The Kobayashi Maru Read online

  "…read you, Exeter…Sector ten…"

  Sulu glanced at the navigator, who winced. "In the Neutral Zone, sir."

  Sulu stopped the next words he planned to say.

  "…Exeter, we're losing air…can you help us?… Over."

  "Sir," communications finally prompted, "do you wish to reply?"

  The Neutral Zone. "Helm," Sulu said, more softly, "give me a long-range scan on that sector. What do you get?"

  The helmsman gnawed at his lower lip, then finally shook his head. "Dust, gas…I'm getting a lot of interference…"

  "Is there a ship out there?"

  "I…I think so, sir…"

  That didn't help with the decision. "You think so?"

  The helmsman opened his mouth as though ready to commit more fully, then scanned the readings again and sighed. "I don't know, sir."

  When Sulu said nothing for several moments, Perez-Salazar pressed, "Captain, the Kobayashi Maru is awaiting your reply."

  Sulu nodded, slowly, stiffly. "Kobayashi Maru…You are a civilian freighter?"

  "Neutronic fuel carrier…three hundred passengers. Exeter, what's the problem?"

  "What are you doing in the Neutral Zone?"

  The answer this time was long in coming. "…don't know…must have slipped course…Exeter, can you help us…?"

  Sulu swallowed, feeling a sickness in his stomach that told him everything he was about to do was wrong—only something else inside him knew this was his only choice.

  "Kobayashi Maru," he answered calmly, "I'm…sorry. We can't help you. I'm afraid you're on your own." He felt his small crew stir like agitated bees, but no one said anything to him. "Breaching the Klingon Neutral Zone with a Constitution-class starship could be considered an act of war. An interplanetary conflict with the Klingons would result in millions of lost lives, and…that's a risk I am not prepared to take for the lives of so few…I'm very, very sorry."

  "…you daft? We're dying!…"

  "I'm sorry."

  "Captain, I'm—" The communications officer recoiled slightly when Sulu turned. "That's really lousy," she said, dropping out of the scenario. "I think we ought to go in."

  "She's right," the helmsman intervened. "You can't just leave them out there."

  "We're leaving them." Sulu couldn't believe his voice sounded so calm and assured. "You've got your course, Mister."

  "Uh…" The navigator, laughing slightly, turned away from her panel. "You can't do this," she began.

  "I'm the commander," Sulu reminded her firmly. But his insides quivered, and he didn't dare let go of the command chair, lest they see how badly he was shaking. "I have total control over this vessel, and I have made my decision." A hard decision—a horrible decision—a decision that means all of those people will die! The navigator nodded, and turned back to her post.

  "Listen, Sulu," the cadet at the security station interjected, "we're supposed to be in Starfleet. We're supposed to guard, and protect!"

  "Avoiding a war—"

  "Is cowardice! Kobayashi Maru is less than fifty parsecs into the Neutral Zone—we could be in and out before the Klingons even knew we were there!"

  "They may already know." No one interrupted, so Sulu went on. "What is Kobayashi Maru doing in the Neutral Zone, anyway? Why can't we clearly scan her coordinates?"

  "The ionization factor—" the helmsman began, but Sulu cut him off.

  "Possibly. Or a Klingon trap. There may be no ship out there to rescue."

  The cadet at the science station threw his hands up in disgust. Sulu noted with some irritation that it was the Federation from the Galactic Politics scenario on their first day. "That's so damn paranoid!" the cadet exclaimed. "Do you mean to say that, as a starship captain, you would couch all of your decisions in terms of 'maybes'?"

  Sulu looked at him, unsure how to respond. "What else is there?"

  Protests erupted from all across the bridge, some of them in favor of his decision, most of them emphatically opposed. Sulu kept expecting the floor-to-ceiling viewscreen to crack like an oyster and return them all to Coan and the outside world; he studied the stars displayed on the screen and waited.

  "Ladies and gentlemen!" a voice cut in sharply from behind him. "This is mutiny!"

  The uproar cut off like a transmission that had suddenly lost its signal. Every thought in Sulu's brain simply ceased, and he turned the command chair slowly as Perez-Salazar queried, "Should I contact security, sir, and have these miscreants thrown in the brig?" He only blinked at her.

  "Calm down, Maté," the security cadet grumbled.

  Her eyes splashed him with prideful fury. "If we are to treat this scenario as reality for the purposes of rescuing Kobayashi Maru, then we should treat our officers realistically, as well." She turned to all of them, scowling her disgust. "If this is how you would truly respond to your commander and peers, I never want to serve on a starship with any of you!" Her dark gaze glanced off Sulu, and he felt the implicit, Except you, in that look. Pride and shame, strangely intermixed, thickened his throat beyond his ability to respond.

  "How dare you!" she went on, stepping down to stand by his right hand. "How dare any of you assume his decision is an act of cowardice! You!" She stabbed a finger at the cadet manning communications. "Save your starship, or save yourself. Choose! Now!"

  He opened his mouth, shut it, then opened it again and stammered, "I…my…my ship!"

  The scowl that twisted Perez-Salazar's dark, Latin face betrayed her opinion of his decisiveness. "Do you say that because you really wish the ship to survive, or because you are afraid of the repercussions should you choose the more selfish option?"

  The cadet didn't volunteer a reply.

  "No matter how noble that choice may seem to you or to others, that was a decision of cowardice," she told him. "For it to be truly noble, you must choose death because to live any other way is unthinkable."

  Sulu sucked in his breath abruptly, feeling as though he'd been kicked, deep and hard, from inside. "Mister Perez-Salazar…"

  She turned, straight and proud, at his summons.

  "That will be all…Thank you."

  He didn't look away when she paused to study his eyes with painful candor. "Yes, sir." Passing her muster left him somehow strangely pleased.

  "Communications," he said, turning back to the front, "contact the nearest Starbase with details on the Kobayashi Maru. If Starfleet can locate a Klingon representative in time, it might still be possible to save the freighter. In the meantime, we have a supply run to make. Helm?"

  Only the navigator uttered a cool, "Aye, aye, sir," in acknowledgment. But they all turned back to their stations without complaint.

  "I hope he knows what he's doing," the science officer whispered to someone beyond Sulu's sight.

  The ensign remained fixed on the stars, and pretended not to hear. What has to be done, he told himself gently. I understand that now, Poppy…I honestly, really do…

  Brutal. He decided that was the best word to describe the lecture and review following the Kobayashi Maru scenario. Coan replayed the events on a large-scale monitor (embarrassing Sulu as well as everyone else in the bridge crew), then the class discussed their opinions and suggestions regarding the young ensign's course of action. While the commodore was studiously nonpartisan throughout the debate, the bridge crew wasn't quite so hostile by the time class let out; Sulu felt he had a pretty good idea what Coan's view of his decision had been. The knowledge made him proud.

  The wind through the quad was brisk and chilly, but sunlight leapt from one granite-flecked square to the next as Sulu crossed the white stone plaza. It seemed somehow sinful to be so lighthearted less than twenty-four hours after hearing of Tetsuo's death, but Sulu thought Poppy would understand, and maybe even approve.

  He caught sight of Perez-Salazar walking alone, as always, a half-dozen running steps ahead of him. Oscillating only briefly between approaching her and pretending not to see, his feet solved the dilemma for him by length
ening their strides until he found himself matching her stiff, determined gait. "Hi!"

  She glanced at him pugnaciously, and he continued before she could speak, "I wanted to thank you for standing up for me during the simulation. It was a big help."

  She looked forward again and shrugged. "I didn't do it for your benefit." Her eyes almost glanced at him, but she seemed to remember herself and directed them away again. "You were simply in the right, that's all."

  Sulu smiled. "I had a good teacher." She didn't prompt him for further information; he considered letting that mean she didn't want to talk to him further, but decided he didn't want to play this game by her rules anymore. "My great-grandfather had a lot of understanding about responsibility, and things that just need doing." The pain inflicted by the subject was barely overbalanced by the love he would always feel for the old man. "You'd have liked him," he told her. "He was a very strong man."

  "And a wise man," Perez-Salazar allowed. "A very wise man, if he taught you these things so well." Her voice was just as cold as always, but Sulu still felt warmed by her words.

  "Yes," he admitted. "A very wise man. He taught me the difference between playing hero and being responsible…and how sometimes the two can be the same." He continued matching her pace as they approached the main building, not wanting to break this newfound rapport with Perez-Salazar, yet not sure how to continue it. As they entered the building's long, gray shadow, he asked abruptly, "Have you ever seen Old San Francisco?"

  She paused in her walking, and so surprised Sulu that he almost overshot her position. "No," she said warily. "Why?"

  "Well, I'm a great native guide," Sulu informed her with a wink. "We could get passes for this evening, and I'll show you Golden Gate Park, and Fisherman's Wharf, and the Palace of Fine Arts." He saw something like panic move in her eyes, and amended, "No strings. Just a thank you…Really."

  The panic subsided, leaving only a vestigial smile on her face; the smile made her very pretty. "All right. I shall meet you here after supper."

  "Great!" Sulu dug into his pocket and drew out the crumpled paper crane he had folded during the class debate over his Kobayashi Maru decision. He presented it to Perez-Salazar with a flourish. "Redeemable for one dynamite tour."

  She took it as though it were a soiled sock. "This is one of those ducks," she complained, but not so severely as her expression suggested. "You folded these all through our first scenario."

  Flattered that she'd even noticed him during the turmoil of Galactic Politics, he hid his embarrassment behind an expression of resignation. "They aren't ducks! They're cranes!"

  "Cranes?"

  Sulu closed her hand about the tiny construct and explained patiently, "In ancient Japan, cranes were revered for their grace and beauty. It was believed that if you folded one thousand paper cranes while meditating, you could create a miracle."

  Perez-Salazar opened her hand only long enough to sneak a look at the origami bird, then smiled more stunningly than before. "Does it work?"

  A swell of pain and love overwhelmed him again, and Sulu thought of Poppy and nodded. "I believe it does," he told her sincerely. "I really believe it might be true."

  Chapter Seven

  HALLEY

  WELL, HE WAS RIGHT, Kirk reflected unhappily. It wasn't funny. He stared at the airlock door and willed Scott to hurry.

  "Your great-grandfather must have been a very exceptional man," McCoy finally said softly. "I would have been honored to meet him."

  Something reminiscent of a smile tugged at Sulu's lips. "Hang in there, Doc," he confided weakly. "You might still get your chance."

  "Captain? Shuttle?"

  Scott's voice from the front cabin drew everyone's attention. Chekov slid from his seat behind Sulu and trotted into the front as the engineer reported, "I've got…some bad problems out here, Captain—a dust storm, or a cloud, or something…I just busted my tail to repatch a conduit that's been shredded by dust, and—" The channel didn't waver, Kirk heard Scott swear softly before continuing. "I'm hurrying as fast as I can," the Scotsman finished grimly. "But I think …Well, it's best you not wait on me."

  McCoy threw Kirk a frightened glance. "What's he saying? What does that mean?"

  Kirk gripped the back of his seat and wished for the millionth time that he wasn't injured. "Get him back in here," he ordered tightly.

  "…I knew it…!" Chekov hovered in the doorway, looking pale and shaken. "I should be out there, not him!"

  "Chekov!" Kirk snapped. The lieutenant started, flushing with embarrassment. "Get him in here! Hurry!"

  "With what?" McCoy insisted. "Jim, we haven't got a radio!"

  Chekov bolted for the suit locker by the exit. "Yes, we do!" he gasped. "My God, we have six of them!"

  Kirk couldn't believe none of them had thought of the helmet radios sooner. "Good, Chekov!"

  "Scott?" Chekov held the locker door open with one foot as he triggered the radio in one of the helmets with his hand. "Mister Scott! Do you read?"

  "Keep out of my ear, Chekov!" Scott's voice returned peevishly. "I'm trying to concentrate!"

  "No," Chekov countered, "come back in. You can finish when the dust storm has passed."

  Scott's warm, rich laughter was thinned by stress and distance. "I can't wait that long, lad, and you know I can't. Now shut up and let me work."

  "Didn't you listen to Sulu's story?" Chekov asked the engineer. "Heroics don't always help!"

  "What are you prattling about?"

  Kirk waved for Chekov's attention, shaking his head. "Let him be…"

  Chekov looked up in response to Kirk's voice, and a skirl of keening feedback tore through the front of the shuttle. McCoy swore caustically; Chekov twisted away from the helmet in his hands. As the clamor peaked and slid away, Scott's voice pierced the resultant static with a sharp, frightened cry.

  Chekov clutched the helmet to him again. "Scotty!"

  "I've got a suit breach! Ah, DAMN! Chekov! Listen, lad, you've got to—"

  Silence engulfed the open channel. Chekov's suit helmet clattered to the deck as the lieutenant began hastily stripping off his duty jacket. He slung the jacket onto the front row of seats and dragged a full suit from the locker without even asking permission to go.

  The shuttle groaned and shuddered slightly, echoed by a short, ringing report along the starboard hull, and a muted thump. An almost imperceptible sensation of movement made Kirk's head spin. He realized then that Halley'ss tumble had shifted; Scott had cut the cylinder free.

  "Where do you think you're going?" McCoy's voice brought Kirk's attention back to the room. "Chekov, don't be an idiot!"

  The lieutenant was half-suited, hastily checking his pressure and seals. "Stay inside, Mister Chekov," Kirk ordered sternly.

  Chekov didn't look up from his work. "I won't leave the lock," he promised. "If I can't see him, I'll come right back."

  "Chekov…" But the thought of abandoning Scott turned Kirk's stomach; it could hardly do more harm to let Chekov salve his conscience by checking.

  "We need someone in this shuttle besides me who isn't incapacitated…" McCoy sat with Chekov's jacket in his lap, twisting the garment into a thick rope with his nervous hands. "Chekov, didn't you listen to Sulu's story? Sometimes you have to sacrifice—losing both of you won't help anyone!"

  "I know that!" Chekov shouted, slamming the locker door with one suited hand. "Do you think I didn't know that before we sent him out there?" He calmed abruptly; Kirk watched him take four deep, measured breaths before stooping for the fallen helmet. "But we can't afford to lose him, either," Chekov finished quietly. "That's the difference between classrooms and reality."

  "Go on, then." Kirk intercepted whatever McCoy had been about to say. "But be careful."

  Chekov only nodded. Running his hand across the overlarge controls beside the airlock door, he inspected the seals on his helmet one last time as he waited for the door to open. Kirk was just about to question the delay when Chekov looked up wit
h a frown and touched the clumsy panel again.

  Something almost like pain crossed the lieutenant's face as he stared at the panel. Kirk's heart wrenched inside him. "What is it? What's wrong?"

  "I…" Chekov shook his head slowly. "I can't access!"

  McCoy straightened in his seat. "What?"

  "It won't let me in!" Chekov cried in delight. He tossed the helmet back behind him again. "The airlock—it's cycling! He's alive!"

  McCoy was already on his feet beside Chekov by the time the status light on the airlock door flashed green. Chekov yanked off his own gloves as the doors sighed open; it was all the two men could do to catch Scott as the engineer stumbled through and started to fall.

  "Scotty, move your hand!" McCoy ordered, trying to pry loose the hand Scott had clamped just above his left elbow. "Move your hand!"

  The hand moved, but not in response to McCoy; Scott caught at Chekov's wrist as the lieutenant reached to break Scott's helmet stays. A six-centimeter-long tear marred the arm of the suit, revealing Scott's blood-stained tunic beneath. McCoy thrust his hand into the opening as Scott motioned Chekov frantically to his left shoulder. The lieutenant nodded comprehension.

  "Whoa! Hold on a minute!" the doctor protested when Chekov shouldered him out of the way. "This man's hurt!"

  "He also has a suit breach," Chekov answered shortly. "There are joints in these suits that lock down to minimize air loss. They also cut off circulation." He angled his eyes up at Scott's visor and asked loudly, "Ready?"

  Looking thoroughly miserable, Scott merely nodded.

  Chekov twisted something at the shoulder of the suit, and the seal gave way with a popping gasp. Scott threw his head back with an expression of profound pain, then slid bonelessly to the floor between Chekov and McCoy.

  "Is he all right?" Kirk asked anxiously.

  McCoy nodded from where he was still bent over Scott's arm. "Looks that way. This is long, but clean, and not too deep." He flashed Scott a rueful grin as Chekov removed the engineer's helmet. "So much for the heroics, eh, Mister Scott?"