Crisis of Consciousness

by Dave Galanter

  “They did,” Pippenge said, rubbing his arm. “Relatively painless. But I believe they are having difficulties attaining the results they desire.”

  That, the Vulcan thought, is fortuitous.

  As he initiated his computer access, Spock decided that trying to inspect the ancient mines would be seen as suspicious. Instead, he called up the design specifications of their newer prototype. Once he gathered enough information, he could reasonably request to examine the older mines for comparison.

  The Kenisian plans were detailed, and in a language Spock mostly understood, or could at least decipher with minimal effort. Setting up an algorithm to translate it into modern Vulcan would be his first delaying tactic, but that would come later. For now, he knew he must investigate as much as possible before claiming he wasn’t fluent enough in the Kenisian language to be immediately helpful.

  As he spun through schematics and test results, Spock grew increasingly concerned. The Kenisians’ latest prototype was further along than even Zhatan might have realized. There was very little work to be done to make the mine into one of the most powerful weapons the galaxy had ever seen, and if Spock’s calculations were correct, it could very well destroy the fabric of space for thousands of parsecs.

  He could not allow the device to be used. Even if it meant destroying the Kenisian ship to ensure that outcome. However, that path might be as dangerous. If he could find a way to destroy the vessel, the resulting explosion—because the na’hubis compound was on board—could turn Zhatan’s ship into a giant mine.

  To accomplish his end, Spock would need to tread carefully.

  Switching his field of study from the newer prototype to schematics on the testing equipment, the Vulcan found that there was a strong similarity with Maabas technology. Since a great deal of Mabba S’Ja’s advancement was based on the discoveries found in the Kenisian ruins, the ambassador might be of more help than Spock had previously surmised.

  Using his console to create a secure connection between his station’s computer and Pippenge’s communications implant, Spock attempted to send the ambassador a private, uncompromised message. “If you read this, please indicate so covertly.”

  Seeing Pippenge’s reaction, which Spock thought was somewhere between a quiet nervous collapse and what Doctor McCoy once referred to as a “conniption waiting to happen,” it was clear the ambassador saw the communication.

  If anyone else did, Spock knew his next message would bring the Kenisian guards down on them. “We may need to destroy this vessel.”

  The Vulcan could see Pippenge visually gulp. Then, in a reaction that very nearly astonished Spock, the ambassador turned slightly and expressed his agreement: a pursing of his lips, a Maabas’s nod.

  Spock had offered Pippenge no way to otherwise reply securely, so he sent another message. “Please wait, Ambassador. We may yet be able to take more positive action.”

  When no guards came crashing down on them, and there was no overt difference in the manner of the Kenisian staff, Spock believed the communications he’d sent had, in fact, been protected.

  He sent another. “To further my efforts, I will need your help at the proper time.”

  Again, Pippenge pursed his lips. There was, Spock surmised, a great strength under the ambassador’s nervous demeanor.

  The computer systems to which Spock and Pippenge had access were isolated, and there was no transceiver with which Spock could send his secure messages to anyone outside the lab. That was likely why he was able to covertly communicate with the ambassador. Monitoring an internal network from the outside would open a hole in security, and the Kenisians obviously wanted no possible breaches.

  “I am not sure what to do,” Pippenge said aloud, feigning frustration with his task and in actuality sending Spock a message via his own method.

  Replying via his secure system to the ambassador’s internal system, Spock reiterated, “Wait.”

  WAITING WAS the worst part. And yet, as a starship captain, it often seemed to be Kirk’s primary duty.

  Probes had been sent out in all likely directions and even in a few unlikely ones. Telemetry from their scans would paint a more complete picture of the Maabas star system. The captain hoped the probes would find a clue to the course Zhatan’s ship had taken. They didn’t know where the Kenisian homeworld was or if the ship had come from a base.

  Unless Kirk heard from his missing first officer—and there was no guarantee he would—this was their only chance to track the Kenisians and stop them. With luck, they would also retrieve Spock and the Maabas ambassador.

  McCoy had joined the captain on the bridge. As he stepped into the command well, he asked the question on everyone’s mind. “Any news?”

  Kirk shook his head.

  “How’re you holding up?” the doctor asked quietly.

  “Are you asking about my recovery from the Kenisian disruptor stun, Doctor?” Kirk’s tone was harsher than he intended, but the last thing he wanted was being coddled on the bridge of his ship.

  “Sure,” McCoy said unfazed.

  Of course Kirk had Spock on his mind. But there was more going on than just the abduction of his first officer and the ambassador.

  As McCoy stood there anxiously spinning the ring on his pinky finger, Kirk frowned at his own overreaction.

  “Sorry, Bones.”

  Simultaneously shaking his head and half shrugging, the doctor merely grunted his acceptance. “They’re fine,” the doctor assured Kirk and probably himself as well. “They wouldn’t take them just to kill them.”

  “Why take them at all?” That was the part Kirk didn’t understand. When he was Zhatan’s captive, Kirk considered forcing her to take him with her—or at the very least finding a way aboard her vessel. But he didn’t think Spock would be taken in his stead, and certainly not Ambassador Pippenge.

  “I don’t know,” McCoy said. It was at times like this his friendship with his frequent Vulcan foil was most evident. “But if anyone can figure a way to send us a message, it’s Spock.”

  Kirk nodded in agreement. It wasn’t so much Spock having a method of communication that the captain worried about, but the opportunity to use it.

  After a few more words of consultation, McCoy retreated from the bridge. Every so often Kirk would ask Uhura if she was picking up anything. Answers ranged from “No, sir,” to “Not yet, Captain,” and finally she just grimly shook her head.

  Tedium weighed down for another hour and a half before Chekov called from the science station. “Sir, I think I have something.”

  Kirk spun his chair toward the ensign and launched himself to the upper bridge. “You think, or you do, Mister Chekov?”

  “Here, sir.” Chekov flipped a switch to enable the display above them. He was either uncertain of just what he’d found, or more likely was unwilling to risk being wrong in front of his captain. “This looks like a heavier concentration of plasma. Perhaps it was their course into and out of the system.”

  With careful study, Kirk concluded the same as his navigator. It felt right—a course away from the normal shipping lanes and the Federation. A course one might take to avoid notice.

  Kirk gave the navigator a satisfied smile. “Good eye, Mister Chekov.” He nodded the ensign toward the navigation console. “Set a course based on that trajectory.”

  Moving quickly, Chekov stepped back to his station. Ensign Jolma moved to the science station from his post at environmental control.

  The Enterprise crew knew their duties well and performed with great efficiency. His confidence in them gave Kirk comfort, but he was still unsettled that Jolma was at Spock’s station. Not that Jolma wasn’t a competent officer—he was. But Spock should be there.

  Moving back to the command well, Kirk refused to sit. Tension continued to kink his neck and back, and he watched intently as Chekov plotted the new course.

  “Laid in, sir,” the ensign told him.

  “Mister Sulu.” Kirk finally lowered himself into the com
mand chair with some measure of relief that he was at the very least doing something. “Maximum warp.”

  “Maximum warp, aye.”

  EIGHT

  Zhatan pulled the arms of her command chair toward her, as if it were a protective cocoon.

  “Nidal, how goes the ship?” This was her customary informal greeting to her first. Whether Zhatan had left Nidal in command or not, the younger Kenisian woman never took Zhatan’s seat. She always stayed at her helm.

  The commander knew her first had several former helmsmen within her, and preferred her navigation and piloting duties to being left in charge.

  “Unabated,” was Nidal’s traditional reply. “Ever unabated.”

  That hadn’t always been true, but by judging the tone of Nidal’s voice, Zhatan could infer the level of calm or danger.

  Today there was a pensive calm in her tone.

  “What troubles you?” Zhatan asked.

  Pecking at the controls of her console, Nidal shrugged noncommittally.

  “We know better,” the commander said with a tired smile.

  Nidal merely grunted. Their breakup had been a bad one, but they both knew they would, eventually, work out their short-term differences.

  They had been coupled at an early age, mainly because many of the consciousnesses within each had known some of those within the other from time immemorial. Zhatan alone had several dozen ka’atrehs that had been betrothed to at least as many as those in Nidal.

  Despite that, their relationship had often been uneasy. Unfortunately, that was how things were sometimes. Many of the personalities within a physical form might be compatible with those within someone else’s corporeal host. But if the two hosts were not fond of one another, strife reigned.

  The problem could have been political. Many of those within Zhatan did not like Nidal’s more pacifist leanings. They were certain that many within Nidal were equally repulsed by Zhatan’s ideologies.

  “We are still on course?” Zhatan asked.

  Twisting around to glare at Zhatan, Nidal looked hurt. “We may not agree with the course, Commander, but we stay it nonetheless.”

  Zhatan sighed. “We want you to agree. Many of you do. Why do you fight us so?”

  Tapping in a command to her board that allowed her to turn her attention away, Nidal spun fully toward her commander and former consort. “Define ‘fight.’ ”

  Standing, Zhatan gestured toward her quarters. “Speak with us privately.”

  With a nod, Nidal rose and exited, Zhatan following her.

  Once alone, her first’s expression turned angry. “We have never fought you,” Nidal said. “We have encouraged you. We have debated you. We have occasionally questioned you. But we have never once fought you.” An insulted glow brushed her cheekbones.

  “What you call debate, many would consider a fight.”

  “You will know it when we decide to fight you, Zhatan.” Nidal’s eyes were green with anger and ready to tear.

  “Are you threatening us?”

  “Ugh!” Nidal turned away. “How can you be so insipid? Why would we threaten you? How could you even question our loyalty? We may not be with you any longer, but we have always loved you.”

  “Always?” the commander spat. “When Alkinth moved to stop this mission, you testified in his favor. Not ours.”

  Nidal buried her face in her hands. “We have apologized tenfold for that transgression. Will our penance ever end?” When she looked up, tears had been covertly wiped away. “When do you learn to move on from the past? Ever? Must all wrongs be forever remembered?” Throwing herself into the chair in front of Zhatan’s desk, her first composed herself. “No one has supported you more than we. It wasn’t our decision to end things. Our pride in you, no matter your decisions in this mission, has never waned.” She reached out with one hand. “We would still have you back.”

  Within her own heart, Zhatan—just Zhatan—knew Nidal was right. Tibis may disagree, but no one had been more loyal than Nidal. And no one knew her better.

  Taking Nidal’s hand and embracing her would have been a warm feeling that she needed right now. But that part of her was quickly silenced.

  The more conglomerate entity in Zhatan’s form reasserted itself, and the room emotionally chilled.

  Turning on a heel, the commander retreated to her bridge and to her chair.

  Quietly, and still shaken, Nidal followed.

  Pulling her earpiece from its storage on the side of the chair, Zhatan tapped a button and placed the receiver near her ear. “Lab progress report,” she ordered.

  Sciver, her chief scientist, answered quickly, “The Vul-kuhn complains of difficulty reading our language. He says it is archaic and he is uncertain of several glyphs.”

  “Does he now?” she asked coldly.

  “Yes, Commander. We are allowing him to build a translation matrix which can be applied to all files. He believes it will save a great deal of time.”

  “We see.” Zhatan frowned. “Is this warranted?” Owing to the fact that he had far fewer consciousnesses within, Sciver had less rank than Zhatan. Still, she trusted his judgment. Often more than she trusted Nidal’s.

  “It is likely unavoidable. He attempted to explain the Vul-kuhn language to us, but we’ve neither the patience nor the time. None among us is a linguist.” Sciver sounded tired, Zhatan thought. She sympathized.

  “Very well. Explain to him that we expect actual progress at the next report interval.”

  “Yes, Commander, we will do so.”

  “Thank you, Sciver. Bridge out.”

  Returning the earpiece to its station, Zhatan sighed.

  “He delays us,” Tibis thought.

  “Yes, he stalls.”

  “Do not trust him.”

  “Don’t trust.”

  “He is purposely dilatory.”

  “Perhaps.” Zhatan rubbed at her neck and tried to will away her exhaustion. But she didn’t wish to sleep. “We will know for certain in a day’s time.”

  “A day is too late.”

  “Kill him now. He cannot help.”

  “He will not help.”

  “Nidal may disagree, but Sciver does not.”

  “Sciver knows Spock may still be of use.”

  “Sciver gave evidence against Alkinth. He believes in our goals.”

  “The Vul-kuhn does not respect us,” Tibis said.

  “He is honorable. We are of the same blood.”

  “No, he does not agree.”

  “Kill him. And the Maabas fool.”

  “No, do not kill them. They are useful. They will help.”

  “We have time,” Zhatan thought. “We are two days’ travel away from the destroyer’s homeworld.”

  “The Vul-kuhn must solve the equations we cannot—before we use the na’hubis.”

  “He will perfect our weapon.”

  “He will delay. He cannot be trusted.”

  “He wants to limit the destruction.”

  “He wants to hamper our efforts.”

  “He will work for us against his will.”

  “He will betray us,” Tibis said.

  “Enough,” Zhatan snapped. “He will do as we need.”

  “He will.”

  “Vul-kuhn are of our blood.”

  “He will not betray us.”

  “He will betray us!”

  “He will not.”

  “Trust in us.”

  “No, listen to us.”

  “Silence. We will rest.” Zhatan rose and moved toward the door to her quarters. “Nidal, wake us in an hour.”

  Nidal nodded. “Yes, Commander.”

  “We will rest,” Zhatan said again as the bridge doors closed silently behind her.

  OF THE FOURTEEN ancient na’hubis-filled Kenisian mines, it was difficult to know which Spock should investigate closely. He was interested in only one in particular.

  Unfortunately, Sciver, the Kenisian scientist who’d given him access, did not understand why
Spock needed to examine all the barrels. “Is not one much the same as another?”

  With the best skeptical expression he could gather, Spock sought the man’s gaze. “You have schematics on these, but no designers’ notes,” he explained. “I need to compare the actual artifact with the archival plans if I am to understand what, if anything, was changed in the production of your latest prototype.”

  Pausing in thought a long moment, Sciver finally clenched his jaw and nodded. Presumably, the internal debate that attempted to weigh whether Spock’s explanation was a proper one had ended in the Vulcan’s favor.

  Left to his own, Spock was able to closely examine the containers with a Kenisian tricorder. Before he switched it on, Spock inspected each visually. He did not want the unit’s memory to record the presence of the item he wished to recover.

  On the fifth mine, Spock found what he sought. The captain had hidden his communicator within a ventilation panel that ran vertically along the left side of the container. When he and Tainler left for the vaults with his communicator, and returned without it, Spock knew that had been Kirk’s plan. To help avoid detection, the power source had been disengaged.

  Covertly, Spock spirited the unit away, concealing it in his palm and then smoothly slipping it into the top of his boot. The bulk would show if one were looking for it, but to a cursory glance it would go unnoticed.

  Continuing his ruse, Spock examined the other nine mines as closely as he had the first five. He took readings, and when he was finished, he handed the Kenisian tricorder back to Sciver, who barely looked up from his work.

  “I will need these results for further study,” Spock said. “Can they be transferred to my console?”

  Busy with his own simulations and study, Sciver handed the tricorder back to him. “You have access to do that yourself. Simply place the unit close to the console and the transfer will begin.”

  Spock took the tricorder back. “I shall return it when the transfer is complete.”

  “You needn’t,” Sciver said. “You may have need of it again.”

  Nodding, Spock walked toward Pippenge and the computer consoles to which they were assigned. I shall indeed have need of it, he thought.