“More aliens will come to Maabas now,” McCoy said. “Are your people ready for that?”
That was one of Starfleet Command’s worries as well. However, the Federation Council was untroubled. Their opinion was that a culture intelligent enough to make breakthroughs in science, to accept the Federation as an ally, could be eased into other frontiers, even ones alien to themselves.
“Most are, or we’d not have signed the treaty.” The ambassador’s quick reply made Kirk think this was one of Pippenge’s political talking points. Likely many Maabas shared Dr. McCoy’s concerns.
“Some aren’t as eager,” Kirk said.
Absentmindedly, the ambassador grabbed a dark strand of his hair and stroked it nervously. “No group is all of one mind, Captain.” He chittered happily. “But we are ready to move forward.” Standing, Pippenge thrust back the loose arm of his official robes and raised a fork as one might raise a glass. “Onward to the future.”
“Here, here,” McCoy said. The Enterprise officers in attendance applauded. The Maabas officials sang in a cheerful tone. Pippenge attempted both, and the captain couldn’t help but smile.
There was much to celebrate. Most treaty negotiations didn’t go as smoothly as they had with the Maabas. They’d asked for very little from the Federation: trade, protection, and cultural and scientific exchange. In return, the UFP wanted much the same. The previous surveys and exchanges, which had given Lieutenant Palamas the information in her report, had shown that the Maabas had great intellectual flexibility. In addition to their unique scientific research, their philosophy dovetailed nicely with that of the Federation. They were a united planet with a democratically elected government, there had been no wars since they colonized their planet, and they shared many of the same principles as the Federation.
Kirk raised his glass to make his own toast, but just as he was taking a breath, the door to the corridor slid open. Skent, the missing Maabas attendant, entered with an Enterprise security officer close behind.
The captain rose to greet them. “Mister Baumgartner?”
The guard frowned. “He was found on engineering deck, sir. In a restricted section.”
Pippenge rose to confront his comrade. “Is this true?”
“An error,” Skent said sheepishly. “I was merely exploring . . .”
The ambassador puckered his lips. “I see.”
“A puckering of the lips is like a human shake of the head,” Palamas whispered to Kirk. He hadn’t noticed she’d joined him. The captain nodded his appreciation. This was just the sort of understanding of alien body language he needed from his A&A officer.
“Ambassador, you and your aide were also seen on the engineering deck.” Kirk had seen the report earlier, but thought little of it. Guests could get turned around on a ship as big as the Enterprise. One occurrence could be easily dismissed. Two, however, made the hairs on the back of Kirk’s neck stand up.
Was Pippenge displeased with Skent because he was where he shouldn’t be, or because he was found where he shouldn’t be?
“He had this on him.” Baumgartner handed Kirk a small device that fit into his palm but had no obvious screen or method of input.
The captain rolled the object around in his hand, then showed it to the ambassador. “Can you explain this, sir?”
“A scanning tool and recording device,” Pippenge said.
Spock rose and joined the captain to his right. “A tricorder.”
“Designed to interact with our computerized implants, yes.” The ambassador was contrite and glared down at Skent. “Explain yourself, please.”
“My brother is in the Science Directorate. He asked me to record anything of interest,” the attendant said, unwilling to meet Pippenge’s eyes.
“On the Enterprise?” Kirk asked.
“Anywhere.”
The captain pressed his lips into a thin line and wondered if that would be taken as a sign of acceptance by the Maabas delegation. If so, perhaps that wasn’t a bad thing. He didn’t like it, but he didn’t have evidence that there was any malicious intent.
“Mister Spock?” He handed the device to his science officer. “Please review the data collected and make sure nothing of a sensitive nature has been recorded.”
Spock nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“If you wish to satisfy your own justice, Captain, I understand,” Pippenge said. “Though I assure you, there will be repercussions for Skent’s rude actions.”
This was just the kind of kink that Starfleet didn’t want in the relationship between the Maabas and the Federation. And, unless the device was a danger to his ship, there probably was no reason to be concerned. “We have a saying, Ambassador.” Kirk motioned them all back toward the dinner table. “ ‘No harm, no foul.’ ”
Pippenge bowed. “You are most gracious hosts.”
Amiable smiles and mild discussion followed until the hour grew late and the ambassador and his party excused themselves.
As Kirk stood to leave as well, Palamas approached. “Thank you for inviting me, Captain. It was an interesting evening.”
“I appreciated your attention to detail tonight, Lieutenant. Good night.”
“Thank you, sir,” she said pleasantly, and joined Uhura, who waited for her near the door.
“May I walk you back to your cabins, ladies?” Scotty approached them, and the three left together.
As the table was being cleared by yeomen, Spock approached Kirk. “I shall have a report on the abilities and contents of this device by the morning, sir.”
The captain knew better than to dispute the timing of his first officer’s sleep schedule or the prioritization of his work/personal-life balance. “Thank you, Mister Spock.”
“Drink, Jim?” McCoy asked.
Kirk nodded. “I was thinking the same.”
THE DOCTOR POURED himself another glass and held the bottle toward Kirk, who shook his head. “One’s enough.”
“Since when?” McCoy had loosened the neck on his dress uniform enough that the black undershirt showed through a V shape he’d opened over his chest.
“I’m on duty.” The captain cradled the glass in his hand, sipped the drink just to keep nursing it, then placed it on the doctor’s desk.
“Uh-oh, I know that look.”
“What look?” His brows jutting upward, Kirk glanced at McCoy.
“The something’s-bothering-me-but-I’m-not-sure-what look.”
“Please,” Kirk scoffed, but hesitated before continuing. “I’m sure it’s nothing.”
The doctor took another sip of his brandy. “I’m sorry. I mistook you for Jim Kirk.”
At that the captain chuckled. “Am I that obvious?”
“Only on even-numbered stardates.” McCoy topped up his snifter even though there was more yet to savor. “Tell your bartender all about it.”
The doctor could be a good sounding board. Kirk lifted his glass and took another small sip, explaining, “Over the year the Federation and the Maabas have been negotiating, the main sticking point was the building of an orbital space station which could resupply and repair space vessels.”
“Why was that a problem?”
Kirk shrugged. “I don’t know. They didn’t want to work on ‘vessels of war,’ despite assurances that Starfleet’s mission was one of peace and exploration.”
“Even Vulcan has spaceports where a starship can dock.” The doctor sighed and shook his head. “If you can out-pacifist a Vulcan . . .”
“Suddenly, they change their mind and in a matter of a few weeks have signed a treaty. Why?”
“Reasoned debate caused a political shift?” Swiveling back and forth in his chair, McCoy frowned and offered a shrug as he speculated. “Some internal need for a specific resource they lack, which we have? An external threat of some kind?”
Pointing directly at the doctor, Kirk nodded. “That.”
“Then why don’t we know about it?”
The captain shook his head and looked down int
o the glass he lifted from the desk. “I don’t know, Bones.”
The bosun’s whistle rang out, jarring him from further thought. “Bridge to Captain Kirk.”
He leaned toward the desk’s comm panel and thumbed the button. “Kirk here.”
“Now entering the Maabas star system, sir.”
“Ahead of schedule, Mister Sulu. Slow to impulse. Standard approach. Let me know when we make orbit.”
“Aye, sir.”
“Kirk out.”
When the doctor was sure Kirk had switched off the comm, he continued. “What’s it got to do with the Maabas delegation snooping? Because that’s what’s really bothering you, isn’t it?”
“I don’t know.” It was true that it bothered him, but he wasn’t even sure it should. There were such things as innocent mistakes. The captain liked everything to add up, and with the Maabas, not everything did. “You remember the story Pippenge told?”
“Which?” McCoy capped the bottle, walked to the cabinet behind the desk, and stowed it away. “The man isn’t lacking for stories.”
Most ambassadors weren’t, the captain thought. “The mythological demons that look like Spock.”
The doctor laughed and after a couple drinks the sound was more throaty than usual. “You think Vulcans visited this planet years ago, threatening sightseers and correcting grammar?”
With a chuckle, Kirk shook his head. “Not exactly. But the Romulans . . . ?” He let the sentence trail off, and the notion hung between them.
“Not their general area of influence,” McCoy said thoughtfully, nursing his drink.
“ ‘Demons,’ ” the captain quoted Pippenge. “What’d he say? Upswept brow, pointed ears?”
“Yes.” The doctor snickered. “They destroy you with fire and lightning.”
“That could describe a weapon,” Kirk said. “Or a transporter.”
“You’re reaching.”
“Deep Space 5 is near the Romulan Neutral Zone.” The captain tilted the glass toward himself and watched the liquid contents run against the bowl as he set it right again. “A Federation-Maabas alliance would be a concern for the Romulans.” He raised the glass to his lips and took a sip, just as the bosun’s whistle sounded again.
“Bridge to Captain Kirk.” Spock’s voice this time.
Quickly he hit the comm button. Sulu’d had the bridge. For his first officer to be calling, something had changed. “Kirk here. What’s wrong, Mister Spock?”
“We’re tracking an unknown vessel on an intercept course.” The Vulcan’s voice was calm as usual, but had a serious tinge.
“ETA?”
“Four minutes, present speed.”
“Go to yellow alert. I’m on my way.”
Kirk put his glass down on McCoy’s desk and twisted toward the exit. “We’ve got company.”
The doctor followed him toward the door. “Romulans?” McCoy called as the captain sped up the corridor.
“Unknown vessel, Spock said, so let’s hope not.”
THE LIFT TO THE BRIDGE seemed too slow, but Kirk knew it was the same speed as always. When the doors slid open, the captain was shocked, but not surprised, to see Pippenge standing just outside the turbolift entrance. The security officer, his weapon already drawn, pulled the ambassador out of Kirk’s way.
“I saw the yellow alert, and we were informed we were already within the bounds of our system,” the ambassador was telling the officer.
At the captain’s nod, the security man holstered his phaser and stepped back.
Kirk knew how important the treaty was, but his gut reaction was to have Pippenge forcibly removed from his bridge—perhaps confinine him to quarters. Thankfully, diplomacy overrode that urge. The captain said in his most level tone, “Mister Ambassador, I didn’t call you to the bridge.”
Nervously, Pippenge pursed his lips. “Yes, Captain, I’m very sorry. I was simply worried. Please forgive me.” At least the man knew he shouldn’t be there.
Kirk needed to focus on the situation—not the ambassador. He gently pulled Pippenge toward the command chair as the lift doors opened again. Scotty stepped out and hurriedly moved toward his station.
“I saw the alert, sir.”
The captain nodded and descended to the command well as Spock moved to his science station.
“Report.”
“Alert status confirmed, sir, all decks.”
Lieutenant Sulu and Ensign Chekov were at the helm and navigation consoles respectively, quietly awaiting their orders.
“The vessel?” Kirk asked as he lowered himself into the center seat.
“Unfamiliar configuration,” Spock said, already bent over his sensor cowl. “No answer to our hails. Intercept in three minutes.”
“Spock, what do you make of her?”
The Vulcan flipped switches for a moment, then spun a dial on the side of the viewer. “Conventional warp drive assembly, highly energized plasma weapons, and I believe four forward and four aft torpedo tubes.”
A small knot formed between the captain’s shoulder blades. “Well armed.”
“Also,” Spock continued, “class-one shielding and significant armor plating.”
“Life-forms?” Kirk asked.
Spock was ready with the answer. “Reading one-hundred seventeen individuals; however, parts of the ship are resistant to scan.”
Not a Romulan vessel. Thoughtfully stroking his lip with a finger, Kirk wondered what new race this could be. Being heavily armed didn’t necessarily mean they were a threat. The Enterprise was armed to defend herself, but such weapons could be seen as offensive by strangers.
Turning toward the sound of the lift opening again, Kirk noticed that Lieutenant Uhura had changed into her regulation uniform. With a nod to the relief officer, she slid smoothly into her chair.
“Visual, Mister Chekov.”
“Aye, sir.” The ensign tapped quickly at his console.
On the main viewscreen, the image changed from a relatively empty starscape to one where a small dot grew larger, noticeable only because an indicator on the screen pointed out that it was the vessel in question.
“Magnify,” Kirk ordered.
A larger, more impressive view of the approaching ship centered itself on the viewscreen.
The data on Sulu’s tactical display stated it was only slightly larger in length and width than Enterprise. Its mass was seven times greater. Where Kirk’s ship had a certain grace, with lines that suggested a design of intended beauty, the unknown vessel was a chunk of a craft, not quite cylindrical. It had no curves—just coarse edges and multi-level ledges that shaped its form. If there were standard warp nacelles, they were hidden within the bulk of the hull. It was either painted dark or naturally so, and its gray form almost disappeared against the black starscape. It looks, Kirk thought, like a crumbling brick. An imposing one.
The captain nodded toward the alien ship. “Can we predict their weapons range?”
Spock, still suspended over his sensors, replied cautiously. “Not with any accuracy, but if forced to estimate, I would suggest approximately the same as our own.”
“How good are your planetary defenses?” Kirk turned slightly toward Pippenge and met his gaze.
His hands tightly gripping the railing, the Maabas ambassador was clearly shaken by the question. His homeworld—or rather, his people’s chosen world—was off the usual interstellar routes and therefore rarely got unannounced visitors. “Well,” he said slowly, “we’d like to think quite good. But they’ve not been tested in actuality.”
“Captain.” Uhura turned toward Kirk, and he twisted to listen to her. “I’m receiving an answer to our hail.” She had one hand still on her console and the other touching her earpiece. “Audio only, sir.”
“Let’s hear it.”
The speakers crackled to life, and as the voice was interpreted, presumably accurately, Kirk felt his throat tighten.
“Attention to all who stand in our way of Kenis Prime. Surrender our pla
net back to us, or be destroyed.”
TWO
The aliens hadn’t waited for a reply. They’d sped toward Enterprise, and the nearer they came, the more the viewscreen crackled with static.
Kirk spun toward Spock. “What’s causing that?”
The Vulcan smoothly but quickly consulted his console. “They’re attempting to overload our scanners.”
“Aye,” Scott said from the engineering station. “And it’s working. We’ve got to shut down the sensor grid.”
“The whole grid? How is that possible?” Kirk asked. Their systems were well shielded, had built-in redundancies. He looked at his chief engineer and saw a grave expression on the man’s face.
Scott quickly nodded once. “Right now, sir.”
“Do it,” Kirk ordered, then twisted toward the helm. “Switch to passive sensors for maneuvering and targeting.”
“Aye, sir,” Sulu and Chekov said almost simultaneously, their hands punching at their controls.
From his console, Scott directed an ensign at the auxiliary engineering station to key in the shutdown. The chief engineer then nodded toward Spock, who took the next steps.
The change that took place couldn’t be heard or felt. On a personnel level, it meant hundreds of crew rushing to positions to double and triple check their stations. Kirk sensed a difference, not physically, but emotionally. His ship was hampered—his sight blurred.
The captain thumbed a button on the arm of his chair. “Red alert.”
On the viewscreen, the image changed from a starscape view to a tactical display fed by extrapolated computer data. Instead of reaching out, Enterprise now waited for information to come to it, and the computer had to estimate what was beyond visual sight.
Kirk’s eyes narrowed on the dot on the viewer that was labeled “HO1.” Hostile 1.
“Who are they?” he asked Pippenge.
“I—I don’t know, Captain. Truly I don’t.”
Looking for some hint to a possible deception by the ambassador, Kirk saw none. The man’s expression edged toward shock, perhaps even embarrassment, but not mendacity. Still, there were lies people told others and those they told themselves. The latter were more difficult to divine.
Crisis of Consciousness Page 2