Spock chose this moment to engage Sciver on a nonscientific level. Notwithstanding Doctor McCoy’s belief to the contrary, Vulcan emotional disciplines didn’t preclude one from engaging individuals on a personal level.
“Your task is difficult,” Spock said.
Continuing to study the screen, Sciver said, “We appreciate your assistance, as we said.”
“I don’t refer to the na’hubis.”
Slowly he turned to meet Spock’s gaze. “You speak of . . . ?”
“Your Kenisian condition. The shautish-keem.”
“Condition? You deem it an affliction?” Sciver frowned.
Offended? Perhaps hurt?
Spock was unsure. “I meant no offense. I’ve had an opportunity to touch the minds of others, and I have even melded with a community of individuals who were telepathically linked.”
“And this distressed you?” The Kenisian was now looking at Spock and ignoring the data that scrolled rapidly across his computer screen.
Spock considered how he should reply. “On occasion,” he began slowly, “it has proven somewhat troublesome. While my experience has been different than yours, I assume there is some inherent effort necessary in your situation.”
Sciver sighed. “Your assumption is correct.”
“Have your people always engaged in shautish-keem?” Spock asked.
The Kenisian shifted his weight uneasily. Any delay in answering was likely the internal debate Spock hoped would be raging within.
After five minutes, Sciver took in a deep breath and responded. “Not always, no. When the first of us joined another, the bond was only among the same clan. We knew each other. We loved, as only kin do, perhaps as only they can.”
There was an ancient process, still practiced by some on Vulcan, of transferring one’s katra—their living mental essence—to a close family member. The katra was then released into a katra ark, after a ceremony where relations were able to say their farewells. It was closure for Vulcans, and while not practiced by many, the process was revered.
Perhaps that is how shautish-keem began for the Kenisians. “Eventually, things changed,” Spock said.
Sciver whispered, “The war brought change.”
“And to whom does one trust their essence when their clan has been decimated?”
“Eventually shautish-keem was initiated when an attack was anticipated. If one’s death came unexpectedly, their ka’atrehs were safe.”
“A logical step for a race trying to preserve themselves,” Spock said.
“Many found,” Sciver said, “if they stayed in telepathic contact, it helped our defense and attack tactics.”
“Those that didn’t employ shautish-keem perished.”
Again, the Kenisian agreed.
That explained how the Kenisians became such powerful telepaths; survival of the fittest. Or in this case, the best prepared.
“With time, we found that life could be lived within the form of another. It could be pleasant. Even if we were from opposing clans, we banded together against a common foe.”
“Those who conquered you,” the Vulcan said.
“Yes.”
To avoid the conflicts within, the Kenisians needed an external enemy. How real was the current threat?
“But you struggle, you said.”
“We thought, if two minds were better . . .” Sciver’s sentence trailed off, either because he thought he revealed too much, or he didn’t know how to precisely articulate the difficulty.
Spock pressed forward. “How do you cope with so many disparate personalities within you?” Zhatan had attempted to evade the same question, but she was a commander on a mission. Sciver was a scientist, engaging with another scientist. He seemed more open to a frank discussion.
“Like any group of individuals, we discuss. Debate. Deliberate. Not everything, of course,” the Kenisian laughed. “We do not squabble with regard to which meal we’ll have.” His chuckle trailed off and toward the end became nervous. It seemed there was an argument even on the trivial.
Spock wondered how far he could push Sciver. He glanced at the computer display and saw the simulation they’d initiated was done compiling data.
The Kenisian scientist noticed it as well and turned back to the console.
Their candid discussion was at an end.
FOURTEEN
Ambassador Pippenge had not been patiently waiting for the Enterprise’s first officer to return. Instead, he had been getting them better rations.
“Look!” The ambassador eagerly showed the Vulcan a tray with two covered cups of liquid, two napkins, and three squares of the hardtack-like protein concoction they’d previously received. “I talked the assistant—Idran was her name—into giving us an extra ration. I thought we might share it.” The glee in his eyes shone brightly at his own achievement.
Taking one of the small napkins, Spock picked up a protein biscuit and nodded his appreciation. “Thank you. Please indulge yourself, Ambassador. I find one sufficient.”
As they ate, the Vulcan related his discussion with Sciver, as well as the results of the test. Spock had found the Kenisian’s psyche to be more damaged than he had first believed. As for the na’hubis, he was unsurprised they’d made little headway, but he was more concerned about what they had found. It could spur the Kenisians on, rather than dissuade them.
“They have threatened my people,” Pippenge said as he nibbled on the thick biscuit. “Yet I have pity for Sciver.”
“Him, specifically?” Spock took the lid off his drink and sipped at the tepid, flavorless water. Like the biscuit, it nourished but did little else.
“No, all of them.” The ambassador dunked his biscuit in the water to soften it, then took another small bite. “I struggle with my own feelings and sometimes those of my loved ones. Reconciling those is demanding enough. I cannot imagine incorporating the feelings of a dozen others, let alone hundreds.”
“Nor I.” The telepathy to which Spock was accustomed was unlike what the Kenisians had developed out of necessity and selection. Vulcans were trained as young children, each to their ability and at their own pace, to engage in the birthright of a mind-meld when they deemed proper. Because of his inquisitive nature and life as an explorer, Spock’s own abilities had occasionally proven difficult. What the Kenisians bore seemed insurmountable in comparison.
His eyes darting around, seemingly focusing on nothing, Pippenge was suddenly distracted. “Message,” he whispered.
Calmly, Spock placed his rations back on the tray and sat before the computer. Between the Kenisian tricorder he’d modified with the communicator components and Pippenge’s computer implant which now could interface with the laboratory’s equipment, Spock had managed to boost the range of his makeshift subspace transceiver. But because they had been unable to make contact with the Enterprise for some time, Spock had left an automated message broadcasting.
“Enterprise to Mister Spock. Please respond.”
Because his implant was the go-between, Pippenge was privy to the messages which could be read and replied to from Spock’s console.
“Enterprise, this is Spock.”
“CAPTAIN! IT’S MISTER SPOCK!” Uhura’s wide smile was met with an equally relieved grin from Kirk.
He charged from his command chair to the communications station. “Let’s hear it.”
“Decoding now.” She routed the coded message through the computer which would turn the heavily encrypted text into audio.
“Enterprise, this is Spock.”
From next to the command chair, McCoy cheerfully jibed, “Computerized voice, lacking all emotion, that’s Spock all right.”
“Reply,” Kirk ordered with a relieved chuckle.
Uhura nodded fervently. “Go ahead, Mister Spock. We read you.”
The captain twisted toward Jolma, who was back at the science station. “Track the signal, Ensign.”
“Already on it, sir.”
Jolma probably still neede
d more sleep—they all did—but he also needed to be back on the bridge. A few hours of shut-eye and a request to get back in the game is just what the captain would have done at his age. Though he couldn’t remember the circumstance, it was probably what he had done.
Glad to have Jolma back, Kirk gave him an encouraging nod.
Because the transmission was interpolated from code, then transposed to audio, there was no static, no crackle, no loss of signal. “Enterprise. Situation extreme. Simulations suggest a na’hubis chain reaction can be delayed but not contained. This may encourage the Kenisians to attempt detonation and then escape the blast radius.”
The expanse of a normal explosion didn’t pose a threat to a starship, and even the destructive abilities of supernovae didn’t traverse the great chasms between star systems. But the nature of na’hubis was that it would disrupt space-time itself and at great speed.
If the Kenisians had found a way to slow the rate of expansion, thinking it possible to save themselves while destroying their enemies, they would not care about the cost to others.
“Send to Spock,” Kirk ordered. “Relate all available information gathered.” Knowing Spock would have prepared a detailed report, the captain believed the key to stopping the Kenisians would be contained within.
Uhura nodded, sent the message, and then waited. After a half minute she said, “Receiving now.”
“Location confirmed, sir,” Jolma reported as he punched a map up on the science station display. “They’re on the move.”
“Extrapolate from trajectory. Transfer coordinates,” Kirk ordered. “Mister Chekov, plot an intercept course. Uhura, I need Spock’s full report.”
Returning to the command chair, the captain reassuringly clapped McCoy on the shoulder as he lowered himself into the seat. The doctor clearly sensed Kirk’s enthusiasm and met it with a pleasant nod. Now they could be proactive. Since Spock and Pippenge had been taken, Kirk had felt like he was playing catch-up. Not anymore.
“THEY’RE ALIVE!” Pippenge sent a message to Spock’s computer console through his implant that somehow had the ambassador’s unbridled enthusiasm inherent in the text.
“That,” Spock sent in reply, “is a reasonable conclusion.”
Having already explained that the message originated from the Enterprise, Pippenge was now sure they’d be rescued. Not wishing to dampen his spirits, Spock did not detail how grave the situation was.
“What happens now?” Pippenge asked, covertly via the implant.
“Now we wait for Captain Kirk to read my report. He will have orders, and we will coordinate a solution.”
The ambassador cheerfully pursed his lips.
Spock wished he could be as sanguine.
Sudddenly, the Enterprise replied, “Your location confirmed. Report read and understood. Will intercept. If we fail to reach accord, act to disrupt personnel and process. Contact hourly as able.”
“Received and understood,” Spock replied.
“What does it mean?” the Maabas ambassador asked aloud, but in a hushed tone. “ ‘Personnel and process’?”
“It means,” the Vulcan replied to Pippenge’s implant, “if Captain Kirk cannot dissuade or threaten the Kenisians into rethinking their course, we must stop them from within.”
“WE WILL NOT be stopped.” Zhatan shook her head very slightly, and her lips tightened into a smirk.
The image of Captain James Kirk filled the large screen opposite her. Clearly he was alive.
Unable to trace Enterprise’s exact location, Nidal could only offer that the Federation ship was outside sensor range and therefore outside weapons reach. Neither revelation was comforting.
Despite their inability to fire on Kirk, many desired that option.
“Kill him,” Tibis demanded.
“Yes, destroy him.”
“Deploy countermeasures.”
“He should be dead.”
“What happened?”
“What of the interceptors?”
“Let the commander handle this.”
“We have been in command before.”
“As have we!”
“Silence! I will handle this,” Zhatan thought to herselves.
“We know where you’re headed,” Kirk told her. “The homeworld of the Sahntiek.”
It was a name no Kenisian spoke, or thought, or wrote into their history. They had vulgar names for their conquerors, but refused to dignify them with what they’d called themselves.
“How could he know?”
“He is more clever than we credited.”
“Has he been in league with them?” Tibis wondered.
“Has he warned them?”
“Knowing our destination,” Zhatan said, maintaining her calm as best she could, “and being able to keep us from it are two disparate abilities, Captain Kirk.”
The Enterprise captain seemed to agree. He opened his arms a bit, as if including not just Zhatan but all Kenisians. “You’re a survivor, Commander. I know you want to live. And you want your people to live as well.”
“Are you trying to bully us, Captain?”
Kirk shook his head. “As you did the Maabas? Or us? No. It’s you who threaten trillions of lives.” He stood up and stepped closer in frame. “Why?” he asked in a near whisper.
“Cut him off,” Tibis ordered.
“Enlighten him.”
“Say nothing.”
“Convey our passions.”
“Hold your tongue!”
“Tell him our intentions!”
“He is nothing.”
“Speak our peace.”
Her hesitation lingered in the air, crossing the void of space. His unremitting gaze was intense, as if he was trying to look into her soul. “Explain it to me,” Kirk pressed. “Make me understand.”
“ZHATAN,” the captain pleaded, “we can solve this together. We can save everyone.”
Her confusion seemed palpable, despite the distance between them. “How can you help? You would stop us from—”
“From destroying yourselves?” Kirk interrupted. “Just for the satisfaction of taking an ancient enemy with you?” He managed to keep his tone just this side of chastising; it was more imploring her to see reason.
“We can’t expect you to understand,” she said.
“You can,” the captain told her more softly. “If you talk to us.”
Once again there was a very long pause. Zhatan seemingly stared at him, but she was clearly lost in thought. From Spock’s report, this was the tempest of disagreement within Zhatan, and she would eventually distill a reply.
“What would you tell us,” she said finally, “that would ameliorate thousands of years of pain? How would you restore millions upon millions of lives? What words could you offer that would give us justice?”
Kirk shook his head. “What could you say that would justify to me, to yourself, to anyone, the deaths of innocents for acts you blame on the Sahntiek?”
“I don’t . . . we don’t . . . this isn’t just about justice.”
“I?” Kirk asked.
Suddenly the connection was lost, and the main screen returned to a starscape outlook.
The captain glanced back to Uhura and she shook her head. “Transmission cut at their end, sir.”
Taking his seat, Kirk pushed out a sharp, exasperated breath. “That’s just great.”
“She’s on the edge,” McCoy said. “You heard her—the individual Zhatan is conflicted about this.”
“I heard her,” Kirk said. “But how do we know that Zhatan is less bent on destruction than any of the minds whispering to her?”
“I don’t know,” McCoy said, shaking his head. Arms folded, he pointed his chin toward the viewscreen. “Zhatan seems like she’s being controlled. All those delays? Maybe the real Zhatan is starting to push back.”
The captain agreed, but he couldn’t count on it. “She may not have the strength to overcome them. For most of her life she’s been a conduit for all th
ese other . . . people.”
“They’re the problem.” In McCoy’s eyes Kirk could see the doctor’s empathy. “Her own ancestors are pulling her toward hate, and into war. They hold all that bitterness, but she ends up feeling it.”
Uhura stood and took a step toward them. “Many cultures end up passing down their hate to their children. How many worlds have seen decades of conflict because people can’t let go of the past?”
“Letting go is easier when it’s just history, but here the actual aggrieved individuals live on in their own progeny,” McCoy said.
“No wonder they’re poisoned toward peace.” Kirk sighed and turned toward Uhura. “Get Spock back. We need a plan B.”
She worked her console and nodded toward the captain. “Channel open, sir.”
“Spock, I may have made matters worse. Doctor McCoy believes Zhatan is fighting for control of her own actions. Do you concur?”
“The doctor is correct. Zhatan is in a fragile state. Conventional discussion may not be possible.”
“I’m correct,” McCoy whispered.
“I’ll have to ask you to employ something less conventional, Spock.”
“Understood.”
“DO YOU HAVE an estimate?” Zhatan asked.
Nidal checked her board and nodded. “They’re entering the system now, and the Enterprise is within their sensor range.”
“How many?”
“Twenty-seven. It’s all that platform had left. We can send others, but not in time. And we’d have to divert them from other tasks.”
Zhatan frowned. “It will have to do. We need not destroy them.”
“Destroy them!” Tibis countered.
“Leave them to rot!”
“Withhold. Stay any attack.”
“Kirk is right. Listen to him.”
“Kill him. He stands in our way.”
“Reconsider!”
“We only need to buy more time,” the Kenisian commander told herselves. “Sciver is almost ready. We can just disable the Enterprise.”
Nidal turned slowly around and faced Zhatan. “Will they have a chance to escape the na’hubis blast radius?”
“No!”
“Yes!”
Crisis of Consciousness Page 20
