Crisis of Consciousness

by Dave Galanter

  Likely considering the same concerns, Spock pursed his lips grimly. “Zhatan, as a battle commander, would likely have a confounding strategy.”

  Kirk pulled in a long breath and let it slowly out. “It’s hard enough to predict one opponent. How would we do against a chorus of them?”

  “WHY DO WE WAIT, Zhatan?” As always, the most restless among them was Tibis.

  She looked down at her screen and watched the Kenis system from afar.

  “So long we have waited. Why do we wait?” another asked.

  “Why do we wait?”

  “Why do we wait, Zhatan?”

  “Why?”

  Tibis was the instigator, the mind that unsettled the others and agitated them to discussion.

  Why was Zhatan here, looking doubtful in front of her crew? She need not even be on the bridge. She could be alone.

  Except alone for her was not as other individuals might regard the concept.

  “We must not wait.”

  “Why do we wait?”

  “Why?”

  “Because something in Kirk’s mind tells us to avoid conflict with him, if we can bear more delay,” she told them.

  “We cannot bear it.”

  “No, we cannot.”

  “We cannot.”

  “We cannot.”

  “We cannot.”

  The Federation ship sat in orbit of Kenis Prime. It mocked them from afar. And it angered many.

  “We cannot abide, Zhatan.”

  “We cannot.”

  “We saw all, and Kirk’s mind is a weak cognizance,” Tibis charged.

  But Zhatan remembered all too clearly his will and how difficult it was to attempt to corrupt it. “We are not all in agreement.”

  “Who are you to disagree with us, child? Have we not always guided you to safety? Listen to us.” When Tibis couldn’t get her way through argument, she patronized. And others followed suit.

  “Listen to us.”

  “Listen, child.”

  “Listen.”

  “Listen to us.”

  Zhatan closed her eyes, shutting out the image of the Enterprise around their planet. A planet they never walked on with her feet, but she had seen it again and again in her memories.

  “Kirk is formidable,” the commander insisted.

  “Enterprise can be overcome.”

  “With cunning and experience,” Tibis reminded them.

  “We have experience. We are history. Listen to us.”

  “Listen to us.”

  “Listen.”

  “Listen to us.”

  “He will defend the Maabas,” Zhatan warned. “He is virtuous and will honor his commitments.”

  “The Maabas are insignificant.”

  “Kirk is insignificant.”

  “He will fail.”

  “He will fail.”

  “We will succeed.”

  “Have trust.”

  “Have faith.”

  “Have courage and trust.”

  “We will succeed.”

  “Our time is now. We will succeed.”

  “Maabas are insignificant.”

  “Humans are insignificant.”

  Zhatan rubbed her neck, massaging out an ache. “Kirk’s first is of Vul-kuhn. We have not seen his mind, but know its strength.” She touched her jaw, where Spock had struck her. Her neck still hurt from the blow.

  “Spock is weak,” Tibis assured them.

  “His mind is weak.”

  “His cognizance is insignificant.”

  “He does not shautish-keem.”

  “His is not sha’esues.”

  “Spock is weak.”

  “Insignificant.”

  “Our time is now.”

  “Have trust, child. Have trust.”

  “Trust,” Zhatan said. “Yes.” Doubts were for feeble minds, were they not?

  “Do not let doubt weaken you,” Tibis chided. “We are strong.”

  “Together.”

  “Together we are strong.”

  “Together we are decisive.”

  “Listen to us.”

  “Listen.”

  “Listen.”

  “Listen.”

  FIVE

  The Maaba S’Ja star shone brightly on the steppe the records had referred to as the Gloskik Plain. The air had a chill here and less oxygen than Kirk was used to. It was uncomfortable. Which was why McCoy was along, though he lagged behind Spock and Pippenge, as well as the ambassador’s aide, Tainler.

  “Come along, Doctor.” Kirk tried to keep a gasp from his voice. “You’re falling behind.”

  There was one security officer behind McCoy and one who took point just in front of Spock. Next to Kirk was Lieutenant Palamas, who continued to provide useful information based on her study of the Maabas.

  “Damned transporter,” McCoy huffed. “Could have put us down closer to the site.”

  “I’m afraid that’s my fault, Doctor,” Pippenge said with requisite remorse. “We transposed a coordinate number.”

  “Mister Ambassador, I was sure those were the right coordinates, but I see now I must have made a mistake.” Like all Maabas, Tainler had a computerized implant, the display of which was written right to her visual cortex. It was clear she was looking through some data as she scampered alongside him.

  Pippenge waved off Tainler’s apology with a dismissive hand. “Please think nothing more of it. A brisk walk is just what we need to clear our thoughts.”

  “I could never live with an implant,” Palamas whispered to Kirk. Like many humans, especially those serving in Starfleet, Palamas was horrified by the idea of unnatural biological alterations. The hubris of augmenting humans led to one of the most horrific conflicts in Earth’s history, the Eugenics War, and was outlawed in the Federation.

  Kirk glanced back at Crewman Kaalburg, then forward toward Ensign Ottenbrite. Neither of his security team were having problems breathing. Or, like their captain, they were trying to hide it.

  “Have you been here before?” Kirk asked Pippenge.

  “No, I’m afraid. I’m more an administrative animal than a scientific one.”

  “I didn’t mean the archaeological site.” Kirk gestured to the land around them. “I meant this countryside.”

  “Oh, here? No.” Pippenge surveyed the flat land with its peppering of grasses and brush.

  The plain could have been Mongolia or a terraformed part of Mars, by the looks of it. Natural beauty took many forms, and an even expanse of prairie or a lush jungle each held their own innate allure, especially for someone who worked in outer space.

  “As a youth, my caretakers would suggest outings to nature areas with plant growth and waters and the like.” A mild disdain leaked into Pippenge’s tone. “I was not . . . I’m not sure how to say it.”

  “An outdoorsman?” Kirk offered.

  “Yes! That is a delightful word. I was not an outdoorsman. I was raised in the city, and preferred my studies and activities with comforts, not insects and harsh conditions.”

  Listening to the dry grass crunch under his boots, Kirk wondered if he had not been raised on a farm, close to nature, might he have shared Pippenge’s attitude? The captain couldn’t imagine not enjoying the sun—any sun—shining on his face, warming it, feeling the breath it gave to all things on any world that lived.

  “Here,” Spock announced, studying his tricorder.

  All stopped and looked around at the empty plain. Huffing lightly, McCoy trudged up alongside Kirk and stuck a hypo into his arm.

  The captain spun toward the hissing sound.

  “Tri-ox.” McCoy turned the hypo on himself and pressed. “I wouldn’t give you anything I wouldn’t prescribe for myself.” He then injected Palamas, who’d pleasantly offered her arm to him.

  “Comforting.” Kirk nodded toward Kaalburg and Ottenbrite.

  “Yes, them too.” McCoy injected both security officers, then turned back to the captain.

  “None for me, thank you,
Doctor.” The Vulcan continued to scan with his tricorder.

  “I wasn’t going to offer, Mister Spock.” McCoy placed the hypo back into his small medkit. “I know that green blood is accustomed to a thinner atmosphere.”

  “And,” Spock said, moving off toward the left, “it wishes to remain unaccustomed to your potions.”

  Grunting his disapproval, McCoy said nothing.

  “An entrance.” Spock pointed toward the ground three meters to his left. “A slab of refined material which I believe is a hatchway.”

  “Yes,” Tainler said. “This should be it.”

  “It will be locked,” Pippenge said, turning to his assistant. “Do you have the code?”

  Tainler’s eyes darted around at her internal display. “I am finding it now.”

  When she suddenly smiled, the hatchway groaned open, sliding away to reveal a great chasm into which dirt and sand fell.

  Kirk went to the edge and looked in. Steps led downward at a steep decline. Below he could see a landing that led to another staircase with a more reasonable pitch.

  “When’s the last time anyone was here?” Palamas looked down through the hatch.

  “Fourteen years ago,” Tainler said after a brief pause to recall the data. She then seemed to be reading from a document she’d called up on her internal computer. “ ‘Mitash Gles dig site will lose funding this season, along with seven other archaeological locations, as the Science Directive has suggested no more information can be gathered.’ Dated thirty-seventh of Ashko season.”

  With a nod from the captain, Ottenbrite knew she should stay and guard the opening. Kirk took the first step down, followed by Kaalburg, Spock, and Palamas. Then Pippenge, McCoy, and Tainler followed.

  The atmosphere was dry, cool, and rather stale, but the stiff breeze that forced in from the hatchway also freshened the flat air with surprising speed.

  “There should be lights,” Pippenge said, and looked to Tainler for confirmation.

  She pursed her lips, then puckered them, then pursed them again. “Found them.”

  The lights slowly came up—glowing panels in the ceiling. When the room was fully brightened, an elevator to the right became visible, offering another mode of descent from the stairs.

  “I assume all this,” Kirk said, making a circling motion with his index finger, “is Maabas architecture.”

  “Yes,” Pippenge said, repeating the circling motion himself. “The elevator leads to a central processing room where archaeologists, scientists, and engineers worked. From there, a connection to an underground complex built by the previous civilization—”

  “The Kenisians,” Palamas interjected.

  “Yes, I suppose so. Anyway, from there one has access to several corridors in what we believed was a research facility.”

  “Buried underground?” McCoy asked.

  “It’s not uncommon,” Palamas replied.

  Tainler flattened her lips. “Scientific research may deal in compounds and materials which pose a danger to the population, and so several layers of rock and dirt act as a natural vault. It’s one of the reasons there are intact ruins.”

  Kirk wasn’t sure if the woman was accessing that explanation from a database or had studied the field.

  “Don’t most spacefaring races shift dangerous experiments offworld?” McCoy asked.

  Pippenge moved toward the elevator doors and they creakily opened, a little gasp of stale air escaping as they did. Lights came on inside and Pippenge stepped in, Tainler at his side.

  McCoy turned to Kirk, crooking a thumb over his shoulder at the elevator. “This is safe?”

  The captain shrugged and stepped into the elevator. “It’s fourteen years old.”

  Spock, McCoy, Palamas, and Kaalburg followed suit and the doors closed.

  “Oh, it’s far older than that,” Pippenge said as the elevator descended slowly. “I believe this installation had been operational for nearly one hundred and fifty years.”

  “Wonderful,” McCoy groused, then whispered to Spock. “How long is that in Earth years?”

  “The universal translator is programmed with both Earth and Maabas solar information, Doctor. As you heard it, one hundred and fifty years is one hundred and fifty years.”

  “Oh, right.” McCoy gnashed his teeth.

  Slightly bemused, Kirk shook his head at the exchange.

  “I assure you, Doctor, Maabas construction is very reliable.” Pippenge tried to sound encouraging, but the groaning sound coming from the elevator didn’t assure the passengers.

  They arrived at what Kirk assumed was the bottom of the shaft with a dull clunk. After a moment of awkward inaction, a pneumatic hiss accompanied the slow opening of the doors.

  The lights were already on and as they stepped out, Kirk noticed the air was fresher than the level above.

  “Fresh air?” Palamas asked.

  “As soon as we activated the elevator,” Tainler said, “the air handler system was initiated.”

  Efficient, Kirk thought.

  Before them was a central hub of computers—empty chairs with powered-down consoles which looked like stations on a Federation starbase. The captain reminded himself that while Earth explored space, the Maabas concerned themselves with discovering the world they’d adopted.

  The walls were a mixture of manufactured composite materials and stone, using the natural structure of the planet’s crust whenever possible.

  Several hatchways led out of the room. Kirk counted eight, all labeled in the Maabas language which looked to his eye like a mixture of Korean and cuneiform. “To the Kenisian areas, I assume.”

  “To the ruins,” Pippenge said. “Yes.”

  An interesting change of phrasing, Kirk realized, but the ambassador wasn’t wrong. They had to keep in mind that just because Zhatan said this had been her planet, that didn’t mean it was true.

  “I believe,” Spock said, taking a reading off his tricorder, “that I can utilize these systems to scan the entirety of the ruins.”

  “That is their purpose,” Tainler said.

  Spock moved toward the central console. “Will you help me?” he asked Tainler.

  Bowing, the Maabas woman joined him.

  Kirk nodded to Kaalburg. “Secure the elevator.”

  The crewman returned to the open lift, keeping one leg inside it and one out.

  “Oh, I’d not do that,” the ambassador said. “Good way to lose a leg. At any secure installation, the elevator will return to the top automatically. Extremeties notwithstanding.”

  Kaalburg quickly stood erect, just inside the lift, looking for the stop control. “Thanks.”

  “Ride up and stand guard with Ottenburg,” the captain ordered.

  “Aye, sir.”

  Kirk, Pippenge, and McCoy walked the perimeter of the room, looking through the hatchway windows as they passed. Lights were not on, so the corridors were black, and the light coming through the glass did little to displace the gloom.

  “Lieutenant?” The captain motioned for Palamas to join him.

  Leaving Spock and Tainler at the central console, she walked to where Kirk, Pippenge, and McCoy stood. “Sir?”

  “You identified this as the site the Kenisians were most interested in.”

  “Yes, Captain. Their sensors focused mostly on this ruin.”

  “How did it differ from the other two sites they scanned?” Kirk peered out the hatch window closest to him, imagining that years ago the installation was a hub of activity with dozens of Maabas combing through its secrets.

  “This was by far the largest site,” Palamas said. “I can find out by how much, if you like.”

  The captain shook his head.

  As usual, McCoy asked the most pointed question. “So the Kenisians think there’s something here, but if the Maabas have studied these ruins for over a century, why didn’t they find it already?”

  Palamas shrugged. “I believe that sometimes to find something, you have to know what to look for
.”

  “True,” Kirk said.

  “We’ve been examining ruins left in haste and damaged by war for years,” Pippenge explained.

  “Zhatan obviously knew what she was looking for,” the captain said, “if not specifically where to look.”

  “They knew once they scanned the planet, sir,” Palamas added.

  Kirk nodded, then looked at the ambassador. “What if you did find it? But didn’t know what you had?”

  Pippenge considered Kirk’s hypothetical a moment, then—perhaps consulting his own internal computer database—said, “I don’t believe so, but I’m not an expert on these matters. It would seem this site revealed many small and interesting discoveries, but nothing paradigm shifting.”

  “What kind of discoveries, Mister Ambassador?” Palamas asked.

  Again, Pippenge paused before answering. “Honestly, I don’t know what to make of them, myself. I believe most of them related to interpreting other sites.”

  “Like the Rosetta Stone,” Kirk said.

  Pippenge pursed his lips. “I do not understand this reference.”

  “A carving found on Earth,” Palamas explained. “The same text was written in three languages, providing a key to deciphering ancient hieroglyphs.”

  “Oh, perhaps, perhaps.”

  The ambassador was rather noncommittal to the notion, but it was less disinterest, Kirk thought, and more because he was out of his depth within the fields of archaeology and anthropology. Being an expert in those areas was why Palamas was on the landing party.

  As the three approached Tainler and Spock, the captain asked, “What’ve you found?”

  “The coordinates the Kenisian vessel was explicitly scanning.” Spock pointed to a display which was without graphics and showed only a jumble of Maabas text.

  “You can read that?” McCoy asked.

  “After a fashion.” The Vulcan looked to Tainler. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but the referenced chamber is at the lowest level found and the most protected in the original construction.”

  Tainler flattened her lips. “It is. But as I said, little was found here.” She pointed to the same display. “Just several vaults holding storage containers of a solid compound we could discover no purpose for. We believed it to be a construction material, since the vaults were constructed of a similar compound.”