Crisis of Consciousness

by Dave Galanter

“They are the weapons, Ensign.”

  Silently, Jolma gulped.

  The captain didn’t blame him. They were bullets—warp powered instead of gunpowder propelled, but with enough apparent and actual mass to tear the Enterprise to shreds. “How shielded are they?”

  “Class three, sir.”

  Lovely, Kirk thought. “Time to intercept?”

  “Three minutes ten seconds,” Chekov replied.

  “Let’s back off, Mister Sulu.” Kirk crooked a thumb aft. “Alter course. Come about to two-one-two, mark seventeen.”

  Nimble fingers worked the helm, and Sulu nodded. “Aye, sir.”

  Enterprise turned and sped away, but the hostiles continued in pursuit.

  “They have increased speed, sir, and are maintaining course.” A bit of shock tinted Chekov’s voice as he kept his eyes glued to his readout. “Time to intercept, three minutes.”

  “What we need,” Jolma said, “is a place to hide. A gas giant, maybe?”

  “Not to hide, Mister Jolma, but a gas giant is an excellent idea.” Kirk turned to him with a smile. “Find us one, and if it has some rings we could use them.”

  Jolma twisted back to the science station. “One point seven parsecs away.” He turned toward Kirk and grinned. “It’s ringed, sir.”

  “Other planets?”

  “Seven in all. Two are rocky. None have life-signs.”

  “Good.” That just might do, Kirk thought. “Mister Chekov, lay in a course.” He thumbed the comm button on the right arm of his chair. “Kirk to engineering.”

  “Scott here, sir.”

  “We’re about to get hot, Mister Scott.”

  “Aye, sir. How hot?”

  “Jovian hot.”

  There was a slight hesitation before Scott offered a disquieted, “Aye, aye, sir.”

  “Kirk out.”

  “Course laid in, Captain.” Chekov gave an extra push to the last button in the sequence, and his hands hovered at the ready.

  “Mister Sulu, take us in. As close and as fast as we can.”

  Under the helmsman’s guidance, Enterprise thrust itself toward the ringed Jovian planet.

  “Hostiles in pursuit,” Chekov said.

  On the main viewscreen, the tactical display was awash in dots, twisting this way and that, spiraling madly toward the Enterprise as it drove toward the planet.

  “Put her just outside the rings.”

  “Aye, sir,” Sulu said, but glanced anxiously at Chekov, who seemed equally uncertain.

  “Intercept in one minute ten seconds, sir.” Controls at the ready, the navigator prepared to fire both phasers and photon torpedoes.

  But the captain knew the weapons weren’t enough. Two hundred and seven intelligent missiles. It was overkill. The Enterprise could outrun them, eventually. But they would have to retreat, losing precious time.

  The attack was interesting. Zhatan was walking a line between not trying to destroy the Enterprise, but not caring if it was destroyed. Perhaps being a multividual was more a disorder than the Kenisians would care to admit. If Zhatan had this kind of weaponry at her disposal, wouldn’t ridding herself of the Enterprise be the wiser path?

  The hidden message in this attack was that Kenisians were aware they were being pursued. Zhatan could have been privy to their coded communication with Spock, or she might have assumed the Enterprise was following. Worse yet, this could be Kenisian space and their surveillance equipment recognized the Enterprise as an invader and alerted Zhatan automatically.

  Chekov nervously called out, “Twenty-three seconds to contact with first of hostiles.”

  “Push her, Mister Sulu.” Kirk could see the tension in his helmsman’s shoulders.

  Sulu leaned over his console as if he could physically push the ship along. “Aye, aye, sir.”

  The thrust of the engines could be felt through the deck plates.

  Kirk considered transferring power to the aft shields, but the fore shields were needed as they plunged toward the gas giant.

  “Captain?” Jolma’s voice was an overexcited squeak. “Hostiles are increasing speed. Using the planet’s pull to accelerate.”

  Kirk could see on the tactical display that hundreds of dots were plummeting toward his ship as she dove toward the planet.

  “Fifteen seconds.”

  “Alter course on my mark, Sulu. Ninety degrees port.” The captain leaned forward in the command chair, his eyes locked on the tactical display and the indicator that showed the first of the missiles bearing down on them.

  “Impact imminent,” Chekov reported.

  “Ten seconds,” Sulu said.

  “Mark, Sulu!” Kirk gripped onto the arms of his chair and held tight. “Full-power turn.”

  Enterprise whined, bulkheads and inertial dampers creaking under the strain.

  The first three spheres flew past, unable to break away from the pull of the planet. They were struck by the larger pieces in the ring. Crushed and crumpled, they fell into the gas giant’s atmosphere.

  On the tactical display, Kirk watched as the rest of the missiles turned with them, still in close pursuit.

  And then one took the lead.

  “Aft torpedoes, full spread,” Kirk ordered over the howling engines. “Fire!”

  Red orbs of power launched behind Enterprise and crashed into the nearest missile.

  A white-hot bubble of explosive energy crackled forward.

  Kirk was pitched from the command chair and groaned as he rammed a knee into the lip of the console between Chekov and Sulu.

  Lights flickered and dimmed, with only sparks illuminating the billows of smoke that poured from overloading circuits. Loose cabling crackled above, and Kirk blinked as particles of insulation rained down as a support strut clattered to the deck to his left.

  Emergency lights clicked on as the crew found footing and stumbled back to their stations.

  Then another explosion rocked the ship and inertial dampers shut down, hurling the crew in every direction.

  Darkness blotted all and refused to wane.

  “SOMETHING IS WRONG, Commander Spock.” The ambassador was again pretending they were discussing the Maabas computer console, but what actually concerned Pippenge was that Spock had sent three new coded messages to the Enterprise without response.

  Spock couldn’t be sure what had gone wrong. “They are unable to respond, or they are not receiving the messages,” he told Pippenge covertly via his implant.

  When the ambassador saw the message, he pursed his lips in way of acknowledgment.

  “There are several possibilities,” Spock continued. “But one theory does not have more evidence to support it over others.” He didn’t care to get into the specifics of the countless potentialities. The Enterprise could have sustained damage to the communications equipment or it could be out of range. They could have encountered external forces that made communication silence necessary or unavoidable. More grimly, the ship could have been destroyed.

  Turning back, Spock knew, would not have been an option, not for James Kirk. If it were at all possible, the captain would still be in pursuit.

  However, it may not have been possible. Spock would need to strategize for that contingency.

  To stop the Kenisian plan, Spock would now have to be more proactive rather than playing along with the Kenisians’ desire to limit the na’hubis weapon. In fact, the Vulcan thought, he might need to perfect it.

  Spock sent to Pippenge, “It is time to succeed at the task which you’ve been delaying. I will need full access to the Maabas archive.”

  The ambassador’s jaw gaped open. “I—I have feigned nothing,” he said in a low voice. “I truly don’t know how to do it.”

  Spock pulled in a long breath and released it slowly. Speaking in an equally hushed tone, he said, “That, Mister Ambassador, is a problem.”

  DNA-based computers were known to Federation science, but when the Vulcan attempted to help the ambassador in his task, solutions did not immediately
present themselves.

  As he investigated, Spock was acutely reminded why the Federation saw a benefit in scientific exchange with the Maabas. The computer they had designed was straightforward, but after attempting to compromise its security, a program was triggered which modified its genetic code. Now, it could not be accessed, except by a particular Maabas individual. Ambassador Pippenge was indeed unable to unlock the console. The only individual who could was likely the technician who originally set up the computer.

  “We need,” Spock told Pippenge, “for you to be a different person.”

  Eyes wide, the ambassador seemed very unsure what to make of his statement. “I beg your pardon?”

  “A person’s genetic code is much the same as that of anyone else of their race. Genetically speaking, most differences between individuals are on a superficial level.”

  Pippenge flattened his lips. “Yes, this I know. On our native homeworld, a small tree-dwelling creature no bigger than your hand is an evolutionary precursor to Maabas. Genetically, I believe it is a ninety-three percent match to any living Maabasian.”

  “You,” Spock said, tilting his head toward the ambassador, “are better than a ninety-nine percent match to whomever established the baseline for this computer.”

  “But it takes one hundred percent, does it not?”

  “Yes,” Spock replied. “But computers only do as they are told. Without access, we cannot instruct it to work differently, but we might use its own strict adherence to protocol against it.”

  “How?” Pippenge was truly interested, and in his excitement, his anxiety faded.

  “By masking the discordant portion of your DNA from the scanning instrument of the computer.” Using the Kenisian tricorder for its intended purpose, rather than covert coded messages, Spock scanned the ambassador. “What will remain, as far as the computer is concerned, will be a one hundred percent match.”

  After recording Pippenge’s genetic code, Spock then scanned the Maabas computer console. Another problem presented itself. Apparently, despite his default attempt to not express such disappointment visually, the ambassador knew they’d encountered a problem. “What troubles you now?”

  “There is no DNA sample within the computer itself. It’s likely an encoded file.”

  “Which we cannot access.”

  Spock nodded. “Correct.” Working the tricorder again, the science officer set up a connection to the Maabas computer. “However, we can attempt to feed versions of your genetic code into the system. When one matches, we shall be alerted.”

  “Will that not take a great deal of time, Mister Spock?”

  “It may.” Setting the Kenisian tricorder to its task, Spock lowered it carefully to the corner of the console.

  At their next progress report, Sciver listened quietly to Spock’s explanation of what he was doing to help Pippenge, then without comment had a guard escort the Vulcan to the room where Commander Zhatan was waiting.

  Presumably, this was her office, but it showed no signs of decoration other than benign and neutral walls. Perhaps, Spock thought, it was a common area used for impersonal interviews and one-on-one discussions.

  Spock sat in the only chair available, which was directly in front of the desk behind which Zhatan was seated. Like the chair in the cell, this too shaped itself to meet his contours.

  Without prompting, Spock explained to her exactly what he’d told Sciver.

  When he was finished, she nodded her approval. “Our medical team was working on a gene-therapy to change his genetic code,” she said, amused.

  “Unnecessary,” Spock said. “One can more easily block a scan than alter what is being scanned.”

  She smiled again, but mirthlessly. “Yes, of course.”

  “You are troubled?” Spock took his hands off the arms of the chair and placed them elegantly on his lap. He hoped to suggest a more open demeanor.

  Studying his visage for a long moment, Zhatan tilted her head in curiosity. “What would you know about the realm of feelings?”

  Raising a brow, Spock demurred. “I?” He shook his head. “Only that—as a Vulcan—I deal with very strong emotions which by necessity must be kept in check. I may be more informed on the topic of feelings than you assume.”

  A trace of understanding touched her expression, and either she lost her tenuous grasp on it, or one of Zhatan’s many personalities thrust it away.

  What had the captain seen and felt when melded with her? Spock couldn’t help but wonder. Having been connected to a collective consciousness before, he’d known the telepathic touch of more than one mind. But that instance was unique, where a single will dominated those linked to it. Zhatan’s situation was drastically different, with fewer personalities, but perhaps none truly in control.

  Spock had chosen the path of the ill-considered mind-meld before. He didn’t wish to repeat past mistakes. But he was admittedly curious.

  He pressed, “What specifically troubles you?”

  For a few seconds, Zhatan seemed to be on the cusp of a reply. Looking away, she merely asked her next question, “How long do you expect before you have access to the Maabas archives?”

  “Unknown,” Spock said. “The process ends when the correct combination of genes is blocked. I haven’t enough data to make a prediction.”

  “How long could it take?” she asked.

  Spock was only as frank as necessary. “Given the number of protein-coding genes within Maabas DNA, the process of elimination could take years.” Technically, that was correct, but didn’t account for that fact that Spock had programmed the tricorder to try only viable combinations. In actuality, the sequencer could run its course in four days.

  “We don’t have years,” Zhatan told him.

  “Would it be inappropriate to ask why?”

  Once again she hesitated, and the machinations within were obvious. “The situation is . . . multifaceted,” she said finally, and very quietly, as if nervous that she might hear herself.

  “Most situations seem complex from within. An external, impartial view can offer clarity.”

  “Is that what you are?” Zhatan laughed. “Impartial?”

  “I am not your enemy.” Spock was careful to say “I” and not “we.” He would not speak for the Federation, or even Starfleet, because aligning himself with others would not gain her trust.

  “And we are not yours,” Zhatan said, but the answer was more perfunctory than meaningful.

  “You seek to harm your conquerors,” Spock said. “Clearly, whatever war you fought with them was, at some point, won. Why pursue retribution in such haste?” Thinking it futile to convince her against revenge, he hoped first to hear why the Kenisian had a stringent timetable.

  “Haste?” she scoffed. “This has been hundreds of years in the planning.”

  “Would hundreds of years and a day be too long?”

  A sneer curling her lips, Zhatan was roused to anger. “It would!”

  Spock maintained his Vulcan calm, which he knew could be a risk. “Why?”

  The commander answered without hesitation. “Because they rouse! We beat them back to the point where they had no ships, no cities! We crushed them back to the stone age, and in seven hundred years they have pulled themselves back to the warp age.”

  “You did not commit genocide,” Spock said. “That was an admirable choice.”

  “It was our ‘admirable’ mistake!” She mashed her fist hard onto the desk in front of her. “We watched, oh we watched.” Zhatan launched to her feet and began to pace the room, pent-up tension venting itself through her gait. “After the war, to save their lives, and those of their children, we sentenced them to technological oblivion. They agreed. But within two generations they’d broken the pact. Ignored it! But we were watching.” She wagged a finger at Spock, as if she were lecturing him. “There was a time when, like you, we were a peaceful people. We decided not to obliterate them. So we merely destroyed their industrial base—again—and went on our way.”


  Deducing the next part, Spock nodded. “But they rebuilt a third time.”

  “Every fifty or sixty years,” she said, exasperated. “We would monitor from afar, and make visits when we had to . . . but we grew complacent. Their homeworld is far from where we settled, and we were swayed by their pleas. With time, we allowed basic technology.”

  “But one innovation led to the next.”

  “Yes. Now, they are ready to touch the stars again. Our probes show a highly active warp travel. A large fleet—and the building of a starbase.”

  “And you believe they will use this base to launch an attack on you.”

  “Why wouldn’t they?” She leaned down, palms flat against the tabletop, and looked him in the eye. “Wouldn’t you?”

  “No,” Spock said.

  “Of course, you wouldn’t,” she sneered. “But any being who understood fear would.”

  Pulling his hands across his chest, Spock interlocked his fingers and made his posture as impassive as he could. However, what he said he meant to sting. “I know fear, Commander. I’ve experienced it, and its negative ramifications. I’ve seen it force others to either condone or commit horrific acts. It is your fear, in fact, that would ask me to be complicit in a holocaust.”

  He expected her to rage at him. Instead, Zhatan straightened and then dropped herself back into the chair. “I am afraid.” Eyes closed, she sounded exhausted. “There is no way back from this course.”

  “I” again. There was most surely an individual within, even if it were in constant conflict with her other selves.

  “There are alternatives to fear,” Spock told her quietly. “One can have an emotion without acting on it. One can use it to inform their feelings, but nothing more.”

  “But we, Commander Spock, are not merely one,” Zhatan said. Her eyes opened suddenly, and once more they had grown cold.

  ELEVEN

  The sound of impact was a slow-motion crunch, as if someone had put the vessel in a vise and tightened it.

  Dust and debris shook from overhead. Cables fell, insulation dropped, consoles spasmed.

  Lights crackled off, and the red glare of backup lighting flicked on, then off again.