Crisis of Consciousness

by Dave Galanter

  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 otherwise 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 Mob
erte 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.

  Flipping a series of switches, the first officer activated one of the viewers over his station. A spectral analysis wavered and faded, replaced by the data Spock required.

  “While our own sensors were down, Maabas monitoring stations—which are quite sensitive—recorded a series of rigorous sensor scans aimed at the planet, all emanating from the Kenisian vessel.”

  Kirk studied the graphs. As soon as the Enterprise’s sensors had been hampered by the dampening field, the Kenisian ship had begun intensively scanning the planet. Why?

  The captain rubbed the back of his tight neck. “They were distracting us.”

  “From what?” Palamas asked.

  “They’re looking for something.” The captain leaned over and punched up pictures of where the Kenisians had scanned. “Defenses? Centers of industry? Resources?”

  The Vulcan disabused the captain of that notion. “I had assumed so. Th
ey gave such locations cursory investigation.” He pointed at several spots on one particular Maabas continent on the screen. “But these sites, here, here, and here. These were of paramount interest.”

  Having familiarized himself with the basics of the planet’s physical and political geography, the captain was at a loss to understand why the Kenisians would be intent on those locations. “But there’s nothing there.”

  “Nothing of which we’re aware,” Spock corrected.

  “We did find this, sir.” Palamas toggled a switch and another graphic overlaid the first. Several new dots, pinpointing different locations, filled the map. Three hit exactly where the Kenisians had been scanning. “Ruins. All sites with archaeological evidence of the civilization which predates the Maabas.”

  “Kenisian ruins.” Kirk flipped another switch and returned to the previous graphic, limiting the sites to the three the Kenisian ship had been most keen to scan. “The Maabas have investigated all of these sites?”

  “Yes, sir,” Spock said. “Their records reveal that a great deal of Maabas technological advancement has come from either direct discovery of ancient technology at these sites or has been inspired by what was unearthed.”

  Of course, Kirk thought. Finding a planet with a past civilization as advanced as—or more advanced than—one’s own would spur a technological revolution. World after world had such growth once they discovered warp drive and met other races. In fact, such an exchange was one of the reasons the Federation sought a treaty with the Maabas. To learn and grow through cultural and scientific exchange was a primary reason for the Enterprise’s mission to seek out heretofore unknown civilizations.

  “The Kenisians were pushed from this planet,” the captain said. “And they left something behind. Something important.”

  Spock agreed. “Presumably.”

  “We’ve got to find it,” Kirk said, a new tension knotting his shoulders. “Before they start a war to get it back.” And if they did, the captain wasn’t sure the Kenisians would lose.