Mark Allen and Charity Zegers

The Argus-class heavy warbird had seen better days. Phaser burns scorched its outer hull in numerous locations. Great gouges peeled back metal plating in several long hull breaches, like an immense claw had ripped along its length at some point in its violent, war-torn past. Technically decommissioned over a century earlier by the Romulan Star Empire, it had only recently been saved from an ignominious end by agents of DTI—the Federation’s Department of Temporal Investigations.

Retired Fleet Admiral Korvak sneered, not bothering to hide his displeasure. He stood in the spacedock observation lounge dressed in his old uniform, his gray hair cut with military precision over his pointed ears.

“This is the ship I’m to command?” he said in patent disbelief.

“This pile of scrap from a bygone era?” He turned to the two human men standing beside him. “This had better be some version of a human joke, done in poor taste.”

One of the two stepped forward slightly, his nondescript features set in a conciliatory expression. Neither man wore a uniform, nor had they volunteered information such as names. They weren’t exactly working under the sanction of their superiors.

“Admiral Korvak, rest assured that by the time you embark on your adventure, the vessel will be completely restored to full working order.”

Korvak scowled, clearly not appeased. “It’s a relic! It belongs in a museum, or perhaps a junk heap. I refuse to pay a small fortune for your services if this is to be the dubious honor awarded me.”

The human frowned slightly. His companion stepped forward, his own expression harder, more accustomed to giving orders than to taking them.

“There were rules in the contract you signed, Admiral. Rules to make sure the game is played fairly, and remains challenging for all parties involved. How fair or challenging would it be if you were able to use a warbird of your current era? You will have at your command technology equivalent to that of the quarry you’ve requested. We made no secret of that during negotiations. Check your copy of the contract, if you wish.”

Korvak didn’t bother. He remembered the terms perfectly, but had hoped to bully his way around them.

“Never mind.” he said. “Just be sure that you have that ship combat-ready by the designated time.” He thrust a large storage case toward them. “Your fee, in full, and in gold-pressed latinum as per your request.” He paused as one of the men took out a tricorder and carefully measured the contents of the container. He cleared his throat, watching. “Have you narrowed down an appropriate point in the timeline for the adversary that I’ve chosen?” There was a note of excitement to his voice.

The second DTI agent looked up with a smile.

“Why, yes, Admiral, I believe we have,” he said, his tone now that of the gracious host. “The perfect moment in history for your adventure. I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised.”

Captain James T. Kirk faced the viewscreen eagerly, his eyes still on the quadrant of space in which the U.S.S. Excelsior had just vanished into warp. He was opening his mouth to give orders to get underway when Commander Uhura suddenly spoke up from her station.

“Captain, I have orders from Starfleet Command. We’re to put back into spacedock immediately…to be decommissioned.”

A heavy silence descended over the bridge. Decommissioned. Kirk felt as though the word applied to him, and not just his ship. His hands clenched briefly. He could feel the eyes of the rest of his crew on him, waiting. Expecting. Sorrow filled him, along with the knowledge that he could not win this fight. The time of this Enterprise and this crew was done. He swallowed, preparing to give the order.

“If I were human,” said Spock suddenly into the silence, “I believe my response would be…go to hell.” He looked at his friend, quirked an eyebrow. “If I were human.”

The rest of the crew smiled, the tension on the bridge easing as Spock voiced the thoughts they all shared.

“Course heading, Captain?” asked Chekov hopefully.

Kirk felt a wave of gratitude for his friends, his crew, his family. He smiled, stared again at the viewscreen.

“Second star to the right,” he said, “and straight on ‘til morning.”

Commander Chekov took his captain literally, and used his best guess to estimate the coordinates. Realistically, they all knew that it was only a matter of time before Starfleet tracked them down, but surely even the bureaucrats couldn’t deny the Enterprise and her crew one last flight together. One last adventure.

Admiral Korvak stood in silence, watching repair crews finishing the refit of his warbird. Once he’d paid, the mission was underway. He’d barely been able to contain himself as he’d waited, a bit less than patiently. His hands released their death hold on each other. James T. Kirk. The greatest human captain Starfleet had ever produced. Kirk was a genuine war captain, product of the conflict with the Klingons nearly two centuries ago. His hands began to shake.

Like him, Kirk had never known defeat. Engaging him in combat would prove to be the challenge of his career as a military genius and admiral of the Star Empire. He would be forever known as the Romulan who defeated the great James T. Kirk.

“She’s in complete working order with full armament?” he asked the human just entering the observation lounge.

“But of course, Admiral,” the DTI agent assured him smoothly.

“You have a brand-new warbird at your disposal, albeit of the era that your prey is in. We even have coordinates ready for you to intercept Enterprise as soon as your ship is ready to depart.”

Enterprise. The name sent a jolt of exhilaration through his Romulan blood. He would also get to face Spock, a longtime thorn in the side of the Star Empire. Korvak had studied all of the texts he could find on the Vulcan. In the time he would be traveling to, Spock would be a captain, not yet an ambassador.

Korvak turned toward the view port. Pavel Chekov became president of the Federation in his later years. This would be a devastating defeat for the Federation. First and foremost to him was the exhilaration of the hunt, of facing the greatest adversary he could find across the bridge of a warship, but he could not deny the appeal of changing the course of history in one fell tactical engagement. He took a deep breath, allowing his emotions to calm. When he’d been told of this little opportunity, he’d been doubtful, but now he couldn’t believe what was about to fall under his hands, his command. It would be his final combat voyage, and a glorious end to an illustrious career.

Captain Nagiyama Sotto, Starfleet liaison to the temporal organization DTI, drummed his fingers impatiently on his command chair console. He was a man accustomed to swift action. Over the course of his forty-five years of active service, nothing he’d yet encountered irritated him more than bureaucracy, having to wait for all of the red tape to clear before committing to a course. It was why, at sixty-three years of age, he was still commanding a starship instead of riding a desk.

Yet today it was not merely the waiting game which had him on edge. Today’s mission wasn’t investigating temporal anomalies, or tracking down individuals who may have, through one means or another, violated the Temporal Prime Directive. Today, Captain Sotto and his crew were after traitors.

“We have them, sir,” came the grim voice of DTI Special Agent Jacob Hors. “Positive identification of rogue Agents Whitmore and Hanson. They stayed in the current century to conduct their business, if that’s what you want to call it. They’re using the old abandoned spacedock structure at Starbase 39-Sierra. Hasn’t been used since the late twenty-fifth century, but the repair platform seems to be in good working order.”

Sotto sat up, adrenaline immediately kicking in. “Have they actually violated any regulations yet?”

“Unauthorized retrieval of an Argus-class heavy warbird, sir, commonly used by the Romulan Fleet during the late twenty-third and early twenty-fourth centuries. Give me a second…yes, here it is, decommissioned in 2340 by the Romulan Star Empire.”

Sotto frowned, then shrugged. “That’s not enough, Agent Hors. That might get them a proverbial slap on the wrist, but it won’t begin to make up for the dozens of discrepancies they’ve caused in the timeline. We’ve been cleaning up after these bastards for the last year and a half. I want more, to make sure there is no escape.”

“Looks like they’re getting ready to launch another of their so-called games, sir. The warbird looks freshly repaired and outfitted with original weaponry. We’ll have to wait until they actually launch it into the past to move, or we won’t have any evidence against them except the ship. Unless we can get their ‘customer’ to testify.” He didn’t sound too optimistic, and Sotto could understand why. The Romulans conditioned their soldiers rigorously to withstand capture and questioning. He frowned, considering.

“Do we have a confirmed I.D. on the customer?”

“Coming in now, sir…” Jacob scrolled down the Romulan personnel file as it came up onto his screen, and softly began to curse. Sotto’s voice cut him off sharply.

“Agent Hors, a little professionalism, if you please.”

“Yes, sir. My apologies, sir.” He swallowed, hard. “In my professional opinion, sir, this is going to be nothing short of a political nightmare.” He looked up to see the captain scowling impatiently.

“The customer is none other than Romulan Fleet Admiral Korvak, retired.”

“Admiral Korvak. The Admiral Korvak?”

“Yes, sir, celebrated war hero, national treasure of the Star Empire…that would be the one, sir. And it gets worse. Our infiltration team has uploaded the files for the game Whitmore and Hanson have planned for the admiral. You’ll never guess who he’s chosen as his adversary.” He waited a moment, wishing he didn’t have to be the one to say it. Sotto studied all of the great war captains of history, but one in particular was widely known to be his favorite, his most admired predecessor. Jacob supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised by the Romulan admiral’s choice. “Captain James T. Kirk of Enterprise.”

For a brief moment, Sotto scrubbed a hand over his face, through his graying hair. He sighed.

“All right,” he said finally, his mouth set in a grim line. “Here’s what we’re going to do. Do we have the temporal coordinates they’re sending Korvak to?”

“Yes, sir. It’ll be almost directly after the signing of the Khitomer Accords in 2293.”

Kirk looked out the viewport at the shining planet below him. It was a spectacular view from space, this spinning world with its vibrant colors of blue oceans, green forests, and snowy white glacial caps. It was reminiscent of the Earth he and his crew had seen on their fateful voyage to the late twentieth century.

The com had remained silent since Uhura’s last communication with Starfleet headquarters giving him the time he needed to say good-bye to his past and begin his future.

“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” said Bones with a smile, turning to his comrades.

Spock stood up from his post, facing his longtime friend and verbal sparring partner.

“Doctor…”

“Don’t say it,” interrupted Bones with a quirk of lips that was almost a smile. “You’re not even enjoying the planet below you. But you just let the rest of us take in the view.” He patted Spock’s shoulder. The two stood in companionable silence for a moment, side by side.

“How about dinner in the dining room?” suggested Kirk, moving up to stand by McCoy and Spock. He had an image in his head of one last dinner aboard Enterprise, one last toast with Romulan ale for the crew.

“Captain, the dining room was destroyed,” Uhura reminded him.

“Direct torpedo hit at Khitomer.”

“Of course,” he said tiredly, shoulders drooping slightly. “Well, we can eat in the—”

He stopped as the sudden sound of proximity alerts went off on the bridge.

“Captain,” said Chekov, his voice reflecting his disbelief. “Torpedo coming in at heading one hundred fifteen mark nine. Raising shields!”

“Torpedo?” shouted McCoy incredulously. He grasped at the railing before him in automatic preparation for impact. “It’s like a repetitive nightmare. We can’t go anywhere in peace.”

Kirk was already moving for his command chair, “Spock, scan for vessels…”

Enterprise gave a shudder and a groan as the torpedo struck. Fortunately, it hit the shields Chekov had raised, and not the already battered hull of the ship. Montgomery Scott’s voice came through Kirk’s command console seconds later.

“Captain, are we under attack?”

“Scotty, I’m going to need one of your miracles and everything you’ve got in that engine room.”

“She’s in no condition for a fight, sir.”

“Captain,” interrupted Spock, “we have a Romulan warbird aft. She must have entered the system cloaked.”

“And come out of cloak to fire,” Kirk finished grimly. “But why? This is Federation territory, not Romulan space.”

“Their weapons are powering up to fire again, Captain.”

“Chekov, take evasive action. Uhura, try to raise them, find out what the hell is going on.”

“There they are, sir,” said Agent Hors as the U.S.S. Hermes settled into position above the combat. They watched as a second torpedo grazed the shields of Enterprise. Jacob frowned. “Looks like she’s already taken some pretty heavy fire. Korvak’s ship appears undamaged.”

“Know your history, Agent Hors,” Sotto admonished lightly. “Enterprise sustained heavy damage engaging one General Chang of the Klingon Empire at Khitomer, less than a day ago. They haven’t put back into spacedock for repairs because this was to be her last voyage—the NCC-1701-A was decommissioned after the accords.”

“But sir, according to my readings, nearly half of her systems are down or severely damaged. They haven’t got full power to shields. They don’t stand a chance against an adversary like Korvak.”

Sotto was silent, thinking for a moment. Teams back in their own time had taken Agents Hanson and Whitmore the second Korvak’s warbird had warped through time. They had indisputable documentation of their actions, and footage of the events here to solidify the evidence against the two traitors. Technically, they didn’t need Korvak, and they could not, under any circumstances, allow him to destroy Enterprise.

“It would be best all around,” said Sotto finally, “if none of the parties involved ever realize our presence here. The timeline has already suffered enough damage. Maintain cloak for now, Agent Hors. If we have to, we can choose to intervene, but Captain Kirk is sure to have a trick or two left.”

“But sir, this is an impossible situation…”

“‘I don’t believe in the no-win scenario.’ Do you know who said that, Agent?”

Jacob swallowed further protests, swiveling his chair back to monitor the combat. “Yes, sir,” he said reluctantly. James Kirk wouldn’t give up until he’d won.

“Sir, I still can’t raise a response from that vessel. Regulations specifically state—”

“To hell with Starfleet regulations,” Kirk said dismissively, interrupting Uhura. “Chekov, fire everything we’ve got. Burn that ship to ashes. Enterprise deserves a rest, not a burial.”

Korvak watched Enterprise angling away from his ship. What was she doing? He had studied Kirk and knew he was prone to random and illogical solutions to difficult, nigh impossible situations.

“Sir, their shields are nearly failing,” his weapons officer informed him. Korvak grimaced, watching as Enterprise spit forth an angry red torpedo. How disappointing, he thought. He’d hoped the engagement would last longer than this.

“Raise shields, and return fire.”

“Another torpedo, Captain. I don’t know if our shields can take this one,” warned Chekov.

“Brace for impact.”

The Romulan torpedo exploded into the galley, destroying it.

“Direct hit to the galley.”

“Shields dropping, Captain!”

“Captain, I can’t give you any more power. She’s packing all she can.”

Kirk sat in silence, chaos bursting around him. His ship had been crippled in his fight with Chang, and now he was being attacked by a Romulan warbird in the heart of Federation space.

The voices faded away. “You should have trusted me,” he’d told Spock before leaving to escort Gorkon. They did trust him. His crew was trusting him to get them through this. He must have the courage to face it as if he were facing the Kobayashi Maru. The ingenuity of that one test had marked him throughout his career as a starship captain capable of escaping anything, even death.

“Jim, what are your orders?”

Kirk looked up at McCoy and shifted his gaze around the bridge, taking in the faces of his crew—faces he’d seen a million times.

“Turn us around.”

Silence descended upon them.

“Turn us around,” he repeated.

No one contradicted him. Turning the ship around would face them with their enemy head on, but no one argued. They carried out his order with a calm efficiency that filled him with pride.

“Scotty, give me all of the power you can. This is the final run of the Kobayashi Maru.”

“Aye, Captain. I’ll give you all that I can.”

Korvak watched as the torpedo bloomed against the shields of his ship. Gripping his chair, he rode through the minor shudder of impact.

“Admiral, shields are holding, but only at half power. Minor damage to decks nine through twelve.”

Admiral Korvak grimaced. “Fire at will, Subcommander,” he said, turning back to the viewscreen to see another torpedo about to hit.

“Incoming!”

The bridge flickered with the damage, but maintained power. Korvak nodded his head in acknowledgment of James T. Kirk’s skill as a captain. Only a few captains in the entire galaxy could give that crippled ship a fighting chance, inspiring a crew to greatness.

He frowned suddenly, noticing that the Enterprise was turning. She was going to face him head on. He was struck dumb with shock at the sheer foolishness of the decision.

“Concentrate power in our forward shields, Subcommander. Prepare all weapons to fire on my command.” Korvak sat forward in his chair. Perhaps he had misjudged Kirk, after all.

Montgomery Scott worked frantically to give his ship full power. His hands were a blur over the console, trying to align power conduits.

Many of his crew lay injured or unconscious on the floor, and debris littered the deck all around them. They’d almost suffered a warp core breach with that last hit, but two of his crewmen had nearly given their lives to seal it. This was going to be close.

Spock mentally counted down the seconds to the maneuver of their careers. This one moment would prove that his captain and friend could defeat the Kobayashi Maru without reprogramming the simulation. To survive it would be an illogical turn of events. In short, a miracle.

Kirk sat in total peace. He knew that this was going to work. In fact, he wished he’d thought of it much sooner in his career. Now the question was, could the Enterprise stay in one piece doing it?

“Scotty,” he said finally. “It’s your game.”

“Fire!”

The Romulan warbird spat forth three torpedoes and unleashed a torrent of phaser fire.

Admiral Korvak watched in shock as the Enterprise jumped to warp, not straight ahead, but angled slightly to the side. Only one of his phasers made contact, scorching the side saucer section.

“We’ve been hit!”

“Structural integrity holding, barely,” Spock countered in a calm voice.

Kirk held on to his chair, listening to the groans of the bulkheads. His shields were gone, and the inertial dampeners were shutting down because of the extreme stress placed on them. Scotty had done it again.

“Power?” he managed to ask past the rising internal air pressure; internal regulators must have gone down as well.

“Looking good, Captain. I’ll be able to fire once she’s gone past us,” Chekov answered through gritted teeth.

Enterprise had only jumped to warp for less than a second, but it was enough to evade the barrage and put her in a position that would angle past the warbird, flanking her. The internal pressure caused by the maneuver was putting a serious strain on them all, however. It was why regulations specifically warned against trying anything so risky and experimental with the warp drives.

“Fire!” Kirk croaked out, the heavy weight pressing down on him, almost pulling him into unconsciousness. He hoped Scotty would be able to get those regulators back up before the entire crew passed out.

Chekov reached for the button with a shaking arm. It took every bit of his willpower to fire the weapons of the Enterprise NCC-1701-A.

“Adjust power to our aft shields!”

Even as he gave the order, Admiral Korvak of the Romulan Star Empire knew that it wouldn’t be in time. This was the end. He’d wasted his one shot to destroy James Kirk and claim victory, and now he’d been outflanked and outmaneuvered. The Enterprise had whisked past him, rotating on her axis, so the saucer section was always facing him. The amount of inertial damage that ship had taken had to be extreme. He was impressed she’d stayed in one piece, but this was Kirk, and the Enterprise was his ship, never failing him.

He smiled. It had been a good game.

Torpedoes and phasers stretched forth to pound the warbird until her less fortified aft shields came down, exposing her vulnerable hull to Enterprise’s weapons.

Kirk and crew sat back in their chairs in silent amazement as the warbird tumbled away from them, breaking up. None of them could believe it had worked.

“Scotty, you did it. How are things down there?”

“Captain, we’re banged up pretty bad.”

“The doctor is on his way.”

McCoy nodded, heading down the ladders because power throughout the ship finally chose that moment to fail. Red emergency lighting flashed on.

“In retrospect,” offered Spock with a raised eyebrow, “I would not choose to test that maneuver again.”

Captain Sotto and his crew watched as the debris of the Romulan warbird floated through space. Sotto smiled, pleased to have had this opportunity to watch one of his personal heroes in action.

“There, you see, Agent Hors? Kirk managed without much of our aid, after all. Their sensors aren’t sensitive enough to detect the slight boost to shields we gave them, or the power drain we applied to Korvak’s shields. Damage to the timeline should be minimal. The Enterprise will still see her decommission in less than a week’s time, and sensors indicate that all life signs aboard are still strong.”

But Jacob Hors didn’t share his captain’s smile. He was simply relieved it was over. No more games engineered by greedy traitors, no more desperate gambles to right the timeline after one of these incidents. One torpedo hit wrong, and the history of the Federation would have been irrevocably changed. But he didn’t bring that up. Instead, he frowned and thought about what he’d just witnessed.

“Sir,” he said, “I could be wrong, but I don’t think any captain in the history of Starfleet has ever attempted what Kirk did here today.”

“Your point, Agent Hors?”

“Well, the timeline has been altered. Every battle logged by Enterprise gets studied at the Academy. How many would-be Kirks do you think will attempt that same move in the future?”

Looking out over his battered and bruised command crew as they gathered together on the bridge, Kirk lifted his glass of scotch. Power had been restored, so that they were no longer bathed in red emergency lights. Starfleet was sending them an escort, both, Kirk suspected, to help the Enterprise limp to spacedock, and to ensure that her captain ordered her home this time.

With the galley and the dining room effectively destroyed, there had been nowhere else aboard fitting for a last dinner. Kirk settled for one last toast, though not with Romulan ale. It had seemed in poor taste, considering the circumstances.

He looked at each of them. Uhura, Chekov, Scotty, Bones, and Spock. His best friends, through the best and worst of experiences.

“To Enterprise,” he said finally, his voice only a little gruff with emotion, “may her next incarnation bear a crew as fine as this one.”

They drank solemnly, a poignant silence descending over them. The moment was broken a moment later by Bones.

“So what do you think, Jim?”

“About what?” Kirk looked at his friend quizzically.

“What do you think they’ll call that little stunt of yours? It was one for the books, all right.”

Kirk frowned. “I’ve no idea. It hadn’t really occurred to me that it would need a name.”

Spock lifted an eyebrow.

“There is no logical explanation for the success of your venture, Captain. Mathematically speaking, the inertial field created by the quick jump to warp and immediate drop again, should have torn this ship apart. It did not. One can only conclude that logically…” He paused, glancing around at his crewmates as they waited expectantly for him to finish. He rested his gaze on McCoy. “That logically, there is no explanation. You have achieved the impossible, Captain, once again. There is only one name that such a miraculous thing can be given.”

Spock raised his glass. “The James T. Kirk Maneuver.”