put some real clothes on, but I want some plans on the table in ten minutes.”
“Aye-aye, skipper.”
“Roger that.”
The two night shifters moved back to their positions as Kojiro strode back into the turbolift, ruing that he ever thought he had things figured out.
Especially once the alert klaxon sounded.
Thirty minutes later, Kojiro was fully dressed in the gray overalls that were IFC’s standard duty uniform, but his crew was no closer to a real solution. After re-assembling the bridge (bolstered by some ridiculously strong coffee from the chief steward’s private stash), the command staff embarked on a rather lively debate leaving no option unturned. Engineer’s Mate Nelson had first suggested an electronic solution, linking two spare computers to control each engine. This was quickly shot down by Chief Engineer Charles, who stated in no uncertain terms that the electronics weren’t up to snuff and the resulting torque imbalance would still rip the ship apart. Instead, Charles suggested, they should reconfigure the main computer safety protocols to allow the use of one impulse engine, and use that to alter course. The primary helmsman, Antonio Carter, was unconvinced that one engine would be enough at this range, even at an output that would burn out the driver coil. Around and around the ideas went, an ouroboros of opinion that threatened to degenerate into panic and chaos.
After about fifteen minutes, Kurt Becker put an end to the discussion by emitting possibly the loudest whistle Kojiro had ever heard anyone make. Becker checked to make sure he had everyone’s attention, came to a rough form of attention, and looked at Kojiro. “Need to make a decision, Cap,” he said simply.
Kojiro took a deep breath. He had been a shipmaster for almost two years, but nothing had really prepared him for an emergency like this. Not even the transfer hatch failure that had ripped a hole half the length of the ship and vented almost an entire load of reactant into the void had weighed this heavily. “Very well. We’re going to go with Mr. Page’s idea. Increase to maximum speed, and plot a slingshot course around the anomaly’s core. We may skirt the Zone a fraction, but I think it’s our best choice.”
He was not tremendously excited about the skepticism in their eyes, but at least a decision was made, and all of them were professional enough to acknowledge that and attend to their stations. Of course, while everyone else had emergency calculations to make or preparations to execute, all Kojiro could do is sit in his command chair and watch. He was proud to see everyone going about their duties with poise, and he didn’t think pacing or lurking would do anyone any good.
Still, the waiting made him want to jump out of his own damn skin.
After wiping his damp palms on the legs of his jumpsuit for what felt like the ten millionth time, Kojiro heard Carter call out, “Thirty minutes to close approach, skipper.”
“Very we-,” Kojiro began to reply, before getting interrupted by an insistent beeping from the navigation console. Lisa Moretta, the main navigator squinted at one of her console displays. “New sensor contact, belay that, three new sensor contacts, bearing zero-four-nine mark two-one. Range twenty-five thousand kilometers, CBDR.”
A shiver ran down Kojiro’s spine. Constant bearing, decreasing range. Essentially a collision course. There was no way it could be a coincidence. He did some quick math in his head, did it again, and didn’t like the answer any more the second time around. Twenty-five thousand kilometers put the new sensor contacts squarely inside the Neutral Zone, and that could not possibly be good news. “Any ID on the contacts, Lisa?”
Moretta turned and shook her head. “I have to assume they’re hostile, though.”
Kojiro’s mouth was as dry as his palms were sweaty. Klingons, he thought. Not even privateers would be brazen enough to risk entering the Zone. It has to be Klingons. Aloud, he said, “Very well. Are they within communications range?”
Manning the radio station was the first mate, Kurt Becker, who also turned to Kojiro. “Two minutes. The main array is still down from some upgrades the Chief and I were installing yesterday, before he got distracted by the impulse engines.”
“Understood.” Kojiro flicked a switch on the armrest of his captain’s chair, opening a circuit down to the engine room. “Chief, how does it look down there?”
“Not really any different, skipper. Kojiro could almost hear Bill Charles shrug through the intercom. “That gravity deal is starting to make the warp field go a bit wobbly, but nothing we can’t handle. Still no chance of getting the impulse engines running for a decent course change.”
“Right. Start charging the phaser cannon.”
There was a pause. “Say again, bridge.”
“You heard me, Chief. Divert power from wherever you can, and warm up the phaser defense system.” Kojiro couldn’t really blame Charles. By the letter of the law, civilian transports weren’t supposed to be armed, but it was an unspoken rule that cargo haulers needed something to defend themselves in a pinch. Most companies were able to get surplus phaser cannons and the like from decommissioned Starfleet cruisers with a wink and a nod, and Iwata was no different. Kojiro knew this ship’s defense was old, relatively weak, and realistically stood no chance going against what were likely to be heavy cruisers from the Imperial Klingon Fleet.
Still, he wasn’t quite ready to go gently into the good night.
“Understood, Captain. Energize the phaser cannon, aye. Estimate ninety seconds to maximum rated power.” Going from a fuel carrier to an ersatz battleship brought a certain enhanced formality, at least from Chief Charles.
“Very well, ninety seconds, Engineering. Bridge out.” Kojiro returned the courtesy. “Mr. Becker, has it been two minutes?”
“Aye, captain.” Formality seemed to be catching. A distraction? Defense mechanism? Kojiro hoped to be able to find out after all this.
“Open a hailing frequency, if you would.” At Becker’s nod, Kojiro continued. “This is Kojiro Vance, master of the civilian fuel”” A high-pitched squeal blasted from the overhead speaker. At nearly the same time, an urgent, wailing tone emanated from the sensor panel. Becker and Rama blurted out warnings at nearly the same time.
“Comm frequencies jammed, Captain! All of them!”
“Captain! The gravity well is increasing intensity, and is closing! We’re being pulled together! Collision in seven seconds!”
Well, damn, Kojiro thought. So much for having it figured out. He glanced around at his crew. His family. Damn shame they were going out like this.
Then a deafening, metallic clang as something hit the hull.
Then another as it detonated.
Then nothing.
Kojiro awoke at some point later, opening his eyes from darkness to three shades above it. After blinking a few times quickly, he could see the dim yellow illumination provided by the emergency lights. His head was pounding. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the ship’s medical officer, Vernon Pertelle, bending over someone else about ten feet away, and he realized he was in the ship’s sickbay. Iwata had always placed a high regard on the well-being of their crews, and thus the ship had a surprisingly well-appointed infirmary. Pertelle even had genuine medical experience, having been a Starfleet respiratory therapist before cashing out for a quieter life.
Kojiro snorted. Yeah, this is loads quieter than Starfleet.
Pertelle noticed that Kojiro had come to, and waved to someone outside Kojiro’s vision. First Mate Becker walked into his shipmaster’s eyeline, right arm in a makeshift sling, cuts all over his face. “Hey, skipper. Glad to see you back.”
Kojiro moved to prop himself up on his elbows, then dropped back onto the bed as his head threatened to explode. He noticed Becker reach down for a button, and the top half of the mattress elevated, giving Kojiro a slightly better view of the dim room. Forgot they did that, Kojiro thought. “Kurt, what the hell happened?”
Becker sat down heavily on a stool next to Kojiro’s bed. “Vernon says he saw one of these once when he was on the USS Bronco. They’re called gravitic mines. They emulate a natural gravity well, until they detect a communication signal. Then they basically use a graviton beam to lock on to the passing ship, reel themselves in, and explode.”
Kojiro was glad he could rest his head against the mattress. It was swimming enough from whatever his injury was, plus contemplating that someone wanted to kill them on purpose. “But why? Why us? Did the Klingons declare war again and someone forgot to tell us?” Oh, damn, Kojiro thought. “Wait, are the Klingons still out there?”
The first mate nodded. “We’re still assuming they’re Klingons, but we’re not sure why they haven’t just finished us off. They’re just hanging there. No aggressive moves, no attempts to board us. Nothing.”
That didn’t make any sense to Kojiro. He didn’t have much time to ponder it, as Pertelle had come over to check his vital signs once again. “How are you feeling, Kojiro?” The former Starfleeter asked.
“Fantastic. I need to get to the bridge.”
Pertelle shook his head. “You have, at minimum, a major concussion. I don’t have enough power for the tomography scanner, so I can’t say for sure if you have any bleeding in your skull, but bouncing around the flight deck isn’t going to be particularly good for you either way.”
With more effort than he wanted to admit, Kojiro swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat up. Blinking back the vertigo, he noticed that the bed next to him had another patient, with the sheet pulled all the way over the head. “Who is that?”
Becker and Pertelle glanced at each other. “That’s Lisa Moretta, skipper,” Becker said levelly. “We lost five people. Vernon says we may still lose Nexon.”
Kojiro locked eyes with his medical officer. “Vernon, if I can’t get to the bridge, and we can’t figure this out, we’re going to lose all our chudder. Each other. All of us.”
Pertelle tilted his head, as Kojiro’s garbled syntax proved his point. But Kojiro didn’t waver. Sighing, Pertelle went to the medication cart and loaded a hypospray. “This should keep you on your feet for an hour or so.”
Kojiro felt the cool touch of the hypospray to his neck, and the gentle hiss put him at ease. Maybe it was the med, maybe it was placebo effect, but he felt better almost instantly. “Thanks, Vernon. Kurt, let’s go.” He slid off the bed and wobbled to the sickbay door, once again master of the ship.
The bridge wasn’t any more illuminated than sickbay had been. Kojiro saw Rama covering the science station, having somehow fashioned a headlamp to see a little easier. Navigation and the helm were both unmanned; Becker had informed Kojiro the engines had taken the brunt of the mine’s destructive force and the ship wasn’t going anywhere for a while. The first mate called Rama over to the command area for a huddle as Kojiro sank into his chair. “What’s working, Rama?”
The Liechti’s voice was gravelly as ever. Certainly, somethings you could rely on, thought Kojiro. “Not much. Our ID beacon and automatic distress signal are broadcasting, although the hostiles are still blocking all available frequencies. Still, they know we’re civilians, which is maybe why they haven’t blown the rest of us up, despite having drifted over into the Neutral Zone. Mark Mangus says the coils in both warp engines are hopelessly fused, and the mine actually blew one impulse mount clean off the ship.”
“Wait. Mark reported? But”” Kojiro read the subtext in Rama’s expression. Chief Engineer Bill Charles was one of the five casualties. He cleared his throat. “Continue, please.”
Becker took over the report. “We actually have decent sensor power, surprisingly enough. As Rama said, we’re roughly five hundred kilometers inside the Neutral Zone, which means we’re technically in violation of the treaty. In our defense, we drifted here after the engines were destroyed, so there’s that. But it’s hard to say how we’re going to get out of here with the Klingons breathing down our necks.”
Kojiro pondered this. Certainly not many options. Why were they just sitting there? What possible purpose could that serve?
His reverie was interrupted by a tone from the sensor panel. Rama hurried over to check the readings. “This is odd,” she said. “We are losing contact with the hostiles.”
Kojiro and his first mate joined Rama at the console, Kojiro still a bit unsteadily. “They’re leaving?” Becker asked for the both of them.
Rama made more adjustments to the various controls and sensor panels. “Negative. Position is constant. They’re…disappearing. As if behind some kind of sensor screen.”
The solution seemed just outside Kojiro’s reach. He had a glimmer of an idea of what all these things could mean, but he was just too foggy to put the whole picture together. Would it matter? Kojiro wondered.
Another warning tone, one that was familiar. “New contact,” Rama reported, “Bearing two-one-zero mark zero-one-zero. Range, eighteen thousand kilometers.”
A spark of hope flared in Kojiro. That range and bearing were back inside Federation space. A rescue! “Communications?” He asked, against all odds.
Becker moved to the comms station. “Still jammed. Wait, the static is clearing somewhat. Our signal is still overwhelmed, but we can monitor, at least.”
“Do they have us on their scanners?”
Rama considered. “Likely.”
Kojiro couldn’t help but believe. “Keep your fingers crossed, people. We aren’t done yet.”
The main viewscreen, on the very forward part of the bridge, was not working (in fact, Kojiro could see a massive crack running roughly vertically through the display matrix), but Rama put a schematic view on one of the sensor station displays. Ever so slowly, the new contact grew closer. Kojiro wondered if this new ship knew about the Klingons, or whoever the “hostiles” were. If only we could talk, he thought, with a fresh burst of frustration.
Then something decidedly odd happened. He heard his own voice, coming from the communications monitor. “Imperative! This is the Kobayashi Maru, on course from Altair Six.”
Kojiru looked at Becker. “Did you get communications restored?”
The first mate’s jaw hung open. In a flurry of action, he seemed to push every button and toggle on the comms board. “No! What the hell?”
The phantom continued, still echoing Kojiro’s inflections. “We have struck a gravitic mine, and have lost all power. Our hull is penetrated, and we have sustained many casualties.”
The trio could only listen as the imposter voice actually received a response. “Kobayashi Maru, this is the starship Kelvin. Your message is breaking up. Please give us your coordinates, so we may effect rescue.”
“Thank you, Kelvin! We are in section ten of the Gamma Hydra sector. Please assist us!”
The mad conversation took a pause, as the crew of the Kelvin parsed the location. “Kobayashi Maru, are you aware you are in the Klingon Neutral Zone without clearance? Can you confirm your coordinates?”
Suddenly, everything clicked for Kojiro. The mine, the confusing behavior of the Klingons (as there was no longer any doubt in his mind, despite those odd actions), even their disappearing act. He locked eyes with Becker, and could tell his first had come to the same conclusion.
“We’re bait.”
Clearly the Klingons, knowing virtually no ship in Starfleet would be able to spurn a distress call, meant to disable any random vessel, then wait for a routine patrol to happen by. They could then entice the patrol vessel into the Zone, ambush them from behind their new sensor screens, and start a war while claiming the Federation had been the aggressor. Deviously brilliant, for the warmongering mind.
“But how did they get our ship name, and the skipper’s voice?” Rama wanted to know.
Becker shrugged. “Easy enough. We gave it to them, with the first distress call and our automated ID broadcast. The gravimetric interference from the mine plays enough havoc with sensors that they can see something’s here, but not all the details.” He turned to look at Kojiro. “What are we going to do?”
It was a question that had been asked of Kojiro far too often over the past day, or however long it had been (he hadn’t thought to ask how long he had been unconscious), and he was tired of it. His head hurt. He wanted to lay down, go to sleep, pretend this was all an exceptionally bad dream. But of course, he couldn’t. He had no idea what would happen to the ship his mother had named after some distant relative once the Kelvin reached their location and encountered the Klingons. But he knew he owed it to his crew, including the ones already lost, to bring them as noble an end as possible. That meant trying to help out the Starfleet crew, who were even now reporting, “Stand by, Kobayashi Maru, help is on the way,” to the imposters.
Captain Kojiro Vance of the FMV Kobayashi Maru brought himself to full height, a decision made. “Kurt, you said their sensors could see something was here?”
The first mate nodded. “That’s right.”
“Then we need to not be here anymore. Rama, how long until the Kelvin reaches the Neutral Zone border?”
Quietly, the science officer replied, “Ten minutes. Maybe slightly less.”
“Very well.” Kojiro clicked on the 1MC, activating every intercom on the ship. “All hands, assemble in Engineering.” He turned the speaker off and turned back to Becker and Rama. “Let’s go.”
As the trio rode the turbolift for what they all knew would be the last time, Kojiro reflected on the vagaries of life. A random shortcut, seemingly a great choice to get home, he mused, and we end up here. Poor Lisa. Probably better she didn’t have to go through this part, with everyone looking at her. He glanced at his companions and saw they were both similarly lost in thought. At least we can save the Starfleeters from our mistake. When they arrived in the engineering bay, they found the remaining crew members waiting for them, bedraggled to various degrees. As captain, it fell to Kojiro to explain the situation, and he summarized the attack and impending ambush as quickly as possible.
“I know I’m not giving you much time to absorb this, and I’m sorry. We simply don’t have much time to prevent our tragedy from growing even worse. Obviously, we don’t have a self destruct mechanism, but I need a way to replicate one, and I need it right now.”
He was met with mostly downcast eyes. He could hardly blame them. Who wants to contemplate their own imminent demise?
But Emma Nelson, one of the youngest members of the crew, met his gaze evenly, surprisingly unafraid. “The fuel hold. That ought to do it.”
Her boss (in fact, the only remaining engineer) Mark Mangus looked up. “Yeah, that would probably do it.”
“Explain. Quickly, please.” By Kojiro’s count, they had six minutes to avert disaster.
Mangus spoke. “Even though the holds are technically empty, there’s still a bit of neutronic fuel left in there that the pumps can’t remove. It typically gets drained and reprocessed when we get back to port. Plus, we actually count on the vapor to stiffen the tanks and help out the structural integrity fields. A few sparks in the right places, and the vapor can be more…energetic…than the fuel itself.” The engineer nodded, mostly to himself. “Yep. They’ll see that on their sensors, for sure.”
Kojiro was honored. Nelson was at the very beginning of her interstellar career, and Mangus had a wife and daughter to go home to, yet they were able to make their peace with the situation. Kojiro hoped their sacrifice, any of their sacrifices, would not go unnoticed by Starfleet. “How long?”
Emma Nelson shrugged. “Five minutes, tops.”
Cutting it close. “Make it so, my friends. Take a communicator, and let me know.”
There was no time for formalities. Mangus and Nelson each grabbed a set of tools from a rack and took off running aft, toward the cargo area.
That left Kojiro, Becker, Rama, Vernon Pertelle, Antonio Carter (who had been down in Engineering ever since the helm had been made moot by the engine failure), Chief Steward Roger Kelly (Kojiro guessed they’d never quite resolve whether chai or Earl Grey reigned supreme), and Bogren Grice, another holdover from when Kojiro’s father was in command, who was sort of a jack-of-all-trades on the ship. As they all stood there, staring at each other without the faintest idea what to say, it was Bogren that spoke up. Snapping off a sloppy salute, he said, “Guess we should have taken the long way home, eh, boss?”
Kojiro couldn’t help it. He started giggling, which worked it’s way into a chortle, and eventually a full-blown guffaw. It was contagious, too, as everyone else slowly broke down to gales of laughter. The shipmaster gazed once more, through the tears of laughter, at his crew. What a remarkable group, he thought. I’m glad to remember them like this.
Three minutes and seventeen seconds after Mangus and Nelson left, Kojiro’s communicator beeped. It was Nelson. “We’re ready here, skipper.”
Kojiro took one last deep breath. “Light the candle. And thank you for your strength.”
The honorable captain must go down with the ship, he thought. And my crew honors us all.
He was still smiling when the brightness flared and took them.
“One minute to the Neutral Zone, Captain.” George Kirk, helmsman of the USS Kelvin, reported back to his captain. Like many of his shipmates, he was apprehensive about entering the disputed area, but he trusted Captain Robau implicitly. They had been through enough together, including dust-ups with the Klingons themselves. Kirk knew Robau didn’t take unnecessary chances with his ship and crew, and he also knew the Kelvin was essentially the only hope for the Kobayashi Maru.
“Thank you, Mr. Kirk.” Richard Robau sat in his command chair at the center of the Kelvin’s bridge as if he were carved there from a block of dark granite. If he had any doubts about their mission of mercy, they were hidden well beneath his implacable demeanor.
“Captain!” Lieutenant Humphrey, the Kelvin’s tactical officer, blurted out. “Major energy discharge, same bearing as the Kobayashi Maru’s signal. Roughly the same range, as well.”
Captain Robau stood, eyes still locked on the main viewscreen. “Mr. Kirk, full stop.” He strode over to the tactical station. “What do you make of it?”
Humphrey put an enhanced and magnified version of the scan data on the main viewer. “It appears to be a neutronic fuel detonation, sir.”
The captain looked thoughtful. “Was the Kobayashi Maru not a neutronic fuel carrier? Could the damage from the mine have simply caught up to them?”
“It’s possible. But according to the report we got from Altair, their tanks should have been empty. Neutronic vapors can be volatile, but you have to work at it to set up the circumstances on a fuel carrier like that. My brother is an engineer on an Iwata transport. They run clean ships, sir.”
Robau walked back toward the combined helm/navigation console, digesting Humphrey’s analysis. “Interesting. Mr. Kirk, can you give me a visual-spectrum image of the explosion?”
Kirk worked over his panels, calling up the data. “I think so, sir. Here we go.”
On the viewer, a small fireball marred the field of stars.
“Magnify, please. And step the image forward.”
The fireball doubled in size, then began expanding organically until it filled roughly a third of the screen.
Humphrey suddenly sucked in a breath through his teeth. “Captain, look at this.”
On the viewer, the fireball magnified again, and some of the colors shifted as Humphrey made further enhancements. As the contrast changed, what caused his reaction became clear. The silhouettes of three Klingon D-6 battle cruisers became obvious.
“Good eye, Mr. Humphrey,” Robau, of course, remained unperturbed.
“Thank you, Captain. It appears that the Klingons have some kind of sensor screen technology. Looks like it got overwhelmed by the explosion, though, and reflected some of that. Sort of like light echo rings around neutron stars.
Robau returned to his command chair. “Somehow, those people knew the Klingons were out there, and they realized they were part of a trap. The mine must have disabled their ship to the point they couldn’t escape, but they knew we wouldn’t leave them.”
“A no-win situation,” remarked Lieutenant Kirk.
“On the contrary,” said Robau. “Their sacrifice turned their certain deaths into our fighting chance for life. In addition, we now have some very valuable information to carry on to Starfleet. It seems the Klingons have a new toy, and we may have a head start on defeating it. They saved us, and perhaps many more.” He turned to the communications officer. “Lieutenant, drop a marker buoy here. And let’s have a moment of silence, in memory of the Kobayashi Maru. We’ll find a way to honor them more appropriately after we talk to Starfleet.”
“Aye, Captain. Marker away.”
There was a dull thump as the beacon was launched from the torpedo bay, then a measure of contemplative silence. George Kirk considered the bravery of the Kobayashi Maru, and wished he had been able to know the crew. Robau was right, he thought. There’s no such thing as a no-win scenario. I’ll have to teach that to my kids someday.
Story Notes: This story takes place somewhat prior to the events of the beginning of Star Trek (2009). The USS Kelvin does make a brief appearance at the end.