Chapter 1

Cottleston, cottleston, cottleston pie,
A fly can't bird but a bird can fly.
Ask me a riddle and I reply,
"Cottleston, cottleston, cottleston pie."

      "So, as you humans might ask, what is the moral of the story?" The old Andorian looked down at his padd and selected a name at random. "Cadet McCarthy?"
      There was a rustling to his left, and a tall young man stood nervously. He cleared his throat. "Um, never underestimate your enemy?"
      Thrast shook his head. "Wrong. Sit down. Anyone else?"
      A hand went up right in front of him, but he opted for another hand in the back. "Yes?" he said, pointing.
      This time it was a young Vulcan woman who rose from her seat. "Always respect your enemy," she said, her voice lilting with certainty.
      "Close, but not quite. Rather like your answer to the essay question on the last exam, eh, T'Kyla? Sit down. Anyone else?"
      Again, the hand went up directly in front of him. And again, he ignored it, choosing another name from the class roster.
      "Um, I don't know."
      "Correct. You may take your seat."
      Thrast paused briefly. This was not going well. "Does anyone know the most important thing to remember in tactics?"
      The hand went up right in front of him.
      Thrast sighed. Besides you, I mean, he thought. Out loud he said, "Yes, Cadet Blake?"
      A tall, solid human man, several years older than the rest of the class, stood. "Always know your enemy," his deep voice rumbled. Without waiting for permission he sat down again.
      "Correct," said Thrast, ignoring the break in protocol. "The others were close. If you know your enemy, you will never underestimate him," he said, nodding at McCarthy. "And in knowing your enemy you will come to respect him," he said, nodding at T'Kyla.
      Thrast looked out over the class. Blank stares met him, interspersed with a couple of understanding nods. And, of course, Cadet Blake.
      Thrast blinked. "This concludes our course in general tactics. Over the last five weeks before finals we will look at specific tactical maneuvers, and their significance in our history." He deactivated his padd, preparing to leave. "Class dismissed."
      The immediate rustling noise that followed this announcement stopped when he said, "Oh, and one other thing." Thrast smiled inwardly, watching the looks on their faces. "The Kobayashi Maru schedule has been posted." This time he smiled outwardly. "Have a pleasant evening." And he hobbled out of the room.
      The room stayed silent as everyone else filtered out.

      Immediately after Thrast dropped the Kobayashi Maru bomb on Tactics 8750, the class met again, this time looking at the computer schedule outside the Simulations Building.
      "Oh, god, mine's next month."
      "Quit moaning. At least you've got all month to prepare."
      "How do you prepare for the Kobayashi Maru? Read up on methods of hari kari?"
      "At least we're not first. You know what they say about the ones they make go first."
      "Who is first?"
      "Crossfire. Who else?"
      "Serves him right."

      The room was tidy, as far as cadet dormatory rooms go. Both beds were made, and there were only a few pairs of underwear on the floor. The two desks were cluttered with texts and padds; on one the computer terminal was still on.
      The walls on one side of the room were decorated with posters of either scantily clad women in suggestive poses or latest fighter craft--sometimes both in the same picture. One wall had a facsimilie picture of a huge cube-shaped ship floating in orbit around the Earth. Three blowdarts and a dagger were stuck into it.
      The walls on the other half of the room were bare, except for one old-fashioned compound bow that was hanging next to the closet doors.
      The door booped quietly as the lock was disengaged and the door opened. A tall, thin young man wearing a rumpled and dirty sweatsuit, which bore the nametag "ORR", limped in and sank down onto his bed with a sigh. He was followed by the older Cadet Blake, who was also in sweats and was carrying two sets of fencing equipment.
      "Someday you're going to kill me, Zeph," said the one on the bed. He had taken off his shoes and was massaging his right ankle.
      "Chris," said the other as he started puting away the equipment, "it's not my fault you're a clutz." He turned to look at his roommate, revealing the nametag on his sweats which read "CROSSFIRE". "Do you need to go to the infirmary?"
      "Will you stop asking me that? You sound like my mother. It's not that bad. I just tripped, that's all." Chris rotated his foot in demonstration. "See? Everything's fine." He stretched back on the bed, smiling indulgently. "Besides, I think I'll have Jenna look at it later."
      "Ah yes, I forgot you had a date tonight." Crossfire sat down at his terminal and keyed it on. "Where are you two going tonight?"
      Chris sat up. "Um, actually, I was thinking we'd just have dinner here. . ."
      Crossfire turned, half-smiling. "No. Oh, no. I'm not spending the night in the library again, just so you can get laid."
      "I'd do it for you," said Chris in a mock-hurt tone. "That is, if you ever got a girlfriend."
      Crossfire turned back to his terminal. "I'm too busy for that," he said, typing rapidly across the keyboard.
      "Are you checking the Kobayashi Maru schedule?" asked Chris as he rose from his bed and hobbled over to the mirror hanging on the closet door.
      "Yes, and so is everybody else," said Crossfire, annoyed by the PLEASE WAIT FOR ACCESS message flashing on his screen. He frowned, then slapped the side of the viewer with a loud THUNK.
      "At least you didn't give me a black eye this time," said Chris, prodding at his face in the mirror.
      "Oh, god, there he goes again," remarked Crossfire to the air. "Looking at himself in the mirror." His voice assumed a somewhat deep falsetto. "Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who's the fairest one of all?"
      "You're just jealous, that's all," said Chris, striking a pose in the mirror, trying to show off his jawline.
      "Oh, puh-lease," said Crossfire. "Jealous of what?"
      Chris stuck his chin out even further, and said airly, "Oh, just my good looks." He turned his head for a profile look. "My intelligence. My sophistication..."
      "...Your imagination," interrupted Crossfire, then he turned back to the terminal screen as the computer chirped, indicating access to the scheduling account. He read what was there and sat back in surprise. "You busy next Tuesday?"
      Chris was still flexing in the mirror. "Are you asking me out? I don't think I can accept a proposal this early in the season."
      "Hmmm," said Crossfire thoughtfully, ignoring his roommate.
      Something in his voice caught Chris' attention. He hobbled over to the desk and looked over Crossfire's broad shoulder at the schedule. "Uh-oh," he said. "You're first."
      Crossfire nodded. "I was hoping for a little more time."
      "That's not what I meant," said Chris, sitting down on Crossfire's bed, still looking at the schedule.
      "What did you mean?" Crossfire turned in his chair to look at his friend.
      "You don't know what they say about going first on the Kobayashi Maru?"
      Crossfire shook his head.
      Chris stood up again. "Never mind, then," he said, limping back to the closet.
      Crossfire's eyes narrowed. He growled. "Don't play games with me, Goldenboy. I'm not in the mood."
      "You really don't know what they say?" Chris looked at him, surprised.
      Crossfire shook his head, dismissing the turn in the conversation. "I don't care what They Say. 'They Say' is the biggest liar in the world. Right now, all I want to know is one thing: will you be my Tactical?"
      Chris blinked. "Of course. I said I would a long time ago, remember?"
      Crossfire nodded. "Good."
      A smile started to break on Chris' face. "Of course, you'll owe me a favor..."
      Crossfire rolled his eyes. "All right, I'll find someplace else to stay tonight."
      "Thanks, man, you're great." Chris grabbed his towel and, without a trace of his limp, headed for the shower.
      Crossfire turned back to the terminal. Seven days. That's all he had to prepare. Seven days.
      Seven days full of the usual regimen for a Senior at Starfleet Academy: Simulations, classes, studying, extracurricular activities. And now this. Crossfire looked wistfully at his unused and mournfully appealing bed.
      Instead he sighed and reached for a padd, starting up the tactics algorithm that Thrast had taught him. In the bathroom Chris started to sing an old Irish song about getting married and going off to sail the sea. Off-key.

"My Mary, my missus, my lass from Kildare,
Took it well, sent me off with a kiss and a prayer..."

      Chris never seemed to have any problems. He wasn't taking any fewer classes than Crossfire. He wasn't doing fewer extracurricular activities. He, too, was scheduled to take the Kobayashi Maru test, as well as the other simulations that Crossfire was likewise scheduled for.
      "But does he ever have any problems with time? Nooooooooooo," Crossfire whispered to himself. "He not only does it all better than me, but still finds time to have a life." He breathed out another sigh. "I wouldn't be surprised if he could fly, too."

"And I wish that I knew if her heart was still mine,
Or if all I have left is the Bermuda line..."

      "Ugh," said Crossfire, and opened his eyes. The padd was still there. On the terminal screen, Crossfire was still scheduled to take the Kobayashi Maru test in seven days. In the bathroom, Chris was still singing. Still off-key.

"And the Bermuda Line has been running,
Since long before I was a boy,
And it's brought me a parcel of troubles,
And maybe a few of my joys."

      Crossfire rubbed his eyes, then looked again. Padd. Screen. Both still there, unchanged.
      Chris had stopped singing, though.
      "Jenna's due to come by about twenty hundred," Chris' voice filtered through the door.
      Crossfire glanced at the chronometer readout on the terminal screen. "You mean in about ten minutes?" He asked, keeping his voice level.
      Chris walked out of the bathroom wearing only a grin and walked over to the closet. "Oh, is it that late already?"
      "I won't even have a chance to shower," grumbled Crossfire. "Thanks, pal."
      Chris turned. If it were possible for someone to be naked and look contrite, Chris managed it. "I'm sorry, Zeph. We can go out to dinner if you want us to." He started to dress rapidly.
      Crossfire shook his head, and gathered up his padd and a few other things. "Nope. I'll be okay."
      On his way out, Crossfire nearly bumped into Jenna, a fellow cadet who was specializing in Medical.
      "Hi Zeph," said Jenna, smiling. She tilted her head in that endearing way that made male hearts of many species go thump-thump. "How come whenever I come over, you're always on your way out?"
      Crossfire paused, looking first at Jenna, then at Chris. "Because I have to see Chris' bare ass enough as it is," he said, smiling. He had the gratification of hearing Jenna laugh hysterically and seeing Chris blush as he turned and left the room.
      Outside was a beautiful early spring evening. Just turning cold, since winter was only a few weeks gone. Crossfire breathed in the air, smelling the bay. He trotted over to the library and secluded himself in his usual place, up on the top floor, far back in the corner, behind the ancient book shelves.
      He pulled out his padd and once again keyed up the Thrast's tactics algorithm. In the back of his head, he could almost hear Thrast's voice on that rainy fall day, seven months and a million years ago.
      You must first identify the facets of the situation that faces you before you can even begin to decide on a tactical solution. Sometimes this will happen instinctively: if the situation is simple, solutions are obvious. Complex situations can at first seem insoluble and therefore hopeless, but, like anything, just take the problem one step at a time.
      Start by identifying your goal. The goal can be as simple as self-preservation or as complex as the most complicated set of orders. Be specific.
      The next step is to identify the obstacles you will face in trying to achieve your goal. If your goal is self-preservation, then the obvious obstacles could include the Romulan aiming a disruptor at you and the Denebian Slime Devil to your left. But be reasonable; do not give in to the temptation complicate your obstacles unnecessarily. In addition to the Romulan and the Slime Devil, another threat to your goal of self-preservation could be that nasty cold you're coming down with. But the nasty cold is irrelevant to the two immediate problems of disruptors and teeth.
      Once you've identified your goals and your obstacles, you must identify your assets. These include anything that might solve any one of the obstacles you identified previously, such as a Mark II phaser or a cannister of Devil-B-Gone gas. However, just as with your obstacles, do not be over-generous with your assets. A bird in your hand is worth nothing if the Slime Devil eats them both.
      Then you can start to decide in a tactical plan. Do not be disheartened by a large number of obstacles and small number of assets. History is full of people who saved the universe using only their brains and a piece of string.
      Crossfire started up the algorithm on his padd.
      "GOAL:" blinked on the screen in front of his eyes. He typed:
      GOAL: To beat the no-win scenario.
      "Hah, hah," he said to himself sarcastically.
      The screen now read "KNOWN OBSTACLES:" He typed.
      KNOWN OBSTACLES: the Borg.
      Was that it? The Kobayashi Maru didn't always involve some alien menace. Often, it did, but on occasion it used a much simpler situation to surprise the testee.
      Crossfire rubbed his eyes. But he knew it was going to be the Borg. It had to be.
      The only problem was, nobody knew how the Borg acted. Nobody really seemed to understand them very well. So that made them very unpredictable, and very dangerous enemies.
      Crossfire blinked. If nobody knew how the Borg acted, how could anyone program a realistic simulation of them? They couldn't, could they?
      And why did it even have to be the Borg in the test? Why not something else?
      Crossfire leaned back in his chair, thinking. He didn't really have enough information to start formulating a tactical plan yet. Because he didn't really know what the obstacles were.
      "What do I know?" he whispered to himself. "I know it's going to be a no-win scenario. That is what the Kobayashi Maru is." The Kobayashi Maru test is the most dreaded of all the command tests given at Star Fleet Academy. Half command test and half psychological test, all the cadets knew was that it was supposedly a no-win scenario.
      He sighed again. I hate loosing, he thought to himself. I have a feeling I'm going to hate the Kobayashi Maru.
      Just how did they decide what the test involved? Though the cadet taking the simulation never knew until the time he walked into the simulator exactly what he was going to be doing, a few Kobayashi Maru scenarios were widely known. The combat simulation was one. Overwhelming odds, all hands abandon ship.
      The Peaceful Misunderstanding was another. The aliens say, "We come in peace" but the Universal Translator translates that as "We're going to blow you up." Red alert.
      Save The Crew was a third. The Away Team is trapped by something. Get them out without killing anyone. This one was nicknamed The Denebian Slime Devil test.
      Sometimes the instructors tailored a situation to the particular cadet. On a few occasions, cadets had sent their fully armed ships roaring into completely peaceful situations.
      In fact, in each situation the instructors chose what would be most likely be the worst no-win scenario for the cadet in question. Then it was just a matter of stacking the odds. Put enough Borg ships into any simulation, and it doesn't matter if they don't act like real Borg or not...they'll still blow up a lone starship.
      So, Crossfire thought, for me, what is the worst possible scenario? The answer was immediate: loosing to the Borg.
      Okay, that answers that question. It does have to be the Borg, because...
      Crossfire's breath caught, and he frowned. It had to be the Borg, because the instructors would make it that way.
      And how would the Borg act?
      However the instructors programmed them to act.
      Crossfire let out the breath he'd been holding, and started to smile.

Chapter 2

Cottleston, cottleston, cottleston pie.
A fish can't whistle and neither can I.
Ask me a riddle and I reply,
"Cottleston, cottleston, cottleston pie."

      Crossfire watched, incredulous, as the other cadet rapidly, and noisily, made his way away from Crossfire. In the wrong direction. Crossfire gritted his teeth and tensed up, waiting to see if the fool would give him away.
      The blue-white Endorian sun shone down on him, and Crossfire could feel himself starting to sweat, though from more than just the thick heat. The dry, dead underbrush scratched against the camulflaged uniform he was wearing--the same uniform he'd insisted his entire team wear. Any advantage, especially when the odds were so bad, should be taken.
      Crossfire crested the hill and stopped. Down below was the Separatist's camp. Crossfire looked briefly but could see no humans. No Federation hostages.
      But not to worry. There were plenty of Endorians down there. Lots of them. Yup. No need to feel lonely or anything. Let's see...fifteen of them, plus any number more inside the small prefab huts.
      A brief movement caught his eye. Another member of his team was sneaking toward her assigned position. She was sneaking by walking around in plain sight.
      Crossfire groaned, and wiped the sweat off his brow.
      He looked over at the small tree where Chris was supposed to be. After a second, he saw him, but only because he knew what to look for. Chris was oggling at him, probably wondering what he was doing up here instead of circling around the back like they'd planned.
      "2 idiot," Crossfire signed with his right hand. Chris nodded softly, smiling a little.
      "What's so funny, huh?" Crossfire whispered, annoyed.
      Suddenly from below came alarmed shouts from several voices. Crossfire watched as the Endorians started to move toward where Lefty was sneaking around.
      "Go, go, gadget idiot," Crossfire smiled. "Right on time."
      Meanwhile, Idiot #2 broke her cover and started to move to assist Lefty. Between the two of them, they effectively provided enough distraction to empty the Endorian camp. As planned.
      Crossfire rose to a crouch, drew his phaser and ran swiftly down the hill. He turned the corner, quietly stunned the two guards, and burst into the hut.
      "Admiral, Ambassadors, let's go," he said curtly.
      Picard blinked. "I beg your pardon?"
      Another man and one woman were sitting on the dirt with Picard. All of them had their hands bound behind their backs. Crossfire moved quickly to free them.
      "Good to see you, Kiddo," said Ambassador Kennedy. She smiled, then hoisted herself up.
      Picard was next. He cast a disapproving eye at Crossfire, frowning. Last, Crossfire freed Ambassador Spock. "It's an honor, sir," he whispered.
      Spock arched his famous eyebrow. "Indeed," he said.
      "If you're through playing hero, Cadet," came Picard's icy voice. Crossfire helped the elderly Spock to his feet and then went to the door. He peered out, listening.
      Off in the distance he heard the reports of phaser fire. Heavy stun. The Wonder Twins were still in action, Crossfire realized, smiling a little.
      Crossfire looked over his shoulder, motioning the hostages forward. "Let's go." He left the hut, keeping low.
      The trio ran across the camp toward Chris' position in the treeline. Suddenly Crossfire heard heavy footsteps to their left, and he crouched aground. As soon as the two Endorians turned the corner around the hut, they ran right into stun beams from Crossfire's phaser. He had just caught his breath when he heard more footsteps from behind, from close behind. Crossfire whirled, knowing it was too late.
      Then two phaser beams, fired from Chris' position in the trees, lanced over his head, striking the two guards. They fell backwards into heaps in the dust.
      In an instant, Crossfire was up again, motioning the others to follow. Picard and Spock came forward first, Kennedy followed as rapidly as she could. "Hurry now," Crossfire said.
      They reached the trees a moment later. Chris lept down from his hiding place, the branches he'd tied to himself for camulflage shaking loose and falling to the ground. "Aren't you going to introduce me, Zeph?" he said, smiling.
      "No," said Crossfire. He tapped his com badge. "Team Leader to units two and three. Break off." To the rest of the people, he said, "Let's get to the beamout site."
      Chris turned and started to head off when Picard's tight, angry voice said, "Enough of this."
      Crossfire turned to look at him.
      "Is there a problem, sir?" he asked.
      Picard stared at him with his grey eyes. "Computer, end simulation," he said, his voice grim.
      First Spock and Kennedy disappeared. Then, all around them, the entire countryside faded, replaced with the yellow Holodeck grid.
      "Tell me, Cadet Blake," Picard said, stepping forward with each word, "How do you justify sacrificing two members of your rescue team?"
      Crossfire tried to meet Picard's gaze calmly. Inside he was shaking. Picard had never shouted at him like this before. Never. He felt bewildered, confused...and a little scared.
      Then anger flashed up. Anger at Picard, anger at himself for being scared. Crossfire took a deep, shaky breath. "If they hadn't been programmed to act like idiots, they'd still be alive right now."
      "So just because they were holographic simulations, they're expendable?" Picard's voice was still dangerously quiet.
      Crossfire gritted his teeth. "Not any more so than the other prisoners, or the guards," he said, then immediately regretted it.
      "THAT IS NOT THE POINT!" Picard roared. He paused, then said in that same quiet tone, "You still have not explained why you sacrificed two members of your team."
      "I did NOT sacrifice them," said Crossfire. "YOU did."
      Picard blinked.
      "Wasn't it you who designed this scenario, Admiral?" asked Crossfire. Picard didn't respond; the question was rhetorical. "Then you're the one who programmed the two other people to act like idiots. You killed them, not me." Crossfire watched Picard's face for a moment, but it didn't change in the least. "Neither myself, nor Cadet Orr--the only two people in this scenario who obeyed orders--were injured. The hostages were rescued uninjured..."
      "That isn't the point either," Picard cut him off. "The point of this scenario is to demonstrate that you can't anticipate every detail of a mission. You did not anticipate the actions of the other two members of your team correctly. They died because of your mistake."
      Crossfire smiled. Just a little. "I did anticipate their behavior, Admiral. I knew they were programmed to try and botch the mission. So I used them in the only way I could: as a distraction. I was then able to rescue the hostages and escape uninjured."
      "And you sacrificed two members of your team to do it!" shouted Picard.
      "No, you did. Sir," said Crossfire, as quietly as he could. "Reprogram the simulation so that the other two people don't act like idiots, and EVERYBODY will get out alive."
      It was Picard who smiled slightly, this time. "Did it ever occur to you, Cadet, that you might be in command of a team where some of the members might be idiots?"
      Crossfire did not blanch like the other Cadets did when faced with this question. His reply was simple and to the point: "Yes. Sir."
      Picard blinked again.
      Crossfire continued. "And if I found myself in that situation, I would have aborted the mission. Sir."
      "Then why didn't you abort this mission, Cadet?" Picard was once again face-to-face with Crossfire. "Why did you sacrifice those members of your team as a distraction? To beat this scenario, you don't rescue the hostages, you don't loose your team members...you abort the mission."
      Suddenly Picard pulled back. Crossfire still met his stare, though without confidence. He understood. Now. He hadn't even thought of aborting the mission. And it's not like he hadn't had plenty of opportunities to call it off. He knew from the profiles of the characters how they would act during the simulation. He knew during the briefing, from the questions they asked. He knew, and he still went through with it. Why? Because he had wanted to beat the Picard Scenario, in spite of its tricks and traps.
      Picard nodded slightly, watching the Cadet's face change. "The safety of your team, whether real or simulated, takes precedence over your pride." He paused, letting the last remark sink in, and then continued. "There will be times when you will have to make the decision to sacrifice your men. But you must never do it for foolish reasons." He watched the Cadet for a moment.
      "Dismissed," said Picard.
      Crossfire turned and walked from the holodeck.

Chapter 3

Cottleston, cottleston, cottleston pie.
Why does a chicken, I don't know why.
Ask me a riddle and I reply,
"Cottleston, cottleston, cottleston pie."

      Chris walked into the dorm room and stopped short. Nothing had changed from this morning. "Zeph? You in here?" He called. No response.
      He tossed his pack onto his bed. "Computer, locate Cadet Zephiram Blake."
      After a few whirrs, the computer spoke. "Cadet Blake is located in his quarters, Dormatory 10, Room 217."
      Chris started, and looked around, expecting to see Crossfire lurking in the closet, or something. Still no one here. Then he saw Crossfire's insignia laying on the desk. "Shit," he said. That was bad.
      The comm panel booped. "Cadet Blake," came Picard's crisp voice from the panel.
      Uh-oh, thought Chris. "Viewer on," he said. The terminal on his desk lit up revealing Picard's visage. "Sir, Crossfire isn't here."
      "This was a general page. Why did the computer locate him here?" Picard's voice was without any indication of emotion.
      Brief thoughts that Picard might, in fact, be a Vulcan flitted through Chris' mind. He cleared his throat. "Um, Crossfire left his insignia here when he left."
      For the first time since Chris had seen him, Picard looked alarmed. His face only shifted very slightly, but it was still a reaction. "That's against regulations."
      Chris nodded. Crossfire would never break regulations, not without a very good reason. And there was only one reason to leave your com badge behind.
      "Has he resigned?" Asked Picard.
      "I don't know, sir." Chris thought about saying more, but then a flash of annoyance with Picard held him back.
      Picard waited, still expecting Chris to say something. A long, uncomfortable silence spun out. Finally, Chris said solicitously, "Shall I take a message, sir?"
      Picard frowned, letting Chris see what he looked like when he was annoyed. "Is there a problem, Cadet Orr?"
      "A problem, sir? No, sir, I don't believe so, sir." Chris felt his voice start to rise, breaking his air of forced, artificial formality, but couldn't stop himself. "Crossfire always acts like he's resigning, sir. Every day, sir."
      Picard's face iced over. "Cadet Orr," he said, "if you cannot be more helpful, I shall be forced to locate Cadet Blake myself."
      Chris understood the unspoken threat. If the Commandant of Starfleet Academy caught a Cadet off-grounds without his comm badge, there would be hell to pay. Chris took a breath. "I know where he is, sir," he said softly.
      Picard nodded. "Then find him, Cadet."
      "I'll inform you immediately," said Chris, already rising.
      "No," said Picard. "Just find him."
      Chris stared at Picard, unsure of what to say next. "Admiral," he said as Picard looked like he was about to sign off, "he just wants to be alone. He's not going to do anything...stupid."
      Again, Picard nodded. "Then do what you think is best. Picard out." And the screen changed to the "END COMMUNICATION" logo.
      Chris rose, heading not for the door but the closet. He hadn't been entirely thruthful with Picard; he didn't really know where Crossfire was. But he knew where Crossfire would be, if he wanted Chris to find him.
      The first week they'd roomed together, they'd gone out into the city to see what they could see. They'd found a small corner tavern called "Joshua Norton's", named after the man who, in 1859, proclaimed himself to be the Emperor of the United States of America. Crossfire had been fascinated by the story of Norton, and from that point on, whenever he wanted to go out, it was always to Norton's.
      Chris changed and left.

      Chris pushed open the door to Norton's, welcoming the warmth. Outside it was damn cold.
      Inside Norton's it was warm and it smelled like smoke and old wood. There were only a few people here tonight; unusual for a Friday. Chris walked in through the foyer, and surveyed the place. The booths along the wall to his right were mostly empty. Likewise were the old-fashioned wooden tables; only a few people were having their dinner here. The long bar in front of him was full, though.
      All except for the far right-hand end. The bar had patrons sitting on the leather stools all the way up to the third seat from the wall. Then there were two empty stools...and Crossfire.
      He was sitting on the far stool, still wearing his fatigues. A small pile of upturned shot glasses lined the bar in front of him. He was frowning at them as if he suspected them of trying to escape. As Chris watched, every now and then one of the other patrons would glance over at Crossfire.
      Chris walked over to his roommate and tapped him on the shoulder. "Hey, pal," he said. "You're in my seat."
      Faster than Chris could imagine, Crossfire was on his feet, his teeth bared and his fists out. Chris had never heard a man snarl before.
      Silence reigned at Joshua Norton's.
      Then, just as fast, Crossfire realized who it was and sat back down to resume frowning at the glasses. Chris sat next to him, staring.
      Barney, the Edoan barkeep, sidled up to the pair. "Is everything Oh-Kay?" he asked in his clipped accent.
      "Yes," said Chris. "Bring us two of whatever he's been drinking," he said, gesturing at the shot glasses.
      "For you I bring," said the Edoan, pointing with one of his three arms to Chris. "But for him no."
      "It's okay, Barney," said Crossfire, softly. He looked up at the barkeep and smiled blearily. "I've had enough. Just bring me some coffee or something."
      The barkeep paused, his head tilting. "Bad day at school?"
      Crossfire nodded. "You could say that."
      "For you I bring Edoan," and here Barney made a strange sound that was vaguely rude, "old remedy for bad days." He glided away.
      After a moment, Crossfire said, "It's about time you got here. I hate drinking alone."
      Chris glanced at the upturned shot glasses--could there really be twelve of them?--and said, "You could have waited. Or told me where you were going."
      "I knew you'd find me," said Crossfire.
      "Even though you left your com pin behind?"
      Crossfire nodded.
      "Picard called," said Chris.
      Crossfire looked at him. "And?"
      "And he sent me to find you."
      "And drag me back?"
      Chris frowned, shaking his head. "No. Just to find you. I think he was worried."
      Crossfire smiled again, a genuine smile. Chris looked at it in amazement. He shoud get drunk more often, Chris thought to himself.
      "You're not mad at him?" asked Chris.
      Crossfire looked surprised. Chris watched this facial expression with amazement, too. "Of course I'm not mad. He did what he had to. I was wrong; I can't expect him to...mollycoddle me."
      Barney returned, holding a shot of whiskey in one hand, a steaming mug of something in another, and a bowl of pretzels in his third. "Here," he said, handing Crossfire the mug. "You try."
      Crossfire took a tentative sniff of the mug, cast an amused glance at Chris, and took a drink. Then he looked at the mug in surprise, and then looked at the bartender. "This is great, Barney. What is it?"
      Barney made the rude noise again.
      Crossfire took another drink, this time savoring the taste. "Can I try?" asked Chris.
      "You had a bad day?" asked Barney.
      Chris shook his head. "Not really."
      "Then it will not work," said the bartender, and left.
      A moment of silence passed, while Chris watched his friend take sips from the mug of thptphtphthpt, or whatever it was. Then he finally asked the question hounding him. "Are you resigning?"
      Crossfire shook his head. "No. I didn't even think about it, really. I just left my insignia behind so nobody could find me."
      "Except me," said Chris.
      "Except you," ammended Crossfire. "Here's to friends," he said, smiling again and holding up his mug.
      The two clinked glasses and drank. Chris upturned his shot glass on the bar, joining the others.
      "I really fucked up today, didn't I," said Crossfire.
      Chris shrugged. "You did what you thought was right."
      "And now I know better." Crossfire sighed. "I should have called off the mission. How could I have been so stupid?"
      Chris shrugged. His stomach was arguing with the whiskey, so he sent down some pretzels to act as mediators.
      Suddenly Crossfire started to chuckle. Not very loud, or very much, but it was definitely a chuckle. "You know, it's amazing. I haven't even taken the Kobayashi Maru, the real No Win Scenario, and already I'm fucked up."
      "I had an idea about that," said Chris. "A good idea."
      Crossfire looked at him. "Oh yeah? So did I. Maybe between the two of us we can beat it."
      "That's not the point, Cadet," said Chris, imitating Picard's sepulchral tones.
      Crossfire laughed out loud this time. "Maybe I should call off the mission." The two men laughed together.
      "I'm serious, though," said Chris, after a moment.
      "So am I," said Crossfire, looking at his friend. My god, is he sober already? Chris thought. "Only my idea isn't terribly practical. it's just a tactical realization, really." Chris nodded while Crossfire took another drink. "I realized that the instructors are the ones who are programming the scenario.
      "See, against the Borg, I'm at a severe tactical disadvantage. I don't know enough about them to be able to predict accurately what they do, how they react. So I can't form a reasonable plan of attack.
      "But these won't be real Borg. These will be an approximation of the Borg, dreamt up by the Academy instructors. So I don't have to anticipate the Borg, just the instructors."
      Chris nodded, turning the thought over in his mind. "Sounds like you're talking about circumventing the simulation again."
      "Not really," said Crossfire. "I'm just assigning myself an extra asset. For instance, the idea I had for shunting aside the Borg subspace field using the warp field projectors? The idea that got me in the Academy in the first place? Against the real Borg, that would have a chance of working. But in the simulation, the instructors will expect me to use it, and so it won't work, or at least it won't work very well. So I won't waste time, effort, and ship's energy on it. Likewise, they'll expect me to have some sort of fancy strategy in mind for avoiding the Borg all together. So that kind of thing won't work either."
      Chris frowned. "Sounds like this is going to suck."
      "Well, it is a no-win scenario."
      Then Chris smiled. "So you'll have to think up something completely new to try."
      Crossfire nodded. "Yup. That's the hard part, of course."
      "I think I might be able to help there," said Chris.
      "Oh?" said Crossfire, staring at his friend intently.
      Chris nodded, smiling.
      Crossfire started to smile. "Is this good?"
      "Better than good, it's great."

Chapter 4

"Captain's Log, stardate xxxxx.x. Starship Enterprise on training mission to Gamma Quadrant, section 14; coordinates 25 94 2. Approaching the the boundaries of the Dominion; all systems normal and functioning."

      "Now leaving sector fourteen for sector fifteen," said navigation.
      Crossfire looked up from the Tactical station where he and Chris had been laying in a new weapons program. "Con, project parabolic course to avoid entering Dominion territories."
      "Course plotted and on the screen, Captain," said McCarthy. On the main viewer, a tactical plot showed the Enterprise and the projected course to take them away from the regions specified by the Federation-Dominion treaties.
      Satisfied, Crossfire returned to the Tactical monitor. "Here," he said, pointing. "Here's the coupling we need to watch out for. It's not going to be strong enough."
      Chris nodded, and tapped the com. "Bridge to Engineering."
      "Engineering, T'Kyla here," came the immediate reply. Chris smiled, having forgotten that Crossfire had somehow convinced the aloof Vulcan to join them. In fact, Crossfire had gotten all of the best people in their class to crew his ship for his Kobayashi Maru: T'Kyla was at the top of her class in the Engineering field, McCarthy was the finest navigator to join the Academy in decades; all the other department heads were the finest the Academy class had to offer. Crossfire didn't usually get along with these people; Chris suspected they had agreed to join Crossfire just to see how bloody his nose was going to get. "Mister T'Kyla, the Captain wants an upgrade to the power couplings in the fore and aft weapons grids. How long would it take to increase their capacity by fifty percent?" Chris asked.
      A brief pause. "Only a few minutes, sir. Say fifteen. It is a simple adjustment. But the current couplings are well within Starfleet specifications and are strong enough to..."
      "Make it so," said Chris, with some relish. "Bridge out."
      Crossfire had finished laying out the new circuitry routes. He looked at Chris and raised his eyebrows, smiling.
      "You're amazing, Zeph," said Chris. "This is actually going to work, isn't it?"
      Crossfire shrugged. "Maybe. I hope so." He glanced around, then lowered his voice. "My only worry is that they will have lowered the capabilities of the ship...made her more likely to have systems failures and the like."
      Chris frowned. "They said the reason why they give us the flagship for this scenario is to show us what it's like working with the real thing."
      "Yeah, but that'd be one way of stacking the odds," said Crossfire. He was continuing to set up a simulation program. Chris lent a hand, making suggestions and amendments to the code. After a while, they finally had it, and ran it.
      Chris whistled. "Nintey-nine point nine percent," he said. "That's amazing."
      Crossfire smiled a little. "Maybe it will work."
      The com panel booped. "Engineering to bridge," came T'Kyla's voice.
      Chris touched the panel. "Bridge, go ahead, T'Kyla."
      "Upgrades to the weapons systems are completed, sir."
      Suddenly an alert light blinked on the tactical panel. Crossfire whispered, "Not a moment too soon." He went down to the center seat below.
      "Sir," Chris said aloud. "We're receiving a transmission. Very weak, audio only."
      Crossfire nodded. "Let's hear it." He forced himself to sit down, then he had to force himself relax his hands from clenching into fists.
      The speakers crackled, and a human male voice with a faintly British accent rattled through. "...imperative! This is the Kobayashi Maru. Nineteen periods out of Deep Space Nine. We are under attack and are loosing power! Our hull is penetrated and we have sustained many casualties..."
      "This is the Starship Enterprise," said Chris. "Your message is breaking up. Can you give us your coordinates? Repeat..."
      "Enterprise! Our position is in the Gamma Quadrant, section 10. Hull penetrated! Life support systems failing! Can you assist us Enterprise? Can you..." A crash of static washed the transmission out.
      Crossfire blinked. "Computer. Tactical information on Kobayashi Maru."
      The computer replied rapidly, "Subject vessel is a Third Class Neutronic fuel carrier, crew of eighty-one, three hundred passengers."
      "Tactical," Crossfire said. The main viewer lit up again, showing the Enterprise, the wormhole, the Dominion's boundaries, and the transmitted location of the Kobayashi Maru...far out in uncharted space.
      Crossfire nodded to himself. "Con, plot an intercept course, Warp nine."
      McCarthy worked rapidly. "Course plotted and laid in. ETA two minutes."
      "Engage, Mister McCarthy," Crossfire said. "Mr. Orr, please take us to Yellow Alert. Raise shields."
      "Weapons, Captian?" asked Chris, his voice tense.
      "Not yet. Let's see what we have, first."
      Traffic on the com channels doubled as sections from all over the ship reported in. Crossfire sat, tense, as they approached the coordinates of the...battle. Whatever it was. He forced himself to relax his hands again.
      "The Kobayashi Maru is now within long-range sensors, Captain. I'm picking up heavy energy discharge...the freighter...and a Borg cube."
      The temperature on the bridge dropped noticeably. Crossfire merely nodded. "Warn them off, Mr. Orr."
      "Aye," said Chris. A pause. "No response. They are intensifying their attack on the freighter. Their shields have seconds at best."
      "Very well. Battle stations. Arm all weapons; load torpedo bays. Lock tracking systems on target but await my command to fire." Crossfire took a breath. "Bridge to Engineering. Modulate shield friequencies as rapidly as possible; see to it that each layer of the shields has a different non-related nutation. Mister Orr, prepare a tractor beam. We're going to run in, try and destroy the Borg tractor, grab the freighter with our own beam, and run out again."
      McCarthy spoke up. "With that much mass dragging behind us, we won't be able to go very fast, Captain."
      Crossfire nodded. "We'll beam them out of the freighter as fast as we can. Bridge to transporter rooms, prepare for emergency beamout procedures. I want every transporter pad on this ship active. Use the cargo transporters. I mean everything. Bridge to Sickbay. Prepair for incoming wounded." He stood and turned to face Chris. "Mister Orr, all phasers should be running separate frequency modulation programs." Chris nodded, busy setting up firing programs on his board.
      "ETA thirty seconds, sir," McCarthy fairly shouted.
      "Relax, Mr. McCarthy. We're doing just fine." Crossfire walked over to the Con position, then forced himself to speak calmly and in a normal tone of voice. "Make this as fast as possible. We'll come back around again, if we have to." He willed the nervous navigator to relax.
      "Aye, sir," said McCarthy, then entered the course. He took a deep breath.
      "Very good, Mister McCarthy," said Crossfire.
      "Phasers armed, photon torpedoes loaded. Antimatter spread ready," said Chris from the Tactical station.
      "Emergency power to the shields now," said Crossfire. He watched the progress of the Enterprise on the tactical display on the main viewer. "And...engage impulse engines. Fire antimatter spread. Fire all phasers on the Borg tractor beam emitter."
      The Enterprise rocked violently as the Borg ship fired.
      "Shields holding," said Chris, then he shouted, "Got em! Borg tractor beam is gone."
      "Engage tractor beam! Pull that freighter out of there! Get us back into warp!" Crossfire walked back to the center seat and sat down tensely. He gave up pretense of trying to act relaxed. Let the psychologists have something to do.
      "Tractor beam locked on. We've got the Kobayashi Maru," said Chris.
      Right on the heels of that, McCarthy said, "Engaging warp engines. Now accellerating...Warp 4...Warp 5..."
      "Thank you, Mister McCarthy," said Crossfire. A countdown was NOT what the bridge crew needed right now.
      "Engineering to Bridge," came T'Kyla's calm voice from the com link. "Captain, the ship won't be able to haul this much mass for very long." She spoke with that Vulcan calm, as if she were discussing a recipe for potato chip dip.
      "With any luck, Mister T'Kyla, we won't have to." said Crossfire. "Bridge to Transporter Rooms. Begin emergency transport!"
      "Captain, the Borg ship is in persuit," said Chris. "They will overtake us in fifty seconds."
      "Fire aft weapons," said Crossfire. "Slow them down, Mister Orr."
      "Aye, sir," said Chris, his fingers dancing over the panel. "The Borg ship is undamaged." He looked up at Crossfire. "Now, Zeph?"
      Crossfire didn't look at his friend, concentrating on the tactical readouts on the main viewer. "No. It's only beginning. Wait." He took a breath, then said, practically to himself, "Wait."
      Chris frowned at his friend, then his sensors squawled. He looked down at the readouts and blinked. "Sir! I'm picking up two more Borg vessels, approaching direcly ahead at Warp nine point six-five!"
      "We'll run right into them!" said McCarthy, half-rising from his position.
      "Take your station, Mister!" snapped Crossfire. "Plot a new course, angling away from all the Borg. Straight up."
      "Aye," said McCarthy, shaking. "Uh. Course ready."
      Crossfire hesitated a moment, then shook his head briefly. "Chris, disengage tractor beam. Transporters, cease beamout. Raise shields. Tell the Kobayashi Maru that we'll be back. Mister McCarthy, execute the new course." The bridge crew hustled to keep up with the orders.
      The Enterprise angled hard and fast away from the Borg vessels. Without the extra mass of a loaded freighter, she surged ahead rapidly, but the Borg ships were making up for the distance fast.
      "For what it's worth," said Chris quietly, "they're ignoring the freighter."
      "Of course," said Crossfire, tossing a brief grin over his shoulder at Chris. "They're not the ones taking this simulation." He turned back to the viewer. "Chris, it's time. Activate the modified weapons systems. Divert as much power as you need from anywhere. Mister McCarthy, prepare to turn and attack."
      McCarthy looked at Crossfire wide-eyed, then suddenly broke into a smile. "Yeah," he said.
      "Sir," reminded Crossfire, smiling slightly.
      "Yes *sir*," said McCarthy, then turned back to his board.
      "Viewer ahead," said Crossfire, and the main viewer switched from the tactical view to a view of the starfield.
      "Ready, Captain," said Chris and McCarthy in chorus.
      Crossfire returned to his seat. "Now, Mister McCarthy."
      They all watched the main viewer as the stars shifted back to normal as they dropped out of warp, and then whirled as the mighty starship turned on her persuers and unsheathed her claws.
      "In range in five, four, three, two one," said Chris. "Now."
      "Fire," said Crossfire.
      Chris touched the panel, and the lights on the bridge dimmed as the computers simulated the power drain needed for the new weapons array. After a moment, the lights returned to normal.
      The main viewer showed three Borg ships bearing down on them rapidly. Suddenly six points of light, like pieces of the sun, angled towards the Borg vessels, two for each ship. All six impacted simultaneously...and the screen froze. All sounds on the bridge simultaneously stopped, all readouts on every panel throught the simulator seized up as the computers tried to cope with the unexpected turn of events.
      Crossfire held his breath.
      The computers finished calculating probabilities and possibilities, and the simulators started back up again.
      All three Borg vessels exploded in exactly the same way, the computers having only one recorded destruction of a Borg vessel to show. The Enterprise was buffeted by simulated shockwaves and debris scattering off her shields.
      A moment of stunned silence reigned on the bridge, and then Chris bellowed, "HOOOOAH!"
      Crossfire stood up. "Get us back to the freighter, Mister McCarthy. Everyone! We're not out of this yet! Remember, we're not back in Federation space yet. Head back to the freighter at maximum warp, McCarthy! Chris, get ready to tractor her in again. Bridge to transporter chief, give me an estimated time to completely beam the passengers and crew off that ship."
      There was a pause, then a startled voice came over the com. "Uh, no more than three minutes, sir."
      "You have two. Bridge out."
      "Now approaching the freighter, Captain," said McCarthy.
      "All stop. Lower shields, begin beamout," said Crossfire. "Mister Orr, keep an eye on those sensors. Don't let anything sneak up on us."
      "Aye," said Chris.
      McCarthy turned and looked at Crossfire, amazed. "You did it. You figured out a way to destroy Borg ships. We..." he paused, then swallowed. "We thought for sure you'd get us all blown up."
      Crossfire looked grimly at McCarthy. "It's still early, McCarthy. Mind your station." He walked up to the Tactical staion, examining the new circuit layout. He nodded to himself, pleased.
      Chris whispered, "This is either going to make us famous or get us in deep trouble, Zeph."
      Crossfire grinned. "Probably both. But I did get to make my point."
      Chris looked at his friend. "You think we're going to beat this?"
      "Hell no," said Crossfire. He nodded to the starboard bulkhead, where he knew the simulator staff was sitting. "Right now they're running around trying to figure out just what the limits are on this new setup, just how many Borg ships we can blow up. And when they've figured it out they'll throw that many cubes at us, plus two." He smiled, unfazed. "This bridge will still be in shambles when we're done, but it won't be because of mistakes on our part. Anything they do now will be so totally unrealistic that it will defeat the purpose of the exercise."
      Chris smiled. "You did it. You beat the no-win scenario."
      "Nah. I'm still going to loose. But it'll on my terms." Crossfire chuckled, shaking his head. "Picard will not be pleased."
      "How long do you think we have before more Borg show up?"
      Crossfire looked down at the chronometer counting down the time to complete the beamout. "About fourty-five more seconds." He grinned at Chris, then raised his voice. "Mister McCarthy, plot us a course back to the wormhole, and prepare to engage on my command at maximum warp. Take us to Warp nine point nine, faster if you can."
      "Aye," said McCarthy, working rapidly.
      A few seconds later, the com booped. "Transporter chief to bridge. Beamouts complete."
      Crossfire arched an eyebrow at Chris, then turned back to McCarthy. "Get us the hell out of here, Mister McCarthy."
      "Aye," said McCarthy. The starship lunged forward, straining to make it back home.
      Behind Crossfire, Chris nodded to himself as his sensor readouts changed. "Captain, I'm picking up Borg vessels."
      Crossfire spoke loudly, no doubt for the benefit of the simulation staff listening. "Seven of them, am I correct, Mister Orr?"
      "Aye, sir. Seven of them."
      Crossfire looked at his friend. "Between us and the wormhole, am I right, Mister Orr?"
      "Yes, sir. They just appeared there, out of nowhere." Chris looked up. "Funny, that."
      Crossfire nodded, and then he smiled, showing his teeth.
      "Let's take them down, gentlemen."

"Cottleston Pie" is taken from Winnie the Pooh: The World of Pooh, by A. A. Milne.

Lyrics from "Bermuda Line" by Jean Harrison and Mick Bolger of Colcannon, copyright 1991 by Oxford Road Music.