Crisis of Consciousness

by Dave Galanter

  Incredulity slackened Zhatan’s jaw, and her eyes widened. “And they never pursued it?”

  “They were not aware of it.” Keying the console, Spock displayed a data chart on the screen. “The event was hidden in their data, but having studied your simulations, I recognized it.”

  She scanned the screen with intent interest, doubtless allowing the former physicists within her a chance for a close study of the fabricated experiment. “You found this, in only seventy-six minutes.”

  “Negative. I found it in forty-three minutes. The remainder of the time, I searched for verification of the findings. Unfortunately, this was the only example of catalyzation I found.”

  Stunned, Zhatan took a step back. “We need to verify it.”

  Spock stood and clasped his hands nonchalantly behind his back. “I concur. But experimentation cannot occur within an active warp field without significant risk of uncontrollable chain reaction.” There may have been some truth to his statement. Spock could not be certain. But he needed the “fact” to be believed.

  “Simulations—” she began to protest, but Spock shook his head, cutting her off.

  “Would be inadequate.”

  Zhatan frowned and opened her mouth to speak, but again Spock interrupted.

  “If you truly desire to contain the destruction, and only seek to injure a specific target, this is a course you must take.”

  “You want me to stop this vessel. Here? Now?”

  “Stopping forward motion is unnecessary. Sublight speed can be maintained. The experiments only require there is no active warp field in proximity. Necessarily, the engines must be taken offline to a cold state.”

  She shook her head. “Impossible.”

  “If my suggestion is unsatisfactory, I am open to hearing yours. A satellite lab, perhaps, to which we can transfer the na’hubis mines?”

  “No. There must be another alternative,” she protested. “We cannot delay.”

  “Your alternative is to use the mines as they are,” Spock said matter-of-factly. “You will destroy your enemy, yourselves, and possibly this arm of the galaxy.” He met her eyes as earnestly as possible. “Or, you can shut down your warp engines and allow testing to begin at once.” He did not add his usual reminder that she could decide against the attack entirely.

  Zhatan stared at him silently for a while before finally turning on her heel and walking toward the doorway. “We must give this some thought,” she said. “I will let you know.”

  At that, Spock raised a curious brow.

  “COME IN,” Zhatan greeted her first. “We need your help.”

  Nidal stood before the commander’s desk and waited. “Yes?”

  “We must contact the Assembly.”

  Eyes wide, Nidal lowered herself awkwardly into a chair. “Now?”

  Zhatan nodded. “We’ve not the strength to do it alone. If you are by our side, we can endure it.”

  Eyes moist, Nidal nodded as the commander raised the screen and initiated the call. They both turned and steadied themselves.

  “Assembly Vital, this is Zhatan and Nidal aboard the warship Pride. We would seek your counsel.”

  At this extreme distance, there was a delay before they were met with a simple audio reply. “Pride, this is Vital. Do you request a joint session?”

  “We do.”

  “Stand by.”

  They waited. Zhatan knew the time of day would mean a joint session wouldn’t take long to call to order.

  When the screen came to life, the Assembly chamber spread across it. Even at the wide angle, it was impossible to view the entire chamber. Thousands of seats were available under the glass canopy, though only three hundred were currently filled. At the forefront were the elders, including the emperor.

  Alkinth was, of course, just to his right. Zhatan could guess what his advice would be. Still, the majority had voted for this course, and they were unlikely to have changed their minds while she was away, Emperor Kand especially.

  “The Vulcan has been superficially helpful,” the commander explained. “But he is of our blood, and he suggests the na’hubis can be controlled.”

  “That is excellent, Zhatan,” Kand said, and those around him nodded their agreement. “We know many had their doubts about this plan. We did not.”

  Alkinth did.

  “We would have to stop dead where we are to perform the necessary tests,” she explained. “This would delay our arrival in the conqueror’s system.”

  The emperor frowned. Alkinth’s expression was difficult to discern across the distance, despite the quality of the image. Even if this wasn’t the kind of delay he’d be against, he could use it against her and so Zhatan imagined he was inwardly smiling.

  “You said this was so urgent there could be no delay,” her adversary charged. “Has your opinion changed?”

  Most in Zhatan despised Alkinth. Tibis especially thought him a coward. Within him were the majority of the ancient physicists who worked on the na’hubis. If any could have helped her, they were within Alkinth. But he’d refused, and even a request from the emperor had proven futile.

  “Challenge him,” Tibis prodded.

  “Embarrass him.”

  “Explain ourselves.”

  “Counter him.”

  “Debate him.”

  “Silence him.”

  “Insult him.”

  “As an experienced battle commander,” Zhatan said, focusing on Alkinth, “our skill is to modify our strategies as needed to ensure victory. Urgency has not abated, but success demands we alter our plans temporarily.”

  Someone leaned close to Emperor Kand. The commander couldn’t tell who it was, but probably his loyal advisor, S’toas.

  One of Zhatan’s childhood friends, S’toas had come far in life. He had chosen a political life, while she’d followed a military one. They’d both dreamed of one day leading people in different ways. Now, she had a ship, and he had an emperor.

  As much as Alkinth had acted against her, S’toas had operated in her favor.

  “This is your mission, Zhatan,” the emperor said. “We think all are in agreement that you should determine the particulars.” He waited to see if anyone disagreed.

  Only Alkinth raised his palm. “Before we decide, we would hear Nidal on this topic, as the commander’s trusted first.”

  This is why Zhatan had asked Nidal to be present. Here was her chance to staunchly defend her commander’s position.

  Unexpectedly, Nidal didn’t hesitate. “We agree with the emperor,” she said. “This is Commander Zhatan’s operation. We defer to her wisdom.”

  Alkinth looked highly disappointed. That alone was worth the discomfort of asking Nidal to participate.

  “Let us know of your decision, Commander,” Kand said. “We shall await your word.”

  Zhatan nodded, and the transmission ended.

  Turning to her first, she smiled. “Thank you.”

  Nidal sighed and demurred.

  “What is wrong?” Zhatan asked. “Are you embarrassed to support us in front of Alkinth?”

  “We’ve never cared about him.”

  “Then what is wrong?”

  “Nothing. We played our part in your game,” Nidal said as she stood to leave, “just as you wished.”

  “No,” Zhatan snapped, rising and pulling her back. “We sincerely asked for your counsel—in front of the Assembly, no less! You should have given it honestly or not at all. We order you to always speak truth to us.”

  Unable to smother her laughter, Nidal pulled her arm free and lowered herself onto the cushioned bench near the doorway to the bridge. “There have been times when that was certainly not your desire, let alone your command.”

  Zhatan couldn’t help but smile, though she quickly regained her composure. “We want to know what you truly believe,” she said more softly.

  “How much weight will you give our opinion?” her first asked.

  The commander considered that a moment. She
respected Nidal, loved her, and believed her counsel was of value. It was only on the topic of their mission that they had so vehemently disagreed. Like Alkinth, most of those in Nidal believed their enemy had been punished long enough and it was time to meet on neutral ground and come to a more long-lasting peace. Most in Zhatan did not. The Kenisian people were also divided and had debated what action they should take for many months. Zhatan’s side had won, and Nidal had accepted it, but those wounds, at least on the commander’s part, were still raw. Despite her political victory.

  “We will consider your opinion as we always have.”

  Her first smiled again. “We were hoping for better than that.” Both laughed, and when the serious tone returned, Nidal leaned forward and spoke frankly. “You’re conflicted. We know this. You seek our opinion to bolster what you truly want to do.”

  “Stop,” the commander ordered. “We told you we were not playing games.”

  “We shouldn’t have called it a game,” Nidal admitted in a grumble. “Our point is . . . our wish is, that for once you examine your true desires and let them sway you.”

  Zhatan wasn’t sure what those were anymore. She wanted too many conflicting alternatives. She wanted Nidal, but didn’t. She wanted her enemies dead, but parts of her just wanted them left alone.

  Tibis, though . . . Tibis wanted every last enemy to perish. And she wanted full control of it all—the na’hubis, the Vulcan, the Pride . . . Zhatan could feel it. Tibis wanted to be the commander, rather than one of many voices whispering in her ear.

  Never. This was Zhatan’s life.

  The commander sat down next to her first. “You have always been our first desire,” Zhatan said, taking her hand.

  “Don’t,” Nidal protested, pulling away. “That’s true for some of you, but not all.” She stood abruptly. “Drop out of warp and do the tests, Commander. That is our opinion. We cannot be known as extinguishers of the galaxy.”

  Waving her off, Zhatan dismissed that notion. “We’ve never believed that’s possible, no matter what the Vulcan says.”

  “And yet you trust him.” Nidal stood. “Why ask his expertise and then not accept it?”

  Did she trust Spock?

  “We do not!” Tibis raged.

  “We must not.”

  “We do.”

  “He would not lie.”

  “Trust him.”

  “We trust him.”

  “We cannot.”

  “We do.”

  “Yes,” Zhatan said finally. “We believe Spock is trustworthy.” She stood and returned to her chair. “Reduce to sublight and prepare to shut down all warp engines.”

  “No!” Tibis protested, but her voice was quickly lost amongst the others.

  Nidal asked a parting question. “What of Kirk? If Enterprise is still in pursuit, will he not be able to intercept us?”

  Zhatan shook her head. “By now, Kirk is likely dead.”

  “And has that been your desire?”

  The commander hesitated. She had touched Kirk’s mind. Tried to manipulate it and found that task exceedingly difficult. Part of her was still with him, in a way, because what she’d attempted, though unscrupulous, was nevertheless intimate.

  “Whether I wish it or not,” Zhatan said, “it is his fate.”

  TWELVE

  The first missiles hit the planetoid hard, then exploded into it, thrusting the mass forward. On the viewscreen, what should have been the shrinking image of a hunk of space rock grew larger, enveloped by the energy of an exploding engine.

  On impact, several Kenisian mines were destroyed, but the planetoid turned to shrapnel which flung itself toward the Enterprise.

  She lurched forward under the force—first from the energy wave, then from spikes of stone and globs of molten rock.

  The Enterprise shields were struck hard, closer and faster than what they were designed for. The shrapnel was slowed, and that was the only reason the vessel wasn’t torn to shreds.

  But like heavy hail on a thin tin roof, shards of rock and debris hit the ship with a seemingly endless torrent of loud thuds.

  Kirk looked to a display above the engineering station and watched as multiple pinpoints of damage appeared. Red marks dotted his ship; the Enterprise bleeding.

  He spun to Uhura, ordering, “Damage control teams, all decks. Engage emergency bulkheads where the fields have failed.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  My fault, Kirk chastised himself as the ship creaked around him. But there wasn’t time to indulge in guilt. His anger turned to the mass of automated missiles.

  “Chekov, find us a comet.”

  Quickly, the navigator answered, “Course laid in, sir.”

  “Sulu, engage.” Kirk could feel tension spread from his neck down to his shoulders. An icy comet appeared and grew slowly at the center of the viewscreen. Tactical readings showed seven hundred Kenisian missiles still in pursuit.

  Tail pointing away from the K-type star, the comet appeared typical: a chunk of ice and rock orbiting a distant star, the solar wind pushing its tail away like a pennant.

  “Tractor beam,” he ordered. “Stand by.”

  “Tractor beam, aye,” responded Forbes at the engineering station.

  Watching the range to comet intercept tick ever closer, Kirk also kept an eye on the incoming missiles. For this to work, the timing would need to be perfect.

  “Are you familiar with the game of baseball, Mister Forbes?”

  “Uh . . .” The engineer met his captain’s gaze with uncertainty. “I’ve heard of it, sir.” He shrugged, his fingers still hovering just over the tractor controls. “I’m from North Yorkshire, sir. I’d know cricket better.” He frowned. “But I don’t. Never really cared for sport, sir.”

  Kirk smiled at the nervous engineer. “On my mark, tractor the comet.” He nodded toward the helm. “Sulu, once we have it, swing it around—right into the nearest mass of hostiles.” He turned back toward engineering. “Transfer tractor control to the helm.”

  The bridge was eerily quiet as the crew waited for Enterprise to get into range.

  “Tractor beam, now!”

  Forbes activated the console.

  Slender tendrils of energy connected with the comet and jolted it off its course.

  Sulu spun the ship, pulled the icy rock around, and then released it when the angle was right.

  As Enterprise sped away, the comet crashed directly into the lead Kenisian missile. At the speeds at which they traveled, the icy rock tore through the first sphere, splitting it in two before the resulting explosion pressed outward in a bubble of destruction that expanded in all directions, destroying several other ballista around it.

  “Ride it out, Sulu.”

  The helmsman grunted through gritted teeth. “Aye, sir.”

  As the first shockwave hit, Kirk felt the deck plates tremble up through his boots, then the arms of his chair.

  The viewscreen crackled with interference, static disrupting the forward view of the K-type star in the distance. Tactical data disappeared as sensors were hampered by the wave’s radiation.

  Slowly, the convulsions became tremors and then weaker shudders as the shockwave dwindled and the ship stopped clattering.

  The sensors unscrambled, Kirk eyed the tactical readout with cautious optimism. In all, now one hundred fifty-three missiles had been destroyed or disabled. The rest—fifty-four in total—were scrambling around the shockwave, trying to recover their target.

  “Nicely swung, Mister Sulu.” Kirk gave the lieutenant a grateful nod and a proud smile.

  “I know baseball,” the helmsman told Chekov, just loud enough for Forbes to hear and react with a shrug.

  “We’re not done yet,” Kirk told the bridge crew, his own exuberance bubbling up and loosening his knots of tension. But their success had inspired the captain. “Let’s try something a bit different. Mister Sulu, take us to the system’s star.”

  “Sir?” Sulu turned to confirm his order, and the loo
k on the captain’s face was all the confirmation he needed. “Aye, aye, sir.”

  Speeding toward the K-type star, Kirk readied his ship for one final push to rid them of their deadly shadows.

  “Mister Forbes, stand by on the tractor beam again.” The captain absentmindedly ran his fingers along the wooden part of his command chair. Real wood—something organic on a ship whose bones were from materials not seen in nature. Humans had been in space for so long it seemed natural. James Kirk knew there was nothing natural about it. Starships harnessed unnatural energies, and they took the crew to the most unnatural place of all: deep space. Touching the wood on the arm of the Enterprise’s captain’s chair connected him with home.

  “Come in as low as possible, Sulu.” Kirk motioned to the tactical display of the fifty-four missiles that had managed to make it out of the Oort cloud. “Burn off as many as you can.”

  By now, the Kenisian missiles that remained had been damaged, but not enough to give up their pursuit.

  Kirk thumbed a button on the arm of his chair. “Kirk to engineering.”

  “Scott here, sir.” The engineer’s voice was all business, and he sounded extraordinarily busy.

  “Scotty, I need all available power to the shields and the tractor beam.”

  “The tractor beam?” Scott sounded like he’d been asked to hand someone a pineapple instead of a probe.

  “Tractor beam, Mister Scott. I need it in twenty seconds.”

  “Aye, sir.” The engineer wasn’t sure of the exact purpose.

  “Kirk out.”

  Watching the orange globe expand across the viewer as they neared the star, the captain flushed. It wasn’t tension or anticipation, but his ship having trouble compensating for the heat.

  “Hull temperature rising, sir,” Jolma called out.

  “Nearing tolerance,” Forbes added.

  Enterprise continued nonetheless. “Stand by on that tractor beam, Forbes.”

  “Aye, sir. What am I grabbing?”

  One side of Kirk’s lips curled up. “The star.”

  Slowly, Forbes turned his head to meet the captain’s gaze. Kirk could feel Jolma and a few others watching him.

  “Captain?” Forbes finally asked, his expression a mix of confusion and skepticism.