Crisis of Consciousness

by Dave Galanter

  “The Kenisian system,” Sciver corrected.

  Spock tilted his head toward Sciver and nodded. “As you wish.” Turning back to Pippenge, the Vulcan continued. “Either the Kenisians surveilled the Enterprise and researched its crew, or they sought out an individual of specific scientific abilities who is assigned to the Enterprise, and it was serendipity that we were dispatched for this mission.” He turned to Zhatan, hoping she would indicate which was true.

  “We have been monitoring the Maabas for some time,” she admitted, her voice now softer, but her posture straightened with pride. “When the Federation ventured within the system, we began to investigate Starfleet as well.” She shrugged. “Your ship frequents this sector. It was important to learn about your captain, you . . . all those who could be in command and might stand against us.”

  “And within my past accomplishments you saw an opportunity to help you meet your ends.”

  Zhatan nodded.

  “Within you reside four hundred thirteen minds?” Spock asked. “How many of those have worked on the very weapon you seek to re-create?”

  “There is a degradation—”

  “Commander!” Sciver snapped. Whatever Zhatan was about to reveal, he obviously considered it inappropriate to do so.

  Zhatan didn’t care. “You’re dismissed, Sciver.”

  “Commander—”

  “Dismissed,” she said through gritted teeth.

  Sullen, the Kenisian scientist skulked away toward one of the labs.

  Zhatan took a deep breath and continued, “I give you truth, Spock, but we want truth in return.”

  An interesting mixed usage of “I” and then “we.” Was the individual that was at Zhatan’s core promising him honesty, and the collective of her different personalities asking for his reciprocation as payment?

  Spock nodded his agreement and waited patiently.

  Zhatan looked at Pippenge, perhaps deciding whether he should be present for whatever admission she was going to make. Turning away from the ambassador, Zhatan had obviously decided he could stay.

  “We are not,” she said slowly, “always . . .” Her sentence trailed off unexpectedly, and she sighed.

  “Honesty can be disquieting,” Spock told her, releasing his hands from behind his back and allowing them to hang effortlessly at his sides. “But it is often preferable to falsehood, nonetheless.”

  Clearing her throat, Zhatan hesitated.

  She is, Spock thought, so very young, despite all the ancient minds within her.

  “The whole is not always greater,” she said finally, “than the sum of the parts.”

  “I understand.” Spock nodded, and he may have allowed a bit of pity to seep into his voice.

  She looked calmed, he noted. Relieved that she need not relate to him all she intended.

  However, Pippenge was confused. He looked from Spock to Zhatan. “Forgive me, Commanders . . . but I do not understand. Please explain.”

  “Any mind, even a highly ordered and resilient Vulcan mind, can be taxed to its limits,” Spock said. “The life essence of an individual normally resides within a single physical brain. There have been instances where one’s consciousness was stored in another, or even in an inorganic vault of sorts. But there is no record of someone acquiring several such consciousnesses—let alone hundreds—without going mad.”

  “We are not mad,” Zhatan protested, but she sought Spock’s eyes only a second before looking away.

  “No,” Spock agreed, “but you are troubled.”

  She shook her head. “You don’t understand as much as you thought.”

  “Then by all means, clarify.”

  Fingers to her temples, Zhatan massaged them a long moment before speaking. She shifted her weight anxiously from one foot to the other, then began. “As I tried to explain, there is a degradation of faculties. Even with the support of archives and prototypes . . . we lack . . . certain . . .”

  “You lack total comprehension,” Spock concluded, noticing that she again used the word “I” rather than “we.”

  Zhatan nodded. “Among us are the scientists who worked on the original weapon. But the science is lost to us,” she lamented. “We know it is possible to limit the destruction. But we do not understand enough of the physics to re-create it.” She looked at Spock, meeting his eyes for the first time since she’d revealed her truth to him. “You must help us.”

  “You want his help to destroy us?” Pippenge asked.

  Zhatan had been so intent on Spock, she seemed startled by the ambassador’s question, if not his presence altogether.

  “Our only interest in Kenis Prime was the na’hubis. We would not seek to remove you from the planet.”

  Pippenge didn’t believe her. “Then why threaten us?”

  Half sighing, half shrugging, Zhatan seemed to offer an honest answer. “After much reconnaissance, we thought you weak and easy to manipulate. Threatening you was a means to an end, not the end in itself.”

  Covering his mouth with a fist clenched so tightly that it began to shake, Pippenge cried. Within seconds his entire body quaked with sobs. Tears of anger, or tears of relief? Spock could not decipher which.

  Nevertheless, having lived his entire life with emotional beings within his orbit, Spock could understand the ambassador’s pain. He reached out his left hand and placed it on Pippenge’s right shoulder, steadying him.

  “You will excuse me,” the ambassador said, clearing his throat. “But I thought my people would die in the tens of millions.” He looked up at Zhatan, a bitter expression tightening his face. “My people still believe that. You have terrorized, abducted, absconded—”

  “Immaterial.” She waved off his concern and his emotional torrent. As if a switch had flipped, her heart was again hardened, and she turned to address only Spock. “Now, it is time for your truth.”

  “What truth do you seek?”

  “We believe you’ve been purposely dilatory in your efforts to control the na’hubis compound. Will you work with haste toward our end, or are you dooming us to the great unknown?”

  Spock opened his mouth to reply, but Zhatan interrupted.

  “Not using the weapon is an unacceptable choice to us.” Straightening her tunic and standing taller, as if suddenly emotionally bolstered from within, she stared him down. “Your only alternatives are to assist us, and lower the risk of the outcome none of us desire, or deny us, and doom yourself and the galaxy to uncertainty and possible death.”

  “Probable death,” Spock corrected.

  Zhatan nodded. “Then you know what you must do.”

  “WHAT NEWS of Ambassador Pippenge, Captain?” A small line of static bisected Tainler’s image on the main viewer, but despite the distance, the picture was amazingly clear. Maabas subspace communication was more advanced than the Federation’s, and there was only minimal delay between locations. “And of Commander Spock as well,” she added guiltily.

  “They’re alive,” Kirk said. “But not out of the woods.”

  Her lips puckering in confusion, the translation of that idiom was clearly awkward. “They have been taken to a forest?”

  “They’re still in danger,” Kirk corrected. “But with your help we may find a solution.”

  Pursing her lips with exaggerated emphasis, Tainler was eager to oblige. “I’ll help in any way I can, Captain. Any way I can.”

  Like Pippenge, his assistant was equally ready to help. This was the Maabas hospitality Palamas had written of in her report. “We need access to whatever historical archives you have, going back as far as Maabas history goes.”

  “The material on the ruins which Pippenge granted Mister Spock?”

  Kirk thought on that a moment. “No, everything you have. The ruins, your time on the planet, even how you came to find it. Everything the Maabas have documented and recorded.”

  Again, Tainler flattened her lips. “I shall see to it. Please stand by.” She rose from her desk and walked out of frame.
/>   “MADAME PRESIDENT?” Tainler flashed the door light again. “Are you present?”

  After a long pause, the door to President Moberte’s office slid open revealing her ornate fixtures and baroque desk. She stood, pacing, talking, and put up a hand for Tainler to wait until she was done. Representative Lodi sat next to the window, drinking from a tall glass and looking out at the cityscape.

  “Yes, I understand your point, Prefect Tyms. And I hope you appreciate mine. These are certainly troubled times, but I trust we shall be able to meet the challenges together.” She paused, listening to his end of the conversation, and then said, “Thank you. Please wish joy to your family for me. Yes. Good night.”

  Tainler felt her face flush. Had officials as far down as the Prefects heard about the situation with the Kenisians? Secrets were hard to keep.

  “My apology,” Moberte said, turning to greet Pippenge’s assistant. “Tyms, once again, is having his preelection palpitations.”

  “Oh,” Tainler said, relieved. “Then he doesn’t know about—everything.”

  Moberte chuckled at the thought. “I shudder to think how that conversation would go. No. There have been no leaks.”

  “Yet,” Lodi added, still looking out the window.

  “How may I be of service to you, Tainler?”

  “Captain Kirk is requesting full access to our data archives. More than the information previously granted. He wants access to all our historical data, even previous to the migration.”

  The president looked at Lodi, studying her. “Indeed?”

  “An interesting request,” Representative Lodi said. “For what purpose?”

  Hesitating, Tainler was unsure how to answer. She hadn’t even asked. Was she going to be in trouble for not getting full information? “I don’t know,” she told Lodi, then looked at Moberte. “I assumed it would not be a problem. Was I mistaken?”

  Swallowing hard, the president exchanged a long glance with the representative.

  “It may not present a problem,” Lodi said.

  Why were they so concerned? Tainler searched their expressions for some clue, but they were politicians and skilled at hiding their true intent.

  “Problem?” she asked, a bit more indignantly than she intended.

  “No problem,” Moberte said. “Give them the access.”

  Tainler pursed her lips. “There is more going on here than it seems,” she said. “Ambassador Pippenge’s life is at stake. What secrets are you keeping?”

  Pinching the bridge of her nose for a quick moment, Moberte moved to her desk chair and settled into it.

  I am to be relieved of my duties, Tainler thought.

  But then Lodi rose to stand behind the president. “Reveal it,” she whispered.

  Reveal what?

  “It could jeopardize our relationship with the Federation,” Moberte snapped. “Now is not the time.”

  “If they’re looking for it, they already suspect,” Lodi said calmly. “If they’re not, they likely won’t find it.” She folded her arms, grasping each elbow between her thumbs. “If they truly are our friends, why keep this secret?”

  “Because it shows subterfuge,” the president said guiltily.

  “Did we lie to them?” Tainler asked incredulously as she stepped toward them. “Is that what this would reveal?”

  Moberte pursed her lips. “In a sense, yes.”

  “They’ll understand,” Lodi said. “Give them the access they desire, and we shall endure the consequences.”

  Moving closer toward them, Tainler was determined to know what it was they feared. “What is this about? This situation is too serious to play such political games. Tell me.”

  The president hesitated, but Lodi did not. “Long-range sensors detected the Kenisians some months ago. The Science Directorate was able to ascertain that their technology was similar to that found in the ruins.”

  Stunned, Tainler backed away instinctively. “This is why we suddenly embraced the Federation.”

  Pressing her lips into a thin line, Moberte admitted it tacitly.

  “We thought we might need their protection,” Lodi explained. “Obviously we were prescient.”

  “Who?” Tainler demanded. “You? And you?” She accused them both.

  “I and the Court knew,” the president said.

  “Ambassador Pippenge didn’t know,” Tainler realized, and Lodi confirmed it with a pucker of her lips.

  “We thought it best the delegation act in isolation from our intentions,” Moberte said.

  “Except for Skent? Is that why he was snooping around?”

  Lodi sighed. “He isn’t that clever and was merely curious. No one asked him to steal Federation secrets.”

  That much Tainler believed. Skent always had been a bit of a fool, and what he’d done had been harmless enough.

  “They will not abandon us,” Lodi said as she moved toward Tainler and took the woman by the shoulders. “Have faith in the Federation. We believe them to be of good character. They will overlook our misstep, should they learn of it.”

  Tainler scoffed. “They’re of good character. What are we?”

  “Desperate,” Moberte said. “And even after all these years, still afraid of genocide.”

  Lodi released Tainler and motioned her out of the room. “Go. Give them the access they request.”

  Tainler looked to the president, who pressed her lips together in agreement. “Worry not,” she said. “I don’t think it’s what they’re looking for.”

  “WHAT EXACTLY are you looking for, Jim?” McCoy asked.

  “I’m not sure.” Kirk offered the doctor a half shrug. “I’m hoping I’ll know it when I find it.”

  The doctor was unsatisfied by the captain’s reply.

  Just then Tainler returned. “Captain? I have authority from President Moberte to open our planetary databanks to you. I will send your communications officer the proper security protocols.”

  Kirk glanced back at Uhura, who nodded in acknowledgment.

  “This is unprecedented access for an offworlder,” Tainler continued.

  Of course, Kirk thought. The Maabas had been xenophobic before finally embracing what the Federation had to offer. And yet, they’d opened their arms warmly once they’d chosen their path. “Please extend the president my deepest gratitude, as well as my assurance that your databanks are safe with us.”

  Her expression wrought with emotion, Tainler’s voice was thick with held-back tears. “Never mind the data, Captain. Whatever you search for and no matter what you find . . . just bring Ambassador Pippenge back and save our world.”

  The only response to that plea that Kirk could manage was a nod. “Enterprise, out,” he said softly. The main viewscreen returned to a starscape at warp.

  Save our world? If the Kenisians used that weapon, there was a lot more at stake than one planet.

  Twisting around, Kirk pushed himself up and toward Uhura. “Lieutenant?”

  “Yes, sir,” she said softly, one hand gliding smoothly across her console. “I have full access to the Maabas records.”

  “Set up an instantaneous gateway,” Kirk ordered. “I want our computer to be able to search and interpret the entirety of their archive.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  Were Spock available, Kirk would ask him to take lead on the task of searching the Maabas records for relevant information. But the captain had done some of that as a young lieutenant, and he knew another officer who had the kind of mind that could sift large amounts of data quickly. “As soon as that’s ready, please join me in the briefing room, Uhura.” He stepped toward the lift. “Have Lieutenant Palamas meet us there.”

  “Sir?” Still working her controls, Uhura turned and looked after him curiously.

  “We’re going on a fishing expedition.”

  McCoy stepped up from the lower bridge. “Jim, you don’t know what you’re fishing for.”

  “I’m casting a wide net,” Kirk said, continuing the metaphor as he s
tepped into the lift.

  “COMMANDER?” To be roused by Nidal’s voice was an unexpected comfort, and Zhatan reached across the bed toward her. But Nidal wasn’t there. “Commander?” It was the intercom.

  Groggily, Zhatan tapped the comm button above her bed. “What is wrong?”

  “Nothing, Commander. You were expected back at the beginning of the watch. Are you well?”

  We are not well, Zhatan thought, but she didn’t want to have that argument again. “We are fine,” she lied.

  She hadn’t meant to fall asleep. She had only intended to meditate, but slumber had come too quickly to avoid.

  Once on the bridge, Zhatan felt more herself, and comfort returned as she took her command chair. At least her ship was a constant, forgiving companion.

  “Engineers are complaining that maintaining our present velocity is becoming difficult.” Nidal handed her a palm screen with the report. “They suggest cutting speed by one third.”

  Zhatan skimmed the recommendation. “So we see.”

  “Shall we reduce to level eight?”

  Hesitating, the commander was awash in internal input.

  “We must not slow.”

  “Maintain speed.”

  “We cannot be delayed.”

  “Stay strong.”

  “Listen to us.”

  “Kirk is following. We know he is.”

  “Maintain speed.”

  “If we reduce to eight,” Zhatan told Nidal, “Kirk will intercept us.”

  “We’ve had no indication the Enterprise pursues us.” Nidal shrugged. “We tainted the heliosphere as you ordered. Our path is well masked.”

  “Well masked.” Zhatan shook her head. “But not perfectly so.” She handed back the palm screen.

  Nidal took it, glanced at the report again, and sighed slightly. “Commander, we cannot maintain this speed. Reducing to level eight is more than a suggestion.”

  Zhatan looked away. “We are the commander here. Only our own wishes are more than suggestions.”

  “How do you know Kirk pursues us?” Nidal was clearly frustrated, but there was a reason she was only the first and not the commander.

  “We know,” Zhatan said. “We touched his mind. We know his soul.”