Peering back at the transporter console, Kirk checked the readings of the twenty-one Tholians. Some of them continued to move, mostly in haphazard fashion, but not for long. Within a minute, all motion had ceased.

Kirk walked back over to where Mowry treated DeGuerrin. Standing beside Ketchum, he asked the doctor, “Is she going to be all right?”

“Yes,” Mowry said, looking up at Kirk. “And I guess we will be too.”

“We’ve got a fighting chance, anyway,” Kirk said. “But I still need to take the Dahlgren into space and get a message to the Farragut about what’s going on here. There’s got to be a Tholian ship around, so I’m going to have to elude it, but I’m confident that I can. The planet’s atmosphere will provide good cover for me.”

“We’re not all going?” Ketchum said.

“I think you’ll be safer here,” Kirk told him. “There’s only one way into the complex, and that’s through the hangar. If any more Tholians try to enter, you’ll be able to defend yourselves the way I just did. Let me show you.”

Kirk escorted Ketchum back over to the transporter console, where he demonstrated for the ensign how he had scanned for the Tholians and beamed away their environmental suits and weapons. Kirk then returned to the platform and pulled the Tholian equipment from it and onto the floor, selecting one of their plasma pistols to go along with his own, nearly depleted laser. Then he stepped up onto the platform and told Ketchum to transport him to the hangar. “If I’m not back in- ” He calculated the amount of time it should take him to get into orbit, send a message to the Farragut, and return to the complex, then added in a buffer for any evasive maneuvers he might have to take if he encountered a Tholian vessel. “If I’m not back in three hours, you’ll have to take one of the workpods into orbit and attempt to reach the Farragut,” he told Ketchum.

“Yes, sir,” the ensign said.

“Energize,” Kirk ordered. As he dematerialized, the lab faded from view, and then a subjectively indeterminate amount of time later, the hangar appeared in its place, the shuttlecraft directly in front of him. Kirk hurried to board the Dahlgren, and only as the hatch hummed closed after him did he see through a viewport the half-dozen Tholians scattered about the hangar. The dark red, multilegged beings, about the same general proportions as a humanoid, had crumpled to the floor, their carapaces ruptured, a bright ichor pooling about them. Despite their being adversaries, Kirk wished that their attack on the research station had not made his actions necessary.

Knowing that he had a duty to perform, Kirk allowed himself only a moment for such thoughts, then put them out of his mind. He took a seat at the shuttlecraft’s forward console, quickly bringing the Dahlgren up to power. As he engaged the antigravs to lift the shuttle and take it out of the hangar, he hoped that he would not be detected by the Tholian vessel-or vessels-when he cleared the atmosphere, or if he did, that it would turn out to be a single transport or scout ship with minimal armaments. The Dahlgren, he knew, had no weaponry of any kind.

With no other choice, Kirk pointed the bow of the shuttlecraft upward and began the ascent to orbit.

Not knowing to what place or time he should go, Kirk had instead concentrated on an identity, then turned in place on the metallic plain of the Otevrel’s artificial world. As he’d hoped, the nexus had changed about him, taking him where he needed to go. Now, he stood in the cramped body of an old Starfleet shuttle, peering ahead to where another version of himself piloted the craft-the same version he’d seen meeting Antonia for the first time, escaping with Merrick from planet 892-IV, and leading a landing party down to Gamma Trianguli VI.

Kirk took a step forward and opened his mouth, but then didn’t know how to address this other Kirk. He peered through the bow viewport for a moment, where he saw a thick planetary atmosphere giving way to stars above. Finally, he simply said, “Jim.”

The other Kirk-Jim- spun around in his seat, drawing an outmoded laser pistol from his side. “Who- ” he started, but then stopped, obviously shocked to see Kirk standing there. He stood up then, slowly, still brandishing his weapon. “Who are you?”

“You know who I am,” Kirk said. As best he could tell, at one point in time, they had been the same person, deciding to abandon the chimera of the nexus in order to help Picard prevent the deaths of the inhabitants of Veridian IV. And Kirk had left, but according to Guinan-and as Kirk also somehow perceived-this echo of himself had been left behind, no less real, but now with a life that had diverged from his own path.

“You can’t be me,” Jim said, though in a less-than-authoritative way that suggested he sought to convince himself of his assertion.

“Not anymore I’m not,” Kirk agreed, “but until a short time ago, yes, we were the same person.” He recalled how Picard had phrased the situation, and he repeated it now. “We are both caught up in some type of temporal nexus.” Kirk considered how best to convince his alter ego of their circumstances, but then he saw awareness dawn on Jim’s face.

“Picard,” he said as he lowered his laser.

“Yes,” Kirk said. “I left the nexus with him. We stopped Soran, but then- ” The shuttlecraft jolted hard, as though struck by something. Kirk staggered to his right and almost went down, but righted himself against the bulkhead. When he looked back toward the bow, he saw through the viewport a small vessel that seemed as though it had been constructed out of a collection of triangular hull components. He recognized its origin immediately-Tholian- and knew the time period to which he had come. For his actions down on Beta Regenis II and out here in space, Starfleet had awarded him the Grankite Order of Tactics.

“Hold on,” Jim yelled, now back at the forward console. Kirk grabbed onto the handle of an equipment door as the shuttle veered to port, the inertial dampers taking a fraction of a second to compensate for the rapid movement. Through the viewport, Kirk saw a bolt of plasma energy streak past.

As Jim operated the helm controls, Kirk made his way forward until he dropped into the chair beside him. “Jim,” he said, “stop this. I need to talk with you.”

“You don’t understand,” Jim said, not looking away from where his hands darted across the panel. “I have to- “

“You have to evade the Tholians while you transmit a message to Captain Garrovick aboard the Farragut,” Kirk said. “Down at the research complex, all of the scientists are dead, killed in an unprovoked attack by the Tholians.”

Jim looked up at him but said nothing. Then another Tholian weapon landed, shaking the cabin violently, and he began working the controls again. Kirk remembered that this hadn’t happened before, that while he’d been spotted by the Tholian vessel in orbit, he’d managed to evade it after taking only a single blast of its weapons fire. But then, when he’d piloted the shuttlecraft all those years ago, he hadn’t been distracted by an unexpected passenger. “If you know where we are and what’s going on,” Jim said, “then you know I have to do this.”

“No, you don’t,” Kirk said, but Jim continued taking the shuttle through evasive maneuvers. Kirk reached over and took hold of his counterpart by his upper arms, turning Jim to face him. “You don’t have to do this,” Kirk insisted. “This isn’t even really happening.”

Another plasma bolt struck the shuttlecraft. The forward control console exploded, bathing the two men in a shower of sparks. Smoke filled the cabin, and then Kirk heard the low moan of overstressed metal. He saw a thin crack zigzag up the bulkhead, and then the shuttle fractured, bursting apart around them. For a moment, they floated in the frightening totality of space, the insensate stars peering coldly down on them, the planet hanging off to one side, the Tholian vessel looming above them.