Crisis of Consciousness
Page 27
“How are you, Commander?” Kirk had arrived in the transporter room to bid farewell to Pippenge and Zhatan. They were going to join President Moberte at the negotiation table. Spock stood at the transporter console, with McCoy just to his side.
Slowly pulling in a long breath, the Kenisian commander looked shakily at Spock. “I—it sounds odd to use this word—am recovering.”
“No more multividual?” Kirk asked.
“On the contrary.” Zhatan tapped her temple with two fingers and offered Kirk a brief smile. “Most are still with me. Although many have disincorporated and their thoughts are gone. One group in particular could not bear for me to be in control and have vanished.”
“How does that work?” McCoy asked, and when Zhatan hesitated to answer, the doctor glanced to Spock.
The Vulcan looked to her for approval, and when she nodded, he explained, “When the Kenisians first used this method, it was practiced only between members of the same family. At some point, the entire Tibis clan disguised themselves as an individual, and they were passed down with others. Eventually they split and spread, successfully influencing many others. The strain on Zhatan’s mental disciplines was extreme. It is extraordinary that she did not go mad.” She smiled at Spock as he continued. “The commander and I were able to erect a mental barrier to that clan. Having lost control over Zhatan, they chose oblivion over subjugation.”
“You’re in charge?” Kirk asked Zhatan.
“I am.” She looked at Spock, smiling brightly. “There are Vulcan mental disciplines that were lost to us, or perhaps kept from us. I have learned them and will teach them to my people. I suspect I am not the only one who was subjugated. Others of that clan, or similar such movements, are among us, but we shall see to their end.”
The captain wasn’t sure other Kenisians would be as eager as Zhatan to accept individuality. “Will your people want to learn?”
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “We will have to discuss it. There is already a debate among us—internally and externally—as to when it is time to die.” Her eyes held a sadness and looked past Kirk at some far-off thought. “We’ve let a long goodbye become an unnatural afterlife.”
“Immortality,” Spock said, “can grant eternal life to bitterness and hate. No civilization can long survive under those conditions.”
“Agreed.” Zhatan joined Pippenge on the transporter platform. “Our Vulcan friend is wise,” she told the ambassador.
“Our?” Kirk asked.
Zhatan smiled and motioned between herself and Pippenge. “Our,” she said, then tapped her head, “not our.”
“We intend to share our world with the Kenisians,” Pippenge said, arranging his robes as he centered himself on the transporter pad. “We know they have another world, but we would like to welcome them back to this one. We believe we can both benefit. The Maabas can learn firsthand from those who’ve given us so much knowledge through their ruins, and perhaps we can teach them something as well.”
Relieved and exhilarated by the unexpected outcome, Kirk said, “An excellent resolution, Ambassador.” He bowed his head to Zhatan. “Ambasadors.” Moving toward Spock at the console, the captain took on a more formal tone. “The Federation will be sending advisors to help and would like to negotiate a treaty with the Kenisians as well.”
“We are honored, Captain.” Zhatan raised her hand in a Vulcan salute. “Speaking for myself, as well as those I’ve sworn to represent, I wish us all peace and a life not quite as long as we’ve become accustomed to.”
When they’d first met Zhatan, she smiled from arrogance. Now, her grin was mirthful, full of humor.
Kirk bowed his head formally, saying, “Good luck. Energize.”
Two forms dematerialized, and as the familiar hum faded, the captain turned to his friends.
“Peace and harmony,” McCoy said. “A few days ago I wouldn’t have thought it possible.”
Shutting down the transporter console, Spock stated, “Peace is always possible, but unlikely when anger overwhelms all.”
“Are you at peace, Spock?” Kirk wasn’t sure what prompted the question, other than he knew his first officer hadn’t seemed himself.
When the Vulcan didn’t answer, McCoy pointed out, “You have seemed out of sorts.”
As they left the transporter room for the corridor, Spock was circumspect. “I melded with a total of thirty-seven Kenisian individuals, a composite of four thousand, three hundred and fifty-two distinct personalities.”
“That’s in your report,” Kirk said. “I was asking how you feel.”
“How I feel,” the Vulcan murmured.
“Yes.”
Spock didn’t reply.
Silently they waited for the turbolift to arrive, and only once inside did he speak. “Disabling the Kenisians as well as their vessel necessitated great exertion.” Spock paused to gather himself. “All wounds, with time, either fester or heal. Mine shall heal.”
Kirk grabbed the controls and twisted. “Deck five,” he ordered, then looked to McCoy before meeting his first officer’s eyes again. “You’re wounded?”
“Not physically,” the doctor said softly.
“Spock?” Kirk prodded.
When the Vulcan didn’t reply, McCoy cast Kirk a sideways look, but remained atypically silent.
The lift doors parted and the Vulcan exited. “Gentlemen, if you’ll excuse me, I am off duty.” He nodded to McCoy. “Recuperation by meditation, rather than potion, Doctor.”
McCoy nodded cautiously.
As the lift doors closed, the doctor shared a concerned glance with Kirk.
“He’ll be fine,” the captain said. Because Spock always had been.
“Are you sure about that?”
Kirk wouldn’t meet the doctor’s eyes. He stared at the lift indicator. “Spock did what he had to do. He knows that.”
The doctor shook his head. “I don’t know if that’s true. He assaulted people, one by one—thirty-seven in all—face to face.”
“Mind-melds,” Kirk argued. “He didn’t physically injure—”
“A clout to the jaw is worse than any other kind of force?”
“Zhatan was happy with the result,” Kirk said, but the words were hollow, and he knew that Spock had crossed a line. “The Kenisians are better off.”
At that, McCoy grunted his disapproval. “Maybe they are. But is Spock?”
ONCE IN HIS CABIN, the Vulcan lowered himself slowly into a chair and closed his eyes. The purpose of meditation wasn’t to clear one’s mind but to focus it.
The agony of Zhatan’s many personalities, which had been quelled or coerced into silence, had taken its toll. Control over the Tibis clan had proven demanding.
Vulcan emotion was harsh, sharp, and dangerously brutal. This was why, as a people, they had embraced Surak’s philosophy of logic; they needed to control their emotions or purge them.
Attempting to compel and resist the sentiments of thousands of minds in a matter of hours was nearly incomprehensible. Perhaps if he were not half human, Spock would have been more proficient at compartmentalizing his feelings.
Feelings. Something he had but did not want.
Spock knew there were a number of melds where a plurality of the personalities involved did not embrace his involvement. They did not want to meld with him, and they did not welcome his presence.
It was necessary, he told himself. Had there been another way to save millions? Was there an alternative he had missed? Perhaps he’d not searched hard enough to find one.
Morality, he believed, was a set of values used to guide one’s choices. Emotions should not be part of the equation. But what do you do when your values shape an emotional revulsion to an act which you believe is necessary for a greater good?
Emotional revulsion.
A feeling.
Opening his eyes, Spock flipped a switch on his computer. “Computer.”
“Ready.”
“Connect to Vulcan Science A
cademy library archive.”
“Working. Ready.”
He took a data card and slid it into the slot under the screen. “Locate and record all data related to kolinahr.”
“Working.”
The task would take time. Not merely the data collection, but the decision itself was not to be taken lightly. One did not embark on such a journey without much study and deliberation.
But the first step needed to be taken. Leaning back, Spock closed his eyes again and steepled his fingers.
With time, and effort, all wounds can heal.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Any novel you read is a collaboration between writer, editors, and copy editors (who all did a fantastic job of guiding and supporting me on this book) but also family and friends who understand the time it takes to write—and rewrite—and allow one the time to do so.
So my deep appreciation must be extended to Margaret Clark, Ed Schlesinger, Scott Pearson, and Paula Block, for their amazing work, as well as Greg Brodeur (who still listens to my plot ideas and gives me his advice) and Rigel Ailur (for fast beta reading and awesome comments).
I also have to thank my family: my wonderfully supportive wife, Simantha; our son, Joshua; my brother Josh and his wife, Tamara (and their kids, Delilah and Alden)—all of whom understood my limited ability for family time while working to meet a deadline. Okay, Alden and Delilah are too young to care, but when they are old enough to read, they’ll see this and give me extra hugs. At least, that’s the plan.
CHEERS,
DAVE GALANTER
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Dave Galanter has authored (or co-authored with sometime collaborator Greg Brodeur) various Star Trek projects, including Voyager: Battle Lines, The Next Generation duology Maximum Warp, and The Original Series novel Troublesome Minds, as well as numerous works of Star Trek short fiction.
FOR MORE ON THIS AUTHOR: authors.simonandschuster.com/Dave-Galanter
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Cover design by Alan Dingman
ISBN 978-1-4767-8260-7
ISBN 978-1-4767-8261-4 (ebook)
CONTENTS
Epigraph
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Table of Contents
Cover
Dedication
Epigraph
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Copyright