Crisis of Consciousness (16 page)

Might he be able to slow the vessel’s progress?
That
was a distinct possibility. How? Would he be able to protect himself and the ambassador from retribution should his sabotage be discovered? That option needed considerable thought.

Turning to his console, he sent another message to Pippenge’s computer implant. “
I shall attempt to contact the
Enterprise
again
.”

Apparently stunned by receipt of the communication, the ambassador froze in place for an instant, then turned and looked at Spock hopefully.

There was no reply to his first message. Spock sent another, and after an appropriate amount of time passed, another.

With each attempt that went unanswered, Pippenge appeared more distraught.

Anticipating what the ambassador might ask him, Spock attempted to comfort his companion. “
They’re likely out of range
.”

Pippenge was visually displeased with that answer.

“Or
,
”
Spock added,
“they are maintaining communication silence for a specific purpose
.
”

The ambassador’s eyes widened, and Spock inferred he was being asked why Captain Kirk would do that.

“There are many possibilities
.
”

Some of them
, Spock thought,
are unappealing
.

Hearing the Kenisian tricorder chime, Spock lifted the unit from his console and examined the readout on its small screen.

“A change?” Pippenge asked.

Spock pursed his lips a moment, both instinctively and because that was the accepted Maabas mannerism indicating the affirmative. “A genetic code match has been formulated. We now have access to your people’s computer archive.”

The ambassador was unsure how to process that news. “This is a good thing? Or not?”

“That remains to be seen.”

Calling up the data Maabas scientists had gathered on the Kenisian installation and the
na’hubis
compound, Spock got to work.

After a minute or two, Pippenge leaned toward the Vulcan and asked in a hushed tone, “Is there anything I might do to help?”

Spock sensed the question was of the type often asked by those who wanted to offer their assistance but hoped such aid would not be accepted. “Not at the moment.”

The ambassador nodded and pinched the bridge of his nose with the thumbs of his left hand. “If you do need me, please let me know.” His head lolled to one side, as if suddenly asleep.

“Ambassador?” Snapping his fingers twice, the Vulcan tried to rouse Pippenge, but there was no reply. Apparently he’d entered some sort of self-induced meditative state.

Appreciative, Spock continued his work.

The Maabas scientists, he found, were very thorough in their study of the
na’hubis
compound. They didn’t call it that, merely referred to it by exhibit number and date code, which catalogued when it was found and by whom. There was something refreshing about the tone of the documentation. It was logical, well-ordered, and as complete as possible.

Still, they did not grasp the destructive power of the material. Had they, their tests would have been performed off-planet—or not at all.

While absorbing all the material he could find regarding the
na’hubis
, Spock contemplated his plan to slow down the Kenisian vessel. Sabotage was not a tack he wished to take just yet, for several reasons, including it might end in their deaths. A hostage was only valuable to a certain point, and his and Pippenge’s value would be severely compromised if he acted so covertly against Zhatan.

No, his version of a “rash” act would be to talk. And in this case, to lie.

“YOU ASKED
to see us.” As Zhatan strode across the laboratory toward them, she noted Pippenge’s meditation, shook her head with some disdain, then focused solely on Spock.

“I did.” Spock leaned to one side and showed her his computer console’s monitor. “We have had access to the Maabas scientific archive for the last seventy-six minutes.”

“We?” Her eyes darted to Pippenge.

“The ambassador is in a meditative state which assists him in coping with the twin stresses of abduction and overt physical threat.”

Zhatan’s lips thinned into a genuine smile. “You have a sense of humor, Mister Spock.”

Choosing not to reply, he gestured to the console again. “You will be interested in my findings.”

Her smile evaporated. “Proceed.”

Spock called up a forged Maabas findings document he’d created just minutes before. He felt assured that should Kenisian experts check, they’d deem it legitimate. Computer records could be forged with some ease, at least for one with his experience. “The Maabas scientists were puzzled by the
na’hubis
and its properties. However, they did manage to initiate a partial catalyzation for three hundredths of a second.”

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.”