Crisis of Consciousness (6 page)

“About twenty minutes.” McCoy glanced at the medical scanner readout above the biobed.

“What exactly did she do?”

Looking to Spock, McCoy deferred to the Vulcan’s expertise.

“When she touched your hand, Zhatan initiated a mental link. I sensed it in your hesitation from that moment on. Subconsciously you were fighting the meld.”

“You sensed it?”

Spock nodded slowly, once. “I am familiar with the body language, for lack of a better term, of such an encounter.”

Pulling in a deeper breath, Kirk took one more sip of water and sighed. He was feeling more himself again. “You struck her.”

“To break her concentration,” Spock said. “After Zhatan refused my demand that she release you.”

Swinging his feet over the edge of the bed, Kirk sat up. While his head swam a bit and a wave of nausea washed over him, he used the pain to steady himself.

“Jim, I’m not sure—”

Kirk waved off McCoy’s concern. “I’m fine. I’m fine.” He placed his feet on the deck and stifled the urge to buckle at the knees. Standing shakily he looked at Spock. “We need to confirm she’s out of my head.”

With tacit acknowledgment, Spock kept one hand behind his back and placed the other on the captain’s face.

The Vulcan’s fingers pressed lightly against the left side of Kirk’s head: near his ear, at his temple, his cheek, his nose, and his jaw. In a sudden jolt Kirk had felt before, the pressure to these areas increased—as did the pain in his head and shoulders as he held his head in place against Spock’s touch.

As if from afar, Kirk felt Spock’s presence in his mind. It was only for an instant, then the Vulcan pulled away and the sensation was gone.

“Zhatan is not present,” Spock said, his right hand returning to his left behind his back.

Kirk nodded his thanks. “Then let’s go talk to her.”

On the way to the brig, the captain’s anger broiled in his belly. By the time Spock and he arrived, Kirk had to keep his voice from being a snarl. After years of diplomatic missions, he was well practiced at that.

The captain stood in front of the brig’s force field and motioned to the guard to turn it off.

With a sizzle, the field was gone, and Zhatan stepped into the corridor to greet Kirk and Spock.

“Unprovoked violence,” the captain began, his tone tighter than he’d wanted, “is unworthy of an ambassador in the middle of negotiations.”

“We are sorry, Captain.” She bowed slightly, and Kirk couldn’t tell what was in her eyes. There were hundreds of people behind that gaze. How was he to know which were sincere and which were subversive?

“Are you?” he asked.

“We’re afraid there are times when the disparate personalities within force an action which some do not desire.”

Kirk nodded. Overtly, he had to accept that excuse—mainly because doing anything else would not be useful. What he really wanted was to tell Zhatan to get the hell off his ship.

Instead, he reiterated Ambassador Pippenge’s offer. “The Maabas are interested in pursuing peace. The Federation is happy to mediate in order to find a way for both your peoples to coexist—if not in harmony, then at least civilly. We’ve done this for many opposing factions, and I have no doubt that with time, a proper accord can be reached. One that is agreeable to all.” Kirk couldn’t smile, as he normally might. Instead, his speech was pro forma. “We urge you to take this proposition to your people—
all
your people, as I said—and consider it as the best path for all involved.”

“Yes,” she said simply—even sadly. “We shall do so.”

Kirk motioned toward the guards. “These men will escort you to the transporter room. We’ll inform your ship to expect you.” He then looked to the security team. “Mister Baumgartner, make sure neither you nor Lieutenant Sentell touch the ambassador.” On that note, Kirk gave Zhatan a final polite bow.

When she and the security men were gone, Kirk just stood there, looking after her.

“Captain?”

Kirk shook his head. “I’m fine, Spock.” He began moving down the corridor, and his first officer followed. “What did you find in Skent’s device?”

“Nothing sinister,” Spock said. “Notes on his journey, holographic images of the delegation at various locations, including the
Enterprise
. None were a risk to security.”

“Good. Where’s Pippenge?” Kirk turned and headed for the turbolift. “I want him on the bridge.”

The Vulcan nodded, and before they entered the lift, he contacted security to have them escort the ambassador.

When they arrived, Sulu was in the center seat. With a nod, he relinquished it to Kirk and replaced the substitute helmsman at his own station.

“Standard orbit, Mister Sulu.” Moments after Kirk lowered himself into the command chair, Pippenge and his escort stepped from the lift. The guard took up post at the lift doors while the ambassador stepped down into the command well, an excited chitter emanating from his throat. “Oh, you’re uninjured! I am very glad, Captain. Very glad.” He grasped Kirk’s right hand in both of his, and the four-thumbed grip was noticeably tight.

Still a bit weary from his ordeal, the captain could only manage the slightest of polite smiles. He was concerned, and Pippenge could likely tell. Certainly the ambassador’s own anxiety was etched into his pale pink features.

“The Kenisian vessel has retreated from the Maaba S’Ja system,” Spock reported from the science station. “They’re holding position at the edge of our sensor range.”

Kirk nodded and motioned Spock toward him.

The Vulcan stepped down, flanking the captain on his right as Pippenge did on his left.

“Maybe they’ve estimated our scanner range incorrectly.” Kirk stroked the edge of his chin with a forefinger and looked toward the viewscreen. On it, the Maabas homeworld spun slowly. Correction, adopted homeworld.

“Or,” Spock offered, “they understand the scope of our sensors and are sending us a message.”

“What message?” Pippenge asked.

“ ‘We’re not done here,’ ” Kirk said.

“Perhaps they are showing respect, leaving the system while they contact their leaders to discuss our terms.” Pippenge looked hopeful at the prospect of such a conclusion, but one could tell he was trying to convince himself as much as anyone else.

“Maybe.”
Or maybe not
. Kirk wasn’t ready to believe the Kenisians were so amiable. The forced mind-meld told him that. “Why
this
planet?” he asked, nodding toward the globe on the viewscreen.

“Perhaps a cultural or emotional reason which escapes logic,” Spock offered. “Being Vulcanoid doesn’t assure one a rational philosophy.”

“Neither does being Vulcan.” Kirk smiled playfully. He was feeling more himself with every moment.

Ignoring the jibe, Spock merely agreed. “Indeed. Reason at all levels is a volitional act, not one of instinct.”

“You’re a war-weary people,” Kirk mused, trying to understand the Kenisian mind-set. Or was it minds-set? “You’ve been living on another planet for thousands of years. You learn another people now inhabit the world you were pushed from—which wasn’t your own world to being with . . .” Kirk looked at Pippenge and continued. “No offense, Ambassador, but what’s so special about your planet?”

Head rolling around in a Maabas-style shrug, Pippenge began his answer slowly. “Maaba S’Ja is temperate and fertile in many areas, especially the largest northern continent. Water and natural resources are not overly plentiful but it is surely not a lifeless husk. We did, as you noted, have to terraform one of the natural satellites, due to our increasing numbers.”

Sulu had obviously been paying attention, and he turned toward them from his helm. “There are at least three other planets in this sector equally as habitable.”

Kirk nodded and considered that. He appreciated input from his senior officers, and Sulu knew that such commentary was valued. Having been an astrophysicist, the helmsman could often be called upon for the kind of assessment he’d just offered.

“Mister Spock?” Kirk swiveled toward his first officer. “Let’s assume there’s something more to this story that we’re missing.”

Spock nodded.

“Of what do you speak, Captain?” Pippenge asked.

Kirk turned back and smiled, and then looked to Spock again, still holding his playful expression. “I don’t know. But if there
is
something, I’d bet Mister Spock can find it.”

Both of the Vulcan’s eyebrows rose, and he pressed his lips into a thin line. “If,” he began slowly, “I may have access to the Maabasian databanks, I shall endeavor to investigate.”

“Of course, of course.” Pippenge bowed. “I shall see to it immediately.” He clenched his jaw tightly, then released. “Chifger? This is Pippenge. Commander Spock from the Federation
Starship
Enterprise
will communicate with you regarding Maabas Central archives. Please see to his every request.”

Kirk knew they used implanted communicators, and while he understood the privacy it afforded them, he’d never liked the idea. Starfleet had experimented with them for a time, but rejected their use when they were found to be no more secure than communicators and far more painful when an enemy sought to remove or destroy them.

After a pause, the ambassador puckered his lips. “No, he is to be given
full
access. Yes, yes, on my authority.” Pursing his lips, Pippenge thanked Chifger and clenched his jaw again. “If you will contact my associate on subspace channel five-five-two, he will grant you access and answer any questions you may have.”

Spock bowed his head in acknowledgment and retreated to the upper bridge. Once at his station, he picked up an earpiece and initiated the transmission.

Placing his left hand on the captain’s forearm, Pippenge delicately pinched Kirk with his two thumbs, drawing his attention. “Captain, may I speak with you privately?”

This was Kirk’s bridge, and those within earshot were in his strictest confidence and held his inalienable trust. Of course, Pippenge didn’t know this, and that he trusted the captain of an alien starship was impressive for someone from a previously xenophobic culture. Still, the captain didn’t want to abandon the center seat. The Kenisians were sitting out there, just at the edge of sensor range, and it made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. Stepping up to a more private section of the bridge was the most he was willing to do.

“Certainly.” Kirk led Pippenge toward the viewscreen.

Pippenge whispered, “I must know, Captain, will you help us if the Kenisians refuse to come to an accord?”

That’s the question of the day, isn’t it?
Kirk thought.

When he didn’t answer immediately, the ambassador pushed on. “While we have a defensive force, it’s not interstellar. However large or small the Kenisian fleet is, we can’t rebuff a full-scale attack.”

Feeling the urge to bite his lower lip, Kirk studied the ambassador. He hoped he wasn’t outwardly expressing the real concern he felt. Logistically, the
Enterprise
may have been able to defend the planet from a ship such as Zhatan’s. But they certainly couldn’t hold out against several more of them.

The nearest Federation starship was the
U.S.S. Farragut,
but it was at least ten days away at maximum warp. If the Kenisians brought a fleet—or even a small squadron of ships—they would outgun the
Enterprise
, and there would be massive loss of life before reinforcements could arrive.

Is a planet worth it? Would the Kenisians agree to an orderly migration if the Federation offered to help find the Maabas another planet?

Glancing at the viewscreen to his right, Kirk watched the M-class planet spin lazily beneath them.
A rock
, he thought,
like many others
. Add water and air, it became an ecosystem; in some ways fragile and rare, in others robust and comforting. It had supported life for how many millions of years before the Kenisians happened upon it? And despite a war that left its cities in ruin, that rock was able to sustain another race for thousands more years.

Neither people were native to the planet. But what did “native” mean? Pippenge was born on a planet he called home. Was he native? Did one have to spawn from a planet’s oceans as humans did on Earth to call a planet their own?

Spock was half human, but born and raised on Vulcan. To which planet could he be considered native? What of a human born on Mars? Or Alpha Centauri? Were they aliens in their own homes?

This wasn’t an issue of the Maabas forcing the Kenisians from their homes and the aggrieved party now wanting back what was stolen. Someone else did the forcing, and the Maabas were refugees when they found the Kenisians’
adopted
planet. Both peoples had been lost. Both had found the rock below and clung to it in their need.

Why was one to be considered to have more right than the other? Especially when the current residents had offered to share their world?

“Will the Federation help?” Kirk echoed the ambassador’s query. Finally responding, the captain said, “Mister Ambassador, that’s why we’re here.”

FOUR

“You made the right call, Jim
.
”
Admiral Withrow’s office filled the main viewscreen. His large desk bisected the image on the screen and the Starfleet insignia behind him framed his bushy red hair.
“The Federation Council wants Starfleet to give our full support to the Maabas
.
”

“Agreed, Admiral, but if the Kenisians are serious in their threats,
Enterprise
will need support.” Kirk leaned forward slightly in the command chair. Something told him Zhatan was very serious, and he hoped he’d imparted that to Withrow.

“I’m recalling the
Exeter
, but she’s three weeks from your position.”

“The
Farragut
?”

Withrow’s eyes flicked to someone out of view, then quickly back.
“Yes, they’re closer, but oth
erwise engaged and can’t be diverted.
Exeter
is the next closest
.
Even if
Farragut
finished on time, she couldn’t get to you before
Exeter.”

“I see.” Three weeks was a long wait. What was happening with the
Farragut
that Withrow saw the
Enterprise’
s situation as a lower priority? Kirk could only imagine. But as weighty a responsibility as a captain’s command was, the braid of an admiral was far heavier. It wasn’t a position Kirk envied. “Very well, sir. We’ll hope for the best and prepare for the worst.”

“
I’m sorry, Captain. I wish I had better news
.
”

Kirk sighed slightly. “So do I.”

“I know last time you were in my office, I’d promised you an exploratory mission, Jim. Next one, I promise
.
”

A smile tugged at Kirk’s lips. “I’ll hold you to it, Bob.”

A yeoman with a clipboard leaned in to the picture. The admiral signed with only a glance at what it contained.
“Can I assume the Maabas government has officially asked for this support?”

The captain nodded. “The ambassador and his delegation are beaming down to confirm it as we speak.”

“Keep us informed.”
Withrow’s brows knitted in concern.
“
Good luck, Jim. Starfleet out
.
”

The viewscreen reverted to the image of the planet below. Conferring with Command had not gone as Kirk expected.

He turned to Uhura. “Lieutenant, let the Maabas delegation know we’ve apprised Starfleet of the situation and . . .” How should he phrase the fact that
Enterprise
would be the only hope the Maabas had for three weeks? “They will have Starfleet’s full available support in the most timely manner possible.”
Closer to a month than not
, Kirk thought. “Let them know how long, but assure the Maabas
we
will be here.”

And hopefully we’ll be able to stop the Kenisians.

PIPPENGE AND HIS PARTY
materialized directly where Captain Kirk said they would: just inside the anteroom to the Maabas High Court. It was a comfort to see home, even if it was the more sedate foyer to the beautiful courtroom. The anteroom was filled with colorful glass sculptures and lighted tables that told stories to those waiting. And the temperature here was more agreeable than aboard the
Enterprise
.

Their own teleportation technology allowed only for station-to-station transport. Pippenge had hoped the scientific exchange with the Federation would allow such accurate and untethered travel to revolutionize Maabas mobility. Now, all he hoped for was a way to keep his world.

Norla, one of President Moberte’s adjutants, gasped when she saw the materialization process had completed. “Amazing,” she said. “Quite amazing.”

The ambassador pursed his lips in acknowledgment, and when he didn’t smile, Norla’s own happy expression quickly faded.

“What is wrong?” she asked.

“Much.” Pippenge handed her the diplomatic packet he’d been carrying and walked past her toward the Court chambers. “I must consult with the council immediately.”

She stopped him before he reached for door. “They are voting. There can be no disruptions.”

Huffing out an annoyed breath, Pippenge turned back to his delegation.

“Barge in, Ambassador,” Skent said. Turning to Norla, he explained, “This is a matter of great importance.”

“What has happened?” she asked.

Ortov, one of the young attendants who had spent much of the voyage to and from the Federation space station in silent contemplation, finally spoke. “A race calling themselves the former inhabitants of this planet has named it as Kenis Prime and claimed it as their own.”

Pinching her nose, Norla lowered her head and began to shudder.

“It is unjustified,” Tainler said.

Pursing his lips, Skent agreed. “But they have the means to wage war, and we do not.”

“This is why I must speak to the council now,” Pippenge snapped.

Motioning the ambassador quickly away from her, Norla relented. “Go, go.”

Pippenge reached quickly for the Court door. “Please wait for me here,” he told the others as he entered the council chamber.

The Court was where the elected heads of all the Maabas provinces conferred about any action or incident of planetwide interest. There were seventeen representatives seated around an oval table. There had always only been that number. No matter how populated a district became, it was worth one-seventeenth to the Court. In the past, that had caused many an argument. Why should a district with a million people get the same representation as one with three million? Tradition. When the Maabas arrived on their new world, the bulk of the people were spread across seventeen huge vessels. Those ships held the majority of the refugees from their old world, and while looking for a new home, each vessel had counted as a single vote in the exiled court. When they disembarked, many stayed together with their former shipmates. Some had not and people were free to move where they desired. Over time, some provinces thrived better than others, and so population disparity arose.

Pippenge, from the largest district, had never cared for that construction. But since it had worked—as much as any government can—for so long, it was highly unlikely to change.

The tall ceiling and curved walls of the room allowed all voices to be well heard without artificial amplification. However, the sessions were recorded both for posterity and broadcast.

When Pippenge entered without announcement, he had to wait until the vote being taken was complete. Whatever they were discussing passed by three votes, and the small gallery chittered its approval.

Making his way directly to the Court’s president, Pippenge leaned down and whispered, “We must consult under closed session, with haste.”

President Moberte had known Pippenge many years and had appointed him to his ambassadorship. She flickered the lights of the hall with a button on the table before her, pulling the attention of all in attendance to her decree. “Closed session is called and granted without dissent.” Moberte did not wait for verbal opposition, and the attendants ushered the gallery audience to the exits.

By the time Pippenge made his way to the small podium directly opposite the president, all eyes were on him.

“The
Enterprise
has been attacked,” Pippenge began, and he told the Court of the last few hours’ ordeal in as much detail as he could, including Zhatan’s assault of Captain Kirk.

As soon as the ambassador bowed his head, showing he had completed his statement, he was peppered with questions.

“Is Captain Kirk well?”

“Why did
Enterprise
not hold this person on charges?”

“Should we say ‘these persons’ if she is truly this multividual as was described?”

“If she is Vulcan too, perhaps Kirk’s Vulcan first officer supported the attack and when it was unsuccessful he liberated her.”

“What does the Federation say about all this? Will they honor the treaty?”

“If this happened while in our space, have we jurisdiction to prosecute the Kenisian woman? Women? Whatever she is.”

Holding up his hands, Pippenge clacked together the nails on his four thumbs and asked for quiet. “Please, please, listen to me.”

The room quieted down only when President Moberte flickered the lights again.

Snorting two breaths from his nostrils, Pippenge was frustrated. Most of the Court’s questions had been answered already, if they’d only listened more closely. But as he had been speaking, aides were handing written comments and queries to the Court members, and they were more than likely fixating on how they should react rather than on what Pippenge told them.

Pulling in a deep breath, the ambassador answered all their questions as he remembered them. “Captain Kirk is well and unharmed by the attack. The
Enterprise
was not in orbit when the Kenisian commander assaulted him, and I believe her government would claim the space in which the attack took place was disputed. She is not a Vulcan, but they probably share some distant lineage.” He took another breath, and focused only on the president’s expression as he continued. “Commander Spock was the one who discerned the attack and stopped it from injuring the captain. As for the Federation, they have been apprised of the situation. They are sending help, but it will take some time. Captain Kirk, as their representative and at their behest, has—as I indicated—pledged the
Enterprise
’s support.”

Many quiet whispers and side discussions broke out until Moberte flickered the lights yet again. Silence reasserted itself.

Nehrin, from the smallest district, who represented a mostly agricultural province, was the first to raise his hands and clack his thumbnails in an attempt to be heard. “Pippenge, you’ve met this woman, or whatever she or they may be. Do you believe they’re willing to share this planet? And if so, how much land would they demand?”

Strigle, from the mostly industrial area, clacked to be heard next. “The question is why would they agree to share when they must know we haven’t the force to repel them?”

“Is this truth?” Moberte asked. “Pippenge has seen but one ship. Where is this force you fear?”

“They attacked the Federation ship, stouter than anything we have. If they do not fear a vessel that could lay waste to this planet, why should we not fear them?” D’ricci shouted. While one of the more logical Court members, he also had a more negative, fatalistic outlook on life.

“The
Enterprise
rebuffed their attack, and with their skill forced the Kenisian into parley,” Moberte reminded the Court.

Pippenge counted several affirmative expressions. Even D’ricci pursed his lips in agreement.

One of the newer Court members, recently elected from a coastal province whose chief enterprise was tourism, clacked her thumbs to speak.

She was an older woman, her hair now red with age, but she made no attempt to hide her years. Pippenge had never spoken directly to Lodi, but had always found her quiet and thoughtful in Court proceedings.

“You trust this Captain Kirk.” Her voice was strong, though lower than one might expect. Pippenge assumed it was because she spent much of her time outdoors, perhaps at the resorts so prevalent in her community.

“I trust him,” Pippenge said. “For those who wish it, I can offer the chance to meet him. You’re surely as good at judging character as I, if not better.” He smoothed their feathers a bit with that last comment, but that is what ambassadors did. “He is forthright, and having visited with his Federation leaders for these last few weeks, I assure you they
are
how they represent themselves.” He puckered his lips. “We would not have signed the treaty otherwise.”

“Then, if you believe this is the right path,” Lodi said, linking her hands together, “we are committed. The Federation is more experienced with interstellar relations, and we should heed Captain Kirk’s recommendation—and yours—as to how to resolve this crisis.”

Pippenge hadn’t thought of it as a crisis, but it was. People liked to say how this issue or that could mean the fate of the planet hinged on one thing or another, but here was a situation where that assessment was not hyperbole.

His gut told him to trust Kirk. His experience told him the same. But what if he was wrong?

Looking from face to face, not just the Court members but their aides and lastly President Moberte, Pippenge wondered if he should reconsider his advice. Perhaps they should offer the Kenisians an out by agreeing to find another planet. A migration would take years and be a hardship, but it wasn’t impossible.

The president clacked her left hand’s thumbnails together and called for a vote. “If dissent is to be held, let it be heard.”

There was silence as all bowed their heads. This, Pippenge thought, was the true strength of the Maabas. They had been through so much turmoil together, so much loss that required them not just to depend on one another but to
respect
one another, that the end result was a true harmony. Perhaps that was why they’d resisted exploring the stars for so many years. They knew other people cultivated acrimony and disdain for their brethren, and the thought of becoming that frightened the Maabas.

“Thank you,” the ambassador mouthed silently to the president.

Moberte pursed her lips. “You may inform Captain Kirk of the Court’s agreement and our trust in him.”

THE LAST THING
Kirk saw in Pippenge’s eyes before he beamed down was a look of overriding trust. The captain hoped that it wasn’t misplaced.

When he returned from the transporter room, he walked directly to the bridge science station. He’d left Spock the conn, but the Vulcan had not abandoned his computers for the command chair. For Spock, being in command did not require a center-seat presence. He and Palamas had been poring over the records provided by the Maabas, and the first officer clearly felt his best efforts were to focus on that task.

“What’ve you got?” Kirk asked them.