Crisis of Consciousness (17 page)

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 look 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.

“Reach as low as you can into the stellar atmosphere,” the captain told him, then looked to the helm. “Sulu, you’ll help him. Push in as far as she’ll take it and then reverse at max impulse, plotting a tight spiral at Z plus zero-one-zero degrees.”

A bead of sweat slid down Sulu’s cheek as he punched the commands into the controls. “Yes, sir.”

The captain noticed the back of his own neck was wet. The bridge felt like a sauna. The K-type star now filled the main viewer in its entirety. “Reverse angle. Zero magnification.”

As
Enterprise
pressed farther into the corona, Kirk watched the missiles behind them spinning and tumbling against the friction of the stellar atmosphere. A few lost their navigation systems and spiraled off, burning as they fell into the chromosphere.

“Reduce speed, Mister Sulu. One tenth.”

Sulu nodded and the Kenisian spheres grew closer on the main viewscreen. They were catching up.

“Hull temperature rising. It’s at ninety-two percent of tolerance, sir,” Forbes reported.

“Internal temps thirty-three degrees and rising, Captain,” Jolma complained.

“Stand by.” Kirk slowly inched forward in the command chair. As the spheres wobbled on the viewscreen, the captain wasn’t sure if the missiles were quivering from their own structural difficulties or if it was because the
Enterprise
was experiencing turbulence.

“Tractor beam now, Forbes. Sulu, go!”

Fingers of energy reached down, gripped a giant swath of solar atmosphere and pulled it back toward them.

Under Sulu’s control,
Enterprise
twisted, curled upward, then gathered itself and sped away. The tractor beam hadn’t the range to continue, but the streamer of fire and plasma it had pulled up coiled into a funnel that engulfed the missiles.

The coronal tornado whipped several bright prominences into the pursuing missiles. A peppering of explosions dotted the orange disk that filled the screen. Kirk watched the explosions expand and disappear as the
Enterprise
sped away. The tactical display confirmed it; the threat was gone.

“Hull temperature dropping,” Jolma reported with an exhausted chuckle. “No hostiles in pursuit.”

“No casualties, Captain,” Uhura said. “Crew cooling down.” She smiled and waved a hand in front of her own face.

Kirk returned the smile, wiped his brow with his tunic sleeve, and though he felt a tug of unease even after their victory, he told the bridge crew, “Good work.” He turned fully toward Uhura. “Secure from red alert. All hands to repair stations as needed.”

“Aye, sir.”

“Course, Captain?” Chekov asked, and that bit of unease grew in Kirk’s gut again.

“That, Mister Chekov,” he said as he leaned forward, “is a very good question.”

“IMPOSSIBLE.”
Sciver closed the panel and twisted a magnetic lock. “There are systems we shall not allow you to access.”

“Understandable.” It was not in Spock’s best interest to actively antagonize the Kenisian scientist. Which didn’t mean he could not do so passively. “If you will be kind enough to present a list of all restricted systems, I’ll be delighted to redesign my experiments to conform to your limitations. Please inform your commander I’ll have a revised time estimate within two days.”

“No,” Sciver huffed quickly, clearly irritated. “We . . .” Whatever he planned to say, he stopped himself and paused to consider his next words carefully. “
You
will make a list of the systems you’ll need to access, and we will seek Zhatan’s approval.”

As if the Kenisian had just uttered the wisdom of Surak himself, Spock nodded diffidently. “Of course.”

Dithering as he turned, Sciver twisted right back. “Zhatan trusts you.”

There was no question, so Spock merely gazed at him.

“If you seek to join her thoughts to yours, we warn you, she’s incorruptible.”

Spock nodded. “I’ve no doubt.”

Curtly nodding back, Sciver spun and walked away.

Returning to his console, the Vulcan considered Sciver’s statement and attitude.

Pippenge, whose brief meditation had refreshed him significantly, watched from his chair. “What is wrong, Mister Spock?” the ambassador asked.

Articulating that list
, Spock thought,
would take a great deal of time
. But he knew Pippenge had referred to whatever incident had surely left some sign on his face. “An interesting conversation with Mister Sciver.”

“Was it a useful discussion?” Pippenge asked.

“I am not certain.”

“WE DON’T LIKE HIM.”
Sciver stood before his commander, arms held tensely behind his back.

“ ‘Don’t like,’ ” Zhatan said with a sneer. “We don’t remember asking for a list of your likes and dislikes.”

Opening his mouth to speak, Sciver instantly reconsidered, perhaps remembering to whom he spoke. “Commander, forgive us—”

“Stop.” Zhatan put up a hand. “You are not insubordinate for expressing this opinion. Many hold the same.”

He relaxed a bit, his stance softening, but his hands remaining behind his back. “He is too polite. Too genial. We feel he still delays us purposely.”

“Of course he does.” She looked out her office port into the dark, unmoving starscape. “But he is of Vulcan. He understands us better than an alien. We are of like blood.”

“Blood, yes. But are we of like goals? We think not.”

Zhatan nodded. “We agree, of course. Our goals are not the same, but his needs merge with ours rather nicely, would you not agree?”

“Hmmm,” Sciver grunted, presumably considering that notion. But his next question was unrelated. “If he cannot limit the destructive radius of the
na’hubis
, will we still use it?”

The query shattered across her desk like a piece of jagged glass.

“Of course not.”

“Of course.”

“We can’t.”

“We must,”
Tibis said.

“Horrible.”

“Necessary.”

“Insanity.”

“Vengeance!”

“We should.”

“We cannot.”

“Mustn’t.”

“We will,”
Tibis assured them.

Zhatan stared hard at Sciver, but said nothing for a very long time. Finally, she turned away and again looked out into the coolness of space. “Give Spock what he needs.”

“AGAINST OUR BETTER JUDGMENT,
you have been granted the access you requested.” Sciver’s expression was twisted into what Spock believed was thinly veiled scorn.

Did “our better judgment” mean those consciousnesses within Sciver or Zhatan as well? If anyone’s judgment was in question, it was all the Kenisians. Wanting to deploy this powerful weapon was a poor decision. Spock suspected all Kenisians suffered from the same mental disorder.

Attempting to reason with such individuals—multividuals—was not an easy task.

“Thank you,” Spock said simply, and he waited for Sciver to hand him the magnetic lock.

When the Kenisian held it out, Spock took it with a grateful nod and turned nonchalantly toward the panel he’d previously wanted to access.