Uhura pulled the captain’s attention from Pippenge. “They’re hailing, sir. Audio only.”
Turning his gaze back to the ambassador, Kirk said, “On speaker.”
“Attention, battle cruiser. We have surveyed your ship and assessed your capabilities. We order you to remove yourself from this star system. At once.” The voice, interpreted through the universal translator, sounded vaguely female but had an odd resonance familiar to Kirk which he couldn’t quite place.
Glancing to Spock, the captain found the Vulcan raising a curious brow.
The captain motioned to Uhura. “Patch me in.” She touched a button, nodded at Kirk, and he began, “This is Captain James T. Kirk of—”
Clearly dismissive, the alien woman cut him off. “We are of Kenis Prime. You are not. All intruders will vacate our home.”
“Intruders?” Kirk’s brow knitted, and he swiveled to Pippenge for an explanation as he made a slashing motion across his throat to Uhura, ordering communications privacy.
“I don’t understand.” The ambassador puckered his lips slightly, which Kirk understood to be the same as a human shaking his head. “We are not born to this world, but I assure you the planet was long uninhabited when we found it.”
“But there are ruins of a previous civilization,” Spock offered.
“Of course,” Pippenge agreed. “Ancient. Abandoned for millennia.”
“Could these people have abandoned them?” Kirk asked. “You’ve studied the ruins.”
The ambassador pursed his lips. “Yes. For years.”
Hands behind his back, Spock stepped to the rail that separated the upper bridge from the command well. “What do you know of those who built them?”
“Myself?” Pippenge’s eyes widened—a shrug. “Little. I am neither an archaeologist nor scientist.”
“You call this planet Maaba S’Ja,” Spock said calmly. “If memory serves, that means ‘new world’ in your language. Is it possible another race called it Kenis Prime?”
Thoughtfully, Pippenge paused to consider it. “I don’t know. Perhaps. It does sound familiar,” he said eventually. “But by an extinct society. Dead, long before we arrived.”
“Not so dead.” Kirk motioned to the viewscreen, indicating not only the representative dot of the hostile ship, but the actual vessel beyond the bulkhead.
“I—I cannot imagine,” Pippenge said quietly, almost to himself.
“They want their planet back.” It was as if Fate were laughing at him for thinking this would be a quick diplomatic run—Enterprise as taxi service. With the treaty signed, the Federation was now pledged to protect the Maabas, and a hostile vessel from a people posing as the original inhabitants of the protectorate planet qualified as a threat to be handled.
An audible, figurative poke in Kirk’s eye, the Kenisian vessel signaled again. “Intruder battle cruiser. We grow impatient. The planet will be vacated, or all will pay the price.”
His jaw tight, Kirk replied. “Kenisian vessel, we believe in settling our differences through discussion, not force, if at all possible.” He didn’t like the Kenisian’s tone or threats, but now wasn’t the time to mirror them.
After a long pause, Uhura sighed in frustration. “They’ve closed the channel, sir.”
Spock was already studying his scanner when Kirk turned toward him.
“They’re charging weapons.”
“Shields.” Kirk pounded the arm of his command chair. “All hands, battle stations.”
“Battle stations,” Uhura repeated over the intercom. “All hands to battle stations. This is not a drill. All hands, report to battle stations.”
The captain tensed instinctively, as he had when he was a young, green ensign and first heard the call to battle. He told himself that this would change. It hadn’t. He could still feel himself coiling up. He had gotten better at hiding it, but the feeling always remained.
To his side, Pippenge gripped the rail so hard it looked like he was trying to snap it in half. For him, a triumphant return home, planned for months in advance, had been tainted by the improbable.
“Evasive action, Mister Sulu.” Kirk studied the tactical display, which he knew would be inadequate. “Mister Scott, we need those sensors.”
“Aye, sir.” Scott sped toward the turbolift. “I’ll move the lads along.”
The bridge shook as the lift doors closed. Salvos struck against the shields. Without sensors they could not see them coming.
“Damage report.”
Spock hesitated a moment before replying. He checked something off one console, then verified it before looking up at the captain. “No damage. But there is something.”
Kirk rose toward the science station but gave a half turn to the helm before stepping to the upper bridge. “Maintain evasive, Mister Sulu.”
Pointing to an external schematic of the Enterprise, Spock indicated three points. “Inert material spaced equidistantly between the secondary and primary hulls.”
“What are they?” Kirk shook his head at his own thought. “Not explosives.”
“Unknown.” Spock flipped two switches on his console but little changed on the graphic above them. The mass reading suggested they were heavy, but that told them little. The power-output said null, but without active sensors, it was all a guess.
Leaning down, Kirk hit the nearest intercom button. “Kirk to engineering. Mister Scott, I want those sensors back now.” He looked to Spock. “We may have to risk an overload to see what we’re dealing with.”
Silence, no reply from Scott. Kirk repeated himself. “Kirk to engineering. Respond.”
Just as the captain glanced toward Uhura, she was already checking. “Sir, I’m not getting a response on any channel. Internal or external.”
Spock immediately bent over his viewer while Kirk checked the auxiliary science station. Internal sensors were either as hampered as the external grid, or . . . “A dampening field,” Kirk said. “From the . . . barnacles we just picked up?”
His first officer had a flicker of recognition at what he probably thought was a quaint—if not fully apt—term for the material placed on their hull. “I see no evidence the field emanates from them, but I believe they’re amplifying one.”
“We could remove them manually.” The captain stared at the blips on the schematic. Foreign objects on his ship.
“Doing so in space suits would likely take two point three hours.”
Time they didn’t have. Was this a prelude to being boarded? To being destroyed?
“What about phasers?” Kirk spun toward navigation. “We’ll carve them off.” Maybe the act would take some hull plating with it, but force fields could be put in place in those locations once the dampening field was gone.
Chekov checked his controls at Kirk’s request. “Phasers inactive, Captain.” He shook his head and turned toward Kirk. “But torpedoes are available, sir.”
“Thank you, Mister Chekov. We won’t be torpedoing the Enterprise today.” The ensign was probably only giving full information and not really suggesting they should fire torpedoes on their hull, but Kirk wasn’t going to even entertain the idea. “Mister Spock, what about beaming them off?”
The Vulcan nodded carefully. “Possibly.” He smoothly worked his console and began a computer simulation. After a few moments, he looked toward the captain. “Assuming Mister Scott gets our sensors online. It will take the majority of our battery reserves, channeled directly through the cargo transporters.”
“Leaving us how much?” Kirk asked.
Without checking his computations, Spock answered. “Twenty-two point four percent of capacity.”
“Risky.” Kirk massaged his lower lip with his right thumb. If they wasted most of their battery power on this attempt, they’d be as good as helpless. But if it worked . . . well, that was the risk part, wasn’t it?
He looked for the briefest moment at Ambassador Pippenge, who seemed as anxious as the crew probably felt. They were more accustomed to
masking it. As the Maabas were alien to Kirk, what he saw may not have been anxiety. Still, there were some universals of body language and manner among humanoids, and the captain thought he knew nervous tension when he saw it.
“Captain, I have Mister Scott.” Uhura pulled Kirk’s attention back to the moment, and he moved toward her station to confer with his chief engineer, whom he quickly updated.
“Well,” Scott said, “that explains it. Most systems are down, and I surely won’t be able to get external sensors working while those devils’re there.”
“We’ll need internal sensors. Then we need to reroute battery power to the cargo transporters,” Kirk said. “Mister Spock will provide the details.” He motioned to Spock, who moved to Uhura’s station with a data card, while Kirk returned to the command chair.
“I am so sorry for all this, Captain,” Pippenge said. His tone, even through the universal translator, was marbled with regret.
“Did you have any idea that this could happen, Ambassador?” Kirk looked at Pippenge sidelong, a hard stare which was meant to elicit the truth.
“My word, I did not.”
He was believable, the captain decided for the third time. But having been fooled by others in the past, he kept searching Pippenge’s manner and determining that the Maabas ambassador was forthright.
“Captain?” Spock called from Uhura’s station. “Mister Scott will be ready to proceed momentarily.”
“Aye, but one question, sir.”
Kirk thumbed the intercom on the arm of his chair. “Go ahead, Mister Scott.”
“Where do you want them beamed? Out into space with wide dispersion or into fatal orbit around the star?”
The captain had already pondered that question and knew exactly where he wanted the Kenisian amplifiers. “Neither,” he said. “Hold them in the buffers.”
Silence. Kirk imagined Scott’s eyes had widened a bit. After a moment, the engineer confirmed the order. “In the buffers, sir. That’ll take some doing if we don’t want ’em to degrade in the process.”
“They can degrade—after we study them.” Kirk glanced toward Spock to confirm his science officer would be able to glean the information from the transporter circuits.
The Vulcan nodded once.
“Aye, sir. Stand by.” In the background, Kirk could hear Scott ordering someone to bypass a troublesome circuit. There was a brief silence, then the soft clicking of controls and a slight dimming of the power of bridge lights and consoles alike. “We’re ready, Captain.”
Kirk pulled in a long breath and let it out with one word. “Energize.”
Over the intercom, Kirk could hear the hum of the cargo transporter. It was a slightly different sound than the personnel system. Designed for items of larger bulk and not confined to a small circular pad, the cargo transporter used more power. Some people who’d traveled by it said it was on the harsh side—not painful, exactly, but clearly not usually meant for living matter. Kirk had experienced it himself but hadn’t noticed a difference. Perhaps it was just one of those old salts’ tales.
As the hum diminished, Scott’s voice rang out more clearly than before. “Transport complete, sir. We have them in the buffer.”
Already there was an apparent change. The lights had come back to full strength, and the ship sounded herself again.
“All sensors are back on line,” Spock reported as the main viewscreen returned to a starscape view.
“Mister Chekov, target the source of that dampening field.”
“Torpedoes, locked.”
“Fire,” Kirk ordered without hesitation.
Enterprise spat forth two orange orbs of power that slammed into the bottom of the Kenisian ship and sizzled along its shields.
“Phasers. Fire.”
Blue bars of energy connected Enterprise’s phaser banks to the underside of the other vessel. The explosions from the torpedoes had disrupted their shields enough that the phaser beams broke through, and a small explosion erupted from the Kenisian ship’s belly.
Spock lifted his head from his scanner cowl. “I am no longer reading the dampening field emanating from their vessel.”
“I hope they can’t repair them,” Chekov said.
Kirk nodded his agreement as he rose and pushed himself toward the upper bridge. “Correct me if I’m wrong, Mister Spock, but a dampening field of that strength would take a great deal of energy, would it not?”
“It would,” the Vulcan agreed.
“Powerful ship.” Kirk took a lingering glance at the Kenisian vessel on the main viewer as it turned slowly away, as if the Enterprise were going to bear down on it. “But why send only one?”
“We have no fleet,” Pippenge offered, still standing above Kirk’s chair, one hand clasped tightly on the rail. “Perhaps they have surveilled us.”
Kirk wagged a finger at the viewscreen. “But did they expect to find us here?”
“They did not seem unprepared for the contingency,” Spock said.
“Captain, they’re hailing us,” Uhura said.
The captain stepped back down to the center seat.
“We’ve bloodied their noses.” Kirk tried to offer Pippenge some sort of comfort. “They may not be used to that.” He motioned for Uhura to put them through.
“Only audio,” Uhura said.
“Clearly we have underestimated you, Captain.”
Kirk paused, choosing his next words carefully. They were lucky, this time, but it could have gone much worse. “We’ve both survived that initial mistake. Would you care to discuss the matter? Without the looming threat of violence?”
There was a bit of a wait for a reply, and Kirk assumed that the Kenisian captain was also choosing her words carefully. “Yes, we would. We are humbled by your grace in this matter.”
“The United Federation of Planets prefers conversation to conflict. And the Maabas are now a protectorate of the Federation.” It was one thing to put out one’s hand in a gesture of peace, but Kirk thought it important to make a point that the Federation wasn’t backing off the agreement with the Maabas. Not just for the Kenisian’s sake, but for Pippenge’s.
“We understand.”
“We would host you, and a small delegation, here on the Enterprise, if you like.”
Another pause, as she considered Kirk’s proposal. If she refused, he wasn’t sure what her next move would be.
“We accept your gracious offer.”
Pippenge released a puff of breath.
“Are you familiar with matter-energy teleportation technology?” Kirk asked.
“Yes. We employ such a system for materials—not usually for living beings.”
“We can transport you to our vessel.” Sensing Pippenge’s discomfort, Kirk met the ambassador’s eyes and tried to give him as well as the Kenisian captain assurance. “No harm will come to you.”
“ENERGIZE.”
Chief Kyle slowly pulled down the sliders as the Kenisian captain materialized.
As the transporter effect’s sparkle and hum faded, she made a long gasp, but she quickly recovered.
Kyle stifled a gulp as they all noticed her upswept eyebrows and gracefully pointed ears.
“Vulcanoid,” the captain said quietly, and his science officer agreed with a tacit brow raise.
Her hair was auburn and arranged high on her head with well-maintained curls that sprang down on one side. Atop bright white slacks she wore a loose navy tunic which glittered at her neck and at the end of long sleeve cuffs. It could, Kirk realized, be either adornment or rank insignia. “That,” the Kenisian said breathlessly, regaining her composure, “was an interesting experience, Captain.”
Kirk instinctively stepped forward to help her as she nearly stumbled off the platform. “I’ve always enjoyed it.” He took her elbow and guided her down the steps.
“I did not.” She waved him off as she found her footing. “We don’t use such a method for living beings. I was merely surprised by the sensation.” Her eyes, larg
e and dark, met his own for a long moment, then looked to where he still held her arm.
The captain pulled his hand back instantly. He looked from her to his first officer, and she followed his gaze.
When she saw Spock, her eyes widened but she quickly recovered from any shock and bowed her head slightly to all of them. “We are Zhatan, Kenisian Fleet Commander and Ambassador.” She raised her left hand, showing an open palm facing up. Many cultures offered a greeting of good faith to show they had no weapon.
“I’m Captain James Kirk.” He gestured toward the two men behind him. “My first officer, Commander Spock, my chief medical officer, Doctor McCoy.”
Spock raised his hand in salute. “Peace and long life.”
She scrutinized him with intensity when he spoke, as if studying him in all ways possible. “You are of Vul-kuhn.” The way she said it wasn’t just odd to the ear, but had a bittersweet note to it.
“Vulcan,” he corrected, lowering his hand.
Zhatan bowed her head, accepting that, but explaining herself. “In our mythology, Vul-kuhn.”
“Mythology?” Kirk asked, and he motioned between Zhatan and Spock with his hand. “I take it there’s some linked history here.”
“Prehistory, perhaps,” Spock said. “I am unaware of any Vulcan expedition or colony in this area. Nor have I heard of the Kenisians.”
“We have been a spacefaring people for several millennia, Captain. While our origins are lost to time, there are many who have heard of Vul-kuhn—excuse me, Vulcan, and believe we are of their line.”
Kirk wondered if that was possible—a people who could create an interstellar craft might lose their own history, and he knew that time could bury facts that grow into myths.
“We look forward to learning more about your people and culture and offering you the chance to know ours.” The captain motioned toward the doorway, and the security guards who stood on either side. “If you’ll follow these gentlemen, Madame Ambassador, they’ll escort you to our briefing room. I’ll meet you there shortly.”
“Captain.” Zhatan smiled a bit—and it was rather alluring. Was she flirting with him? As she stepped toward the door, however, she stopped and turned to Spock, smiling at him as well. “Will Commander Spock be joining us?” She didn’t look at Kirk when she asked.
Crisis of Consciousness Page 3