Crisis of Consciousness (18 page)

Sciver left, seemingly uninterested in monitoring the Vulcan. Or perhaps merely satisfied with the electronic surveillance already in place. Spock understood such limited observation when working at a computer, but now he had access to the vessel’s power systems. He couldn’t help but wonder if some of the consciousnesses within the crew were trying to covertly help him avert the weapon’s completion. Was Sciver’s apparent disdain a reaction to those within that urged him to trust or help Spock? It was a possibility Spock might be able to use.

Opening the panel, Spock considered if the better option was to meld with one of the Kenisians. Sciver’s warning that Zhatan could not be corrupted by such a joining indicated to Spock that it was possible.

Forcing someone to mind-meld was highly unethical. Zhatan did it to Captain Kirk, and had Spock allowed himself to have a feeling about the incident, it would have been rage. He could assume that a high number of the consciousnesses held within either Sciver or Zhatan would be equally irate should Spock attempt such a violation. It was possible the combined mental strength of the Kenisian might overwhelm him and cause permanent damage.

For now, Spock needed to focus on the task at hand. Within the access panel was a power conduit. With the warp power offline, he would be able to route power to the lab testing equipment he’d requested. The first of these tests would allow him to manipulate the smallest possible amount of the
na’hubis
compound with high-energy plasma. When contained properly, it would not develop a chain reaction.

Was there a way to successfully attain the experiment’s data without stopping the Kenisian vessel? Yes. But because neither Zhatan nor Sciver knew an alternative test, they had to agree to his recommendations.

Calling the ambassador to assist him, Spock began his work. Pippenge walked over, seemingly happy for the distraction. Spock had been sure to inform the ambassador that considerable effort had been made to avoid the Kenisians blaming Pippenge for any of the Vulcan’s actions.

“How may I help, Mister Spock?” Since his self-induced meditative rest, Pippenge had embraced a remarkable calm. He even sounded mildly cheerful. Doctor McCoy would be interested to study the physiological part of the process. Spock was curious himself.

“I will need the instrument displays monitored and certain tools handed to me.”

“I am gratefully at your service, Commander.” The ambassador bowed slightly.

Reaching into the panel, Spock worked while Pippenge talked.

“You know, I never thought—even as the ambassador to alien worlds—I would be on a journey such as this. Our ancestors, of course, were deep-space travelers, but no Maabas has left our current home system for many years. Centuries, at least. Not until our negotiations with the Federation began in earnest. And now look where I am.”

Pippenge was just talking, and Spock had tasks to perform, so therefore he did not reply.

The ambassador continued unprompted. “We search within rather than without, you see. That’s why we have more deep-sea vessels than orbital ones. Did I tell you my niece was fourth in command of a ship? An ocean vessel. I speak to her at least twice a week.” His voice began to waver a bit. “Though I have not since we . . . left, and she is likely quite worried by now.”

“Will your government have informed her of your disposition?” Spock asked.

Pippenge puckered his lips. “Doubtful. How could they? If they told her the truth, it could spread and panic would ensue.”

Handing the ambassador one tool and asking for another, Spock continued to work as Pippenge chattered on.

“I must tell you, despite the façade, I am quite frightened.”

Pulling his arm out of the access panel and turning to face the ambassador, Spock was uncertain how to reply.

While humans seemed to like baseless assurances at such a time, and he had even indulged in that with Pippenge to some degree, the Vulcan didn’t wish to lie to the ambassador. He would rather be forthright. As always, Spock had to walk in a middle-ground.

“Fear need not be an irrational emotion,” Spock said. “Under the circumstances, your anxiety is warranted.”

From the ambassador’s expression, the Vulcan could tell he had not ameliorated his dread. What had McCoy once told him?
Pep talks aren’t your strong suit, Mister Spock.

What would Captain Kirk say in such a circumstance? How would he hearten Pippenge’s mood? Perhaps a reasonably upbeat comment might spare the ambassador some angst.

“You can use fear to prepare yourself for useful action, or you can allow it to cripple you into inaction. Having spent time with you, I believe you are prepared for the former.”

His flattened lips becoming a smile, Pippenge grabbed Spock’s hand to shake it heartily, then dropped it and quickly changed to the Vulcan salute. “Of course, you are right. Thank you, Commander. I trust we will both prosper long and live happily.”

The Vulcan returned the obligatory salute and set out to continue his work.

They toiled silently for some time. When Spock was done rerouting the power, he made sure to disable certain fail-safes he thought might prove useful. One of his alterations would cause the vessel to slowly vent plasma that could be identified by the
Enterprise
’s sensors.

If
they knew where to look.

THIRTEEN

The captain’s plan had been to backtrack through history and study all records on whoever had gone to war with the same foe as had attacked both the Maabas and the Kenisians. There were a dozen worlds who’d seen conflict with the same aggressor. Now Kirk had to pinpoint their origin. He believed Zhatan was taking Spock and Pippenge to that location, so that was where the
Enterprise
needed to be.

“Anything, Lieutenant?” Kirk asked Uhura. He’d tasked her with contacting all the systems they’d known to have been previously attacked. Most had replied, but two had refused once the topic was explained. The captain had hoped he could send a message that both assured them and implored them for help sufficiently.

Uhura was sure they were receiving Kirk’s personal message, but he had not persuaded them. “I’m sorry, sir. The two remaining worlds refuse to reply.”

The ten other civilizations that had survived this foe’s attacks and still existed had been more open. Some had offered access to their historical archives for Palamas and Jolma to pore over. A few had said no record existed from that time. But the data the
Enterprise
had
been given access to led to their first lead: a name.

The conquerors who worked their way across the sector during the time period the Kenisians were displaced had been called many things—the marauders, desolaters, decimators—all very dark and horrible as they likely were. They all had records suggesting it was the same race: archives showing the same vessel types, the same weaponry, and the same methods. But most never named the attackers. Only two had mentioned “the Sahntiek.”

Whether that was a race name, or a cultural designation, no one knew.

“It could be their word for warrior,” Uhura offered.

“Or a political designation,” Palamas said from the alternate science station where she’d been reviewing records. “On Rigel IV, inhabitants of the Argus valley call themselves
J’fren,
which is the name of an ancient political party that seceded from the hill society.”

It didn’t much matter to the captain. He wanted to call them something other than “those who conquered the Kenisians.”

“Sir, none of these archives talk about a planet of origin for the Sahntiek.” Frustrated, Jolma pinched the bridge of his nose tightly then mopped his brow with a tunic sleeve. The bridge hadn’t been warm for quite some time, but the young ensign was being asked to perform beyond his experience.

“Take a break, Jolma.” Kirk nodded toward the turbolift.

“Oh, no, sir.”

The captain cut him off, his tone somewhere between concerned father and commanding officer. “How long has it been since you slept? You stayed on an extra watch already. You’re no good to me tired, Ensign. Rest. That’s an order.”

Looking defeated and more than a bit dejected, Jolma trudged to the lift.

“Nice bedside manner,” McCoy muttered. Kirk hadn’t noticed the doctor enter the bridge.

The captain motioned to Uhura. “Lieutenant, take over for Mister Jolma.”

Gliding easily from her seat to the science station, she winked at McCoy. “
I’m
on my
third
watch. But I’m not annoying the captain with my youth and inexperience.”

That stung a bit, because Kirk didn’t want to discourage Jolma, but experience did matter, and Uhura had more than the ensign.

The doctor replied with a wink, “I manage to annoy the captain without the benefit of youth.”

“Let’s assume,” Kirk began, “that the Sahntiek attacked planets in the order they found them. Where would that place their point of origin?”

“Hmmm. Let’s see.” Uhura ran the calculations. Her hands glided as gracefully over the science station console as they did her communications controls. Eventually she motioned to the screen above her. “Here we go, sir.”

The captain stepped over to the rail. The display showed a series of planetary systems in this sector and listed the dates of conflict. A curved line charted a backward trajectory to three possible star systems of origin.

“That narrows it down,” Kirk said, thoughtfully running a finger on his lower lip. “But we don’t have time to investigate each system.”

“We’re going in the right direction.” Uhura’s encouraging smile was still vibrant after all they’d been through. She had the confidence of an experienced officer. The young ensign would get there, but not everything could be learned in a double watch. Some things had to be lived.

“Probes, sir?” Chekov asked. “One in each possible direction.”

Kirk turned toward the ensign. “We need to pick directions to go in, and by the time we get telemetry back that indicates we’re on the wrong track, we’ll have wasted too much time. Maybe more than we have.”

“So what now?” McCoy asked. “Eeny meeny miney moe?”

Kirk responded quietly. “No.” He stepped up to his chair. “Spock knows we’re looking for him. Even if we’re not in communications range, he’d leave us a trail to follow.”

“I’m sure he will if he has the means, sir,” Palamas said. “But how do we know he does?”

“He’s Spock,” Kirk said matter-of-factly as he twisted toward Uhura. “You’re still trying to make contact?”

She nodded. “Yes, sir. An automated message is repeating on his last known frequency. We’ll know if he responds.”

“
When
he responds,” McCoy said.

The captain nodded and motioned toward Uhura. “Continue a full long-range sensor sweep.”

Sliding into place behind the sensor cowl, she nodded. “Aye, sir. What am I looking for?”

“A sign.”

If Spock were alive, he
would
signal the
Enterprise
. The captain was certain of it. No matter the odds, Kirk wouldn’t allow himself to believe his first officer and friend was dead.

CHRIS JOLMA FELT DEAD
.
But exhaustion shouldn’t matter. He’d joined Starfleet to see what was out there, not the overhead above his bunk.
Sleep
, he tried to convince himself.
The captain ordered you to sleep
. But that wasn’t how such things worked.

His mind raced; mostly about the actions he might have taken that wouldn’t have suggested to the captain that he rest.

“Stupid,” he told himself, and he slammed a fist harshly against the bed frame.

Filling Commander Spock’s shoes was an impossible task. Rationally Jolma understood that the captain wasn’t expecting him to offer the same expertise or skill that someone more experienced could bring to bear. Emotionally, that didn’t matter.

Jolma hadn’t joined Starfleet just because he was curious and wanted to explore. His grandparents had been a big influence in his life and both had been in Starfleet.

His father had left when he was young and hadn’t been there for him. He wasn’t a bad man, just not a great father. His mother died when he was eight, and he had gone to live with his maternal grandparents.

They’d passed some years ago, before he’d left for the Academy. They knew it was his goal and had always supported it. His grandmother was concerned about him pulling duty on a ship and told him stories about her time on a starbase. But Jolma wanted only one thing: to serve on a starship.

Without his parents, without his gran and gramps, Starfleet became Jolma’s new family. Since his transferring to
Enterprise
, James Kirk had become a father figure. Not that the captain knew or even suspected. To him, Chris Jolma was just another ensign.

He does remind me of my grandfather
, the ensign thought. Neither man would raise their voice. They chastised someone by being disappointed, rather than angry.

At Starfleet Academy, one of his roommates had been reprimanded by an instructor, not for a failure of procedure, but one of character.

Cadet Bleda was one of those “fake-it-until-you-make-it” types. It didn’t engender confidence among his peers or superiors. He didn’t break many rules, but neither did he respect them or consider the reason why they existed.

It was one thing to read about Starfleet legends like Jonathan Archer, Robert April, or Kelvar Garth, and another to try to emulate them.

When Bleda failed a psycho-simulator test, not for indecision but for his judgment, he wasn’t dismissed but held back.

Resentful and worrying about his career, Bleda had complained that his shot at a captaincy had been ruined.

Jolma remembered telling him, “It’s that kind of thinking that got you where you are.”

Bleda accused him of being a robot and doing whatever his instructors said.

“Of course,” Jolma had retorted. “That’s why it’s called training.”

Not all people who enter the Academy graduated. His roommate hadn’t.

Jolma had. He was on the
United Starship Enterprise
, the finest ship in Starfleet.

Sleep
, he told himself.
And when you wake up, get back to work and show the captain what you can do
.

“WHAT DO YOU THINK
has happened, Commander? Could they be dead?” Pippenge whispered.

Spock hesitated to answer. The
Enterprise
might
have been destroyed—that was but one of any number of outcomes they needed to consider. However, dwelling on it was illogical. But it was also what could be expected when dealing with beings who allowed their emotions to run unchecked.

“I choose not to assert a conclusion without conclusive evidence,” Spock said finally. He’d crafted that sentence with care, trying to impress upon the ambassador that his current emotional state was his choice. “It would be best,” he added, “if we remained focused on the task at hand.”

Spock continued sending covert messages to the
Enterprise
via his hybrid of Starfleet, Maabassian, and Kenisian technology.

When Sciver came to check on their progress, the only overt task which Spock seemed to be immersed in was monitoring an ongoing test with the
na’hubis
compound.

“State your progress.”

Swiveling toward the Kenisian scientist, Spock was guarded. “Assessments are continuing.” He motioned to the console display as data scrolled by.

“We want to know what you’ve learned,” Sciver prodded.

Spock raised one brow. “I cannot factually say I’ve learned anything until all experiments are complete. That is the reason for the tests, to confirm or refute my hypotheses. As a scientist yourself, I am sure you’d concur.”

Screwing his lips into a tense frown, Sciver glared at Spock.

Eyes wide, the Vulcan waited, head tilted slightly to one side.

“We wish to review your data,” Sciver said. “You will forward your readings to our console immediately.”

“Of course.” Spock bowed his head respectfully. As the Kenisian turned to leave, Spock added, “Should you need further assistance, please ask. I’d be happy to explain.”

Sciver stormed off, his face green with rage.

“Is it wise,” Pippenge whispered, “to provoke him?”

Responding directly to the ambassador’s implant, Spock was forthright about his plan to, in his own way, act as James Kirk might. “
I’d previously thought not, but there is an instability within him. If it moves him to anger, that may be to our benefit. Acts of fury are not often thoughtful, and they are easier to outwit
.”

Pursing his lips, Pippenge agreed.

“YOU’VE REVIEWED HIS DATA?”
Zhatan poured herself a glass of
asab
nectar but offered none to Sciver. She didn’t care to be bothered while taking her meals, but wouldn’t disallow it, either.

Sciver sneered. “We have.”

He stood rigidly before her as she sat at her table and poked at the food on her plate.

“And?”

“The test is valid, but so far inconclusive. However, we believe there are other ways to test the theories, including one that would allow us to operate at warp speed.”

Zhatan nibbled on a reconstituted freeze-dried berry. “We see. Do you know how to perform such testing?”

He nodded. “With time—”

“We haven’t the time. They have rebuilt a fleet and could pursue war at any moment.” Zhatan pushed away the nearly full plate, drank the rest of the nectar, then poured herself another glass. This time she just took a sip. “We’ve already talked to the Assembly about this delay. We shall not ask for another.”

“They’ve not moved to attack us,” Sciver pointed out. “We have evidence of activity that could just as easily be interstellar trade as buildup for war.”

“Trading with whom?” Zhatan demanded. “For what purpose? The first time they began to rebuild their industrial base, did they not develop a military infrastructure? Despite being banned from that activity?”

“They were not allowed to take any such actions. They broke the treaty, we do not disagree. But they likely thought we would never come back.”

“Did you not support us when we brought this plan to Kand? Did you not testify against Alkinth?”

“We did,” Skiver said. “And we still support you.”

“All of you?” Zhatan asked.

He hesitated.

“You know how they are,” Zhatan spat. “We all remember. How many of us died, lost to eternity? We saved as many as we could, but this isn’t the life we wanted.” She gulped at the nectar again. Most of her enjoyed it. Those that did not had learned to remain silent on that point.

“Life is life,” Sciver said. “We are not bitter that we live on in this way. At least we live on.”

“Horrific!”

“Limited!”
Tibis wailed.

“Painful!”

“Lingering desolation!
”

“Isolation!”

“Misery!”

“We,” Zhatan said, slugging down the rest of her drink, “are mostly bitter.” She slammed the glass down on the table.

“What if they don’t even remember those days?” Skiver asked. “We do—because
we
live on. They may not.”

“Then we will remind them.” She pushed away her plate. “You say these experiments can be done while we’re at warp?”

“We believe they can.”

Zhatan nodded. “Bring us Spock. Now.”