The Studio Demands It!

S5 EP24 | Presenting the feature-length table read of STAR TREK LEGACIES. Greenlit by the listeners, the pod welcomes a fantastic cast to fulfill the destiny of Captain James T. Kirk and his crew in the Kelvinverse timeline in this epic conclusion.

An older Kelvinverse Captain Kirk, torn between duty and becoming the father he never had, is flung 100 years into the future with a Klingon enemy, where he clashes with Captain Picard and the Enterprise-D over whether he has the right to risk a century of hard-won peace just to get home to his son.

Featuring the vocal talents of:
Craig Lee Thomas - Captain James Kirk
Earl Baylon - Yorak
Travis Joe Dixon - Dr. "Bones" McCoy, Outpost Comdr, Karvoth
Simone Boyce - Lt. Nyota Uhura
Andy Lee - Lt. Hikaru Sulu
Devan Schoelen - Comdr. Spock
Dani J. Scott - Dr. Crusher, Jadzia Dax, Sevra
Rene Michelle Aranda - Colonel Kira Nerys, Admiral Ostler, Ensign Ralin, Dr. Carol Marcus
Samantha Gregory - Lt. Tasha Yar
Andy Loud - Data, Gormoth, Chief O'Brien
Scott Woodard - Captain Jean Luc Picard, Klingon High Commander
Will Warick - Lt. Cmdr. Montgomery "Scotty" Scott, David, Wesley Crusher, Koraq
Nick Nchamukong  - Lt. Worf, Cmdr. Benjamin Sisko, Drex
Steve Gosset - Cmdr. Riker, Mart, Kelrag
Michael Sullivan - Lt. Geordi LaForge, Marok
Dawn Joyal - Counsellor Deanna Troi, President Tovir, Klingon Officer, Lurna
Jim Burzelic - Lt. Chekov, Tubok
Stage Directions read by T.C. De Witt 

To read along, visit our YouTube Channel for the full screenplay.



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Creators and Guests

Host
Jim Burzelic
Host
T.C. De Witt

What is The Studio Demands It!?

Two screenwriters attempt to recreate, reimagine, or flat out fix, existing film franchises when 'the studio' demands...MORE FILMS! It's an exercise in creative thinking where they will challenge themselves to conceptualize, pitch, and craft a film based on the stipulations of a hypothetical Hollywood overlord. | Sixfive Media

T.C.:

Six Five Media presents a studio demands its script reading of Star Trek Legacies. Written by T. C. De Witt and Jim Burzelic. Starring the vocal talents of Craig Lee Thomas, Earl Balon, Travis Joe Dixon, Simone Boyce, Andy Lee, Devin Schollin, Danny j Scott, Renee Michelle Aranda, Samantha Gregory, Andy Loud, Scott Woodard, Will Warwick, Nick Chamukong, Steve Gossett, Michael Sullivan, and Dawn Joyal with Jim Burzelic and T.

T.C.:

C. De Witt. Fade in, exterior space, star field, a sea of stars, light flickers across endless black. For a moment, we hang in silence until a massive storm weathered planet turns into view. Konos, homeworld of the Klingon Empire.

T.C.:

Thunder rumbles across the volcanic ridges. Emerald lightning cracks through clouds. Interior, chamber of the Klingon High Council, continuous. Thick humidity clings to the cavernous chamber. Torches burn low.

T.C.:

Silhouetted Klingon generals and house leaders crowd around a thick monolithic table carved from a single slab of molten rock. Their voices rise in guttural argument and overlapping scars away. Echoing through the hall. A clawed hand sees a heavy stone and slams it onto the table. Clang.

T.C.:

Sparks spray across the black surface.

Klingon:

Silence. The relationship between the Klingon Empire and the Federation is not in debate. We are discussing the trade routes between Kronos and the Outer Rim. Nothing more.

T.C.:

A grumble rolls through the assembled warriors. One, a young governor with long black hair and beard, Tubac Wax on rises.

Tubok:

The relationship with the federation is everything. To ignore that truth is to dishonor those who bled to keep those routes open.

T.C.:

Several Klingons bark in agreement. Others hiss with disdain. Again, the stone clang.

Klingon:

There is no debate, Tupac. The roots are strong. Then why do

Tubok:

the world's furthest from the borders suffer the most? The

T.C.:

high commander losing control of the room. Apart from the chaos sits a hooded figure in a far corner, motionless, coiled. His face is hidden beneath heavy unkempt air. Smoke curls from a long stemmed pipe clenched between his teeth, carved bone and crude metal, decorated with markings of houses long fallen into disfavor. His eyes glint like wet obsidian as he listens to the noise.

Klingon:

We will put this matter to rest and discuss the elections on Borreth.

T.C.:

The brooding figure in the shadows rise as a single resonant bellow shakes the chamber.

Yorak:

You are not warriors.

T.C.:

Instant silence. Every Klingon turns towards him as he steps forward into the torchlight. Yorak, scarred, broad shouldered, radiating fury barely contained. A Klingon forged of old steel in a room of rust. Whispers ripple.

T.C.:

Some fearful, some eager.

Yorak:

You all speak of routes, of treaties, of border disputes. You all drag on like the whining of sick card pups.

T.C.:

He reaches the table and slams his fist upon it. The entire slab shutters.

Yorak:

We live in an age where you bow to the federation, diplomats. Where you shield our bathlets so they may sleep soundly in their bed.

Klingon:

You do not sit on this council, Yorak. Stand down.

T.C.:

Yorak leans over the table eyes burning.

Yorak:

Stand down while our warriors roach on the border, while our ships grow old waiting for a battle your politics will never allow.

T.C.:

Burmur's rise. The high commander gestures sharply. Enough.

Klingon:

Remove him.

T.C.:

Two Klingon guards approach. Yorick does not flinch.

Yorak:

Of course. Silence the only Klingon here with true honor. The Rumoratsu.

T.C.:

The Shadow

Yorak:

You of it. Trade away the glory of the Empire for their peace. You fatten yourselves on Federation scraps and call it strategy.

T.C.:

He twists back back and shouts, voice echoing through the chamber.

Yorak:

You are all locked arms, all of you.

T.C.:

The great door slams shut behind him. A chilling silence settles. Some Klingons stare in anger. Some clench their fists, inspired. The commander snarls.

T.C.:

As the room settles, Tubak's focus remains on the door and Yorak's echoing words. Exterior rooftop courtyard later, the blazing sun dips low behind Kunos' jagged horizon, casting blood red fire across the sky. Twin moons, Korvik's and Praxis rise like cold watchful eyes. Yorak stands against the wind wiping a thin streak of blood from his split lip. The heavy stone doors behind him groan open.

T.C.:

Tupac steps out followed by six other Klingons of high rank. Their armor gleams more ceremonial than battle worn. Yorak turns glaring at them with disdain.

Yorak:

Have you come to drag me out a second time?

T.C.:

Tubaq grins and approaches the fiery man.

Tubok:

On the contrary, your words do not fall upon the deaf, my friend. You speak with fire, with passion. The high council has not heard such in years.

Yorak:

Compliments are little more than air. I do not breathe.

Tubok:

Am Tubach, son of Waxon.

Yorak:

I know who you are. I know who all of you are. You

Klingon:

speak of

Tubok:

the failures of our peacetime.

T.C.:

He gestures subtly toward the two Klingons, Carvoth and Marok, richly adorned, soft around the middle.

Klingon:

Peace has been prosperous for those with vision. My house has grown stronger under treaty. Mine as well. Trade brings stability, influence.

T.C.:

Tuvok watches Yorak, not them.

Tubok:

What say you to that, Yorak?

T.C.:

Yorak steps close to the pair eyes blazing.

Yorak:

While your houses flourish, many others languish in the shadow of your peace.

Klingon:

My tree roots have been fruitful. Your trade routes, the prosperity of the empire rises everywhere.

T.C.:

He points to a wiry Klingon on the fringe of the gathered, Drex, armor dinged, weary.

Yorak:

What of you? Has peace fattened your coffers?

Klingon:

My warriors go unpaid, my ships sit idle.

T.C.:

Yorak turns to another, Korrak, scarred, battle ready.

Klingon:

And you? My house has lost three outposts to raiders. The council does nothing.

T.C.:

Yorak spreads his arms in vicious triumph. Warriors starve while prosperous merchant. He steps toward Korvath.

Yorak:

And traitors like you, Karvath, traips into Federation space like the mewling quim you are.

T.C.:

A few smirks, Karvath stiffens, humiliated.

Klingon:

You dare, Tubak. Why did you bring me to this fool? The high councilor ejected him from chambers because he has no words worth hearing. His house lay in waste and his leadership is why the House of Yorak is all but forgetting. You call me a traitor.

Klingon:

You are a disgrace to the empire, and I should cut your tongue from your mouth so that we may no longer suffer your hollow words.

T.C.:

Carvoth grins, sure of himself as he faces the stone still Yorak.

Klingon:

Stand with me brothers, as I show this pup what a warrior is.

T.C.:

But no one moves to stand beside Carvoth. Tubek's eyes glint observing, calculating. Yorick holds a dagger and holds it out to Carvoth.

Yorak:

Do it then.

T.C.:

Carvoth realizes he is alone, not even Moroc has joined him.

Klingon:

I I do not have to stand for this.

T.C.:

Yorks face is still, his eyes unblinking, a predator scenting blood.

Yorak:

You see how weak you've become. Your enemy offers you the Doktog, and still cowardice has become your instincts, and it infects our empire.

T.C.:

He steps forward low and dangerous.

Yorak:

And how does a warrior cure infection?

T.C.:

Carvoth snarls.

Yorak:

We cut it off.

T.C.:

With one swift motion, Yorax drives the blade into Carbat's chest. Carbat gasped, gurgles, collapses, dead. No one stops Yorek. Tupac steps beside the vicious warrior, placing a firm hand on his shoulder, not restraining, coronating.

Tubok:

Were a true son of Khalest asunder this peace, in the neutral zone perhaps, other warriors would follow.

Klingon:

My house will.

T.C.:

And mine. The arc lifts his shin, the moon's light catching the blood on his blade. A wicked smile spreads over his hardened visage.

Yorak:

Then prepare your houses. Sharpen your weapons. Call your fleet.

T.C.:

He turns toward the horizon, the Federation's direction.

Yorak:

I will bring you war.

T.C.:

Exterior. Heirloom fields, planet Verlon four day, a vibrant and possibly colorful world, rolling crystalline plains shimmer under three suns. Towering trees with translucent leaves resonating with the wind. Floating platforms drift in suspended gravity currents like the islands of invisible tides. This is Heirloom.

T.C.:

A gravity shifting aerial golf hybrid played on these floating platforms. Wham. A glowing ball zooms across the rainbow landscape. Captain James Kirk stands on one of these suspended islands holding an heirloom staff, a sleek metallic rod ending in a glowing grav ball emitter. He is sweating and disheveled.

T.C.:

His shirt is ripped and stained, but he still has his wits about him. He squints and bounces his speeding island around large tree. Below, Verlon citizens cheer as competitors streak across the sky in antigrav lanes.

Kirk:

Captain's log, start eight seven four zero three point two. The Enterprise is on a diplomatic assignment negotiating with the Verelon Republic, a federation member world now threatenning secession. We've been at this for three days. Three very long days of this game.

T.C.:

Kirk swings the staff, the grab ball blasts into the gravity stream and whips around a floating ring target, then veers off course and shoots straight into a glowing crystal tree. The crowd gasps. Kirk winces. Standing behind him, president Rau Tovar, an elegant, tall, shimmering skin pattern shifting with mood. They are currently amused.

Alien:

Your aim remains spirited, captain Kirk.

Kirk:

So I've been told.

T.C.:

Tover takes their staff graceful flick, the ball arches perfectly through two floating rings, bounces off a levitating prism and lands on the next aerial platform with a triumphant chime. The crowd cheers. The platform Kirk suddenly shifts forward, accelerating into the next challenge. Kirk stumbles, catching his balance.

Kirk:

Listen, president Tovar, if we could get back to our conversation, you don't wanna leave the federation. You'll undo everything you've accomplished since joining. You'll set your people back a century.

T.C.:

Topher rides gracefully through the grabby wave toward the next goal, barely listening.

Alien:

As I've told you several times already, we seek sovereignty, control of our borders, freedom from federation regulations that hinder our economic expansion.

T.C.:

Kirk leaps to another floating platform, nearly misses and scrambles up panting.

Kirk:

We can renegotiate. Adjust oversight, but leaving the federation, that destabilizes the entire quadrant. Your trade routes, your security partnerships.

T.C.:

A jet of wind blasts them from another competitor zooming by. Kirk nearly loses his staff, while Tover lands cleanly on the final green like platform.

Alien:

Captain Kirk, your words are admirable, but admirable words are what brought her here, not results.

T.C.:

They tap their staff, the gravity ball shoots upward, curves like a comet, and drops directly into the hovering goal orb. A perfect finish, the crowd erupts. Kirk arrives moments later sweating, breathing hard, he slams his staff down and collapses onto the platform

Kirk:

edge. Congratulations, president Tore.

T.C.:

Another gravity lane lights up and lieutenant Nyota Ahura appears, soaring effortlessly atop a glide disk alongside the president's assistant, Veralon diplomat named Sevra, with whom Ahura laughs warmly. They both land with grace. Kirk watches baffled.

Kirk:

Ahura, how'd you finish faster than me?

Uhura:

You kept finding the graphing curls. They're supposed to help you, captain.

Kirk:

How the hell did you figure that

Uhura:

out? Severa told me.

Alien:

Your form was remarkable.

T.C.:

They exchange a respectful bow. Topher nods to them both and exits the platform, victorious. Kirk and Ahura step aside toward a nearby courtyard. The sun lowers casting rainbow refractions through crystalline structures. Kirk rubs his shoulder.

Kirk:

It's a privilege.

Uhura:

Diplomacy is communication. Sometimes in languages no one actually speaks.

Kirk:

Yeah. Well, you're the communications officer. You do the communicating next time.

Uhura:

Funny you should say that.

T.C.:

She hands him a glowing data pad. Sign this.

Kirk:

What am I signing?

Uhura:

A provisional cultural exchange amendment and a mutual trade recognition clause and a guarantee of corridor neutrality in their expansion territories.

Kirk:

This is what I've been negotiating for three days.

Uhura:

And you were successful. Didn't feel successful. While

Uhura:

you kept the president occupied, I took all our talking points and presented them to Sevres who brought them to the senate.

T.C.:

Kirk looks over the pad.

Kirk:

This gives them everything they wanted without leaving the federation.

Yorak:

How'd you have time to set all this up?

Uhura:

Like you said, heirloom takes forever.

T.C.:

Kirk sighs with a swipe and flips open his communicator. Enterprise, two to beam up. Sparkling transporter energy surrounds them. Next mission, I'm picking the sport. Uhura laughs as the teleporter swirl engulfs them.

T.C.:

Interior transporter room continues. Sparkling energy disperses. Kirk and Uhura solidify on the pads. Standing before them with hands clasped behind his back, Spock.

Uhura:

Captain Neota, may I as to the success of your diplomatic mission? Despite my best efforts, I think it went well. He did great.

Kirk:

Neota did great.

Uhura:

I am sure you both did very well.

Yorak:

Woah, Spock.

Kirk:

Is that a compliment?

Uhura:

I stated a fact. Please do not make it uncomfortable.

T.C.:

Too late. They exited the corridor. Kirk rubs his neck.

Kirk:

God, that damn game nearly killed me. Heirloom. Right. I'd rather we just play golf.

Uhura:

I fail to see how the rudimentary act of heme balls is an effective form of diplomacy or communication. Diplomacy is communication.

Kirk:

Sometimes in languages no one actually speaks.

T.C.:

Spot considers that a moment and

Uhura:

then, your words, Miyota?

Kirk:

Hey, those could be my words.

Uhura:

Unlikely. You are making your poker face, which I can read.

Kirk:

Then why do you always lose at poker?

Uhura:

Because you can't bluff.

Uhura:

If I have the better hand, there is no need to bluff.

Kirk:

This is why no one plays cards with you, Spock.

T.C.:

Ohura holds up the data pin.

Uhura:

I'll transmit cultural exchange documents to Starfleet Command. They'll want confirmation.

Kirk:

Thank you, lieutenant.

T.C.:

She sweetly touches Spock's arm and walks away. Kirk and Spock head the opposite direction. Crew members stride past. The ship hums with energy. Kirk is still rubbing his shoulders.

Kirk:

I swear that game dislocated something.

Uhura:

It is unlikely. Their lawn athletic practices are designed to reduce risk of injury.

Kirk:

Spock, on day two after being awake for forty eight hours straight, I crashed my floating island into a tree shaped like a fork.

Uhura:

Then your risk profile remains an outlier.

T.C.:

Before Kirken responds, Scotty appears carrying a data pad full of schematics trailed by Keenzer who is silently chewing on what looks like power couplings.

Uhura:

Captain, welcome back. We're running a full diagnostic on the secondary wart manifolds because someone decided to store their lunch in the plasma access panel.

T.C.:

Keenser huffs defensively, holding up the coupling.

Uhura:

Is that food? Depends on your metabolism, sir. But I prefer he not eat the ship.

Scotty:

You're eating the ship, Keensner. Keensner snorts.

Uhura:

Only partially. Anyway, we'll be at 100% before departure, captain. And I may have made some enhancements to the EPS grid.

Kirk:

Did we need to do that?

Klingon:

You didn't ask me to,

Uhura:

but well, it wanted to be better.

Uhura:

It is impossible for the electroplasma distribution network to express desire.

Uhura:

Oh, you'd be surprised. Ships talk. You just have to listen.

Kirk:

Whatever you did, Scotty, just don't blow us up.

T.C.:

I'm Zed. Scotty hurries off chasing Kienzer down the hall. Kirk and Spock continue to the turbo lift. The doors slide open, inside stands bones, arms crossed, scowl fully loaded.

Tubok:

Jim, sore?

Kirk:

Nice to see you two bones.

T.C.:

Bridge. Turbo lift starts moving. You break anything down there?

Kirk:

Just bruised my ego and straight something right here.

T.C.:

He rubs his shoulder bones, jabs him with a hypo spray. Oh.

Bones:

Spock, you let him play that ridiculous game without medical supervision?

Uhura:

I monitored his vitals remotely.

Bones:

So you watched him almost die from the lobby.

Kirk:

Bones, I'm fine.

Bones:

Sure you are. Till you dislocate your shoulder again.

Kirk:

And you'll put it right back.

Bones:

Did you know Yudine runs super marathons until their legs literally fall off?

Kirk:

They're celebrated as heroes. God help

T.C.:

us if you ever have to negotiate with them. The turbolift slows and the doors open too. The bridge. The crew is hard at work at their stations. The familiar ping of the systems.

T.C.:

Kirk and Spock step out. Bones remains.

Bones:

Try to take it easy, Jim.

T.C.:

Promises. The lift door slides shut on the docks sour face. Sulu swivels at the helm. Check off monitoring navigation. Bright eyed and eager.

Scotty:

Captain on the bridge.

Kirk:

How soon can we depart?

Scotty:

Helm is ready, sir. Course laid in for Star Base 12, pending your word.

Klingon:

Verb systems optimal. Engineering says Warp eight is now possible within five seconds. We tested it. You tested Warp eight without me, Chekhov? No, sir.

Klingon:

Yes, sir. It was only a little Warp eight, sir, in a simulation.

Scotty:

But looking forward to testing it in practice.

Kirk:

Thank you, mister Chekhov. And, Sulu, I'm sure we'll find a good excuse for you to put those piloting skills to work.

T.C.:

Spock steps to the science station.

Uhura:

Captain, I will compile the Verilan negotiation data from your report.

Yorak:

Good. I'll be in my quarters.

T.C.:

You have the help. Kirk exits the bridge to his captain quarters. The door slides open to reveal doctor Carol Marcus standing inside smiling warmly. Jim?

Kirk:

Carol. And where? Dad.

T.C.:

Running pastor David, eight years old, leaps into Kirk's arms. Oh. Kirk lifts him, holding him

Kirk:

Hey, David, buddy. Did you miss me?

Alien:

That took forever. Tell me about it. The negotiations go well?

T.C.:

Carole places a hand on Kirk's arm. He gives a lopsided exhausted smile.

Kirk:

They went. And right now I'd rather be nowhere else in the galaxy.

T.C.:

He holds his son close and the doors slide shut. Interior, Kirk's quarters night. Soft ambient starlight filters through the large viewport, so washes the room in a calm blues. Outside, the galaxy drifts by in silent rivers of light. Inside, David sits on the floor happily building a starship out of magnetic blocks.

T.C.:

The shape is vaguely enterprise like, but crooked. The saucer too big, the nacelles uneven, he loves it anyway. On the couch nearby, Kirk sits with Carol, his arms around her, her head rested on him. David makes the ship zoom, sputtering sound effects as he crashes it into a pillow. Kirk watches him with a smile that only a father could have.

Kirk:

He's getting better at the nacelles.

Carol:

He insists symmetry is optional.

T.C.:

Kirk smiles, but it fades into something quieter.

Kirk:

I wish you both could stay longer.

T.C.:

Carol hears the weight in his voice. She squeezes him close.

Carol:

Jim, this has been wonderful for all of us, but I have to get back to regular. My research is starting.

Kirk:

I know. I know you do.

T.C.:

He looks at David again, almost memorizing him. I'm just missing so much. Carol leans in, pressing a tender kiss to his cheek.

Carol:

You're out there, keeping people safe, and he knows that. I know that too.

T.C.:

David bangs his ship triumphantly onto the couch.

David:

Captain Kirk saves the galaxy again.

T.C.:

That hits Jim right in the heart. He forces a grin.

Kirk:

That's me when I'm not crashing into trees playing space golf. Carol laughs. David giggles,

T.C.:

having no idea what that means.

Carol:

Alright. Bedtime, explorer.

T.C.:

David groans but obeys. Kirk follows them into a small side bedroom where David climbs into bed, still holding his lopsided toy starship. Kirk tucks a blanket around him.

Kirk:

There you go.

Yorak:

Dad? Yeah, buddy?

T.C.:

Can we go on an adventure next time, like a real one with spaceships and everything?

Scotty:

I like that.

Kirk:

We'll see what the galaxy has in store for us. Okay?

T.C.:

Kirk brushes David's hair back and dims the light. Carol bends over David and gives him a kiss. Kirk watches from the

Yorak:

door. Mom?

Carol:

Yes, love?

T.C.:

Do you think we'll see dad again next year? It is innocent, curious. To David, the question contains no ache whatsoever, but to Kirk, it lands like a blow. Carol hesitates, glancing at Kirk. David waits with wide, trusting eyes.

Carol:

Of course, we will.

T.C.:

Kirk steps out of the corridor before his face betrays him. Interior Kirk's quarters later, Kirk stands alone at the viewport staring out the silent stars. For once, the galaxy feels impossibly far away. Carol, now in her pajamas, walks up behind him and wraps her arms around his chest.

Carol:

Come to bed.

T.C.:

Kirk pulls himself from the window and follows her to bed. Interior, transporter room next morning. Carol stands before Kirk travel bags slung over her shoulder. David clutches his toy ship, his crooked little Enterprise. Kirk kneels and hugs him.

Kirk:

Be good and listen to your mom.

T.C.:

Yes, sir. He hugs his dad tight. Jim hugs tighter.

Carol:

Thank you for these days, Jim. They really do mean a lot to both of us.

T.C.:

Kirk nods. She gives him a final lingering kiss. She guides David to the pad.

Kirk:

Hey. Keep working on that ship design, kiddo. The Enterprise could always use an upgrade.

T.C.:

David beams. Carol offers Kirk a look, warm, sad, knowing. She nods to the transport chief.

Carol:

Energized.

T.C.:

The swirl of shimmering light, they vanish. Kirk stands alone on the platform, shoulders lowering with a long exhale. He didn't know he was holding. Right.

Kirk:

Back to saving the galaxy.

T.C.:

He turns and exits, the door hissing shut behind him. Mess hall, day. The room bustles with midday energy, crew laughing, eating, swapping duty stories. A gentle rumble of engines provides a constant humming undercurrent. Kirk sits at table towards the center, the cooling cup of coffee in front of him untouched.

T.C.:

His mind is far from food. Bones approaches with a tray and sets it down hard enough to get Kirk's cup rattling. He sits.

Bones:

You look like someone beamed your heart halfway across the quadrant and forgot to bring the rest.

Kirk:

Carol and David, I just hate watching them go.

Bones:

Carol's a good woman, Jim. Smart, Strong. Hansel, I trust with more than half the brass in

Kirk:

the fleet. I know she is. It's not her, it's me. I'm I'm gone so much and David's life is happening without me there to see it.

Bones:

Wanna be a present father, I get that.

Kirk:

My dad wasn't, not by choice. And I grew up hearing stories about him instead of actually hearing him. You're not

Uhura:

your

Bones:

father. You're doing what you can with the life you've got and that kid knows you love you. That counts for something a lot more than you might

T.C.:

Kirk sits with that. It hits home in only a way bones could deliver. His eyes sweep the crew and land on Ahura. Nearby, Ahura stands with a nervous young Ensign Raelin, barely out of the academy, clutching a data pad so tightly her knuckles blanch.

Uhura:

Slow down, and Sin Leyland. Right? Okay. Breathe. Start with what you do know, not what you don't.

Ensign:

I I miscalibrated the subspace packet queue, and I might have corrupted the entire relay buffer. Commander Spock is gonna jettison me from an airlock. I just know he's going to. Have you seen the way he glares at crew who make mistakes?

Uhura:

But you caught it before the system failed. That's what matters. Mistakes happen. Owning them makes you a better officer than pretending they didn't.

T.C.:

The Ensignat's steadier, Uhura smiles, pride's subtle. Kirk watches her from across the room, notices her poise, her command presence, and says nothing, but it registers.

Bones:

Speaking of kids, Wheaton or sustaining yourself on coffee, do I have to prescribe you a sander?

T.C.:

I've survived, bones. Suddenly, a violent choke. The entire mess hall lurches. Trays slide, cups tip. The crew stumbles.

T.C.:

Engines roar, then sputter into a sickening drop of momentum. The ship is no longer in warp. The red alert clacks on Blayers. Kirk is on his feet instantly. Spock's voice cuts over the con.

Uhura:

Bridge to captain Kirk.

Kirk:

I'm here, Spock.

Uhura:

Captain, we were forced out of warp. I need you to the bridge immediately.

T.C.:

Kirk bolts to the exit, nodding to Uhura, bones at his heels. Uhura hands the panicked ensign her data pad before she sprints after them. Crews scramble past. The calm of the mess hall is gone. Interior bridge moments later, the turbolift opens.

T.C.:

Kirk and Uhura stride into the bridge. Uhura sweeps over to her station, Kirk's jaw tight. On the main view screen, dominating the room, a sprawling flickering nebula like cloud with erratic veins of light and tendrils of drifting particle gas. Sulu's hands hover over the helm, check off monitoring sensors flashing across his console. Spock stands at sight, rigid.

Kirk:

What the hell pulled us out of warp?

Uhura:

We were en route at Warp 7 when a sudden graviton shear coupled with a subspace phase inversion passed through our warp field. The effect was analogous to being hooked.

Kirk:

So something grabbed us?

Uhura:

Alright. That's one way to put it, Captain.

Kirk:

Talk to

T.C.:

me, Scotty. Engineering, same. Scotty is moving swiftly around engineering. His team deals with breaks and alarms.

Uhura:

Well, sir, you know how on an road, you can be driving along nice and smooth and suddenly, wham, you're the patch of black guys to lose all control?

Kirk:

Yeah.

T.C.:

Kirk's scowl deepens. He points at the flickering cloud. And that?

Uhura:

Sensors indicate an anomaly comprising volatile dark matter particulates, tachyon saturation, and localized space time compression.

Kirk:

That sounds bad.

Uhura:

It is and also similar to the anomaly that brought Nero's vessel into this timeline thirty years ago.

T.C.:

The cold weight hits the bridge. Kirk straightens. Kind of similar.

Tubok:

Sensors showing a 73% structural match, captain. Kirk exhales, shoulders loosening.

Kirk:

Okay. Okay. Not great, but not apt.

T.C.:

Anomaly shifts, lightning flashing through its core, alarms chirp. Correction, 83%. Kirk's relief waivers. Spock adjusts the sensor relay again. The waveform graph flickers at the edge of the console.

T.C.:

Fascinating.

Kirk:

What is it?

T.C.:

Spock tilts his head, just slightly. He stares in silence at the readings. Spock? Spock still observes the screen, lost in thought. Spock.

T.C.:

The Vulcan blinks and looks at the captain.

Uhura:

Analyzing fluctuation. Captain, the match is now 98.7% to that of the Nero anomaly.

T.C.:

Kirk freezes the memory of Nero, Vulcan's fall, and the weight of the trauma reflected in the split second tightening of his jaw. Then he snaps into command mode.

Kirk:

Let's go. Bring us in, mister

Uhura:

Captain, we are already in dangerously close proximity to the Klingon border.

T.C.:

How close? Chekhov's console beeps.

Klingon:

Anomaly is inside the neutral zone, sir. Right in the dividing line.

T.C.:

Kirk glances at the cloud, then Spock, then at the helm.

Kirk:

Alright. We fly in real non threatening like mister Sulu.

Scotty:

Non threatening. Aye, captain. Engaging impulse at one quarter minimal signature.

T.C.:

The Enterprise slowly alters course, gliding towards the anomaly as the violent glow pulses across the bridge. Steps forward, eyes fixed on the cloud, but beneath his bravado, something uneasy stirs. Exterior of the anomaly moments later, the Enterprise glides forward towards the vortex, the roiling storm and violent lightning shimmering particles and spiraling currents of compressed space. A slow pan reveals something unexpected. A massive space station hovers at the storm's edge.

T.C.:

Its design is asymmetrical with jagged pylons, curved plating, glowing conduits that pulse in time with the anomaly. And floating above it, another unexpected sight, a Klingon science vessel, its hull scarred and scorched. Interior, Enterprise Bridge. Kirk leans forward in the captain's chair, jaw clenched.

Kirk:

What kind of Klingon vessel?

Klingon:

Klingon designation, Vorkha class research cruiser, sir. Heavily mortified. Klingon researchers?

T.C.:

I guess even Klingons eat scientists. Right?

Uhura:

It does not appear as though they're a threat.

Kirk:

Wanna bet? Spock frowns. Hail our curious friends. Uhura works her console with smooth precision.

Uhura:

Channel open.

T.C.:

Screen flickers, then resolves into a Klingon science officer. Garmoth, older, severe, but not hostile. The background of the bridge flickers with light.

Yorak:

This is commander Garmoth of the IKS Mechtor, Federation vessel. You approved without warning.

Kirk:

I am captain James T. Kirk of the USS Enterprise. Looks like you had a bit of a rough encounter. We were pulled from a warp. I'm guessing you were as well.

Yorak:

Our warp field collapsed without cause. Sensors led us to this and this station. We came to investigate. We seek no battle.

Tubok:

That would be a first.

T.C.:

Uhuru gives him a sharp look, Chekhov swallows, and sits straighter.

Kirk:

Since this station is placed firmly in neutral territory, we propose meeting as the neutral zone intends. No weapons drawn, just science.

T.C.:

Klingon studies

Yorak:

him. Agreed. The anomaly concerns us both.

Kirk:

See you soon, commander Gormuth. Enterprise out. The screen cuts. What can we tell about that station?

Uhura:

Spock steps around his console. The station does not match any federation, Klingon, Romulan, or known independent construction. Its architecture suggests hybrid origin, but materials are exotic.

Klingon:

Also, sir, there is a large emission beam connecting the anomaly to the station's core.

T.C.:

The view screen enhances an area, a tendril of blue white energy funneling directly into the station.

Uhura:

Like a siphon or an anchor.

Kirk:

Can we beam down?

Uhura:

Negative. A dense debris float surrounds the station. Matter fragmentation from the anomaly, transporter lock would be unreliable.

Kirk:

Sulu, looks like we found our excuse to

T.C.:

test your pilot skills. Sulu cracks a subtle grin.

Scotty:

Aye, captain. Setting shuttle bay preparation.

T.C.:

Kirk rises.

Kirk:

Fuck. Uhura with me.

T.C.:

Chekhov's face brightens. He tries to hide it, fails. Kirk sighs, but with warmth. You

Kirk:

too, mister Chekhov.

Klingon:

Yes, sir.

T.C.:

He nearly sprints to the turbolift. As the door closes, we cut to a shuttle moments later. A sleek Federation shuttle cuts through space toward the mysterious station, weaving through the drifting debris, chunks of hull plating, crystalline particles, and twisted metal fragments frozen in slow motion. Sulu pilots with absolute focus. Kirk sits beside him, hands braced on the console.

T.C.:

Spock, Uhura, check off. Bones and Scottie occupy the rear seats. The tension is thick.

Bones:

Jim, if this anomaly has half the temper that Nero's did, we should be flying in the opposite direction.

Uhura:

Where's the fun in that?

T.C.:

Approaching the station. The shuttle begins to descend towards the space station landing platform. A wide landing pad juts out of the station's surface. The structure is metallic and rock with massive ceiling of glass and steel allowing observers to look upon the bursts of colors and energy above as though they were within it. Rested on the landing pad is a Klingon shuttle, Garmoth's shuttle.

T.C.:

Soule sets the shuttle down it with impressive precision amid drifting sparks and ambient static. The hatch opens, Kirk steps out, posture tall, expression controlled, and Garmoth and his two Klingon aids step forward to greet him.

Yorak:

Commander Garmoth? Captain James Kirk.

Kirk:

Didn't expect to see a Klingon science ship today.

Yorak:

Nor did I wake expecting a Federation cruiser to come stumbling out to this angry wound in space.

Bones:

What makes two of us?

T.C.:

Garmoth's eyes flicked to bones amused, then back Kirk.

Yorak:

We were pulled from warp without warning. Our engine screamed like dying beasts. We detected this anomaly and found this station already waiting.

T.C.:

Kirk glances at the station's jagged structure looming all around them.

Kirk:

Same story on our end. For what it's worth, commander, we are not here looking for a fight.

T.C.:

Garmoth studies him for a long moment, reading the sincerity.

Yorak:

Nor are we. I am a soldier of the empire, but I am here as something rarer.

T.C.:

He straightens with pride.

Yorak:

I am a scientist.

T.C.:

That lands. Kirk's posture softens.

Kirk:

Then we are on the same side, at least for today.

T.C.:

Garmoth nods once sharply.

Yorak:

Your crew may begin its work. My team will share sensor data. Information will be exchanged openly. If this thing threatens the Empire and your federation, we will know it together.

T.C.:

Kirk gestures to his people.

Kirk:

You heard the commander. Fan out. You know the drill. Bones, try not to find anything that wants to kill us. Oh, I'm certain it'll find us first.

T.C.:

Zulu pauses at the base of the ramp.

Kirk:

Captain. Stay with the shuttle. Keep her hot. If the station sneezes, I want you ready to fly us out of its nose.

T.C.:

Sulu gives a quick crisp nod. Aye, captain. He heads back into the craft. The Starfleet crew and the Klingons begin to spread across the station, scanning walls, checking structural beams, linking tricorders with clunky Klingon sensor packs. Kirk and Garmoth fall into step together, their footsteps echoing in the metal of the anomaly's pulsing light washes them with intermittent color.

T.C.:

Station corridor, Spock and Chekhov walk along the structure. It is a strange fusion of designs, angles reminiscent of Federation construction, intersect with brutalist Klingon style struts, all overlaid with unfamiliar lattice of sleek, organic looking conduits.

Klingon:

Have you ever seen anything like it?

Uhura:

I have not.

T.C.:

As they pass a portion of wall, it ripples with light and morphs, unseen by the pair. Chekhov stops as though sensing the change. He looks back and points at the wall. Is that Vulcan text? Spock joins him and peers at the wall, the symbol's there.

T.C.:

He gently touches them with his fingertips. Chekhov watches him for a moment. Mister Spock? Spock continues to study the glyphs.

Uhura:

Spock? Yes, lieutenant. This is quite

T.C.:

fascinating. Spock cocks an eyebrow. Elsewhere in the station, Uhura and Scottie. She runs her hands on the smooth wall with of swirling colors.

Uhura:

It's like art. Alright.

T.C.:

The walls around fall into shadow for a moment, and when the light of the anomaly washes back over them, all the walls are now adorned with swirling colors. Uhura and Scottie exchange a look. Elsewhere on the station, Kirk and Garmoth walk side by side, their silhouettes framed in the bizarre architecture.

Yorak:

I was born under the shadow of Kronos' northern ridges. My house has served the empire for 10 generations. Warriors, all of them.

T.C.:

He glances at Kirk unapologetic.

Yorak:

I love the empire. I honor the blood that made me.

T.C.:

He taps his chest with a closed fist.

Yorak:

But the songs that quicken my heart are not only of battles, they are of stars.

Kirk:

I know that feeling.

Yorak:

Science is not in my blood, Captain Kirk. My blood sings for victory, but my mind hungers to understand, to tear secrets from the void and hold them in my hands.

Kirk:

That's probably the most Klingon way to say that.

T.C.:

A dry smile creases his scarred face.

Yorak:

And it is my truth.

T.C.:

They pass a large floor to ceiling viewport. Outside, the anomaly churns. For a moment, the light paints them both in the same eerie color.

Kirk:

I joined Starfleet because of my father, but the thing that kept me here is the same truth. What's out there? What is just past the horizon?

Yorak:

The next great adventure.

T.C.:

Kirk looks out at the storm.

Kirk:

There's always something new out there, something dangerous, something beautiful, sometimes both.

Yorak:

I often wonder what grand adventure will satisfy my lust.

Kirk:

I've been wondering the same recently. I've been looking a long time.

Yorak:

And have you found your answer? Maybe. I remember the war with your federation, the clash of ships, the roar of torpedoes, the songs of victory. There was honor in it. Fire, purpose, but it is behind us now.

Yorak:

There are those in the Empire who cannot see past the next battle, who believe a future with out enemy blood on our blades is no future at all.

T.C.:

He looks at Kirk directly in the eye.

Yorak:

I do not agree. We have new enemies, ignorance, weakness of will, the vast dark that does not care whose banner we fly.

T.C.:

He gestures toward the anomaly.

Yorak:

This thing does not care for the federation or the empire. It may swallow it both if it chooses.

Kirk:

Then we make sure it doesn't get the chance.

T.C.:

Skarmoth's lips twist into something like a feral grin.

Yorak:

Spoken like a warrior and a scientist.

T.C.:

Scotty and Uhura, they move together through the ribbed corridor. Strange conduits twist overhead like metallic vines. Scotty waves a diagnostic wand over one of the conduits. It sparks violently his grinning, full of gleeful wonder.

Uhura:

Oh, would you look at that? It's patching its own power fluctuations like a living APS grid. I never seen such a thing like it's alive.

T.C.:

Tahira runs her hand over the wall, and it ripples under her touch. Her eyes flicker with the color.

Uhura:

Not alive. Responsive. There's a difference.

Uhura:

I am one that might keep us from being dry, but I've never seen circuitry that adjusts its own harmonic frequency in real time. It's a thing of beauty.

Uhura:

Could be the quantum displacement.

T.C.:

Ahura moves to a wall panel, sleek triangular, almost like a faceted crystal. She places her hand on it. Her tricorder immediately lights up with unreadable symbols.

Uhura:

Interesting. The panel's broadcasting on subspace bands used for communication, but not in any language I recognize.

Uhura:

You recognize every language.

Uhura:

Not this one. It's not even structured.

T.C.:

She can't help but smile.

Uhura:

Well, if it's talking last, let's hope it's friendly.

T.C.:

Ahura studies her tricorder, then the panel again.

Uhura:

Gormuth's team said their instruments couldn't penetrate the station's core, but if this thing is acting as a communication nodule

Uhura:

You think you can talk back?

Uhura:

If I can, that would be amazing.

T.C.:

Spock and Chekhov, a wide circular chamber of crystalline pillars and suspended hexagonal platforms. Spock scans with intense precision. Chekhov glances over at a nearby Klingon who are keeping their distance. He touches the butt of his phaser, ready but respectful.

Uhura:

There is no need for your anxiety, lieutenant. The Klingons have given no indication that they are a threat to us.

Klingon:

They are Klingons, sir. They have a reputation.

Uhura:

Reputation, yes. Logic requires we judge this crew only by their actions today.

T.C.:

Chekhov considers this, nods, but he peers over at the Klingons again, not alleviated.

Uhura:

Lieutenant. Yes. I I was I'm just, I mean, I'm Checking the gravimetric fluctuations. Yes, sir. And radiation signatures.

Uhura:

This anomaly is not merely a distortion of subspace. It appears to be interacting with energy, biological matter, and communication signals simultaneously. That's everything. Precisely. This is a multidimensional event.

Uhura:

It cannot be diagnosed by engineering alone, nor by science, nor medical, nor tactical. It requires cooperation between every discipline.

T.C.:

Chekhov glances at the Klingons again.

Tubok:

And cooperation with the Klingons. Indeed. Is that bad?

T.C.:

Spock considers this deeply, not revealing his thoughts, but clearly contemplating these facts.

Uhura:

It's highly coincidental.

T.C.:

Kirk and Garmoth, a vast cavernous bay opens before them. At the center stands an altar, a raised dais of polished black stone. Embedded in the altar is a staff like object, a long crystalline spear with veins of energy threading through it. Kirk approaches cautiously. Garmoth stops just short of touching the weapon.

Kirk:

This looks

Yorak:

It is an altar, and that is a spear.

Kirk:

A spear that appears to be plugged directly into a dimensional anomaly.

T.C.:

They circle it slowly.

Yorak:

In the old stories, the greatest weapons were forged from the bones of dead gods. This looks like such a thing.

Kirk:

I thought the Klingons killed other gods.

Yorak:

We did, but that does not mean there are not remnants of their influence. History echoes James Kirk.

Kirk:

It might not be a weapon. It could be a control mechanism, a stabilizer.

Yorak:

Everything is a weapon if the hand that holds it desires war.

T.C.:

Kirk considers the staff the pulsing veins of light.

Yorak:

What do you

T.C.:

make of the design? Garmoth studies it deeply, seen more than just technology.

Yorak:

It is not Klingon, not Federation, not any species I know, but someone made this and intended it to be found.

Kirk:

Found?

Yorak:

If one wishes to hide a blade, captain, one buries it.

T.C.:

He gestures to the altar, prominent, illuminated, humming with immense power.

Yorak:

This was place for us to find.

T.C.:

The altar hums deep, resonant like a heartbeat. The light washes over both captains. Kirk steps closer, staring into the glowing spear.

Kirk:

Whatever this is, it didn't just pull us out of warp. It wanted us here.

T.C.:

The station's escalates. Something is waking up. Kirk and Garmoth exchange a look. Both captains, both explorers, both suddenly aware they have crossed a threshold. A thunderous sound draws their eyes above.

T.C.:

Three Klingon birds of prey dropping out of warp and surrounding the Enterprise.

Kirk:

Friends of

Yorak:

yours? I do not know.

T.C.:

They are quickly joined by the rest of the crews.

Klingon:

Jim, you invited them.

Uhura:

It is still the neutral zone, doctor. There's no reason to believe.

T.C.:

The nearest bird of prey shifts dramatically and lurches directly at the space station. It has a blood red emblem painted across its hall. It descends past the docking bay and into the very chamber they are all gathered in so swiftly and connects so abruptly to it that the entire station quakes and everyone standing there nearly topples to the metal floor. Woah. Steam and vented gas swirl as the gangplank from the Klingon bird of play slams into place.

T.C.:

Heavy boots thud down the ramp, and a figure emerges from the haze, Yorak. His bare scarred arms glistening, a tattered cloak sweeping around his large form. Armor scarred, eyes burning. He is every inch the warlord he believes he is destined to be, now wrapped in the authority of command. Behind him, a squad of armed Klingon warriors fan out.

T.C.:

Starfleet officers and Garmoth's science crew swing around weapons raised. Phasers and Klingon disruptors all point at the same target, this looming arrival. Garmoth and his two aides stand near the altar. Garmoth alone keeps his hands empty, jaw set.

Yorak:

I am captain James T. Kirk of the USS Kill that stinking maw worm before I tear it from your skull.

T.C.:

A tense electrified stillness. Yorak takes in the scene with open contempt. The Enterprise crew, the science Klingons, the glowing altar behind them.

Yorak:

Federation filth crawling through our mysteries.

T.C.:

His gaze snaps to Garmoth. Garmoth.

Yorak:

Durak, I was not aware the high council had sanctioned your presence here, let alone given you authority. They did not. I do not wait for the council to find its spine.

T.C.:

His eyes flick to Kirk as if noticing an unpleasant smell. He walks with slow, deliberate footfalls, each step booming on the metal grates.

Yorak:

What are you doing here, Gormoth? Exactly what my orders demand, investigating an anomaly that threatens both the Empire and the Federation. The council charged me to understand such things. A council of merchants and cowards.

T.C.:

He gestures slightly to the Enterprise crew.

Yorak:

We are exchanging information, studying it, containing it. You stand shoulder to shoulder with Starfleet vermin.

T.C.:

Kirk steps forward, a half pace, calm but unyielding.

Kirk:

Do you have a problem with Starfleet, Yorak? You can address it to me.

Yorak:

General Yorak, worm. And I was not talking to you, Federation scum.

T.C.:

Klingon disruptors tighten their aim on Kirk. Starfleet phasers tense in reply.

Yorak:

Enough. James Kirk is here under a flag of truce. So are we. The station is in the neutral zone. It belongs to no one.

T.C.:

Yorick finally turns fully toward the altar. His eyes lock on the crystalline spear embedded in the black stone, the light reflecting in his pupils. There

Yorak:

it is. There what is? Your federation weapon.

Kirk:

This isn't a weapon, and it's not ours. This place is unknown to the federation, to the empire, to anyone.

T.C.:

Enough of your lies. I know what Star fleet does. Garmoth steps in front of the altar blocking Yorak's path.

Yorak:

Yorak, listen to reason. This is no federation construct. The Alloys, the energy signatures. Hear how he talks. Talks.

Yorak:

Alloys signatures. Our fathers sang of blood and glory, he sings of data.

T.C.:

One of Garmoth's aides, Kalrak, bristles.

Yorak:

Commander Gormoth is acting under the authority of the high council. We are here to protect the empire.

T.C.:

Bjorax studies him.

Yorak:

Protect it by serving the federation.

T.C.:

Gormoth's other aide, Lerna, speaks up nervous but loyal.

Alien:

We are serving truth, general. This anomaly could destroy Klingon worlds as easily as Federation ones. We need to understand it.

Yorak:

There it is, the rot.

T.C.:

He steps closer to Lerna, voice low and poisonous. You speak of truth

Yorak:

and and understanding while our borders are weakened by peace, while merchants grow fat and warriors grow idle.

T.C.:

He looks at the spear again, reverent and hungry.

Yorak:

You think I do not see? The federation finds a god weapon, hides it in the shadow between our territories, and then calls you to study it, to tame it, to leash it to their will.

Kirk:

There is no weapon here. If we had something like this, the last thing we'd do is show it to you.

Klingon:

Jim, maybe don't antagonize the man.

T.C.:

Your ex steps closer to Garmoth, nearly chest to chest.

Yorak:

You disappoint me, Garmoth. You had a name sung with honor in the academy. The warrior scholar. I had hoped the warrior part still meant something. It does.

Yorak:

That is why I am here, not to bow to the federation, to defend our people from whatever this is. And if that defense requires requires standing with Starfleet against a great effect, then I will stand.

T.C.:

Yorak face goes very still.

Yorak:

Then you are no warrior.

T.C.:

He moves fast. Before anyone can register, Yorak strides past Garmoth, shoulder slamming him aside and to the floor. He mounts the altar steps. Yorak, no. For a heartbeat, his gauntlet hand hovers over the crystalline shaft, feeling its power vibrating through the air.

Yorak:

Forged from the bones of dead gods.

T.C.:

He grips the staff. He exits from the plinth. The sound is like reality tearing. A boom of displaced energy slams through the chamber. Everyone is thrown to the floor.

T.C.:

Yorak spins and drives the spear into Gorman's chest. No. Phasers and disruptors ignite. Everyone scatters. The entire station begins to quake in reaction to the spear being removed.

Uhura:

Captain, I'm reading a massive power spikes all over the station.

T.C.:

Of anomaly outside skyrockets to a howl. On the altar, York flexes with the spear in his grip and energy crackles through him, his eyes wide with sinister glee. Energy arcs from the exposed socket, lancing upward into the ceiling, racing through the station's conduits like wildfire. Kalrak gets up, firing at Yorak. Monster.

T.C.:

Yorak fires his glass into Kalrak's chest. He vaporizes in an instant armor, flesh gone in a burst of light. Lurina screams, reaches for him. Another blast catches her and she is vaporized. Spock shields his eyes from the radiance of the flares.

Uhura:

Captain, the anomaly.

T.C.:

McCurk is firing at York through the smoke and falling station. York laughs loud and unhinged, exalted, holding the staff to his side as though it was always meant to be held by him.

Yorak:

Do you see? This is no weapon of the federation. This is a blade forged for the Empire.

T.C.:

He swings the spear toward the viewpoint and hits the transparent wall, spider webbing into cracks. Air begins to hiss out. Emergency force fields flickering, struggling to engage as the station's systems overload. Warning claxons blare in the language no one recognizes. Yorick fires his disruptor and clips Bones' shoulder.

T.C.:

Kurt grabs his friend, still firing at Yorak. Everybody fall back now. The floor bucks. The support beams tear loose and slam down between Starfleet and Yorak, showering sparks and cutting sight lines as they retreat under fire.

Uhura:

Captain structural integrity is failing.

Uhura:

If we stay, we die.

Uhura:

Then let's get the hell out

T.C.:

of here. The smoke, Kirk glimpses Gormat's body. Yorick stands amid ruins smiling.

Uhura:

Captain, we have to go.

T.C.:

Kirk tears his eyes away. He runs as another energy burst rips through the far wall. The station screams, metal twisting, light strobing, gravity, lurching. Yorick heads back to his ship, his warriors firing after clean crews. From the corridor, Scotty and Ahura sprint as conduits explode overhead.

Uhura:

What about all this tech? Less talking, more running.

T.C.:

Behind them, the corridor segment collapses. Spock and Chekov fight to stay upright as the hex platform swing wildly.

Klingon:

This is not good. This is weary weary not good.

T.C.:

As a crack rips open the floor, energy blazing, Spock hauls Chekov clear as they leap over it.

Uhura:

Your assessment is, for once, under stated.

T.C.:

Inside the shuttle landing platform, he's beneath them. The shuttle rocks and Sulu wrestles with the controls, engine screaming. He bangs into the side of Garmoth's shuttle, shoving it onto the landing platform and out of the way. Sulu sees his crew running towards him.

Kirk:

Come on. Come on.

T.C.:

The hatch opens. Kirk, Spot, Ahura, Bones, Chekov, and Scottie all scramble aboard, half running, half sliding across the tilted deck. Deep inside the station, York's bird of prey blasts free.

Kirk:

Sulu, get us out of here.

T.C.:

Strap in. He guns it. The shuttle lifts just as the platform splits in two, one half dropping away into the yawning void.

Uhura:

All that beautiful alien technology.

T.C.:

Priorities, man. The shuttle blasts dodging debris and wild discharges. The two other Klingon birds of prey orbit the anomaly, weapons hot, unsure what targets to prioritize. Kirk slams the comms.

Kirk:

Kirk to Enterprise, we're coming in fast. Cover us.

T.C.:

Shakoom. The IKS Mechtor explodes as Yorick's bird rips into the Klingon battlecruiser, tearing it apart with disruptors and torpedoes. Debris spirals into the storm. Yorick's ship. Yorick strides out of the bridge, drops into his chair, spear in hand.

T.C.:

He points at the Enterprise.

Yorak:

Destroy that ship. On the

T.C.:

shuttle, Sulu weaves through the debris, tearing towards the distant enterprises so the storm rages. Kirk clutches the console, watches as the three Klingon ships turn to

Alien:

the

T.C.:

Enterprise and fire. The Enterprise maneuvers hard, phasers raking Klingon hulls. The shuttle shudders under the chaos. Bolts rattle. Panels flicker.

T.C.:

Soo's hands are a blur. The anomaly howls. Kirk grips the console as they free fall between two enormous slabs of wreckage, barely enough clearance.

Uhura:

Pull up.

Sulu:

If I pull up, we die.

T.C.:

Hold on. He rolls the shuttle sideways, scraping past the spinning slab of metal nearly its own size. It misses by centimeters. The Enterprise pours phaser fire into three attacking ships. Emerald Disruptors slam its shields on Yorak's ship.

T.C.:

Make them bleed. Disruptor glances carve light scars across Enterprise's shield. On the shuttle, everyone is thrown as Sulu corkscrews through the storm of debris. Kirk stares to the main view. Enterprise arcs upward in a tight roll, phasers cutting golden sweeps across the nearest bird of prey.

T.C.:

Her shields flicker. A disruptor blast shields a chunk of holloway. Tiny figures spill into space. Sparks spray. Enterprise answers with a torpedo salvo.

T.C.:

Blue fireball streak across the gap. Two torpedoes slam into the bird's belly. Plasma guts out. The bird buckles, spins, then detonates in a globe of green fire. On the shuttle, the flash washes over them.

T.C.:

Bone shields his eyes.

Uhura:

Holy hell. They actually got one.

T.C.:

Another Klingon ship swoops into view, weapons bristling. Slulu's fingers fly. Incoming. He dives the shuttle under the floating strut of a disruptor shot. Erases the space between them.

Uhura:

Enterprise trying to cover our approach. They're buying us time.

T.C.:

Enterprise versus the second bird of prey. The Enterprise whips hard. Ventral phasers blazing. The Klingons rake her belly. Hall of ruptures.

T.C.:

Oxygen sprains silver into space. She twists, almost dancing. A phaser broadside carves into the Klingon ship. A torpedo threads a tiny gap into the shield. Direct hit.

T.C.:

The bird spiral, crippled molten plates dripping away as it slams into the station. It's done on the shuttle. Check off. Cheers. First eyes stay fixed on the ship.

T.C.:

That's our girl. He barely has time to feel it. His gaze locks under the third bird, darker, marked with a jagged red insignia, Yorak's ship. Yorak still grins, eyes blazing at the gleaming Starfleet flagship.

Yorak:

I will make a corpse of them.

T.C.:

Yorick's ship snags around the predator's precision, slicing through phaser fire, closing fast on the shuttle. Even with Sulu's skills, the small craft can't close the gap. Yorick's warship slides between them and the Enterprise blocking their path.

Kirk:

We need to get back. We need to get to the Enterprise.

Uhura:

We can't get close, captain. If the energy discharge doesn't rip us apart, the Klingons will.

T.C.:

Tsumo hurls the shuttle into a brutal barrel roll. Kirk flinches then slams the Khan.

Yorak:

Enterprise, get out of here. Go. Captain, are you sure?

Uhura:

Let's go. Go.

T.C.:

The Enterprise swings, trying to break away, battered and venting plasma, starboard shields flickering paper thin. She lines up for warp,

Yorak:

Yorak's ship. Oh, no. You don't.

T.C.:

Warp lights gather around the nacelles, then Yorak fires. One torpedo. Perfect. Surgical. It streaks across space and slams into the starboard nacelles.

T.C.:

The nacelles explodes. A blinding white fireball tears it apart. Flame, debris scatter across the void. A war bubble collapses violently, ripping space. The Enterprise lurches, bleeding fire.

T.C.:

Hall plating curls and peels. Her lights flicker section by section. She drifts. In the shuttle, everyone is stunned. Kirk watches the ship, his home, his family burn and fall into darkness.

Kirk:

Hold together. Hold together.

T.C.:

It's frozen. Ahura leans over Sulu, jabbing her finger.

Uhura:

Sulu, use the flares. Swing us behind the anomaly now.

Uhura:

Hold

T.C.:

on. The shuttle skids through space cutting hard toward the anomaly on Yorick's ship. Yorick spots the fleeing speck.

Yorak:

I see you worm. Fire on that shuttle.

T.C.:

Yorick's ship fires beams, chase the shuttle. Sulu dives full throttle straight into the swirling jaw of the anomaly. The storm fills the frame. Lightning, darkness, tidal gravity. The bird of prey stays on them firing relentlessly.

T.C.:

The crew clings to their seat as the shuttle plummets. Sulu forces the controls. The anomaly looms like an ocean rising to swallow them. Yorick's warship lunges in pursuit. Disruptors blazing.

T.C.:

The anomaly flickers like a cosmic hand grabbing toys. It swallows the shuttle, and the bird of prey, Kirk's eyes widen. Oh my. Boom. A shock wave hurls the shuttle into the infinite swirl light and energy, time, and space fold.

T.C.:

Solar flares lick at the bright silver blur as the shuttle streaks like a trace around. We chase from behind, closing in on the sizzling through reality. We overtake until the blue white energy fills the frame. The camera pushes in toward Kirk in his chair. As the back of his head fills the screen, we are inside Kirk's mind.

T.C.:

Hypnotic dream images rise from his subconscious floating past liquid faces, shifting figures, ghostly images of his crew aging and regressing. David runs towards us. Kirk's eyes flash. A star detonates in the void. And then nothing, infinite nothing, darkness forever.

T.C.:

We sit in the silence, only one faint breath and then none at all. Exterior space, star starfield, silence, stars drift, and then a new shape glides into frame. The USS Enterprise NCC 17 o one d, majestic, familiar, sailing past as if it had always been there.

Klingon:

Captain's log, stardate 44212.6. The Enterprise is on route to investigate an unusual anomaly detected near the edge of Federation space, an energy signature not charted on any current map. Staff lead reports no immediate threat. At present, our mission is one of scientific curiosity.

T.C.:

The ship turns gracefully. Interior Picard's ready room continues. Captain Jean Luc Picard stands at the viewport, cup of tea in hand, watching the stars slide by, calm, composed, every inch the captain we know. He takes a sip, sets his cup down, straightening his uniform tunic with a practiced tug.

Klingon:

We proceed under standard exploratory protocol.

T.C.:

He exits. Interior, Enterprise D, Bridge. The door is parked as Picard steps onto his bridge. We take in the familiar layout, Khan, ops forward, command in the center, the horseshoe, the sweeping curve of consoles. Riker is in the first officer's chair.

T.C.:

Data at ops, Wesley at con. Troy at her station. Yar at tactical. The quiet of the ship at cruise.

Kirk:

Captain on the bridge.

T.C.:

Picard Knotts crossing to his chair.

Klingon:

Report number one.

Kirk:

We're on course with the coordinates of the anomaly. ETA, twenty two minutes of war paint.

Klingon:

Mister Data.

Sulu:

Long range scans confirm a localized subspace disturbance, sir. Variable gravitation flux and sporadic tachyon emissions. No artificial structures detected.

Klingon:

Any signs of vessel activity?

Sulu:

Negative. No warp signatures, no act active transponders.

T.C.:

Picard glances to the viewport, open stars ahead.

Klingon:

Mister Crusher, our position relative to the Klingon border.

Wesley:

We will be 3.2 light years from Klingon space at closest approach, sir. Well inside Federation territory, but within sensor range of several border outposts, including the mining outpost, Giv Rock.

David:

No current alerts through Klingon defense forces. All traffic along the border is normal, but I'll stay sharp.

T.C.:

Picard sells into his chair, unconcerned.

Klingon:

The Klingon Empire has been our ally for some time now, Lieutenant Jar. I don't anticipate they'll object to us looking at an oddly shaped patch of space.

T.C.:

A small smile from Riker.

Kirk:

Still, never hurts to be polite neighbors.

T.C.:

Agreed. Counselor Troy. Troy studies the stars ahead, then

Alien:

strange, captain. I sense an air of it feels like anticipation or an eagerness. It's hazy, but there like a storm on the horizon.

T.C.:

Picard considers that.

Klingon:

Very well. Mister Data, continue detailed sensor analysis. Mister Trusher, maintain course and speed.

Wesley:

Aye, sir. Holding at warp eight.

Sulu:

Initiating enhanced subspace telemetry, routing data to science and engineering.

T.C.:

Picard looks at the stars on the main view screen, a faint shimmer beginning to register in the distance.

Klingon:

Let's see when we've come all this way to look at.

T.C.:

The Enterprise d sails on toward the anomaly ahead. Exterior space moment later, the Enterprise d drops out of warp in a graceful bloom of light. She glides forward, slow into impulse. Ahead, the anomaly, but not the raging storm Kirk encountered. Now it is calm, a soft luminous cloud suspended in the void.

T.C.:

Gentle ribbons of violets lights ripple through it like a celestial tide. It almost looks peaceful. On the bridge, Picard stands at the center, hands clasped behind himself, studying the cloud. The crew watches with quiet curiosity. The view screen shows only the serene drifting vapor.

Sulu:

It is merely a cloud, captain. No discernible internal structure.

Klingon:

It's quite beautiful. Oh.

Alien:

Deanna? Captain, something is coming through.

T.C.:

Boom. The anomaly tears open, exploding outward in a violent spray of light. Shields. The wave of energy hits them just as the globe of the shields envelops the Enterprise. Sensors blaring.

David:

Captain, I'm detecting a craft.

T.C.:

A shuttle bursts out of the anomaly, battering, spinning, engines screaming.

Sulu:

Captain, that is a Starfleet craft.

T.C.:

And right behind it, a Klingon bird of prey,

Klingon:

weapons firing as it emerges from the Rift. Protect that shuttle.

T.C.:

The bridge erupts in emotion.

Sulu:

Adjusting shield harmonics to compensate for subspace distortion.

Uhura:

Bringing us between the shuttle and the attack.

T.C.:

The Enterprise Deep banks hard, sliding into position like a dancer of steel, placing the saucer section directly between shuttle and the bird of prey. The Klingon and ship fighters, green bolts slam into the Enterprise's shields and dissipate harmlessly.

Sulu:

Captain, their weapons are ineffective. This vessel appears to be using technology approximately one hundred years outdated.

Kirk:

And why the hell are they picking a fight with us?

T.C.:

More disruptor fire splashes across the shields. The Enterprise holds position immovable.

Wesley:

Shuttle in direct to range.

T.C.:

The console chimes.

David:

Shuttle secured aboard, captain.

T.C.:

Picard looks at the Klingon vessel. The bird of prey slows and stops firing. A strange silence settles over the bridge. The Klingon ship hovers motionless.

Kirk:

What are they waiting for?

T.C.:

The console beside Yar lights up.

David:

Captain, the Klingons are hailing us.

T.C.:

Picard's gaze fixed on the screen, posture tightening in anticipation. On screen. The view screen snaps to light with a burst of static, and Yorak fills the screen. His scarred face dominates the frame, eyes wild, teeth bared. The lighting aboard his ancient bird of prey flickers erratically behind him.

Yorak:

Stand down and hand over my bread before I smear you across the stars.

T.C.:

A ripple of concern moves over the bridge, except for Picard, who exhales through his nose, almost amused.

Klingon:

I'm captain Jean Luc Picard of the USS Enterprise. I do not mean to be the bearer of bad news, sir, but your 100 year old bird of prey is no match for the flagship of Starfleet.

T.C.:

Yorek snarls, leaning toward the viewer like an animal challenging its reflection.

Yorak:

Starfleet, always lying. And you are no Enterprise. You are another secret Dreadnought class warship.

Kirk:

Dreadnought class?

Sulu:

The Dreadnought class was a singular vessel named for the Vengeance, built for combat and designed by Khan Nunyen Singh over a century ago. It was a misguided attempt by Admiral Alexander Marcus to militarize Starfleet.

T.C.:

Picard clasped his hands around his back, posture effortless. Captain. General Yaurak, blade and hammer of the Klingon Empire, and your destroyer. Riker mutters towards Yar.

Kirk:

This guy's really living up to the Klingon. He shakes.

T.C.:

Yar bites back a smile. Picard steps one level closer to the view screen, unshaken.

Klingon:

General Yarrak, this region is the neutral zone. There's no need for conflict here. We seek only to understand why your vessel emerged firing on a shuttle. If we can discuss the matter rationally

Yorak:

You dare lecture me. Give me the shuttle or die.

T.C.:

Transmission disconnects without warning. The bird of prey fires. A barrage of disruptor blasts slam into the Enterprise's shields, engulfing the bridge in flashes of emerald light. The Enterprise does not move.

Klingon:

Disable them. We'll try again once he's lost all his toys.

T.C.:

He turns, completely collected, and moves to sit in his captain's chair.

David:

Hi, captain. Targeting weapons.

Sulu:

Firing non lethal bursts. Adjusting modulation to neutralize propulsion systems.

Wesley:

Holding us steady. Their disruptor output is decreasing rapidly. Sir.

T.C.:

On Yorick's ship, Yorick's bridge rattles violently under the impact of precision phaser fire. Sparks erupt behind him.

Yorak:

Evasive maneuver.

T.C.:

One of Yorick's men, Mart, shouts over the rattling ship.

Yorak:

General, they have disabled our propulsion. Reroute power from life support. General.

T.C.:

Yorick shoves Mart aside and punches the console. On the Enterprise Bridge, the crew watches as the Bird of Prey jerks and twists under the barrage.

Klingon:

The Topey's more agreeable without firepower.

Kirk:

Somehow, I doubt it.

T.C.:

Data looks up sharply from ops.

Sulu:

Captain, the bird of prey is regaining control of its maneuvering capabilities. It would appear to be positioning for a collision course.

Klingon:

That is absurd. What's this guy's deal? Lieutenant offer a firmer hand. Aye, captain.

T.C.:

Yar taps the targeting adjustments. Her phaser blasts fire precise surgical carving a molten line across the bird's hull. The Klingon ship lurches as panels rupture and vents atmosphere. On the ship, alarms scream. Consuls explode.

T.C.:

Warriors scramble for footing. Mark clinging to the railing. General, we must retreat. No. Another Consul detonates.

T.C.:

Boom. York is thrown across the bridge, slamming into the bulkhead, knocking him unconscious. Mart races to him, dragging him through smoke and cascading sparks. Escape pods. Now.

T.C.:

Klingons abandon their posts, sprinting toward the evacuation hatches as flames crawl up the walls behind them. On the bridge of the Enterprise, on the view screen, the bird burns, systems failing, its impulse engines flickering, then die.

Sulu:

The ship is disabled, captain.

David:

Detecting an escape shuttle, it is headed toward Klingon space.

Klingon:

Shall we intercept? No. Let them go. We'll not pursue a damaged vessel into Klingon territory. Let them be the Empire's problem now.

Klingon:

Restrain the bird of prey while we study the anomaly, lieutenant

David:

Activating tractor beams, sir.

T.C.:

The bird of prey is captured in the extended energy field.

Sulu:

Shall I notify Klingon high command?

Klingon:

Yes, mister Data. Transmit a full account of the encounter and the presence of a temporal anomaly at the site. Make it clear the conflict was not of our choosing.

T.C.:

Data nods and begins typing. Picard exhales a long, thoughtful breath.

Klingon:

That was needlessly chaotic.

Kirk:

That's the most polite way to put it.

T.C.:

Picard rises from his chair, tugs down his uniform.

Klingon:

Very well. Let's see what this mysterious shuttle draft is all about.

T.C.:

He steps towards the turbolift.

Klingon:

Number one, councilor Troy, lieutenant Yar with me. Mister Data, you have to come. He taps his communicator. Doctor Crusher, please join us in shuttle bay

T.C.:

Riker falls in beside him. Troy and Yar are close behind as turbolip doors slide shut.

Klingon:

Temporal anomalies, wounded Klingons, and centrally old warbirds. This may be one of those days.

T.C.:

Enterprise d shuttle bay, moments later. A massive bay door opens as Picard and his crew enter. Doctor Crusher steps in right behind them with her med kit at her hip.

Alien:

Anything I should be prepared for?

Kirk:

The shuttle was rocked pretty hard. Could be anything.

T.C.:

She nods. The bay lights glimmer off the polished deck as the battered shuttle settles with a harsh metallic groan. Steam drifts off ruptured vents, scorch marks. Riker takes in the shuttle. He holds a phaser in one hand.

Kirk:

What's a classic model shuttlecraft doing out here?

T.C.:

The rear hatch hisses, then slams open, and Kirk limps out first. Bloody lip, singed hair, uniform torn. Behind him, Spak and Ahura, both unhurt but dusty, bones bleeding from his arm wound, Sulu singed across the chest and hands, and Chekhov nursing a burn on his arm. All look exhausted, rattled, and very much alive. Yar snaps to readiness, phaser drawn.

David:

That's far enough.

T.C.:

Picard raises a quieting hand, watching, calculating, but not yielding command presence. Kirk clocks the phasers, the crew, the ship around him. He holds his hands up calmly.

Kirk:

We come in peace? A beat.

T.C.:

No amused response from Picard or his people.

Klingon:

I'm captain Jean Luc Picard of the USS Enterprise, and who might you be?

T.C.:

Kirk steps to the end of the platform, meeting Picard at his level. James T. Kirk, captain of the Enterprise. The two legendary heroes stand face to face, their crews behind them. Extraordinary.

T.C.:

Enterprise Ready Room, the soundproof hush of the Ready Room in the sharp contrast to the chaos earlier. On one side of the long table, Kirk, Spock, Uhura, on the other side, Data and Diana. Picard sits at the head of the table with his hands folded. Yar stands at the door ever vigilant. A hollow display shimmers above the center of the table.

T.C.:

A floating diagram of the anomaly. Data is finishing his report with clinical precision.

Sulu:

The anomaly is undergoing rapid decay. Its aperture has shrunk 26.2% since initial detection. All probes deployed into the rupture have had no effect and have returned with no more readings than our ship's sensors have already collected.

T.C.:

He changes the display showing waveforms and kinetic data.

Sulu:

Additionally, there remains an unresolvable variable within the anomaly's formation, a component we cannot identify through any known subspace or temporal model.

Kirk:

Spocky is like you but human.

T.C.:

Spock rises from his seat composed, analytical.

Uhura:

I concur with lieutenant Kometa Data's conclusions. However, I believe I have determined the missing element.

T.C.:

He presses the screen below the hull display and it shifts again as Spock inputs a new variable, a vertical energy signature.

Uhura:

This waveform matches the energy emissions produced by the artifact general Jorak removed from the station. Its presence appears essential to maintaining the anomaly's integrity.

Kirk:

You're saying we need to find Jorak and get that spear.

Uhura:

Without the artifact, artifact, any attempt to reenter the rupture

Sulu:

will likely be unfeasible. And may result in your disintegration.

T.C.:

Data sits. Spock sits, folding his hands neatly. Picard rises thoughtful, posture straight, jaw tight. Kirk clasps his hands and rises.

Kirk:

Okay. That settles it. We're all cut up. Let's go get Yorak.

Klingon:

We can't be too hasty, captain. This has the making of an intergalactic incident. We've had a lasting peace for near a century, but there is still a border, and the Klingons are still very protective of it.

Kirk:

I understand. We'll go. We've got our shuttle. You won't be breaking any rules. We're not technically even supposed to

Klingon:

be here. Simple. No, captain. If only it were that simple. Time travel is not a novelty.

Klingon:

We have protocol.

Kirk:

And I know the protocols. Half of them were written the day I was born, but protocol isn't gonna get my people home.

Klingon:

As a Starfleet captain, you certainly understand exactly why we must proceed cautiously. You've arrived through an unstable temporal rip. You're already out of your time. The safest course is to keep you contained and informed only on what is necessary.

Kirk:

Captain, with respect, we don't have the luxury of sitting in guest quarters sipping rattagino.

Klingon:

I understand this may be upsetting.

Kirk:

I'm not upset.

Alien:

He is upset, captain.

Kirk:

Alright. Who is this person?

Klingon:

This is councilor Troy. She's a half beta zoid and senses emotions and motives.

Kirk:

Then yes, I am very upset.

Klingon:

We will investigate the anomaly, but you and your officers will remain under Federation temporal containment protocols until We can't just do nothing. We are doing everything we can to resolve this matter. You must remain in guest quarters.

T.C.:

Kirk and Picard face each other. Yard takes a single step into the room, but Uhura steps between them.

Uhura:

Captains, we all want the same thing, and even if we disagree, we can at least look at the logic.

T.C.:

She looks to Spock. Kirk looks at her and then Spock, all eyes on the Vulcan. Spock finally speaks, measured.

Uhura:

In this instance, Captain Picard is correct.

T.C.:

Kirk blinks, betrayed. He looks at Uhura, but her eyes are locked on Spock. He understands. He shoots his gaze back at the Vulcan.

Uhura:

If the Amamole can return us to our own time at all, the probability of catastrophic temporal disruption increases significantly if we act without complete understanding. Ambassador Spock would insist on the same caution.

T.C.:

Kirk scowls. Uhura still won't look at her captain. He frowns, mind whirling. He balls up his fist. Kirk faces Spock fully, anger transparent on his face.

T.C.:

This is bullshit.

Uhura:

This is logical.

T.C.:

Baccarat studies Spock, impressed despite everything.

Kirk:

Doing your damn Vulcan logic, do

Yorak:

you not wanna go back?

Alien:

Captain Kirk. What? You're afraid of losing more than just your time. Your heart is breaking from the possibilities of what may happen. We all understand that.

Alien:

Do you?

T.C.:

Kirk turns his back on everyone and keeps his fist bald.

Klingon:

Captain Kirk, until we have certainty, absolute certainty, on how to proceed, your people will remain aboard this ship under protocol. You will not compromise the future for the sake of the past.

Kirk:

And you won't sacrifice the past to protect your future.

T.C.:

A stalemate. Pure simmering stalemate.

Klingon:

Lieutenant Yar, escort our guests to temporary quarters.

T.C.:

Yar steps forward gesturing to the door.

David:

This way.

T.C.:

Kirk looks Picard in the eye one final time and moves to the exit.

Uhura:

Captain Picard, if you would allow it, I would like to accompany Lieutenant Commander Data in his continued efforts to understand the rupture.

Klingon:

Very well.

T.C.:

Uhura glances back at Spock and their eyes finally meet as she falls in step with Kirk.

Kirk:

You mind telling me why I threw that fit?

Uhura:

Spock had the better hand.

T.C.:

Kirk's eyes narrow, his mind already strategizing. A dark room. Yorek's eyes snap open. He lies supine, blood on his brow, armor scorched. He sits fully and whips around and taking his surroundings, always ready for battle.

T.C.:

He's in quarters, large and embellished with Klingon art and design. He pauses, caught by the sight through the window in the elegant room. Kounos, the Klingon homeworld scene from a great distance. Only one moon beside her. Praxis is no more.

Tubok:

The awakens from his slumber.

T.C.:

Yorak whips about to face the voice and he is caught for another moment. Standing at the entrance, his arms folded in front of his chest, broader, aged, his hair now long since turned gray, cracks and crags on his sharp Klingon face. To walk

Tubok:

Yorak, by the flames of Greethor, it is truly you.

T.C.:

Yorak breathes hard, nostrils flaring. He's an ammo pacing, and what damn well better not be a cage.

Yorak:

Where am I? I was in battle.

Tubok:

You were against the flagship of Starfleet, I've been told. Imagine my shock when I heard the transponder from one of my birds of prey escape pods had been detected 100 after it vanished, and then to discover the glorious return of Yorak.

T.C.:

Tuba clasp his hands, his voice filling the room. Yorak snarls unamused, still uncertain. Another figure enters behind Tubaq. Yorak faces him ready to attack. Mars, still battle worn but pleased to see his leader, he goes to him.

Yorak:

General, it is good to see you well.

T.C.:

Yorak tilts his head looking at his soldier.

Yorak:

Mars, you fled. General, it was the only way.

T.C.:

We would have Jorishand shoots out, seizing Mark by the throat.

Klingon:

We did die. His grip tightens.

Yorak:

And only one of us deserved to return. He cracks Mark's

T.C.:

neck with a single violent jerk. Blood spurts from his mouth, and Mark slumps lifelessly. Yorick lets him fall on the floor unceremonious. Tubac chuckles coldly. He strolls into the room.

Tubok:

I'm glad to see that your incredible journey has not dulled

T.C.:

your

Tubok:

your

T.C.:

hand nor your wrath. Yorick sees the spear rested beside the bed he lay upon. Tupac reaches for it curious, but Yorick snatches it and holds

Tubok:

it fiercely. There is much

T.C.:

to discuss. Yorick wipes Mart's blood from his wrist disdainfully.

Yorak:

Speak of the empire.

Tubok:

A hollow creature wearing the face of the empire of old. The high council who denied you is even softer. The rot of the federation thick and pervasive. Generations of soft and weak Klingons, they sit and cherish their peace with the federation. They call it stability, prosperity.

Tubok:

Our fleet is reduced, our warriors softened, honor has been traded for comfort. Cowards. Not all of us. There are still houses who kept the old songs, who remember your vision. When you vanished, destroying the enterprise in the process, the legend of Yorak ignited the blood of every warrior who still believed in Klingon dominance.

Tubok:

I took that spark and fed it. For a hundred years, I stoked your myth until it became a flame, a weapon, a promise. Yorak's eyes glaze intrigued. You were more than a dissident. You became Khalas reborn.

Tubok:

Klingon supremacy deferred only by fate.

T.C.:

Yorick stands taller, inhaling like a beast scenting prey.

Tubok:

And now fate returns you to us. Before, you had but a handful of loyal

T.C.:

houses. Now? He spreads his arms wide.

Tubok:

Now you have generations, bloodlines raised on the faith that you would rise again. They are ready. They await your command.

Yorak:

I will spill blood. I will tear the federation open.

T.C.:

Bring me my ship. Tubek's smile is

Tubok:

serpentine. General, you are on your ship.

T.C.:

Yorick freezes, then a sharp, harsh grunts of a laugh.

Yorak:

Then I begin at once. I will carve a path through their space. Burn their colonies.

T.C.:

Tuvok raises a calming hand.

Tubok:

Ah, always the fire, never the aim. We failed last time not for lack of strength, but lack of precision. Your rage is a mighty weapon. My strategy will

T.C.:

make it unstoppable. Yorak bristles but listens. Chubak places a hand on Yorak's arm and guides him from the room and slowly down the corridor as they converse.

Tubok:

There is trading outpost, Givrok, a spark, meaningless to the high council. But when it is destroyed, the fuse of your war is lit.

Yorak:

An outpost. I will be known for the blood of greater prey.

Tubok:

And you will be known. Every house will raise banners in your name, but first the strike must appear federation made.

T.C.:

Yorak lifts his chin, too proud to allow such a thing as some other getting credit for his achievement, and yet he can hear the confidence in Tupac. Oh.

Tubok:

This battle cruiser carries retrofitted Federation phasers. The attack will be untraceable. No one will suspect Klingons.

Yorak:

And you expect those simpering Waragull to retaliate?

Tubok:

There will be retaliation. You will light the fuse and cause the detonation.

T.C.:

Well Tupac's grin is feral.

Tubok:

A federation star base seized from our new allies, the Cardassians. They will celebrate its return to dust, and the federation will howl for war.

T.C.:

Your ex eyes burn. Tubak stops them before a door.

Tubok:

Come. Your warriors have waited a century to see your face.

T.C.:

A hangar bay. Yorak and Tubek step out on a high balcony overlooking a colossal bay. Below them, 300 Klingon warriors pack shoulder to shoulder, armored, armed, disciplined, the elite of Tubek's secret confederate faction. The moment Yorick appears, a roar Rurals. Savage.

T.C.:

Deafening. A wall of sound. Yorick stands frozen, not in fear, but in pride. This is his destiny. This is righteous.

T.C.:

Tupac watches him, hands folded, triumphant.

Tubok:

Today is a good day to die.

T.C.:

Yorak turns to him, fire blazing in his eyes. No. He steps forward, slamming his fist into his chest and roaring to the crowd.

Yorak:

A good day to kill.

Uhura:

The sound

T.C.:

of war reborn after a century of slumber. Enterprise d sickbay day light monitors and gentle rhythm, while other doctors and nurses assist non serious patients. From the Enterprise D's crew, Doctor Crusher moves with calm precision as she tends to Doctor McCoy, who sits stubbornly upright on a bio bed, arms splinted in a sleek luminescent field. Across the room, Sulu and Chekhov sit on adjacent bio beds. Scotty is nearby poking at the nearest console.

T.C.:

Crusher doesn't look over at him, but she is keenly aware.

Alien:

Mister Scott, please stop touching that.

Uhura:

I'm sorry, doctor Krasher. Just can't help admiring the engineering.

T.C.:

He folds his hands, then a moment later touches something else. Chekhov leans closer to Sulu.

Klingon:

This place is incredible, Hikaru. Units for suspended animation, their own transport relay, and feel how soft these bio bands are.

T.C.:

Sulu nods and points with his chin towards McCoy and Crusher.

Scotty:

And their doctor's having her poop at bedside manner.

T.C.:

Bones watches Beverly work on his arm with suspicion and grudging admiration.

Bones:

You know, in my day, setting a fracture didn't involve whatever this glowing contraption is.

Alien:

In your day doctor McCoy, you would have needed a pressure dressing and about three days bed rest. This will take about thirty

T.C.:

seconds. McCoy can't hide how fascinated he is.

Bones:

Have you done a full scan for cranial micro fractures and subdermal vascular shearing?

T.C.:

Crusher slips him a look.

Bones:

I have. And did you?

Alien:

Doctor McCoy, I assure you I am very good at my job.

T.C.:

Their eyes meet for a beat too long. Beverly looks away first.

Bones:

I can see that.

Alien:

And you have remarkable medical knowledge. You literally wrote the book on Federation medical practices.

Uhura:

I did? Oh,

Bones:

Oh, don't worry. Doctor patient confidentiality, I won't tell on you.

T.C.:

She bites her lip to stop a grin.

Uhura:

Mister Scott. I was just wondering what this wee thing does.

Alien:

Nothing as far as you're concerned. Please stop wandering or wandering.

Uhura:

Great. Sorry. It's just beautiful craftsmanship. Smanship.

T.C.:

Beverly returns her attention to McCoy.

Alien:

Your arm is stable now. You should avoid strenuous use for a few hours.

Bones:

A few hours?

Alien:

Yes. But I'm sure you won't listen anyway, will you?

Bones:

Doctor Crusher, I take the medical advice of professional very seriously.

Alien:

Do you now, doctor McCoy?

Bones:

Please, call me Leonard.

T.C.:

A quiet moment hangs between them, professional, warm and undeniably charged.

Alien:

And call me Beverly.

T.C.:

Across the room, Scotty's finger is an inch above a hyper spray.

Uhura:

Mister Scott. Ah, Scotty.

T.C.:

The door swishes open. Yara enters, crisp and focused.

David:

Doctor Crusher, captain Picard requests that our guests be escorted to temporary quarters.

T.C.:

Crusher clears her throat and returns to her professional demeanor. She begins packing up her instruments.

Alien:

Well, Leonard, it's truly been an honor talking with you. I'm sorry we won't get more time together.

T.C.:

Yeah. Me too. Yara gestures for the group to follow. Scotty hops up eagerly. Sulu and Chekov rise and fall beside McCoy.

T.C.:

As they walk out, Sulu leans in with a grin.

Scotty:

Doctor, are you blushing?

Bones:

Mind your own business fly boy.

T.C.:

Interior, temporary guest quarters day. The room is sleek and spacious with soft beige walls and ambient lighting that create a calm atmosphere. A large window offers a stunning view of the stars while beds and minimalist furnishings provide a sense of modern luxury. Kirk is fiddling with a replicator. Uhura is trying to access information on the wall mounted display.

T.C.:

Access denied. The door whooshes open and Bones, Zulu Chekhov, and Scottie enter escorted by Yar. Kirk and Uhura quickly move away from their fiddling.

Uhura:

Just tell me how fast you got her going. Maximum safe cruise for my enterprises walk six. I just need to know yours, lass. I couldn't possibly use that information to affect the timeline.

David:

At top speed, you'd barely see our work trail. Now stop trying to steal technical specs and relax with your crew.

T.C.:

Yar looks at Kirk, who is standing there with a completely innocent smile.

Kirk:

You're doing exemplary work, lieutenant.

David:

Just following orders, captain.

Kirk:

Please, it's Jim and you're Yar, right?

T.C.:

Is that your only name, last name? She just stares at him.

Kirk:

If you don't tell me your name, I'm gonna have to make one up.

David:

Just lieutenant Yar.

Kirk:

Just Yar? No other name? That's cool.

T.C.:

She stares at him, unimpressed.

David:

If you need anything, just ask the computer. I'll be in the corridor.

T.C.:

She turns to leave.

Kirk:

Computer, what is lieutenant Yar's first name?

T.C.:

Yar pauses at the door, shoulders tensed. Kirk grins. Tasha Yar is the head of security aboard the USS Enterprise team.

Kirk:

Thanks,

T.C.:

Tasha. Scowling, she steps out and the door wishes closed. Kirk walks to his crew gather together.

Bones:

Confined to quarters,

Kirk:

I know. I know. Not ideal. Witt, there's Buck. With Picard.

T.C.:

A green blooded bastard turned sides.

Uhura:

It was logical.

Scotty:

So we just wait here

T.C.:

and expect them to fix all of this?

Kirk:

Of course not. We got a plan.

T.C.:

We do? Kirk smirks and looks at Uhura. The rest do as well. Uhura inhales to speak as we cut to the Enterprise corridor moments later. Yara is standing sentry outside the guest quarters poised and stoic.

T.C.:

Crash. Her head spins about and she hits the door pad to the room. As the door whooshes open, she's startled as a chair hits the wall directly beside her. She yanks out her phaser and looks wide eyed at the scene.

Uhura:

Sulu, please. This lost his body.

T.C.:

I The room is trashed. The crew is surrounding a shirtless raving Sulu who is wielding a thin metal rod like a sword.

Sulu:

Stand. No farther.

Kirk:

Sulu, calm down, man.

T.C.:

Food replicator is on fire, smoke billowing out of it. Sparks pop from several wall gashes. Sulu swings his sword towards Chekhov who tumbles backwards over the couch. Captain, do something.

David:

What the hell is going on?

Kirk:

We gotta get into sickbay immediately.

Carol:

Why? He's sick.

T.C.:

Damn it. Sulu leaps over an upturned chair and slashes at Kirk, who dodges. Uhura waves her hands at the madman.

Uhura:

Sulu, give me back.

Scotty:

I'll protect you, fair mage.

T.C.:

She grabs her on the waist.

Uhura:

Sorry. No.

T.C.:

She shoves him away. Scotty and Chekhov get

Uhura:

in his path.

Sulu:

No escape for you. You either leave this boy bloodied or with my blood on your swords.

Kirk:

I'm telling you if somebody from this century doesn't do something, we're all in

Uhura:

trouble. Crash.

T.C.:

Chekov and Scotty go flying across the room. Yara looks past McCoy to see Sulu now has a full table in one hand using it like a battering ram.

Carol:

Don't you know quantum sickness when you see it, woman?

Kirk:

Quantum what? Acute temporal phase disorientation with pesky, primaton, feedback, and the limbic system. You call it whatever alphabet soup to what, lieutenant.

T.C.:

Wham. Kirk gets a fist to his face and Sulu leaps on the captain. Hans, do something. Herrera grabs Sulu, but he's too slippery. Cowards.

Uhura:

Our man is losing his mind,

Kirk:

and unless you want to explain to

Uhura:

your captain why all our belly buttons got ganked out of our assholes, you get into sickbay.

T.C.:

Yar's eyes flash around the chaos just as Sulu breaks free and runs right at her. She doesn't hesitate. She hits him with a stun from her phaser and Sulu crashes right into McCoy's arms. The crew dust themselves off rattled. Yara looks around the room.

T.C.:

Smoke is filling the whole place.

David:

Come on. You people can't stay in here.

T.C.:

Kirk and Uhura exchange a quick glance. In the corridor moments later, Yara leads a brisk pace, her face tight with irritation. Kirk and Scottie are on either side of her. Sulu limps in Bones arms breathing hard, still twitchy. Ahura and Chekhov bring up the rear.

T.C.:

They pass a few officers in the hall who give a rushed marching party a wide

Kirk:

berth. Thanks, Tasha.

David:

Let's just get your friend medical attention.

Uhura:

Last, this isn't a dangerous question. How many decks are on your ship, man?

David:

42. Stop talking.

T.C.:

Jim, I'm worried we all may have some micro phase drift soon. Yard types of combat.

David:

Security to sickbay? Doctor Crusher, I'm bringing our guests back.

Kirk:

Tell her about the phase shift, and it's worth mentioning that Chronotons have very

David:

Just, Crusher, have your team ready, please.

Kirk:

Dude, this all reminds me of my academy days and the sort of trouble we'd get into back then.

Alien:

I'm sure

David:

it does.

Kirk:

There was an upperclassman there, one practical joke after another, always on me, my own personal devil.

Uhura:

Lieutenant, I've got a question about your transporter pattern buffers. Do they bleed into medical systems?

David:

Have no idea.

Uhura:

Are you telling me sickbay has its own dedicated quantum resolution buffer? Because if that's true, I want to shake the hand of that mad genius who approved that.

T.C.:

Ohura nudges Chekhov and nods up ahead as they are approaching a junction in the corridor.

Kirk:

Guy by the name of Finnegan. What? My prankster from the academy and I'll make a confession. Tasha, it is still Tasha. Right?

Kirk:

Yes. I was so absolutely grim back then. Serious as a Vulcan sermon, which delighted Finnegan to no end.

David:

I'm sure it did.

Bones:

Where am I God damn it. The stun's wearing off.

Kirk:

He's the kind of guy who put a bowl of cold soup in your bed or a bucket of water propped on a half open door. You never knew where he'd strike next.

David:

Sounds like a security nightmare.

Kirk:

He was, and somehow he always made sure I stepped right into it.

T.C.:

They reached the junction of the corridor and Yar leads right. Bones takes Sulu left. Yar stops short noticing.

David:

Sickbay's this way.

Klingon:

No. It isn't.

David:

Doctor, we don't have time The young

Kirk:

lady observed on more starships than you've had birthdays. I know how to find a sickbay.

T.C.:

As they argue, Kirk nods to Uhura. She and Chekhov quietly slip around the corner out of Yar's line of sight moving to a wall

Uhura:

panel.

David:

You were just there. It's three decks up and two quarters over in the opposite direction.

Kirk:

Maybe in your designer luxury liner version of the starship.

T.C.:

Uhura pops the wall panel open with deaf fingers, accessing the sleek Elcar's interface. She works fast, eye scanning alien but intuitive controls. Chekhov keeps watch. Aquarius. Sulu lashes out.

T.C.:

Bone holds on tightly.

Uhura:

Damn it,

Kirk:

Sulu. Don't make us sedate

Tubok:

you again. Sulu, it's okay.

David:

That's it.

Alien:

I'm stunning him.

Kirk:

No. It's fine. I got a hold of this foopy devil. He's got him, Tasha.

Klingon:

Sulu, stop enjoying this.

T.C.:

Ahura taps a short sequence then glances at Chekhov. She flashes subtle hand signals, deck, section, room, a quick practice rhythm. Chekov nods minutely, swallows, and quickly drifts towards an alternate corridor. Yar grabs Sulu and yanks him.

David:

We are going this way. That is not up for debate. Where's the communications officer?

T.C.:

Uhura reappears in an instant.

Uhura:

Right here. Sorry. Stay with the group, lieutenant.

T.C.:

Yes, ma'am. Chekhov is already gone, slipping quietly down another leg of the junction. Kirk and Uhura exchange a quick glance. They move on. Yar, even more annoyed, if that's possible.

T.C.:

Moments later, the doors slide open behind them. Yar punches in the destination.

Carol:

Deck 12.

T.C.:

The lift hums into motion. Kirk stands close to Yar again, undeterred.

Kirk:

The fitting in once rerouted our entire dorm transponder, so every time I tried to beam anywhere on campus, I headed up in the ornamental lake. I spent half a semester smelling like algae.

Uhura:

I was noticing your nasals. They're not rigidly aligned. Are you dynamically rephasing them in subspace to compensate for war asymmetry?

David:

Don't know. I'm just head of security.

T.C.:

And a damn fine one at that. Scottie touches the turbo lift panel.

Uhura:

Would you look at this interface? Does this thing run through the main computer core or do you have separate lift processor? Please do

David:

not touch

Carol:

any thief. Hands are off.

Uhura:

Last hands are off.

T.C.:

Sulu twitches beside Bones, sweat beating, muttering. From calls heart rate therapy, we really need to hurt.

David:

We're going as fast as we can, doctor. Just keep control of

T.C.:

Yar scans the small group brow knitting. Something is off.

Carol:

Wait. Where's the little one?

T.C.:

They'll look around.

Uhura:

No. He was he was just behind you.

T.C.:

Before anyone can react, there is a soft distinct transporter a faint shimmer around Scotty and he vanishes from the lift. Yar spins.

David:

Where's the Scott?

T.C.:

Uhura meets Kirk's eyes for half a second, then the same Uhura flickers and simply is gone. No. Yar yanks out her phaser. The turbolift doors whoosh open. Without hesitation, Bones shoves Suloo out.

Uhura:

Damn it. Run. Kirk dives

T.C.:

out after Suloo. Yar points her phaser. Stop. Bones grabs her from behind. Kirk and Sulu are already sprinting down the corridor.

T.C.:

Yar whips her head back and headbutts McCoy in the face. No. Yar slams her hand on the nearby wall panel. An alarm howls through the ship. Red alert lights flashing around the volcano.

T.C.:

Enterprise Bridge. Baccarat is at the center seat. Data and Spock are at the sign station. The alarms sound. Baccarat rises from his chair.

T.C.:

Riker at his side.

Kirk:

Now what?

David:

Yarder Bridge. Kirk and his people are attempting to escape.

Klingon:

How do they suppose they're going to do that?

Uhura:

They're using a transporter. Mister Data.

T.C.:

Data's hands begin whipping up and down the console. Riker looks to Spock sharply.

Kirk:

Mister Spock, any ideas what your captain is up to?

T.C.:

Spock turns from the science station completely unruffled.

Uhura:

Captain Kirk is a highly unpredictable man. I do not presume to know what he will do next.

T.C.:

Troy glances at him with faint amusement.

Kirk:

Hazard a guess.

Uhura:

Given the emotional state and his fixation on the Klingon general, I would estimate a high probability that he intends to reach his shuttle and from there attempt to pursue Yorak.

Klingon:

Will, secure the shuttle bay now.

Yorak:

Aye, sir.

T.C.:

Riker rushes to the turbolet.

Klingon:

Mister Data, find Kirk.

Sulu:

Attempting to locate the missing officers now, However, someone is actively rerouting transporter control. I appear to be locked out of all primary transporters.

Klingon:

All of them?

Sulu:

There are 20 primary transporter rooms aboard this vessel, not including auxiliary

Klingon:

Just regain control of my ship.

T.C.:

In the corridor, Kirk and Sulu run flat out. Behind him, Yar barrels around the curve, phasers drawn. She's closing in.

David:

Stop now.

T.C.:

Damn. Josh is fast. She's taps the comm badge again running.

David:

Wharf to Deck 12.

T.C.:

What's a wharf? Around the next bend, a tall imposing Klingon officer steps out of the side corridor right in front of him. Wharf, arms wide, teeth bared, an absolute wall of muscle and authority. They skid to a halt.

Sulu:

That's a wharf.

T.C.:

Kirk and Sulu instantly pivot, peeling off down a different corridor, legs pumping. Yara reaches Wharf's side. They tear after the fleeing duo. On the bridge.

Sulu:

Captain, I believe they are utilizing the emergency medical transporter unit in Sickbay.

Klingon:

A card to Crusher. Beverly, is anyone in Sickbay with you?

T.C.:

In Sickbay, doctor crusher's at a bed helping a patient. The red lights are still flashing, but the alarm is not blaring.

Alien:

Everything's in order here, captain. Should I be concerned?

Klingon:

Is anyone from Kirk's crew in Sickbay?

T.C.:

She looks around.

Alien:

No, captain.

T.C.:

On the bridge, Picard's fists are tight. Mister Data, keep searching. In the quarter, Sulu and Kirk are still sprinting. Behind them, the pounding footfalls of Wharf and Yar in relentless pursuit.

David:

Kirk, stop or I will fire.

T.C.:

Wharf is nearly on them. Kirk has the lead. Sulu looks back to see the snarling Klingon reaching out just as Worf is about to grab him the familiar low Sulu's form flickers. Worf's arm closes on empty air as Sulu vanishes mid stride. Kirk looks back just in time to see Sulu disappear and to see Yar leveling her phaser at him.

David:

Captain Kirk, stop.

T.C.:

Kirk slows, breathing hard, weighing options. He stops and puts up his hands.

David:

Did you honestly think that would work?

Yorak:

You know what? I kinda did.

T.C.:

On the bridge, Data's console chimes and the android spins to Picard.

Sulu:

Sir, I've located station in use.

T.C.:

Transporter Room 3, Chekhov stands at a console sweating bullets uniform slightly askew.

Klingon:

Pattern stable, mostly stable. Why is nothing ever fully stable?

T.C.:

He works the unfamiliar L cars with wide eyed focus. He finishes another sequence, hits execute. In the corridor, Yar approaches Kirk with caution. The Kirk begins to vanish. He winks.

T.C.:

Yar fires. A lance of starfleet phaser energy streaks toward Kirk. Kirk blinks out of existence and the transporters shimmer just as the beam passes through where he was. It hits the wall burning a black scar.

David:

Damn it.

T.C.:

On the bridge, Picard is standing center, his body ridgered.

David:

Captain Picard, Kirk is gone.

Klingon:

Number one report.

T.C.:

In the shuttle bay, Riker races into the hangar with phaser leveled. He arrives at the ancient shuttle and stops short. The shuttle from out of time is sitting there untouched.

Yorak:

Riker to bridge.

Kirk:

Captain, they aren't here.

T.C.:

On the bridge, Picard turns to face the bridge fully.

Klingon:

Then where the hell are they?

T.C.:

Kirk materializes fully, standing in the middle of the bird of prey, Yorak's ship. Kirk hops into the captain's chair. Tahira is seated at navigation, Suluh at the helm.

Kirk:

Tell me Chekhov did his job.

Uhura:

We are

Uhura:

still in the Enterprise's tractor

Uhura:

beam. Scotty?

T.C.:

Scotty is at the improvised engineering station, jury rigging Klingon controls.

Uhura:

Until Pavel deactivates that tractor beam, we're a fish on a hook.

T.C.:

From outside, pinned in the tractor beam near the Enterprise, Jorick's bird of prey is held in place by the shimmery blue white energy. In the transporter room, Chekov is still working as fast as he can.

Klingon:

The phase variance, EPS backflow. Yes. Scotty said that was clockwise or counter. Boom.

T.C.:

The door shakes with a loud pounding impact. The door cracks open and Worf's snarling face can be seen.

Yorak:

I found the little one. Oh, god. Open this door.

T.C.:

Chekov flinches but keeps working, fingers flying.

Klingon:

Not yet. Not yet.

T.C.:

The pounding intensifies. The door starts to buckle, finally groaning open a few centimeters as Warf forces them wider with pure strength. Almost. Worf muscles the door open enough to fit through. Glaring, he strides towards Chekhov.

Klingon:

Step away from the console.

T.C.:

Worf grabs Chekhov, but Pavel's hangs on tight. He's completely horizontal as the Klingon grasps him, but still working the console. Stop

Kirk:

what you

Yorak:

are doing. No. Let go. Nyet.

T.C.:

On the display, tractor beam offline. Warf yanks him away from the console, but it's too late. Out in space, the tractor beam holding the bird of prey sputters and dies. The Klingon vessel lurches suddenly free. On the bird of prey bridge, the whole ship shutters.

Kirk:

We're free, captains. Gotti, what are you waiting for?

Uhura:

I'm working as fast as I can. Work faster.

T.C.:

On the Enterprise Bridge, Picard steps forward, eyes on the view screen, the bird of prey now free hanging in the space before them.

Sulu:

Captain, the Klingon vessel has disengaged from our tractor beam.

Klingon:

I can see that. Don't let them get away.

T.C.:

Data moves quickly. Spock watches from behind them all. On the bird of prey, pop, a huge spark goes off in Scottie's face, but he ducks it and kicks the chunky Klingon console, a shuddering zoom of energy through the ship.

Uhura:

I got it. Luke, act out.

T.C.:

No, Sulu. Out in space, the bird of prey shimmers and vanishes in a wave of distortion. On the bridge, Picard's eyes narrow in anger. Spock steps up to Picard, arms folded behind his back, the smallest hint of pride in his eyes.

Uhura:

As I said, highly unpredictable.

T.C.:

Picard stands with eyes locked on the patch of space before them. Intermission.

Yorak:

Yeah. Whoo.

T.C.:

Fade in. Interior, bird of prey later. The ship floats cloaked in the void. Systems humming at low predatory purr. Klingon architecture presses in harsh angles, low light.

T.C.:

A moment of calm earned. Kirk and Sulu sit on a low bench near a bulkhead, a tray between them, Klingon rations, dark, fibrous, unidentifiable. Sulu pokes at his portion with mild distrust. He is now wearing a Klingon tunic, ill fitting. This might be the angriest looking meal I've ever had.

T.C.:

Kirk exhales a short laugh, then forces down a bite, regrets it immediately.

Kirk:

I try to know it's authentic.

T.C.:

They eat in silence for a moment. The ship creaks around them. Sulu glances at Kirk. I get it, you know.

Scotty:

Why won't sit tight and wait for anyone else to fix this?

T.C.:

Kirk looks at his food. David and Carol. Kirk meets his eyes. Yeah. Sulu nods, lets the moment breathe.

T.C.:

Ben hates it when I'm gone.

Scotty:

Pretends he doesn't. Grace doesn't bother pretending.

Sulu:

She just

Scotty:

tells me she hates it.

Kirk:

How old does she know? She's 15.

Scotty:

Not sure when that happened. And she's already smarter than I am.

Kirk:

Is it hard being away so much?

Scotty:

Nah, you miss things. Even when you think you're doing something important, especially especially then. Then.

Kirk:

I told myself the galaxy needed me more. Turns out that is a very convenient lie. When Carol said she wanted me to be part of David's life as often as I could be, I thought I could manage that. I thought I could be both father and captain. But every time I see him, he's a little taller, he understands more.

Kirk:

And as much as I feel like I've been giving him, I'm seeing this kid grow up without a dad around. And I know just what that's like.

T.C.:

We'll get back. Kirk looks at him. Whatever it takes. Kirk nods once. Absolute.

Kirk:

Whatever it takes.

T.C.:

Across the ship, Uhura and Scotty crouch over an open access panel, Klingon circuitry exposed, brutal, inelegant, patched with Scotty's modifications. Scotty wipes grease from his hands.

Uhura:

The spear. Spock said it produced energy emissions. If we can tune into that, we can track your act down.

Uhura:

Aye. Simple. Do you think you can rig something up? I just got this hunker jerk moving again, lieutenant. Now you want me to rig a new censoring leg to a damaged twenty third century Klingon bird and brain to track an ancient unknown object somewhere in the twenty fourth century?

Uhura:

Yeah. I'm working with barely more than stone knives and bear baskets. So you you

T.C.:

can't do it?

Uhura:

Of course I can. I just want you to understand how difficult it's going to be.

Uhura:

Understood.

T.C.:

Scotty Scotty disappears into the console to get back to work. Enterprise D, sickbay. Bones sits on the same bio bed, chin tilted up as doctor Crusher runs a handheld osteo regenerator across his nose.

Alien:

Tasha fractured your nasal bone, clean through. Impressive, really.

Bones:

I'm lucky she had to do a little foot chasing. I'm sure my dance with her would have gone longer.

T.C.:

Crusher suppresses a smile as the device hums.

Alien:

I didn't expect to be seeing you again so soon. Honestly, didn't think I'd see you again at all.

Bones:

Can't say I'm disappointed. I figured you and I might have more to discuss.

T.C.:

She keeps her eyes on her work.

Alien:

Such as?

Bones:

Such as what passes for dinner in the twenty fourth century.

T.C.:

She doesn't look up at him, but she's not able to hide her smile this time. Nearby Chekhov sits in another bio bed, hands folded neatly in his lap. Standing beside him, clearly guarding the now prisoner, immobile, arms crossed, eyes forward, wharf. Chekhov sneaks a glance at him. So Wharf, yes?

T.C.:

No response.

Klingon:

I just wanted to say about earlier. I did not mean any dishonor. I was under extreme stress.

T.C.:

Nothing.

Klingon:

So, you are in Starfleet, a Klingon that is amazing.

T.C.:

Wharf does not turn. Bones notices, grins faintly as Crusher finishes her scan.

Alien:

There. Good as new.

Bones:

That fast.

Alien:

Advanced Show

T.C.:

off. Their eyes meet again, a spark.

Klingon:

Are there many Klingons in Starfleet, mister Varf? Or are you the only one? Which would be amazing, really?

T.C.:

Varf remains stone still, gaze fixed at nothing in particular.

Klingon:

It is my sole honor to be the first Klingon in Starfleet.

Klingon:

Oh, a pleasure to meet you.

T.C.:

Worf gives nothing. Chekov folds his hands again. Bones hops down from the bio bed.

Bones:

For the record kid, he's terrifying but he wasn't the one who broke my nose.

T.C.:

Worf turns his head just enough to acknowledge Bones.

Klingon:

I would have done worse.

Bones:

I'm sure you would have.

T.C.:

Crusher watches the exchange amused. Chekhov glances at Worf, then sighs and stares at the floor. Enterprise D, main engineering. Doors slide open and Data leads Spock. Engineering is vast, multi leveled, alive with lights, conduits, and controlled power.

T.C.:

The warp core pulses vertically through the heart of the room. Spock stops. He takes it in without comment, without awe, but his eyes are active, cataloging, measuring, recalibrating his understanding of what Starfleet has become. Impressive, is it not?

Uhura:

Yes, it is.

T.C.:

Geordie Laforge, confident and kind approaches.

Geordi:

You must be commander Spock. Welcome to engineering. I'm lieutenant commander Laforge. You can call me Geordie.

Uhura:

Your propulsion architecture is elegant.

Geordi:

Wouldn't you like to think

T.C.:

begins walking, assuming they will follow. They do.

Geordi:

This is the heart of the ship. Warp core output peaks at 12.7 terawatts under standard cruise. We can sustain warp 9.6 for extended durations, though I try not to push her that hard unless the captain insists.

T.C.:

They pass the core. Spock studies the containment field. The geometry alone is breathtaking.

Geordi:

Matter and antimatter are kept in a vertically integrated flow, smoother stress distribution, fewer harmonic oscillations. Took Starfleet Engineering about fifty years to get that right. Would have loved to chat

Sulu:

with Montgomery Scott. I was told he was with you. Lieutenant Commander Scott fled with Captain Kirk. Too bad. Geordie, Captain Picard has instructed us to utilize engineering resources while the enterprise awaits clearance near the Klingon border.

Geordi:

Right. Trapping down the stolen bird of prey and captain Kirk.

T.C.:

They reached the central engineering council.

Geordi:

This is our main hub. Commander Spock, if you don't mind, Data and I will handle the core interface. The underlying systems have evolved quite a bit since your era.

T.C.:

Spock peers at the nearest screen.

Uhura:

Computer, reconfigure this station to approximate a twenty third century Starfleet engineering interface. Retain compatibility with current diagnostic outputs.

Klingon:

Reconfiguration complete.

T.C.:

Spock looks at Jordi, who is nodding, impressed.

Uhura:

It would seem your systems are quite intuitive.

T.C.:

Proceed?

Uhura:

Our hypothesis is that captain Kirk is intent on seeking out general Jorak, but as we do not have any means to track the bird of prey, our best course of action is to find the general.

Sulu:

I propose we begin by isolating the anomalous energy signature associated with the object which you refer to as the spear.

T.C.:

Data brings up the feet of information. Jordy looks over it with concentration. Okay.

Geordi:

If this thing is bleeding exotic particles, we can cross reference some space shear, monotone residue and gravimetric noise along the border.

Sulu:

Agreed. I am isolating anomalous harmonic echoes within the anomalies to k field.

T.C.:

Spock watches the data scroll.

Sulu:

Commander.

T.C.:

Spock continues to focus on the readings. His eyes narrow. Commander Spock.

Uhura:

The energy profile could suggest deliberate modulation and not a natural phenomenon.

Geordi:

Meaning, someone steering the storm?

Sulu:

I do not see anything in our findings that would validate such a hypothesis.

Uhura:

You may be correct.

Sulu:

That is statistically likely. My positronic brain is optimized for predictive accuracy.

T.C.:

Spock raises an eyebrow and catches Jordy's amused expression. They work in silence a few beats, the helm of engineering filling the space.

Sulu:

Commander Spock, may I inquire about something unrelated to our current task? You may. Why does captain Kirk consistently engage in what would be classified as reckless behavior? He does not. Captain Kirk repeatedly violates protocol, initiates unsanctioned maneuvers, and places himself in extreme danger.

Sulu:

That definition aligns precisely with reckless behavior.

Uhura:

Captain Kirk acts decisively when others hesitate. He accepts personal risk when the alternative is in action. He does not act without principle. What principles guide him? Protecting his crew, defending lives, refusing to surrender responsibility to circumstance.

Geordi:

In other words, he leads with his gut.

Uhura:

I have always found that to be an odd human turn of a phrase, but it is accurate.

Sulu:

I do not yet understand how instinct can override probability assessment. Tahita. History is full

Geordi:

of people who ignore the odds because the alternative felt wrong. Sometimes they're fools or sometimes they're legends.

Sulu:

Captain Kirk appears to occupy a statistical outlier category.

T.C.:

He always has. They return to their work. Unnoticed, Spock subtly adjusts a secondary diagnostic on his screen. A quiet tone sounds. Spock glances at the results and arches an eyebrow.

T.C.:

He terminates the scan. A soft computer chime echoes through engineering.

Sulu:

The scan is complete. The anomalous energy pattern has been located.

T.C.:

Jordy leans closer to the display, scanning the cascading data. A grin spreads across his face, proud.

Geordi:

We'll all be damned. And we have it. That's our signature.

T.C.:

He taps a control, a three-dimensional star map blossoms into view, a single pulsing vector highlighted in Klingon space, pinging sporadically, like the blip of a radar.

Geordi:

That thing is lighting up subspace like a flare.

T.C.:

He taps his comm badge. Leforge to bridge. On the bridge, Picard stands near the view screen, Riker beside him, Yar at tactical.

Klingon:

Go ahead, commander.

Geordi:

Captain, engineering has isolated the energy signature and the artifact general Joradak is carrying. We can't pin it down, but we have a bead on the signature.

T.C.:

Picard turns slightly, alert

Klingon:

now. On screen.

T.C.:

The display updates with Jordi's data. Picard studies it. Riker folds his arms considering

Kirk:

The only problem is we still need clearance to enter Klingon space.

T.C.:

Yar leans forward, eyes bright and fierce.

David:

All stations ready, captain.

Klingon:

As expected. Thank you, commander Laforge. Remain available.

T.C.:

The channel closes. Picard looks back at the screen at Yorak's location. Interior, bird of prey. The dim red lit bridge hums under strain. Klingon systems groan as Scottie is waist deep inside an open wall panel, arms buried in sparking circuitry, a sudden crackle of electricity.

T.C.:

He jerks back, smoke curling from his sleeve, then he grins like a madman.

Uhura:

Goddess, speed is MIT

T.C.:

Ahura snaps to her console, readings scrolling fast.

Uhura:

Confirmed. Strong subspace resonance uploading telemetry. Kirk drops into

T.C.:

the captain's chair with instinctive ease. Sulu, let's go. Sulu's hands fly across the console. Aye, captain. The stars on the forward view screen stretch and snap into brilliant streaks as the bird of prey lunges forward into warp.

T.C.:

Interior, Gievrock Trading Post, command level, day. A cavernous, utilitarian space carved into rock and reinforced with durasteel. Consoles glow dully. Klingon technicians move through routine checks with board efficiency. No songs, no boasting, just work.

T.C.:

A proximity chirp breaks the monotony. The Klingon outpost commander, old, fat, tired, looks up from his chair central to the command level. Report. A junior officer checks their console.

Alien:

Single vessel emerging from cloak, Klingon configuration, battlecruiser class.

T.C.:

The commander straightens slightly. On screen. The main viewer flickers, resolving into a looming image of a massive Klingon battle cruiser, its hull bristling with weapons, an emblem painted across its body, Yorak's symbol. Then the image shifts. Yorak fills the screen, burning eyes, gripping the spear at his side.

T.C.:

The room goes still. The commander squints incredulous. Identify yourself. Yorak leans closer, a predator savoring his moment.

Yorak:

I am general Yorak, blade and hammer of the Klingon Empire.

T.C.:

The outpost officers snort murmurs of disbelief.

Uhura:

You

Klingon:

are not the mythical Yorak. It is not possible. And many have dared claim his identity. Yorak smiles. It is not kind.

Yorak:

I am Yorak.

T.C.:

His booming voice echoes. The commander studies the spear, the stance, the voice, something shifts in his eyes. Prove it. Yorak leans even closer.

Yorak:

The gods were killed and we needed them no more. Kaelis died, and his legend is eternal. I cannot die, and I have returned. And fear remembers what history tries to forget.

T.C.:

Yorak lifts the spear and he slams it into the floor before him. The lights within the outpost flicker impossibly. The commander rises slowly from his chair.

Yorak:

By Kaelas, it is you.

T.C.:

He drops to one knee, others follow instinctively.

Klingon:

Whatever the legendary Yorak desires, this outpost will provide. Our trade, our

T.C.:

ships, our lives. Yorak's eyes burn brighter.

Yorak:

You will do anything for the glory of the empire. And today, you will die.

T.C.:

The commander looks up, stunned. General. Empire. The battlecruiser fires its phasers and torpedoes launch. Interior, bird of prey, bridge.

T.C.:

Kirk is seated in the captain's chair, eyes fixed on the blur of warp speed through the viewport.

Uhura:

Approaching last detection call.

T.C.:

Sulu pulls back on the helm controls. The ship comes out of warp. Wham. Alarm sound. Debris slams against the hull.

Kirk:

Are we under fire? No.

Uhura:

It's

T.C.:

They look through the field of debris before them and gasp. The burning remains of the trading outpost, Givrok. My god.

Uhura:

That was the Klingon Klingon outpost. What has he done?

T.C.:

They all stare at the disaster.

Kirk:

He wants to start a war, right?

T.C.:

Why is he starting with his own people?

Uhura:

To make it look like we didn't, like Starfleet fired the first shot. The Klingons are mad, but

Uhura:

they wouldn't possibly fall for that. Could they?

Uhura:

They would if one of them retaliated.

Kirk:

Your ex going after a federation base next.

T.C.:

They'll look at their captain.

Kirk:

It's the obvious play. Attack both sides.

Uhura:

Smash the hornet's nest by flinging a rapid badger at it. Can keep chasing him,

Uhura:

presume his trajectory, but even if we do, we'll be too late.

Kirk:

We've gotta get ahead of him.

Scotty:

How are we supposed to know where he'll attack next?

Kirk:

I don't know, but we have to try. Plot a pursuit course, fast as possible speed.

T.C.:

Kirk sits down, rattled, unsure. Interior, Enterprise D, ready room. Picard stands at the viewport, hands clasped behind his back. Stars drift. Klingon space just beyond, close enough to feel.

T.C.:

A soft chime.

David:

Detective Picard, you have a subspace communication from Starfleet Command.

Klingon:

Put

T.C.:

through. It The view screen activates. Admiral Ostler appears, stern, tired, no pleasantries.

Carol:

Jean Luc, what the hell is going on out there?

T.C.:

Racard straightens, surprised by the tone.

Klingon:

Admiral Ostler, we're holding position near the Klingon border as ordered, awaiting authorization to pursue a hostile

Carol:

I am well aware of where you are holding position. Are you aware that the Iraq outpost was attacked this morning? It's been destroyed.

T.C.:

Picard freezes. Gone?

Carol:

Obliterated. Crew, civilian personnel, everything.

Klingon:

My god.

Carol:

Klingon authorities are claiming the outpost was destroyed by a Starfleet vessel. What? That's not possible. They don't

Alien:

think so.

T.C.:

A transmission appears on screen. A floating hollow glyph rotates slowly, the imperial voice of Konos, the official state broadcast of the Klingon Empire. On screen, Tupac Waxon stands in formal robes of office, calm, authoritative, every word carefully chosen.

Tubok:

For decades, I have served the empire as an envoy to the federation. I have walked their halls. I have broken bread with their diplomats. I have argued tirelessly for peace, and many of us warned how fragile that peace truly was. The hollow image shifts.

Tubok:

Images of the destroyed outpost, Givrok. Fire, debris, silence. Today, Klingon blood was spilled at Givrok. An unprovoked attack. Our people working, living, serving the empire erased.

Tubok:

The federation claims innocence. We have heard such words before.

T.C.:

A low murmur ripples through the unseen Klingons before him.

Tubok:

This was not the act of honorable warriors. This was the work of insurrectionists within Starfleet. Dangerous elements who believe war is inevitable, and still Starfleet claims ignorance. But this massacre was done by a federation ship. And if Starfleet cannot control their rogue elements, we Klingons have no choice.

Tubok:

They have forgotten we are an empire of warriors, forged in blood, tempered by honor, and we do not forget attacks upon our people. I and others like me will await the high council's orders. But know this, the attack on Givrok will not go unanswered.

T.C.:

The hollow glyph burns bright then fades. Picard gestures sharply.

Klingon:

That is categorically false. The federation had nothing to do with this. I've already submitted a full report detailing the emergence of a Klingon warship from an anomaly commanded by an individual identifying himself as general Yorak, a relic from the twenty third century.

Carol:

Yes, Captain Kirk and his rogue Klingon.

Klingon:

Yes, and they are not operating under Federation authority.

T.C.:

The admiral leans forward, eyes sharp.

Carol:

Did Captain Kirk or this Klingon general possess Federation weaponry? No, of course not. Then as far as the Klingon Empire is concerned, the Federation just shattered nearly a century of peace.

Klingon:

Admiral, I am certain Yorak is attempting to provoke conflict. He's exploiting it.

Carol:

I don't care what his motivations are, I care about proof. If this Yorak exists, find him. If this so called Kirk is involved, bring him in too. If a Klingon ship destroyed Girach, then I want evidence I can put in front of the High Council before someone on their side decide to retaliate. Jean Luc, this could be the opening shot of an all out war.

Klingon:

Understood, Admiral.

Carol:

Authorization to presume is pending Klingon response. Until then, do not cross the border. And Jean Luc, tread carefully. His story is watching.

T.C.:

The screen goes dark. Picard stands alone. The calm mask cracks just slightly. He taps his communicator. Number one.

Klingon:

Yes, cat. Gather all senior staff in my ready room immediately.

T.C.:

Interior 10 Forward Knight, the iconic crew lounge of the Enterprise D, the social hub for drinks, relaxation, and stunning views, perfect for the crew to escape from duty. At the table near the window, Wharf sits perfectly straight, arms folded, expression carved from Klingon stone. Across from him, Chekhov eats with enthusiasm and tries desperately to make small talk.

Klingon:

This is very good. What did you say it was called again? Grappak sauce?

T.C.:

Worf does not answer or react at all.

Klingon:

I must say, mister Worf, it is quite comforting that there is but a single Klingon in Starfleet, and yet they are able to replicate your cuisine.

T.C.:

Worf stares straight ahead. I have a

Klingon:

friend back home in Pushkinow. That's in Russia. He who also did not like to talk. Very stoic. Very strong.

Klingon:

His name

Tubok:

was Mikhail. He once wrestled a bear.

T.C.:

Worf finally turns his head. Yeah. Just a little.

Yorak:

Was it it a Big Bear?

T.C.:

Across 10 forward at a quiet corner table, doctor Crusher, elegant in a shimmering teal dress, laughs softly seated before doctor McCoy. Bones is cleaned up in a crisp shirt, simple jacket, hair tamed as best as Bones, hair can be tamed. He regards the dish between them skeptically.

Bones:

Tell me again what this is.

Alien:

Denebulin citrus lattice with bajoren fire blossom reduction.

Bones:

How about we just call it dessert?

T.C.:

Crusher laughs warm and charmed. Bones takes a bite.

Klingon:

Now, wait a minute.

Alien:

Good?

T.C.:

He takes an even larger bite.

Kirk:

Oh, it's awful.

Alien:

I knew you'd like it.

T.C.:

Bones wipes his mouth with a napkin and looks at Beverly with a grin. She looks back with a smile.

Bones:

I'll admit, I don't get many dinners like this.

Alien:

Neither do I.

Bones:

I spent so much time in Sick Bay. No matter how many times we patched the crew up, I always managed to get knocked around again.

Alien:

Sometimes I think about developing some sort of automated medical system for dealing with non lethal medical problems.

Bones:

Leaving all the fun stuff for us.

Alien:

And more time For dinner.

Bones:

You've got beautiful eyes doctor Crusher.

Alien:

Is that your best line doctor McCoy?

Bones:

Ma'am, I'm a doctor, not a poet. That means I know anatomy and those are the most beautiful eyes I've seen in a hundred years.

T.C.:

She sips her wine, smiling coyly. Bones drinks her in, completely taken by her. They relax into the moment, two adults, neither in a rush, just connecting. She leans in a little, he matches her without even noticing.

Alien:

I like talking with you, Leonard. And

Bones:

I like to listen to you Beverly.

T.C.:

They're close now, really close. The of the room fades, their faces drift together slow, carefully, charged. Chirp. Crusher's communicator. She closes her eyes, Bones, winces, she taps her badge.

David:

Crusher here.

Kirk:

Doctor, report to the ready room.

T.C.:

Her disappointment is immediate and mirrored by Bones.

Alien:

Understood, commander. On my way.

T.C.:

She rises, reluctant. Bones stands too.

Alien:

I'm sorry. Duty calls.

Bones:

Yeah. It always does.

T.C.:

She steps closer and kisses him on the cheek.

Alien:

To be continued.

T.C.:

She walks briskly out of 10 Forward. Bones watches her go. Damn it. He sits slowly and pokes at his meal. Across 10 Forward, Worf watches crusher exit.

T.C.:

His keen eyes flick to Bones. He turns to Chekhov.

Yorak:

Finish your meal. You'll be escorted back to your cores.

Klingon:

Aye, mister Worf. You sure you don't want some of this Grappok sauce? I have no idea how good Klingon food is.

T.C.:

Exterior space, bird of prey and warp. The ragged bird of prey rips through space, the field of energy and star lines streaking around it. Inside the bird of prey, engineering, a cramped jury rigged nightmare. Klingon tech meets Scotty's duct tape theology. Open panels, glowing coils, a clay ball sparking dangerously.

T.C.:

Scotty hops across the deck and leans over console, squints at a flickering Klingon display.

Uhura:

Come on, you temperamental, weed beastie. Do what I tell you.

T.C.:

He gives the console a firm whack. The image steadies, a blip racing across the starfield. Uhura enters, pad in hand, eyes on her own data.

Uhura:

We still on his tail? The spear's energy signature is bright as a drunken corn in a Lisa Pope. We've tracked it across half the quadrant.

Uhura:

Has he reached Federation space yet?

T.C.:

Scotty grimaces adjusting the display. A Klingon borderline flashes, then the Federation line.

Uhura:

Within the arm. And before he asks, no. We can't even catch him.

T.C.:

He brings up a readout. Engine status, a whole forest of red.

Uhura:

We're ringing water out of the engines that were never meant to be flown this hard. It's two, maybe three factors faster and we so much as sneeze in the wrong key, this shit comes apart. Well, I've got more bad news.

T.C.:

She sets the pad down and brings twisting catac wave of energy signatures.

Uhura:

This is everything the bird's sensors logged from the anomaly. Raw, corrupted, and

Uhura:

in Klingon. You translated all that. I was motivated.

T.C.:

He studies the data, eyes narrowing, fingers dancing over the Klingon keys. He overlays the spear's signature with the anomalies, the interlock.

Uhura:

That's not fair. So I'm not wrong? I wish I could say you were. The frequency pattern, the coronation decay rate, it's the same. The spear and the anomaly are singing harmony.

Uhura:

Meaning, if we want to get home, going back

Uhura:

to the anomaly without that spear

Uhura:

Would be like trying to start a warp call with a candle. We need that spear.

Uhura:

And Yorak isn't just gonna hand it over.

T.C.:

Spark pops for an overhead cable. Scotty reaches up, pats it like a misbehaving dog.

Uhura:

I'm starting to miss the days when all I had to worry about was keeping one star ship from blowing up.

Uhura:

Now I have to go share this with the

Uhura:

counter. Good luck.

T.C.:

On the display, the line representing Yorak's battle cruiser inches closer and closer to Federation border. Enterprise d engineering. Above the central engineering hub floats the massive three d star map, a shifting hologram of the Alpha Quadrant, and one bright pulsing vector crawls steadily toward the border into Federation space, Yorak's ship. Data and Geordi stand at the console. Spock observes quietly, hands behind his back.

T.C.:

Riker enters briskly.

Kirk:

Talk to me. How solid is this trace?

Geordi:

About as solid as a scrambled subspace echo can be, commander. This fierce resonance is weird. He's not on a straight line. He's popping all over the place, but that's more due to our inability to make a precise lock on signature. It comes and goes, but

Sulu:

when it spikes, it spikes hard. We have extrapolated its trajectory and have instructed the helm to position for intercept. If the trend continues, general Yorak will breach Federation space in approximately twenty one minutes forty three seconds. And you're certain Kirk

Kirk:

will be chasing him.

T.C.:

Data and Geordie glanced at Spock. Spock steps forward, expression composed, voice even.

Uhura:

As I have stated, captain Kirk's behavior is often unpredictable. However, priorities are not. General Yorak is both a present threat and a potential key to returning myself and all displaced officers to our proper time. If Captain Kirk has deduced even a fraction of what we have, he will follow.

Kirk:

Well, once that battle cruiser crosses the line, we'll be on him so fast, he won't know what century he's in. The Enterprise is the most powerful ship in the galaxy. Damn right she is.

T.C.:

This ship, a warble interrupts him. The holographic display flickers. Wait. The single ping of your ex ship blinks out. A beat of silence.

T.C.:

Then, the entire star map explodes into motion. Dozens, if not hundreds of ping locations appear simultaneously. Jordy's jaw drops. What just happened?

Sulu:

The energy signature we were tracking has reappeared in 414 locations across the Alpha Quadrant simultaneously. That's that's impossible. Strictly speaking commander, impossible is statistically imprecise.

Kirk:

We need to know where he's going to be, Data.

Sulu:

If Yorak intends a second false flag operation in Federation space, there exists hundreds of Starfleet installations, star bases, outpost research stations and multiple frontier deep space facilities such as Deep Space 349 And 11. Then where is he going? The computational burden of isolating a single point across these structures is now

T.C.:

nontrivial. Spock lifts an eyebrow, subtle, amused, not alarmed.

Uhura:

To clarify, commander Riker, there is no method by which we can now determine general exact location. Riker slams

T.C.:

a hand on a console.

Kirk:

Then figure it out. Narrow down potential targets. Prioritize border stations, industrial platforms, the largest targets.

T.C.:

Majority and data instantly spring into action. Panels light up. Calculations blur. A dozen points begin collapsing. Spot watches them work, hands calmly folded.

Uhura:

It would require extraordinary fortune to locate him before he strikes. Riker shoots him an angered look.

Kirk:

Keep at it. I need to report

Yorak:

this to the cat.

T.C.:

Riker exits swiftly. Jordy nods sharply. Data's hands fly at near invisible speed across the panel as one ping after another blinks out as they narrow down the desperate search. Spock arches an eyebrow in deep thought. Bird of Prey bridge.

T.C.:

Still in warp, stars stretching across the viewport like white fire. Kirk sits forward in his command chair, elbows on his knees. He watches the warp field with the intensity of a man willing it to move faster. Uhura works the battered navigation array. A soft chime confirms something.

Uhura:

Captain, I I have it.

T.C.:

He lifts his head. What's here?

Uhura:

We've had a clear lock. We can see his path. Using the star charge stored in the ship's databanks, charts from our time. I cross referenced URX vector with every known installation of any significance. Without knowing how political borders have shifted in a century, this might be my best projection of a target.

T.C.:

She taps the control. A main view screen flickers to a map overlay. A single icon flashes near the edge of Federation jurisdiction and the adjacent territorial boundary.

Uhura:

Here, a frontier station, Cardassian build called Taroknor.

T.C.:

Kurt frowns at the unfamiliar name, then sits back slowly. Cardassians?

Uhura:

From what I've read and heard, captain, they are not known for their mercy. And if the border has shifted, that could be the very edge of Federation space now.

Scotty:

Or he could be trying to start a war with them too by taking down one of their bases.

Kirk:

Spreading attacks across the entire elf quadrant.

Uhura:

A fire on all sides.

T.C.:

Kirk's gaze locks on the icon.

Kirk:

We have our heading. Let's keep up with the Cardassians. Alright. We have our heading. I had to.

Klingon:

It's okay.

Kirk:

Anyway. Alright. We have our heading. Sulu?

T.C.:

Aye, sir. Sulu grips the controls and punches it. Teraknor Night. The massive Cardassian built, now Federation controlled station hangs in orbit above Bajor like a dark mechanical spider, its steel arms curved and predatory against the stars. Lights glow along the outer ring and docking pylons illuminating sharp militaristic architecture.

T.C.:

Ships from several alien nations dock and travel to and from the station as it rotates with a slow ominous grace. A sentry on the frontier watching, waiting, protecting. Interior, Tarak Nor operations continuous. The interior is all Cardassian angles and hard lines, low ceilings, harsh overhead lights, and deep metallic shadows. The central command table glows with orange and red.

T.C.:

The elevated walkway holds watch officers at their stations. Commander Benjamin Sisko stands at the center console, focused, steady, a man used to tension on the edge of space. At his side is Major Kira Norris, poised and sharp eyed, always ready for a fight. Jezziadax moves sharply as a shrill alarm pierces the room.

David:

Benjamin, proximity alert. Object decloaking directly ahead.

T.C.:

Every head snaps toward the view screen. A shimmering distortion ripples across the space. And then the Klingon battlecruiser material materializes with a thunderous rumble, Yorak's emblem shimmering across its hall. Klingons? What in the It's powering weapons.

T.C.:

Cisco steps forward, shoulders squared, voice a low warning.

Klingon:

Hail them now.

T.C.:

Then Kira moves closer, suspicious eyes narrowing at the huge vessel gliding toward the station like a hunting beast.

David:

They're not responding. If they fire on us.

Klingon:

We make damn sure they regret it.

T.C.:

On the view screen, the behemoth looms ever closer.

David:

Benjamin, they are hailing us.

Kirk:

On screen. A burst

T.C.:

of static. The screen snaps to the snarling face of Yorak. He stands in the command chamber of the battle cruiser, armor gleaming, eyes alight with blood and seal. He grips his spear tightly, an energy rippling from it and encircling his muscular arm.

Yorak:

I am General Yorak, blade and hammer of the Klingon Empire and your destroyer.

T.C.:

Qi'ra stiffens. Sisko remains stone still.

Klingon:

I am Commander Benjamin Sisko. What's the meaning of this, General?

Yorak:

As if you do not know, your Starfleet dogs have destroyed the Givrok outpost. An act of war, an act the Empire will avenge.

Klingon:

I can assure you that Starfleet had nothing to do with your lost outpost, and I can guarantee we had nothing to do with it all the way out here.

Yorak:

Go ahead. Back. It'll do you no good.

Klingon:

This is a bad idea, general. Deep Space Nine is fully equipped to handle a single Klingon battle cruiser. If you fire on this station, you will not survive the encounter.

T.C.:

A slow, terrible smile crosses your ex face.

Yorak:

Commander. The lying federation has made far too many enemies for you to believe a single Klingon vessel would come to claim your life, even one captained by me.

T.C.:

A console bursts into alarm.

David:

Multiple warp signatures.

T.C.:

The stars flash. Several Cardassian warships erupt into existence around the station, weapons already charging. Kira's eyes flash with anger. What the hell is this?

Klingon:

It appears someone has united them under a common enemy.

T.C.:

Cisco steps forward, voice sharp and fearless.

Klingon:

We will not stand down, general.

T.C.:

Yorick leans forward, savoring the moment. Good. The channel cuts, a heartbeat of silence, then

Uhura:

They're firing weapons.

T.C.:

Space erupts into fire. Cardassian and Kryndo weapons blaze toward the station. Shields flare. Alarms scream before rocks from this impact.

Klingon:

Battle stations, tall hands.

T.C.:

Claxons blare. Cisco faces the screen with sheer ferocity. Exterior of deep space nine. Boom. The volley of phasers and torpedoes collide with the station and ignite the shields.

T.C.:

The battle begins. Smaller crafts, travelers to D S 9, encircle encircle and and fire fire upon upon the enemy ships. It is a flurry of crafts and blasts of weapon. D S 9 hangs like a massive armored crown against the stars. Its docking pylons blazing with defensive fire.

T.C.:

Cardassian Hideka fires streak past, cutting arcs of burning light across D S 9 shields. Majoran fighting interceptors attack them. Klingon torpedoes hammer the outer ring. The shields flare blue and gold with every impact the station is holding just barely. Alarms scream, consoles strobe red.

Carol:

Sir, several ships have joined the fight protecting us.

T.C.:

We'll thank them later. Cisco stands at the center planted like a wall. Kira walks to the tactical controls with fire in her eyes.

Klingon:

Target the battlecruiser. Fire phasers.

T.C.:

The station shakes violently.

Uhura:

Firing.

T.C.:

Through the main view screen, a brilliant beam bursts from d s nine hammering against the battlecruiser. But the massive ship rolls and a Cardassian ship fills the screen.

Klingon:

Target that lead Cardassian ship.

T.C.:

The phasers redirect, blowing pieces from the enemy's hull. It veers off smoking.

David:

Benjamin switching power to upper shield matrix. They're concentrating fire on pylons two and three.

Tubok:

Cisco braces as app shutters again. Return torpedoes, full spread.

T.C.:

Launching. A volley of torpedoes erupt from D s nine. One strikes a hadica wing, shearing it clean off. Three enemy ships spiral out of formation, one engulfed in flames, but more swoop in, relentless. D s nine fires again, rotating slightly to bring new weapons to bear.

T.C.:

Each blast sends shock waves through the enemy armada. The station is a fortress, but cracks are forming.

David:

The support ships are asking for orders.

Klingon:

Tell them to engage on the Cardassian flank. Major, shift our fire pattern. Everything we've got on that battle cruiser, we hold the center.

Carol:

Yes, sir.

T.C.:

The station rocks again. A heavier, deeper impact. O'Brien's voice crackles over the Khan.

Sulu:

Commander, it's O'Brien. We're taking a beating chain here. Another minute of that and subspace field coils are gonna blow.

Klingon:

Do whatever you have to, chief. Just keep this station together.

Sulu:

Hey, sir. I can keep it together, but not forever.

T.C.:

Ops shudder. Sparks fly on your ex ship. He stands at the command deck of the Klingon battlecruiser, towering above his crew, staff clutched in his white knuckled grip. Explosions and shadows from weapons fire strobes across his face. A Klingon officer at weapons calls out through the chaos.

Alien:

Their shields hold, general.

T.C.:

Yorak throws his head back and roars with exhilaration.

Yorak:

This is glorious. Strike harder. No mercy. No hesitation. Break their ring.

Yorak:

Tear down their fortress.

T.C.:

Torpio is a rut toward the station as Yorak slams his staff against the dead and it crackles with energy. He is relishing every second. Interior, bird of prey bridge. Kirk's tiny ship ripping through stars drops out of warp into the battlefield. Shulhu yanks the controls and dodges the ship.

T.C.:

Kirk and Uhura hang on tightly. Scottie loses his balance at the tactical station and tumbles to the metal grate. Weapons fire streaks past as the cloaked bird of prey soars directly into the chaos surrounding D S 9. Phaser blasts, torpedoes, disruptors fire crisscross in a dazzling lattice. The bridge rattles violently as Soooth threads the ship between shock waves of weapon fire.

T.C.:

The man is utterly focused, hands on the controls with a calm that borders on supernatural. The torpedo detonates nearby. The ship loaches. Sulu snaps the ship into a roll, slipping between a Cardassian warship and a Vagorian interceptor exchanging fire. O'Hara braces herself against her console, eyes darting over the readings.

Uhura:

There. Yorak's battle cruiser bearing the 043Mark12. He's he's attacking the station head on.

Kirk:

And that's where we're going.

T.C.:

And the ship bucks again. Scotty gets his footing.

Uhura:

Captain, with all due respect, we cannot get near that vessel. Their shields will swat us like a flag.

T.C.:

Ahura's eyes scan quickly over her console.

Uhura:

Scotty, can you get through them?

Uhura:

Get through it, Klingon battlecruiser shields. Last, we don't even have a tenth of the firepower. We need to crack them open. We don't need to break them.

Uhura:

We just need to reach through them.

Kirk:

What are you thinking, Niota?

Uhura:

Klingon vessel to Klingon vessel. If you rotate the shield harmonics on this ship to match the battle cruisers, even momentarily, we could punch a clean window for the transporter.

T.C.:

Scottie stares at her as if she just suggested jumping into a supernova.

Uhura:

Peter, that is the most reckless harebrained completely unhinged idea I have ever had in my life. Can you do it? Skye, it's mad but it's possible.

T.C.:

Do it, Scotty. Scotty. Scotty begins punching controls.

Uhura:

They all be all for a high speed. One transport, then their harmonics snap back and lock us up for good.

T.C.:

Kirk stands. The ship rocks around him, but he barely moves.

Kirk:

One chance is all I need.

T.C.:

He takes the dakat from the sleeve of the chair, then a Klingon disruptor pistol. He tests its weight, resolute.

Kirk:

If I can get to Yorak, if I could take him out, maybe the whole command structure collapses. Maybe this ends before more people die.

Uhura:

James, that's not the plan.

T.C.:

He looks at her.

Scotty:

It isn't?

T.C.:

She gives him a look. Interior Yorak's ship continues. The bridge is a storm of fire and fury. Klingon officers shout orders over the alarms. The deck shutters with every impact.

T.C.:

Spark rains from the blown consoles. At the center stands Yorick, gripping the spear, eyes ablaze with bloodlust. Through the main view screen, two frigates streak past, firing desperately. Yorick laughs as his gunners vaporize them in twin blossoms of fire.

Yorak:

Yes. Feel the wrath of Yorak. Today, history bends to me.

T.C.:

He raises the spear high, reveling in the destruction.

Alien:

General, the station's shields hold, but their fire is weakening.

T.C.:

She stops. Her eyes go wide. A strange shimmer of light begins forming around Yorick's body unmistakable, a transporter beam.

Alien:

General transport greed.

T.C.:

It's too late. Yorick snarls tightly clutching the spear. The shimmering column snaps into full intensity and Yorak vanishes. And the general appears on the bridge facing Kirk with blaster aimed right at Yorak's chest. General.

T.C.:

Kirk fires the plane on disruptor point blank. The blaster slams into Yorak's chest. He barely flinches.

Yorak:

You think that will stop a god?

T.C.:

Kirk lunges, diving a shoulder into him. Yorak backhands him across the bridge. Kirk slams into a bulkhead. Her her is already moving. She fires three shots into Yorak.

T.C.:

All of them do nothing. She sweeps in low, striking the Klingon's knee with a practice marshal snap. He buckles, but only for a breath.

Yorak:

Annoying little ball mark.

T.C.:

He grabs her by the arm and flings her across the deck. Vehura rolls, grunting in pain. York turns to Kirk and marches towards him. Kirk fires shot after shot at York, but nothing is stopping the giant. The ship quakes from a sudden impact.

T.C.:

Sulu shouts from the helm, threading the ship through the chaos.

Sulu:

Got it. The cloak is gonna drop. Shields are screaming. I'm avoiding fire from

T.C.:

all sides.

Uhura:

I'm giving you everything I've got. Can't you avoid fire for two bloody minutes?

T.C.:

Jorah turns towards him.

Yorak:

Two minutes is more than you deserve.

T.C.:

He advances. Kirk intercepts him with a flying tackle. They crash into the helm railing. Jorah hardly feels it. Kirk pounds the Klingon's face with his fist.

T.C.:

Kirk's knuckles bleed like he's punching stone.

Yorak:

Why isn't anything stopping you?

T.C.:

Yorak lifts the spear. Lightning like energy arches along its length.

Yorak:

Because I am a

Uhura:

It's my bloody spear.

T.C.:

Is back on her feet. She fires the disruptor from the floor, snatching York's attention as Kirk sweeps his leg. York drops to one knee, furious, rising again with terrifying ease.

Yorak:

You cannot defeat me.

T.C.:

Swings the spear in a brutal arc, catching all three of them in a shockwave that sends them sprawling.

Yorak:

I am blessed by the eternal energies of Stoval Core XL.

Kirk:

We're taking that spear

Yorak:

and we're going home. You want to go home? Back the way we came. I'd like to see you try.

T.C.:

The spear erupts with energy. The ship groans ominously, and then metal all around them is rent and shredded as though it were a little more than paper. The bird of prey is torn from the inside out, and suddenly space warping all around them. They are once more standing upon the ancient space station and the anomaly has appeared in the center of the battlefield in the space before DS nine. While the Cardassian ships and Federation allies continue to fight, DS nine continues to fire and protect itself.

T.C.:

But there, in the center of it all is the ancient station in the cloud of light and energy. Kirk, Uhuru, Sulu, and Scottie are on the floor looking up at Yorak. He holds the spear over his head, arms wide and embracing the the power coursing in and around him. Kirk races at York to continue fighting. Uhura, Scotty, and Sue join him.

T.C.:

Interior, DS nine. Cisco looks through the cloud of the battle and sees the suddenly appeared station and cloud of light.

Yorak:

What in the hell is that?

T.C.:

The station rocks from a huge barrage.

David:

Cisco, shields are at 10%.

T.C.:

Cisco focuses back on the attack. At the anomaly, Yorah curls all four of them back with a sweeping burst of temporal force. They skin across the ancient metal of the station. Kirk is already staggering back to his feet. Keep hitting him.

Kirk:

He could fall.

T.C.:

They rush him again. Yorak slams the butt of the spear into that deck. A rippling shockwave of warped time rolls outward. Sewell is caught, missed, and freezes in place, locked in a perfect still frame, eyes fierce, body forward. Suluhr.

T.C.:

She fires twice at Yorak. The bolts bend away in curving arcs of distorted time, vanishing into nothing.

Yorak:

Time kneels to Yorak. Your corpse is caught before the killing strike.

T.C.:

He gestures sharply with the spear and Ahura freezes mid lunge, hair suspended in the air. Disruptor lifted helplessly.

Uhura:

You bastard.

T.C.:

Scottie charges at him, wielding a jagged durasteel pipe like a club. Yorak barely glances at him before flicking the spear. Scottie stops instantaneously trapped in its swing. The metal bar drops to the ground.

Yorak:

Three gnats swatted. One remain.

T.C.:

Kirk stands alone now, panting, blood on his face, fists shaking with adrenaline and fury. Do you want me? You've got me. Kirk lunges. Urek batters Kirk, his fists like sledgehammers.

T.C.:

Kirk staggers, swings, gets knocked forward, rises again. Enough. He punches Kirk in the gut. Kirk coughs blood onto the floor and falls. Yorak bends and hauls Kirk upright by his shirt, dragging him toward the shattered edge of the station.

T.C.:

The anomaly churns like a violent storm of starlight behind them.

Yorak:

James Look upon the glorious war you failed to stop.

T.C.:

All around them, through torn metal and the transparent haze of the anomaly, the battlefield rages. Cardassian ships firing, Federation vessels burning, D S 9 shuddering under the relentless assault. Kirk wheezes, blood running down his lip.

Scotty:

You won't win this.

Yorak:

I've only just begun.

T.C.:

Inside D S 9, the alarm cries through the others. Kira looks up from her station.

Carol:

Cisco, we've got an energy reading coming in fast.

Klingon:

Where is

T.C.:

it? The Enterprise d appears from warp directly in front of the station. On the bridge of the Enterprise, Picard is in his chair, all crew at their stations. The wump of arrival still reverberating as the bridge explodes into motion.

Klingon:

Red alert. Target all hostile vessels, mister Data.

Sulu:

Acquiring targets, multiple hostiles locking weapon.

Klingon:

Fire at will.

T.C.:

The Enterprise unleashes a crushing broadside. Two Kardashian ships real immediately. Shields flaring.

Kirk:

Helm, bring us between the station and the battle cruiser. Make them shoot through us.

Wesley:

Aye, commander. Adjusting vector.

T.C.:

The Enterprise swoops in angling like a knife.

Alien:

Forward shields holding at 92%. They're panicking, captain. Our arrival broke their line. Good. Press them.

Sulu:

Phasers recharge. Torpedo spreads locked.

T.C.:

Fire. The torpedo slams into the Cardassian warship. It spins out, disabled.

Kirk:

Yar, protect DS nine's docking. Redirect shield modulation.

T.C.:

On it. The Enterprise swings crosswise, absorbing the volley meant for the station.

Wesley:

Captain. Klingon battle cruiser is powering weapons at full capacity.

Klingon:

Then we match them. Mister Data.

Sulu:

Ready, sir.

Klingon:

Do not destroy that vessel. It is the smoking gun. Engage.

T.C.:

DiNavio. The Enterprise dives forward, a blazing titan entering the heart of battle. Yorak's triumphant expression falls as he watches the famed ship turn the tide.

Scotty:

Guess your war is gonna be short lived, pal.

T.C.:

Yorak drops Kirk and roars at the sky. No. Points the spear and the battlefield quakes, time rending around every ship and shuddering momentarily. Kirk's hand finds Scotty's jagged durasteel pipe. He grips it and thrusts the sharp end directly into the Klingon side.

T.C.:

Yorick drops the spear. Kirk grabs it and stumbles away, putting distance between himself and Yorak. The general rises tall, he extends his hand to the spear, and Kirk nearly loses it as it jerks towards its master. You

Yorak:

cannot win this fight. I know. I was told the legendary Captain Kirk did not believe in no win scenarios.

Scotty:

I don't need to win. You just gotta lose.

T.C.:

And Kirk grips the spear with both hands and slams it across his knee, shattering Energy erupts from the space between them and the spear disintegrates to dust. The anomaly pulses wildly and the entire station begins to crumble around them. Uhura, Sulu, and Scottie move, free from the spear's power. Captain. Kirk stumbles and falls.

T.C.:

Yorak pulls a dagger from his belt and rushes at the falling rocket. Wow. Sulu puts a disruptor blast into his chest. Yorak stumbles across the grates. The entire station is about to rip itself apart.

T.C.:

Uhura helps Kirk to his feet and the four of them hurry away from the falling metal.

Uhura:

Where can we go? I

Uhura:

don't know. Where?

T.C.:

On the landing pad, exactly where it was before, Garmoth's shuttle. They race into it. Sulu leaps into control seat and in a heartbeat as the rear crashes closed and the station falls into pieces, they launch and rocket away. The Enterprise swoops past them and sends a final crippling blow into the Klingon battle cruiser as Deep Space Nine fires upon the last of the Cardassian insurrectionists. The battle has ended.

T.C.:

Interior shuttle. Kirk looks at the Enterprise with relief and gratitude as it shimmers in the starlight.

Scotty:

That's definitely a ship worthy of the name Enterprise.

T.C.:

And Sulu deftly flies the ship towards it. Enterprise d, ready room. The senior staff sits gathered. Picard, at the head of the table. The room's main display shows Admiral Ostler.

Carol:

The Klingon high Command has completed their analysis of the battlecruiser logs. It was, in fact, the vessel that destroyed Givrok Outpost. They extend their gratitude to the Enterprise for delivering it to their custody, and for making them aware of ambassador Tupac's involvement. He's been taken into custody as well.

T.C.:

The screen briefly shifts to display a shaky Klingon transmission. Tupac is being dragged through a corridor by two warriors. Klingons shout.

Tubok:

I have nothing to do with this.

T.C.:

I have my honor. The feed cuts, Admiral Ostler reappears.

Carol:

Additionally, the Cardassian high command is disavowing all involvement, calling the vessels in the assault a renegade faction. Convenient, but it ends any further diplomatic complications. As for James Kirk and his crew, Starfleet command is still deliberating. I will update you a moment a decision is reached. Ostler out.

T.C.:

The screen goes dark. Picard sits a moment and then inhales. Thoughts?

Alien:

It feels wrong, captain. Sending them to a starbase, putting their fates into Federation hands?

Klingon:

Protocol leaves us little choice. They know too much of the future. We don't even know if they can return to their own time.

Geordi:

The anomaly is dissipating rapidly. In the next few hours, it'll be entirely gone.

Klingon:

I wish I could bend the rules, but we must turn them over.

David:

Sir, with respect. I'll be glad when they're no longer on the ship causing trouble.

Kirk:

Admit it though, seeing them in action, worth every minute.

T.C.:

They're legends. Then, Crusher's eyes widen. She nearly rises from her chair.

Alien:

Jean Luc, they have to go back.

T.C.:

Everyone turns to her. Doctor Crusher? She's smiling, amused that it didn't cross her mind sooner.

Alien:

I've read doctor McCoy's book, every doctor in Starfleet has. And? And he hasn't written it yet. If that book exists in our time, then doctor McCoy has to return to his time in order to write it.

Sulu:

This represents a temporal inconsistency. How odd we did not consider this sooner. Why would we have history that both tells of Kirk and Cruise disappearance and yet proof that they did not disappear?

Kirk:

That's a hell of a question.

T.C.:

Data tilts his head, accessing memory.

Sulu:

The energy profile could suggest deliberate modulation and not a natural phenomenon. What does that mean? Commander Spock said it two days ago. At the time, I believed he was incorrect in his hypothesis. Doctor Crusher's observation now supports commander Spock's belief.

Sulu:

If the timeline already depends upon doctor McCoy's unwritten work, then logically, Captain Kirk and his crew should be allowed to return.

T.C.:

All eyes turn to Picard. He considers slow, deep, meaningful.

Klingon:

Yes. I believe you're correct.

Kirk:

You're sure, captain.

Klingon:

I am. It feels right.

Sulu:

You are leading with your gut, sir.

Klingon:

Yes, mister Data. I believe I am.

T.C.:

Off the crew exchanging glances, relief, wonder, and resolve settling over them. Interior shuttle bay later. The small twenty third century shuttle prepped in waiting. The entire gathered group gives the moment a ceremonial wait. Worf and Shekov face one another.

Klingon:

Thank you for spending time with me, lieutenant Worf. I enjoyed it very much.

T.C.:

Worf looks down at the much smaller man.

Yorak:

I was assigned to guard you.

Klingon:

Duh. I know, but it was still nice.

Yorak:

And under my supervision, you are very honorable.

T.C.:

Check off beams. Across the bay, Kirk and Picard stand face to face.

Klingon:

It has been an honor.

Kirk:

And a pleasure, Captain Picard.

Klingon:

May fortune favor you Captain Kirk.

T.C.:

Kirk gives a faint lopsided small. Please, call me Jim. Picard nods honoring it.

Klingon:

Safe travels, Jim.

T.C.:

Kirk extends his hand and they shake. Crusher steps up to Bones. For a moment, they simply look at each other, both trying to find the words and failing.

Alien:

Take care of yourself, Leonard.

T.C.:

And you, Beverly. She leans in and kisses him gently on the cheek. Bones grins. He takes a moment and then. Hell with it.

T.C.:

He takes her into his arms, dips her and passionately kisses her. Kirk passing by on

Kirk:

his way to the shuttle. We almost died in like a time explosion but I'm glad this is great for you. I'm really happy for you. It was great.

T.C.:

McCoy McCoy sets Beverly upright, she smooths her hair. Deanna smiles beside her. Bone steps away without looking at Kirk as he passes. A word gem, not a single word unlike you don't get an alien on every planet you face. Kirk claps his old friend on the shoulder and steps aboard the shuttle.

T.C.:

You got me there. The ramp slides shut with a final hiss. Picard and his crew stand there watching the shuttle lift off the pad and float smoothly through the force field and out into space. In the shuttle, Sue glides them towards the anomaly. Are we sure this is going to work?

Kirk:

We're about to find out.

T.C.:

Ohura braces herself at the console. Scotty mutters a quiet prayer to every deity he's never believed in. Chekhov stares in wide eyed wonder, and Bones clutches the arm of his seat, the anomaly. The shuttle glides toward the radiant vortex. The surface ripples, bends, invites, and then is swallowed whole in a flash of blinding eternity.

T.C.:

Kirk sits, eyes forward, unblinking. The universe fractures and multiplies. Colors bleed into impossible hues. Star lines twist like ribbons. Time folds into itself, echoes of the past and future voices whispering through the hall.

T.C.:

Their bodies stretch, compress, distort and then stillness. The surreal storm around them freezes mid motion. Particles of light hang suspended like dust motes in amber. Sulu's hands remain mid stretch, Ophirah's hair locks mid sway, Chekhov's shoulders stilled, bones is frozen, his mouth half open mid protest. Even Kirk is immobilized, caught between now and always.

T.C.:

Everything is paused except one, Spock. He stands perfectly composed, perfectly calm, unaffected by the halts of reality and the shuttle disappears around him into white nothingness. He turns his head ever so slightly, not startled, not confused, simply acknowledging the inevitable.

Uhura:

I was wondering if and when you would ever reveal yourself.

T.C.:

From the eternal white void now surrounding Spock, a figure strides forward, a humanoid clapping in a slow, pleased rhythm. He has dark hair, a uniform identical to Spock's, and amused grin on his face. Very good, mister Spock. Very good. Oh, I simply have to know when.

T.C.:

When did you detect me?

Uhura:

Before I may answer that, I would like to know who you are.

T.C.:

Yes. Yes. Of course. Of course. You may call me Q.

T.C.:

Spock raises an eyebrow.

Uhura:

And what are you? Oh, such good questions,

T.C.:

mister Spock. I am part of the Q continuum. Think of us as everything your science has not yet found words for. Spock studies him, hands clasped behind his back.

Uhura:

It became quite clear that you are a being of vast ability, manipulation of time, space, consciousness and perception.

T.C.:

And modest too. Yes. Yes. Yes. All of that.

T.C.:

All of that. Now then, when mister Spock, when did you first detect me?

Uhura:

My first suspicion arose within the anomaly station. The environment was too precise. Every chamber, every corridor, every artifact curated. Engineering puzzles tailored for mister Scott. Linguistic challenges crafted for lieutenant Dathura, ritual combats and relics fit for general Jorak, even a facsimile of Vulcan glyph formations designed to appeal to myself and for the captain, the mystery of it all, the possibilities of it all.

Uhura:

What you might call in human parlance, a honey pot.

T.C.:

A honey pot. Really, mister Spock, I am capable of subtlety.

Uhura:

Your actions throughout this experience indicate otherwise. And yet, you said nothing. There was nothing to be said, I elected to observe.

T.C.:

Which is exactly what I was doing. You see, mister Spock, you are the control and your dear friend, James T. Kirk, he is the variable. Spock's expression changes only a millimeter. Oh, god.

T.C.:

This has been such fun. Such fun. Think about it. Any good experiment requires a stable element and a chaotic one. You remain steadfast, logical, dependable, reliable as gravity.

T.C.:

But Jim, Jim Kirk breaks gravity. Time. Time and again across universes, timelines, branches, divergences. He bends the rules, breaks them, rewrites them, then breaks them, and rewrites them again. He is chaos wrapped in idealism, instinct wrapped in strategy, and somehow, somehow, he always chooses the right thing in the end.

Uhura:

You orchestrated all of this merely to study captain Kirk? Study, my dear Vulcan. I needed to know if I pulled him from everything familiar at the moment he was

T.C.:

getting everything he ever wanted and snatched it away. If I confronted him with an enemy who believed himself a god. If time and space cracked around him like the moment of his birth, what would James T. Kirk do? Would he break the universe to win?

T.C.:

Would he defy logic and fate, causality? Would he cling to life, to ego, to legacy? But no, he didn't. When he could have killed his enemy and taken a god relic for his own to get back home to his love and his life, the victory was finally in his grasp. He chose to lose.

T.C.:

He sacrificed what he wanted most. He surrendered the future he fought for to protect the one he didn't belong in. He protected everyone else instead of himself, and he did not disappoint. You've got to admit it mister Spock. Even you find him, oh, how do you put it?

T.C.:

Fascinating. Spock says nothing. Q nods, satisfied. He waves his hands and they are once again on the frozen shuttle. Q looks at Kirk with admiration, and that is why I chose him.

T.C.:

Why I nudged the odds, why I placed little stars in his path, why I whispered through anomalies and probabilities, because beings like Kirk are rare, pivotal, chaos engines that shape the fate of entire eras. And you, mister Spock, you get to keep playing at his side unpredictable as he is. Begins to build around them. As for me, I think it's time I tested Jean Luc, he has promise. Spock lifts an eyebrow at that.

T.C.:

Fare well, mister Spock. The rest is up to you, to all of you now. Do not disappoint me or your legacy. The void cracks with white lights and Spock closes his eyes against the blinding infinity. The anomaly station, Kirk is standing with Garmoth at the spear.

T.C.:

Kirk steps back with a gasp and looks around.

Yorak:

In the old stories, the greatest weapons were forged from the bones of dead gods. This looks like such a thing.

Scotty:

I thought the Klingons killed all their gods.

Yorak:

We did, but that does not mean there are remnants of their influence. History echoes James Kirk.

T.C.:

Kirk is fully aware now. He whips around.

Kirk:

Gormoth, we have to go. Now.

Yorak:

What is it, captain? Your act

Kirk:

of third brief bird of prey is about to drop out of wharf and attack us. Signal your ship. Now, commander.

T.C.:

Gormath only hesitates for a moment. He presses his communicator.

Yorak:

Mektor, raise shields immediately.

T.C.:

Kirk pulls out his communicator.

Kirk:

Kirk to Enterprise, shields up. Three Klingon birds of prey's en route.

T.C.:

Kirk and Garmoth move briskly through the station. They are met by their crews. Uhura, Scotty, Bones, Sul and Chekov all have the same look on their faces as Kirk. Captain, we're back.

Kirk:

I know. If And we remember, you are Equal too. Enterprise, as soon as they drop out of war, fire on the lead ship. It'll have a red insignia across it. Acknowledged.

T.C.:

A thunderous sound above. Three Klingon birds of prey drop out of warp. A salvo of phaser fire rips from the Enterprise and kaboom. The lead bird of prey jerks hard, its wings shattering. Gormoth looks up shook.

T.C.:

Kirk exhales relieved. Bone stands beside him and puts a hand on his shoulder.

Bones:

You did it, Chuck.

Bones:

Against all odds, you did it again.

T.C.:

Kirk looks at his crew with pride. They all stand together. No. We did it. They stand there watching the bird of prey burn and the Enterprise looming over the three vessels.

Kirk:

Captain's log, stardate 7403.5. Starfleet command, hearing room.

T.C.:

Kirk in full dress uniform stands at attention before a semicircle of senior admirals. Holographic displays show the Klingon battle cruiser, the anomaly, and maps of the border regions.

Kirk:

Starfleet command has concluded its review of the events surrounding the temporal incursion and the Klingon sedition. My crew and I have given our full testimony.

T.C.:

He stands composed, honorable, resolute. The admirals nod to him with respect. Interior Klingon high council chamber, torches blaze, the great hall is roaring with fury. Tubac wax on his drag before the high command, shrieking protest, Yorak shackled in chains heavy enough to restrain a beast that shoved beside him.

Klingon:

Tupac Waxon, commander Yorak, you stand accused of treason, sedition, and dishonor against the empire.

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Klingons put out their fists and starve in condemnation. Tubek stands in silence. Yorak snarls defiant, but even he looks small beneath the judgment of his own people.

Kirk:

The Klingon Empire has begun proceedings to try Yorak and ambassador Tubek for their crimes. Justice, it seems, will be handled in its

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own time. A council member spits at Yorak's feet. Enterprise a, Kirk's ready room. Kirk stands there, staring at his room. He nods to it with finality.

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He exits the room. As for me. Regula Station, sunrise, a soft golden horizon washes across the domes and struts of a remote scientific station. The world is quiet, calm. At the landing pad, Kirk steps down from the shuttle ramp in civilian attire, duffel bag slung over one shoulder.

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He inhales the cool air steady and certain.

Kirk:

This will be my final entry as captain of the USS Enterprise.

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Kirk steps forward hearing a familiar voice. God. David rushes across the pad. Kirk's face breaks open with pure joy. He sweeps David up into his arms, lifting him easily, holding him with a depth of love that silences all galaxies or doubt.

Kirk:

It is time for me to begin my next great adventure, not as captain, but as a father.

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Carol approaches, warm, hopeful. Jim sets David down and she reaches for his arm. Jim offers it without hesitation. She squeezes his hand. Jim leans into her, gentle and sure, they kiss.

Kirk:

And as husband.

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They walk together across the quiet platform toward the rising sun. David holding his father's hand, Carol at his side. Kirk breathing in a future he never let himself imagine. The light grows brighter, Kirk's voice softens into closure. Endwalk.

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They disappear into the glow and the Enterprise Bridge comes into focus. The bridge hums with calm purpose. Stations glow, the captain's chair sits empty waiting. We pan across the crew. At the helm sits Suli, hands poised with familiar ease.

Scotty:

We hear the turbolift whoosh. Captain on the bridge.

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Bones strolls in first, leaning on the rear rail as though he's already exhausted.

Bones:

Oh, how about an easy assignment this time, some place cocktails and music?

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We continue to pan to Chekhov at tactical posture proud and eager. All systems ready, captain. Scotty, sitting at engineering.

Uhura:

Everything's running smooth as an Andorian slullaby.

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And then, Spock at the science station, calm, focused, certain.

Uhura:

Ready when you are, captain.

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And we pan to the center seat where Uhura steps into frame. Her hair is tightly pulled back, her uniform immaculate, her command pits gleamed. She lowers herself confidently into the captain's chair. Sulu turns toward her. Heading, sir.

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Uhura leans back, eyes narrowed with anticipation and wonder. A slow thrilled smile rises.

Uhura:

Take us to the edge of everything we know, and then go further.

T.C.:

The crew turns forward, unified. The stars stretch before them, endless and bright. Cut to black, the end. This has been a presentation of Six Five Media and the Studio Demands It. Star Trek Legacies written by T.

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C. De Witt and Jim Burzelic starring Craig Lee Thomas, Arnold Van Horn, Travis Joe Dixon, Simone Boyce, Andy Lee, Devin Schollin, Danny J. Scott, Renee Michelle Aranda, Samantha Gregory, Andy Loud, Scott Woodard, Will Ward, Nick Nachman, Steve Gassett, Michael Sullivan,

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Star Trek and all related marks, logos, and characters are solely owned by CBS Studios Incorporated. This fan production is not endorsed by, sponsored by, nor affiliated with CBS, Paramount Pictures, or any other Star Trek franchise, and is a non commercial fan made film intended for recreational use. No commercial exhibition or distribution is permitted. No alleged independent rights will be asserted against CBS or Paramount Pictures. We want to clarify that this reading is produced out of admiration and love for Star Trek.

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If CBS Studios has any concerns over the table read of this original script, rather than suing us, hire us. We are ready, willing, and clearly capable of crafting a Trek movie and we are enthusiastic about the opportunity to contribute to the franchise in a collaborative and legal manner.