Starfleet Academy

by Diane Carey

  “We can’t interfere in the investigation!” I said. “We’ll only complicate things.”

  “Starfleet isn’t above political pressures,” Jana insisted. “What if they get rid of Sturek just to end the controversy? What if they start discharging cadets every time trouble pops up?”

  “They won’t Captain Sulu—”

  “Is only here until his ship is ready for deep space,” Corin filled in. “Then it’ll be Rotherot. And you know what he’s like. He’s a desk jockey. Politics’ll scare a guy like that.”

  “Or someone at Starfleet Command could put pressure on Captain Sulu,” Robin suggested. Man, for somebody with a quiet voice, he sure did seem loud.

  Jana put both hands out conspiratorially. “We can break into the lab and find out what really happened.”

  “If Jana and I agree,” Corin said, “it’s got to be a good idea.”

  “If you two agree,” I impugned, “it’s probably a sign the world is coming to an end. We could get caught so fast—”

  “If we get caught,” Jana said, “it’ll be a sign that cadets stick together!”

  Glaring at her, I asked, “Are you so certain that Sturek is being sacrificed? Are you willing to get court martialed on that chance? We have to find legal ways to help Sturek.”

  “Oh? How?” Frustrated, Jana put her hands on her hips. “Things would be different if I were calling the shots.”

  “Well, you’re not.”

  My feet were cold in my boots as I looked at each of them and saw what was in their faces—would I abandon them too when things got tough? Would I sacrifice their lives so the rules could stay unruptured?

  A pretty good question. Was there a Ouija board nearby?

  I lowered my voice even more. “As team commander, I have legal access to some parts of the Academy computer,” I said. “If we look carefully in the morning, while computer activity is at its peak, our search will be covered. We might find something about Sturek’s Project.”

  “I can do that,” Robin said eagerly.

  “I’ll help!” Corin tossed in.

  Now my hands were cold too as I looked at Jana.

  “And tonight,” I said, “we’ll break into the lab and see if there are any clues.”

  Jana jumped a foot. “Yes!”

  Corin slapped me on the back. Robin grinned tentatively.

  Regulations are for regular times….

  The Delta labs were dark and quiet, smelling slightly of smoke and chemicals. Fire retardants, probably, spilled out into the corridor. It squished on the soaked carpet as I led Corin, Robin, and Jana down the dim corridor, lit only by tiny blue courtesy lights running along the floorboards.

  None of this seemed real, until n saw the yellow Security Only tape blocking off the doorway of Delta India. We really were breaking the law.

  Somehow the Academy had always seemed separate from conventional law, because we had so many of our own rules and regulations, so regimented a life that there was little tolerance of any cracks, and those inclined to break the rules were weeded out the first year.

  So what was my excuse?

  “Bad idea,” I mumbled as I stepped between the yellow tapes and ducked into the lab itself.

  The ceiling was melted, looked more like a cave ceiling, complete with stalactites of semi-liquidized insulation. Blackened walls were barely recognizable as walls. Our eyes adjusted to the tiny courtesy lights, now working only on one side of the lab, but the room didn’t resemble a lab anymore and we had a hard time finding our way through the mess. At first I didn’t even recognize the entrance to the electro-spectral analysis lab, but after feeling my way along the black wall, I found the entry. The doorframe was actually bent.

  I thought of Sturek. How could anyone think he would do that to himself?

  “Quiet!” Jana gasped suddenly. “I think I hear something!”

  Robin started shaking. “Maybe we shouldn’t…”

  “Mr. Forester.”

  The sound of Captain Sulu’s voice was a shock, but not entirely a surprise. My whole body turned cold now as the sheen of portable scene lights popped on, nearly blinding my crew.

  As we squinted, we saw Captain Sulu and Commander Chekov step out of the lavatory alcove.

  “I expected better from you,” Sulu said. “We were hoping to catch the real criminals.”

  “Sir!” I stumbled toward him and slipped on the melted laminate of one of Kirk’s coastal charts. “Sir, we’re just trying to clear our crewmate!”

  “I understand,” Sulu said, “but understanding doesn’t carry weight. You have to be a Starfleet officer before you’re anything else, Mr. Forester. Your bad judgment carries a price.”

  Drenched in shame, I glanced around at the crewmates I had doomed. What was next? My throat was dry, my voice cracked.

  “Court-martial, sir?” I looked at him and Chekov. “If it’s expulsion, sir, I’d like to point out that this was my idea, and my crew was only following orders.”

  “No cadet can order another cadet to break the law,” Chekov pointed out.

  A flickering chance exploded—he’d been ready for that one.

  “We have something else in mind for your punishment,” Sulu told me.

  My eyes were almost adjusted. I could see his face, and the evil hint of a smile burrowing under there.

  “We’re moving up your simulation schedule. You’ll have to face an advanced program, and deal with the scores as they come. If you do well, fine. If not, you’ll be set back nearly a full semester’s work. You’ll have two days to prepare. At least your fate will be in your own hands. That’s how we like it here.”

  “I glanced at Chekov, then at Corin and Jana on one side and Robin on the other. Chekov was passively mysterious. My crew was just scared.

  Turning to Sulu again, I croaked, “I don’t understand, sir.”

  “I know you don’t,” he said. “So here it is. In two days, ready or not, sink or swim, you and your crew will face the Kobayashi Maru No-Win Scenario on the main bridge simulator.”

  Commander Chekov folded his arms. “And may God have mercy on your souls.”

  Chapter 11

  “I don’t get it. What is this Maru thing?”

  M’Giia’s question threw me. Of course, she wouldn’t know, being a communications specialist. Her world was a tapestry of frequencies and codes, acoustics, linguistics, and signals. Very technical, but didn’t involve many decisions.

  “It’s a death sentence, that’s what it is.” I sat down between Robin and Jana in a secluded section of the lounge, well away from the main screen. “It’s as impossible for us to break as the clue to who really blew up the lab. We can’t beat it. The whole semester is ditched.”

  “Not very fair,” Jana said. “They should either arrest us or clear us, but not this.”

  M’Giia frowned. “I still don’t understand. What exactly is the Kobashi Scenario?”

  “Kobayashi,” I corrected. “The Kobayashi Maru. It’s a simulator scenario that doesn’t allow you to win. I have no idea what the format is, but no matter what you do, the computer is programmed to countervail everything you try, and you eventually lose. How far you get into the program means something, and that’s the trick, but you still lose. Not everybody has to face it. Only five percent of command cadet teams are made to face the No-Win Scenario. Usually, it’s random. They’ve gotten some great commanders out of not-so-great cadets by tossing them into the No-Win and driving them just crazy enough to try things nobody in their right minds would try. But that’s pretty rare. Generally, it’s just a killer program, and you get set back. You go to the bottom of every Academy list and have to claw your way up all over again.”

  “But why would they do that to us!” M’Giia struck the couch cushion.

  “Because it keeps the Academy’s command school records clean for this year. No expulsions, no courtsmartial. This is the command school’s ninth year in a row without either of those. They want to make a decade.�
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  “If no one’s ever beat the Kobayashi Maru,” Corin mourned, “then why even try?”

  “So we don’t go down in shame, that’s why,” Jana told him irritably.

  “Well,” I began slowly, “it’s not exactly that no one’s ever beaten it. One cadet did beat it.”

  “Who? When?”

  “James T. Kirk. That’s who. And when.”

  Corin gave Robin a victorious shove that almost knocked Robin off his chair. “Then it can be beat!”

  M’Giia nodded. “If he could do it, so can we!”

  I shook my head. “Nobody’s done it since.”

  “Well, you know him, David,” Jana said. “Maybe you can ask him how he did it.”

  “Oh, yes, Jana, and I’m sure he’ll tell me if I just pay for the coffee. You’ve got to be kidding. We’re not supposed to win. That’s the lesson. Imagine asking James Kirk to help us cheat.”

  Corin reached across the table and shook my knee. “All we’re asking is for a chance to beat the unbeatable! Come on—you’re the best and the brightest, aren’t you?”

  “Oh, yeah, I glow in the dark.”

  “Hey, we’ve still got your command access code, remember?” Corin pointed out. “You haven’t tried that yet. Maybe you can get through to the … something we could use.”

  “And don’t forget, David,” Jana added, “you could sift through the security database and see if there’s any clue about whoever bombed the lab.”

  I looked at her. “How would the security database have that in it?”

  “Well, somebody got in, right? Maybe they did what we did—used an access code to bypass security at the lab. You could see who’s access codes were used to get into the lab in the hours just before the explosion.”

  “I’m sure the investigators have thought of that already, Jana.”

  “Maybe it’ll mean more to you than to them. Maybe you’ll think of something they didn’t.”

  “That’s it,” Corin said. “Mission one, check the security database. Mission two, find out how James Kirk beat the unbeatable. Cadet Forester, the future is yours!”

  “You can do it, David!” M’Giia encouraged.

  Robin just looked at me, his face a palette of doubt and worry.

  “Well,” I began, thinking, “I do still have to help Commander Chekov install—”

  I cut myself off. The Klingon Heavy Cruiser was supposed to be classified. I knew that, yet I’d almost slipped. Had I come to trust these people that much? They seemed to trust me, even though we’d been caught in the lab, and I owed them something.

  “All right,” I said. “Sink or swim.”

  The non-security database could be shifted into classified with the command candidate’s personal access code, and guess who had one? It meant we were trusted.

  So much for trust.

  I punched in my access code in lab Delta Foxtrot, which was being used as an alternate for Delta India, so there was no trouble hooking into the research Sturek had been doing.

  But none of his conclusions were there. Only the unorganized details about metallurgy and residue that had been fed in from the fragments of those attack ships at Bicea. There was no proof here. Whatever Sturek had been referring to must’ve been on something portable, a Padd or a cartridge, probably for security reasons, destroyed in the explosion. The security had worked too well.

  Security … and it hadn’t worked well enough to keep a bomber from setting a trap. Had that person meant to get Sturek too? Or was that just an unfortunate bonus?

  Yes, the investigators would check the lists of anyone who had used a command school access ID to get into the lab. So what? I could look too, couldn’t I?

  Maybe the names would mean something different to me than to a bunch of security grunts or elitist investigators.

  Punch … pick … code … the list came up for the past six days.

  The names were mostly instructors at the Academy, mostly science staff, and about a dozen command candidates, all team leaders and science officers. Nothing out of the ordinary.

  Then I saw a name that made my heart jump. Robin Brady.

  Why was Robin’s name here?

  To a security squad, Cadet Robin Brady was a command team engineer, with no red flags attached. They would pay no attention to his appearance on an access code to lab Delta India. An engineer could easily need to go in there.

  Only to me, Robin’s team leader, did this look out of place, and only because I knew Robin never had any reason to come into that lab. He and Sturek barely spoke and certainly weren’t working together on the Bicea project.

  I stared and stared at the name until it made me cold. Reason after reason came and went about why Robin might’ve come to Delta, but none stuck. After I ran out of reasons, I started inventing excuses, and those were even more flimsy.

  Didn’t make sense…

  I ran the list again, and the second time through Robin’s name seemed to flash at me again and again. Saboteur.

  “Can’t be,” I mumbled, taking anchorage in the sound of my own voice. Why did it have to be so quiet in here?

  A vital clue … but only to me. Was Robin’s shyness hiding something that even I had never noticed?

  “Crazy.” I shook my head. There was just no reason. Not only no logical reason, but not even an illogical one either. Robin just wasn’t the type to get involved with espionage. He got nervous at being late for a seminar.

  But he was the only one here who wasn’t a command team leader or a science officer. The only one. The only one…

  “David?”

  I bolted back from the computer terminal and almost toppled out of my chair. My hands slid on the console and knocked the data offline.

  “Sir!” I choked”

  Commander Chekov sauntered into the lab. “What? Did I frighten you?”

  “I’m sorry, sir, it’s just all this trouble with Sturek and the bomb—it’s got me jumpy.”

  “Yes. Your friend is doing well enough, for a suspect,” Chekov told me, and I couldn’t tell whether or not he intended to make me feel better or worse, “He had a mild concussion and has been under observation in his quarters. His communicator has been programmed to notify security if anyone discusses the incident with him, or anything about Bicea. So I recommend you don’t try.”

  Oh, more good news. “No, sir, I won’t try. I don’t want to get him in any more trouble. Or any of us.”

  “Good.” He handed me a set of computer cartridges and said, “Would you please load the Posnikoff series, sessions fourteen to forty-two, for the senior simulator runs of this coming week.”

  “Yes, sir … sir, aren’t those really old missions?”

  Chekov grinned. “As the wolf said to the songbird while devouring the old pheasant, ‘Sometimes the oldest things are the tastiest.’”

  He started away from me.

  What was that supposed to mean? Just what I needed—something else that didn’t make any sense.

  “An ancient Russian folk tale,” he tossed back over his shoulder as he situated himself at the master simulator inlet on the other side of the lab.

  Well, that explained everything, didn’t it? Old Russians again. No wonder they were old. Everybody else died of confusion trying to figure out their sayings.

  Problems were piling up on me and I was feeling the weight. Sturek had to be cleared of suspicion. How did I know he was innocent?—good question. We hadn’t been acquainted all that long, and there was more than just being crewmates. He might’ve blown himself up just to divert suspicion away from himself, but I couldn’t believe he would blow me up too. He knew I’d just walked into the main lab. He could’ve waited until I was gone, or done it before, when he was alone. He hadn’t shouted a warning, or even told me to take cover. If I pushed my imaginings, I could believe he might be a saboteur, but I didn’t believe he was a murderer.

  And Robin Brady had to be cleared too. He wasn’t in trouble yet, but it was only a matter of tim
e. Sooner or later, somebody in the investigation would find out he was the only orange in the basket of apples.

  Both of these problems rode upon a bigger problem. In order to solve them, to clear my crewmates, I had to stay in the command school. My team had to remain a command team. If we were set back a semester, that meant being broken up and starting all over again, probably as crew in other command teams, and I wouldn’t be selected as a team leader again. I’d be helm.

  “I couldn’t let that happen. I had to stay at the command school, and remain team commander. And that meant only one thing—beating the Kobayashi Maru No—Win Scenario.

  And there was only one person who knew how to do that.

  I tried to be good, I really tried. No, I didn’t. With the excuse of loading the Posnikoff series of maneuvers into the simulator computer, I was provided with a perfect excuse to dig through the ancillary programs regarding the No-Win test. There were no answers here, of course, since the test itself had encrypted into it over four hundred alternatives, all leading to failure. The program was ready for just about anything anyone could think of. And not even a command access code could get into that file, so I wasn’t even tempted.

  What did tempt me, I’m ashamed to say, was a personnel file with the name of the only cadet who had ever beaten the program. The private records of James T. Kirk.

  “It can’t be that easy,” I muttered.

  Could it?

  As if unbidden by human mind, my fingers tapped in my command access code and keyed the Kirk file.

  The screen scrolled merrily with information. Home: Riverside, Iowa. Father: Commander George S. Kirk, Starfleet Security Division. Missing in Action. Mother: Winona Kirk, Product Manager, Croughwell Corporation. Deceased. Siblings: George S. Kirk, Jr. Deceased.

  “Another sole survivor,” I murmured, and thought of M’Giia.

  Then came the mission encapsulations—dozens of them. Omicron Delta, Gamma Trianguli, Neutral Zone, Triacus, the Gorn, the Horta, the Medusans … scroll after scroll of missions and troubles and sacrifices. Even time travel, and he was still here to talk about it. To teach us about it.

  I hungered for the time to read through all these missions and relive them, but not this way. These were just outlines, no details, no feelings, no conclusions. I wanted to read his logs from those days and really understand what he’d gone through and what made him so famous. He didn’t seem like a hero in person, except for that little flash in his eyes.