Kobayashi Maru

by Michael A. Martin

“Not yet,” Valdore said, looking thoughtful. “Let me think on this for a night. Keep Cunaehr in custody for now, but keep him sequestered away from Ehrehin’s assassin. I must consider all of my options. But if I don’t find a way to make him useful—or if we find hard evidence that he really is somehow involved with the Vulcans—then you, Centurion, will be allowed to choose the method of execution.”

  Terix saluted and favored his superior with a rare smile.

  TEN

  Wednesday, July 16, 2155

  Enterprise NX-01

  T’POL WASHED HER HANDS CAREFULLY, looking in the mirror as she did so. It was something she rarely did—whatever her many failings might be in following Surak’s teachings, she did not number vanity among them—but she could see in her reflection that she looked tired.

  She hoped that none of her colleagues on the bridge had noticed this, or any fatigue-related errors she might have made. She regarded the chance of the latter as relatively minuscule, given that she generally triple-checked her work; on the other hand, she had been up for most of the last forty-eight hours, applying her off-shift hours to her ongoing surreptitious search for more information about Sopek, emphasizing anything that might connect him with the Romulans.

  She moved through the open secondary hatchway inside the sanitary facility the humans referred to as “the head,” entering the tiny interior chamber in which puffs of aerosolized sanitizer attacked any bacteria or other dirt that might be present, on either bodies or uniforms. Some of the crew occasionally joked about the head’s “decontamination chamber,” but T’Pol—with her heightened sense of smell—was grateful for it.

  Exiting the head, she found herself immediately disoriented. Instead of being back on the bridge, she now stood in a corridor whose walls and floor and ceiling exuded an almost painfully brilliant white light. To her right, T’Pol saw that only a few meters down the corridor the light ended, dropping abruptly off into the inky, star-strewn vastness of space.

  T’Pol turned her head and saw two figures, both of them far enough away to appear somewhat indistinct. One seemed to be slumped on the floor, while the other stood above the first in a threatening stance. The standing figure leaned over and picked up the slumping one by grabbing a handful of its dark hair and dragging the body to which it was attached to a nearly upright position.

  Running toward them, T’Pol wasn’t sure if she should announce her presence to the aggressor or not. She chose to stay silent, at least until she knew what she might be facing. But the distance between her and the pair seemed to elongate as she moved, even as the taller figure began to beat on its prey.

  T’Pol heard a roar behind her, a cacophony louder than anything she’d ever heard before. Despite its unnatural volume, she recognized it instantly, just a split second before the blast of wind struck her. The sound and fury of massive decompression spurred her on, and she barely glanced back to see the white corridor breaking apart behind her, the vacuum of space seeming to hurtle toward her in a headlong, predatory rush.

  “Stop!” she shouted, throwing caution to the grasping winds around her as she forced herself nearer to the two figures, perhaps relying on the power of her will alone. The aggressor turned and roared at her, its Vulcan features distorted and angry. With flattened ears and sharpened teeth, it resembled one of the Fri’slen mutants that she had battled some two decades ago.

  With the corridor tearing asunder behind her, T’Pol used the last of her declining strength to launch herself at the monster, tackling it at its midsection. The thing writhed and screamed, and through the flying tatters of its robe T’Pol finally caught a glimpse of what the monster had been beating.

  Or rather whom. Despite the extensive surgery he had undergone to help him blend into Romulan society, and the bruises and contusions that swelled his face, she knew it was Trip. His eyes looked unfocused, but he seemed to see her nevertheless.

  “T’Pol,” he said weakly. The escalating roar of cold, empty space swallowed up anything else he might have said.

  The corridor behind him crumbled a heartbeat later, and Trip went tumbling into the void, his voice gone, though she was certain he still carried her name on his blood-flecked lips.

  Marshaling all her remaining strength, T’Pol continued to grapple with the monster, determined to end its life before it managed to do the same to her.

  “T’Pol!” The voice was closer now, louder, despite the intensifying rush of white noise. “Commander T’Pol!”

  Abruptly, the white corridor and the void beyond it vanished, displaced by the bridge of Enterprise and its startled beta-watch crew. Lieutenant Mack McCall was in front of her, grasping her shoulders, concern etched deeply on his features. “Commander T’Pol, can you hear me?”

  T’Pol turned her head, blinking away the vision that had just filled her mind, willing her racing heart to slow down.

  “Yes, Lieutenant,” she said slowly, focusing first on the distraction of the man’s salt-and-pepper goatee before looking directly into his brown eyes. “I…I’m not sure what just happened.”

  “Neither are we,” McCall said, his demeanor softening a bit. “You exited the head, stopped in the middle of the deck, and yelled, ‘Stop!’ You seemed to be in some kind of…trance.” Very gently, he grasped her wrists and pulled her hands up. “And you did this to yourself.”

  T’Pol looked down at her hands, both of which were balled into fists, her fingers clenched so tightly that her short-cropped nails had pierced the flesh of both palms. Emerald-hued blood welled out onto her wrists and dripped from between her knuckles.

  “Perhaps I should pay a visit to Doctor Phlox,” T’Pol said.

  “That’s what I was going to suggest,” McCall said, sighing in apparent relief that he wasn’t going to have to try to force the issue on a superior officer—one who might be going insane right before his eyes, for all he knew. “Why don’t I have Ensign Ko accompany you to sickbay?”

  T’Pol also didn’t miss the trepidatious look on Ko’s face as he accompanied her into the bridge turbolift, where he stood as far away from her as possible. She wasn’t offended by his quite logical impulse toward caution, nor by the unusual alacrity with which he exited sickbay once he had finished conducting her inside.

  A moment after she finished offering an awkward greeting to Phlox, the sickbay doors slid open again. T’Pol turned in time to see Captain Archer enter, looking every bit as concerned as McCall had. No doubt McCall notified him, T’Pol thought. She would have done the same in his position.

  As T’Pol attempted to describe to both Phlox and the captain what had just happened to her on the bridge, Phlox treated the cuts on her hands with a disinfectant, then quickly and expertly bandaged them. Phlox then activated one of his small medical scanners, which he used to check both her blood pressure and the dilation of her pupils.

  “Please lie back on the bed,” he said, his voice exhibiting just a hint of concern.

  “And you’re certain that it was Trip that you saw?” Archer asked as T’Pol walked to the bed and settled back onto it, placing her head underneath the wall-mounted medical display panel.

  “I am certain,” T’Pol said.

  “I’d certainly like to see what Mister Tucker looks like now,” Phlox said. He hadn’t been present when Trip had come to her during Archer’s speech at the Coalition Compact signing ceremony; on that historic occasion, the Denobulan physician had spent most of his time with his three wives.

  “As I have already explained, Doctor, he now resembles a Vulcan, though he lacks most of the emotional control that my people usually exhibit,” T’Pol said. “If you like, I could search through the database to find you an appropriate image to view.”

  “Not necessary,” Phlox said, smiling down at her benignly.

  T’Pol turned her head slightly to look up at Archer. “I am concerned, Captain. I believe that Commander Tucker is presently in grave danger.”

  Archer rubbed his right eyebrow, scrunching up his face.
“You believe that because of a hallucination? That’s not a very sound source of information.”

  “I do not believe it was merely a hallucination, sir.” T’Pol paused for a moment, aware that she was going to have to reveal something of an intensely private and personal nature. “When Vulcans join minds, they sometimes forge a…mental bond. I believe that I may have formed such a bond with the commander shortly before his ‘death.’ I have had another experience similar to this, though it was of a far less violent nature.”

  Phlox touched her shoulder. “You may sit up now, Commander. I’ve heard of many such bonds between mates in many species, including, as we know, the Andorians. However, I’ve never heard of it crossing species boundaries.”

  As she moved to a seated position at the edge of the bed, T’Pol felt a bit embarrassed. “Trip and I are…we were something of an anomaly, Doctor. Our genetic codes were commingled to create a baby that should never have been possible. Our brief…romantic entanglement was in itself unique; can you really rule out that in our…pairing, we might have created an entirely new interspecies phenomenon?”

  Phlox’s tufted eyebrows lifted. “Not at all. It is entirely possible.” He held up a datapad whose screen displayed ranks of slowly scrolling data. “It is, however, also possible that you are still suffering from the aftereffects of your addiction to trellium-D. Or even a delayed reaction from your repeated exposures to the Romulan telepresence unit last year, during the first Aenar crisis. Either way, the extreme certainty you seem to feel about the reality of these hallucinations—or whatever they ultimately prove to be—could be an artifact of residual neurological damage.”

  T’Pol wasn’t convinced. “Conversely,” she said, “as we have learned from the heightened emotional states I have experienced occasionally during the time since my addiction, those same aftereffects may merely have opened up neurological or emotional pathways that had previously been closed.”

  “Hmmm,” Phlox said agreeably, nodding. “Either answer could be, as you’re fond of saying, logical.”

  “T’Pol, I’d be the last one to deny the validity of Vulcan telepathy,” Archer said, folding his arms before him. “Hell, I once shared my skull with your people’s most revered philosopher. And even if none of his logic rubbed off on me, I’d still have to question how a link like that could work over interstellar distances.”

  “The Aenar had that capability,” T’Pol said.

  Phlox shook his head. “Aenar telepathy is somewhat more powerful than Vulcan psi abilities,” the doctor said. “With a very few exceptions, your people are touch-telepaths.”

  T’Pol turned to face Archer directly. “Captain, I knew that Trip wasn’t dead before I was told the truth. I was aware of his living consciousness at a time after you had told me he was dead. In my previous mind encounter with Trip, I even became aware that his appearance had been altered. At the time, I was unable to understand it. But later, when I saw him in person on Earth, my…‘hallucination’ turned out to be true.”

  She paused, swallowing the unbidden emotion that was even now creeping into her mind. “My behavior is not irrational, nor emotional. I know this to be true: Commander Tucker is in mortal danger.”

  Placing a bandage-covered hand gingerly on Archer’s sleeve, T’Pol implored him. “You are Trip’s best friend, Captain…Jonathan. I am connected to him. We can find him. Rescue him.”

  Archer pulled away from her, his face crumpling in obvious anguish. “I’m sorry, T’Pol. You know we can’t.” He swept at the air angrily with one hand. “We’re one ship, damn it! Even if I did take Enterprise into Romulan territory, we’d be overwhelmed within minutes. We’d never even reach Romulus! And we’d be sacrificing an entire crew for the life of one person, not to mention leaving the security of Earth and the Coalition at risk, and very possibly starting a war as well.

  “I can’t do it, T’Pol. I can’t sacrifice this ship, this crew…everything, for Trip, no matter how badly any of us would like to. I just can’t.”

  He walked away from her, toward the door. “Please don’t ask me again.”

  Once the captain was gone, Phlox cleared his throat as he looked up from the datapad he had been studying so intently for the past several minutes.

  “Did you really expect Captain Archer to give you any other response?” His tone sounded more curious than judgmental.

  T’Pol shook her head. “No, Doctor. The captain has always had to strike a balance between the demands of his superiors, interstellar politics, and his desire to lead this ship based on something purer than either one. But more often than not, he opts to follow the rules out of necessity.”

  “For what it’s worth, I believe that there is more to your mental link to Mister Tucker than most other physicians and scientists would admit,” Phlox said. “That said, I also am fully aware that you are in a state of exhaustion. And the heightened emotions you are exhibiting are no doubt draining your strength even further.

  “I’m going to strongly suggest that you take some time off…some significant time off, to meditate, rest, and clear your mind.” He smiled wryly, but his ice-blue eyes were otherwise inscrutable. “Perhaps away from the others in the crew for a time, you will be able to find the answers you need.”

  T’Pol stared at him for a moment, wondering at the intent of Phlox’s words, and surprised at the kindness she saw in the Denobulan’s gaze. But that part of her that had been trained long ago, before Enterprise even existed, instinctively told her not to ask for clarification.

  “Perhaps you are right, Doctor,” she said after several moments of silent reflection. “Thank you for the advice.”

  “You know that what you’re asking is in gross violation of a score of laws?”

  T’Pol stared at Denak’s face on the viewscreen. She had signaled him several hours earlier, and his response had finally come only a few minutes ago.

  “I also know that you have operated outside the law numerous times when circumstances required it,” T’Pol said. “I worked at your side on some of those occasions. You have done things that will never be written into Vulcan history…or even in the most secret files of the V’Shar.”

  Denak raised one of his eyebrows, but only slightly. “A lesser man might think you were threatening me in some manner, Commander. But I know better. I also know that I owe you my life, several times over.”

  T’Pol glanced over at the timer attached to the subspace scrambling device on her desktop. Her time was fast running out.

  “Denak, you were the one who told me to look into Captain Sopek—”

  “The late Captain Sopek,” he said, interrupting her.

  “—and while I have been unable to find concrete evidence, I have followed up on a number of rumors about Sopek working within the Romulan sphere of influence.”

  “Why is it so important for you to learn about Sopek now?” Denak asked, squinting as though with enough effort he might read the answer to his question on her forehead. “Or is there another reason behind this request that you’re not sharing with me?”

  “I’m sharing as much with you as I can. At least until you comply with my request.” T’Pol looked again at the timer.

  “‘Comply with my request’? That’s an oxymoronic statement if I ever heard one,” Denak said. “What you’re asking would be difficult under normal circumstances, and I’m not certain it’s even possible. But if it is, you’ll hear from me at my next opportunity.”

  T’Pol held up five fingers, and folded them into her wrapped palm as the timer counted down. “If you do this for me, Denak, all debts will be considered paid.”

  “Understand that if I do this for you, all—” The screen went black, cutting Denak off in mid-sentence.

  T’Pol sat back in her chair, exhaling. She was aware that she had been tightly clenching her other fist again only when her concentration ebbed and she felt the pain in her hand. As she got up to find a fresh bandage, the chime at her door sounded.

  Quickly
pushing the scrambling device behind a small stack of datapads, T’Pol said, “Enter.”

  She hadn’t expected the hatch to open on the face of a very worried-looking Hoshi Sato.

  “May I speak with you?” Sato asked as she stepped inside.

  “Yes, Ensign,” T’Pol said. “What can I do for you?”

  Sato sighed heavily. “As part of my bridge duties, I am assigned to monitor all subspace messages sent to or from this ship.” She shifted from foot to foot, nervously. “As you’ve probably noticed over the last four years, however, I’m a bit of an overachiever. I regularly make spot checks on the systems even when I’m off-duty.”

  “I see,” said T’Pol evenly. She sat at the edge of her table, further blocking her computer from Sato’s view. “And have you discovered something that should be brought to my attention?”

  “Technically, it should be brought to Captain Archer’s attention,” Hoshi said, clasping her hands behind her back. “But before I do that, I felt that perhaps asking you why you were sending an unauthorized, unlogged, scrambled subspace transmission a few minutes ago would be the more prudent thing to do. In case you have…a reasonable explanation.”

  T’Pol studied the young woman for a moment. A fleeting thought crossed her mind that a mind-meld might allow her to influence the young woman’s mind, just enough to induce her to forget having noticed T’Pol’s transgression. But apart from the ethical implications of the act, she also wasn’t certain whether or not Sato had already informed others, or had left some tangible evidence in her personal logs or her quarters. Better just to tell her the truth, T’Pol thought. Or at least, a truth.

  “Please review the beta-watch duty logs. You will discover that I suffered a brief…emotional attack on the bridge earlier today,” T’Pol said. “I found the incident to be most…demoralizing. And embarrassing. I have already been examined by Doctor Phlox, and have discussed the matter with Captain Archer as well. If you were to bring this matter to their attention, they would both undoubtedly tell you that my private affairs are none of your concern, Ensign.”