Crisis of Consciousness

by Dave Galanter

  Once the tricorder transferred the data he’d scanned, Spock contacted the ambassador through his computer implant. “I require your help to communicate with the Enterprise.”

  Initially stunned by what Spock was proposing, Pippenge quickly recovered and feigned confusion at the task assigned to him by the Kenisians. “I am not at all sure what to do,” he mumbled. Spock hoped this wouldn’t become so rote a response that it would be noticed by those watching them.

  Spock sent another message. “I will guide you. I need to link the transceiver in your implant with a communicator Captain Kirk concealed in one of the na’hubis mines.” It was his hope that the Maabas technology, similar enough to Kenisian, would be less likely to be detected when in use.

  The ambassador turned to Spock, blinked at him in shock a few times, then turned back and pretended to work at his console.

  Raising a brow, Spock was unsure if Pippenge was more surprised at the captain’s subterfuge or that it was possible to link a Starfleet communicator to his implant. Perhaps he thought it would cause injury.

  “No harm will come to you in this process, I assure you,” Spock sent. Engineering the transmission between the communicator and the implant was an easier task than the next step, which was to find a way to boost the signal in a manner that would go undetected to the Kenisians. That would be a more difficult maneuver.

  “Hmmmm,” Pippenge said to himself again. “How . . . I wonder . . . does this work?” He tapped at his console, but what showed on his display was unrelated to his true intent.

  Spock was concerned that this attempt to clandestinely communicate might be overheard and understood, but no Kenisian technicians or scientists showed any interest.

  Daring to send the ambassador a longer message, Spock attempted to explain as much as time allowed. “I will route messages to and from your implant. Using the transceiver in my communicator, I hope to enhance the signal with some of the equipment in this lab. Much of the Kenisian equipment looks similar to Maabas technology. I may need your assistance to quickly understand it. Time is, and will continue to be, of the essence.”

  Without looking directly at Spock, Pippenge flattened his lips, expressing his understanding.

  Explicitly not acknowledging the ambassador, silently or otherwise, Spock took the Kenisian tricorder, double-checked that its data had been transferred to his console, and rose to make his way to one of the nearby labs.

  Once there, tools were readily available that met his needs. The communicator was opened with ease, and the transceivers—the main and the backup unit—were removed. The unneeded housing was returned to Spock’s boot, so that it would not be found.

  The tricorder was a more difficult matter. Opening it wasn’t his concern. But how could he discern the purpose of the components without testing them?

  Here was the first instance in which the Vulcan would need Pippenge’s aid.

  Returning to the computer console, Spock related to the ambassador, in great detail, the components he found in the tricorder. When he’d given that overview, he asked Pippenge his thoughts on their respective functions.

  After twenty-three point two minutes, the ambassador looked exhausted, but progress had been made. Spock returned to the lab and introduced his communicator’s transceivers into the tricorder.

  When that was complete, he now had a unit to test, but no way to do so, except in use. Once again, he returned to his work station. Initiating a simple message from the tricorder to Pippenge’s implant via the communicator’s circuits was the first step.

  Spock sent, “Ambassador. This is a test. If you are aware of this message, please indicate receipt in some overt way.”

  Before Pippenge could react, Sciver was upon them.

  “Why have you done it?” the Kenisian demanded, his cheeks flush green with anger. “Can we not trust you in even the smallest way?”

  Pippenge sprang from his seat so fast that Sciver was startled. “Forgive us! We did not know it was wrong!”

  Brows furrowed in confusion, the Kenisian looked at Pippenge as if he was mentally unbalanced. “Sit down. We are not addressing you.”

  “I—oh.” The ambassador took his seat, still looking like a bundle of nerves, but at least quiet for now.

  Sciver turned his attention only to Spock. “Explain your actions.”

  “Which actions in particular?” Spock asked coyly.

  “Toolkit thirty-three.”

  Maintaining a rather blank look, Spock nodded, accepting that the topic was toolkit thirty-three despite being offered no context. “What of it?”

  “You used it, but did not put it away,” Sciver explained, his complexion still blushed with pique. “That is unacceptable to us. Some of these instruments are powered. It is neither safe nor wise to leave them unattended.”

  Bowing his head, Spock acted properly chastised. “You have my most sincere apology.”

  After a single curt nod, Sciver turned away. Before Spock and Pippenge could even share a glance, however, the Kenisian twisted back.

  “What were you using it for?”

  “Pardon?”

  “The toolkit,” Sciver pressed. “Why were you in need of it?”

  Without hesitation, Spock presented an earnest façade. “Uncertain of the tools available to me, should the need to use them present itself, I thought I should familiarize myself with the lab as best I can.”

  Sciver looked uncertain as to the honesty of that answer.

  “Occasionally, knowing one’s options in advance can hasten solutions when problems present,” the Vulcan added.

  Seeming satisfied, Sciver nodded and turned away a final time, leaving them relatively to themselves.

  Glancing at Pippenge, Spock found the ambassador looking quite shocked. There were anecdotes that suggested Vulcans were incapable of lying, and the Maabas may have heard those tales.

  Many had misinterpreted the Vulcan disdain for mendacity to mean that they would never speak falsely. Such a tenet, however, would be illogical on its face, as there were times when telling a fiction was the most moral act one might take. Knowing the widespread acceptance of this fable, Spock had bent the truth on a number of occasions.

  Explaining this would be an interesting discussion to have with Ambassador Pippenge later. For now, Spock sent the following to the ambassador’s implant: “We must amplify this signal in a method that will not be noticed.”

  Spock had an inkling about how to achieve that, but with the opportunity would come great risk.

  WHEN THE ENTERPRISE tilled uncharted space, there was an exhilaration to it that spoke to Kirk’s soul. It was contained excitement, always promising something new, something interesting just ahead.

  Now, as they headed into the unknown, following a thin thread of plasma radiation that might, or might not, lead to Zhatan’s ship, the exhilaration had been replaced with anxiety.

  It wasn’t merely that a Kenisian fleet might be waiting for them. There was no telling whose territory they were invading. There could be a hostile reaction to their pursuit, by one or more powers. It wasn’t the way the Federation liked to make first contacts.

  The most frustrating part was that there was no way to know if they were on the right track. Events had moved so quickly that the path Chekov found could have been where the Kenisian came from as much as where she’d gone. If it wasn’t to the same location, and they were now tracking back to her point of origin, there would be little time to pick up her trail again.

  The captain still wasn’t sure how he knew Zhatan’s task was so urgent, but he did.

  Had Spock been present, he might have pointed out how illogical it was to trust such a feeling. Although, after some years serving together, the captain knew there was more to his Vulcan friend than just logic.

  What if he’s dead? Kirk wondered for a quick moment, then caught himself and scuttled the negative thought.

  He looked down at his right hand and found it curled into a fist. Rather than re
leasing it, he brought it to his chin and bounced it there a few times. Spock will find a way to communicate. He’ll find a way.

  “Captain?”

  Uhura’s voice drew Kirk from his darker thoughts.

  “Yes?” Coiled with tension, the captain sprang toward her station, just as the lift doors opened and McCoy stepped onto the bridge.

  “Jim?”

  The captain waved him off and looked at Uhura.

  “I have a signal on subspace four-oh-seven, sir,” she said.

  “Jolma,” Kirk called to the ensign at the science station. “Track it.” Excitedly, he motioned to the speaker on Uhura’s console. “Let’s hear it.”

  “Spock?” McCoy asked.

  Ignoring the doctor, Kirk gestured to her speaker again.

  She shook her head, one bright green earring waggling against her earpiece. “It’s character based and encoded, sir.”

  He nodded. “Decode and translate to audio, Lieutenant.”

  After Uhura flipped a series of switches, the computer read the message aloud: “Enterprise, this is Spock, authentication Victor nine-six-five-six Eta Nu. Please respond in like code.”

  McCoy grinned at Kirk, who quickly motioned to Uhura. “Respond.”

  Having already configured the computer to translate the code and character, Uhura spoke, “Enterprise receives. Authentication Baker seven-three-one-two Omega.”

  Throat dry with anticipation, Kirk bounced slightly on the balls of his feet.

  McCoy smiled, but Kirk couldn’t. There were too many unknowns. Where was the message from? Was there a delayed send? Was Spock able to reply? Kirk trusted his first officer to overcome such scenarios, but until they heard back, the captain would worry.

  Come on, Spock. Be there.

  The captain twisted toward Jolma, who was peering into the sensor cowl. “Ensign?”

  “Not enough to go on, sir.”

  Adjusting her earpiece, Uhura smiled. “Reply incoming, Captain.” She tapped at her board to put the message through.

  “The ambassador and I were abducted to assist Kenisians in use of na’hubis weapon. Current location and course unknown.”

  “Uhura, send this: Continue contact as long as possible. Tracking signal to source. Report status.”

  She sent the message.

  They waited. Kirk looked from Jolma to Uhura for a sign that something had changed. The captain paced between the science and communication stations.

  McCoy stood just beyond Uhura, leaning close into her station, chewing softly on his thumb.

  “Was he caught?” the doctor asked.

  Kirk shook his head. Perhaps the message merely came from farther away than they imagined? Tracking the signal would tell them distance soon enough—if they could get a lock on it.

  Although the captain hadn’t envisioned the Maabas ambassador would be swept up, his plan was mostly working as he intended. Kirk thought he would be in Spock’s place, but considering the circumstances, this way was probably better. It didn’t mean that the captain liked it.

  “Receiving,” Uhura called, and Kirk was instantly by her side.

  “Sending full report burst.”

  “Well,” McCoy said, “he’s all business.”

  That, Kirk thought, would be Spock.

  Uhura’s slender fingers swiftly worked at the controls. “Capturing report, sir.”

  “Send this,” Kirk ordered. “How close are Kenisians to testing prototype weapon?” Doubtless that information was in Spock’s missive, but Kirk didn’t have the time to skim through it now.

  As they waited for the response, Kirk stalked back over to Jolma at the science station.

  “We are on the right course, Captain.”

  “Location?” Kirk asked.

  “Not yet, sir,” Jolma said.

  “It’s in line with the course we’ve taken?”

  “Yes, sir. Definitely.”

  “Good,” McCoy said. “That’s good, right?”

  The captain huffed out a semirelieved breath. “It isn’t bad, Bones.”

  “Getting another message, sir.”

  Kirk turned back to Uhura’s station.

  “Kenisians will test weapon in battle against their ancient conquerors. Situation grave. Destruction could reach Beta Quadrant.”

  “Beta Quadrant,” Kirk mouthed silently.

  Uhura drew in a sharp breath, not quite a gasp, but she, too, was shocked.

  “What the devil?” McCoy’s eyes met Kirk’s.

  “Worse than we thought,” the captain said, more to himself than McCoy. He looked toward the main viewscreen, past the points of light which appeared to speed away and outward. In the abyss of black beyond the visible stars, trillions and trillions of life-forms lived.

  One act might end them all. One insane act of rage.

  That wasn’t really what Zhatan wanted, Kirk knew. Once again, he wasn’t sure how he discerned that, but he was certain of it.

  Wasn’t he? Could that be a side effect of a Kenisian meld? Did he feel that he knew her and was that a weakness she’d passed to him purposely?

  Kirk didn’t have any answers. He hoped that his willingness to ask meant that he wasn’t under any outside influence.

  “Send to Spock.” Kirk turned back to Uhura and placed his hand on the back of her chair. “We are on intercept course—”

  Jolma interrupted, “Sir, I haven’t pinpointed—”

  The captain continued, silencing the ensign with a glare. “We are on an intercept course. Will need consistent contact to pursue from a distance. If we are unable to reach you in time, you must take sole action to keep the na’hubis weapon from being used. Up to and including General Order 23.”

  Kirk noticed that every head on the bridge snapped up for a second, but only for a second. Starfleet General Order 23 mandated the destruction of an enemy vessel at any cost, including personal. It was issued only in the most dire of occasions. This was surely one of them.

  Working the Enterprise’s scanners, Jolma hurried to make sure the captain was able to keep his promise.

  Kirk knew they were on the right track and that any location pinpointed now wouldn’t be useful when Enterprise arrived at those coordinates. If the Kenisians were planning an attack, they wouldn’t be heading in the most direct course.

  And just in case the Kenisians were eavesdropping, Kirk wanted them to know that the Enterprise was on her way.

  The captain knew if the Enterprise couldn’t arrive in time, Spock would have to destroy the Kenisian vessel. If he could.

  Continuing his attempts to find the first officer, Jolma was frustrated. “I need one more contact, Captain. Just one more.”

  Kirk nodded, appreciating the ensign’s dedication.

  They waited for Spock’s acknowledgment—two minutes, then five, then seven, then ten.

  “He’s fine,” McCoy told Uhura as the captain left them for the command chair. “Just delayed. Someone walked in or . . .”

  It sounded to Kirk as if McCoy was reassuring himself as much as the lieutenant.

  When he looked at the chronometer for the sixth time in as many minutes, the captain noticed seventeen minutes had passed since Spock’s last contact.

  Would Zhatan kill them if they were found to be acting against her?

  Was she really a murderer? If so, why not kill Kaalburg and Ottenbrite on the planet? Why not leave Tainler and the Enterprise landing party for dead?

  By definition of her Kenisian condition, there was more to Zhatan than met the eye. Kirk hoped the depth he’d seen within her wasn’t an illusion she’d implanted to confound him.

  Somewhere deep in his gut, the captain felt he was missing something. He rubbed his chin and tried to imagine where the lost puzzle piece could be.

  “Uhura,” he said suddenly, spinning about, “get me in touch with Ambassador Pippenge’s assistant, Tainler.”

  She nodded and set to work as McCoy stepped down toward Kirk.

  The doctor motio
ned toward the chronometer that sat between Sulu and Chekov. “Been a long time.”

  Too long, Kirk thought.

  NINE

  “You are taking too long, Mister Spock.” Zhatan’s demeanor was that of an impatient proctor to her student, as if she’d asked her captive to solve a simple equation for the class, and he was purposely dawdling.

  He was. But that made the equation no easier to unravel.

  “I am unsure what exactly you expect.” Hands clasped behind him, Spock stood as Zhatan strode around him, perhaps in a manner she thought intimidating. Certainly Pippenge, still sitting at his computer console, was sufficiently unsettled.

  “We expected a new approach. Sciver has reviewed your notes, and all we see are diligent appraisals of what we already know.” Zhatan stopped, stood in front of him, and mimicked his posture. “We are not looking for evaluations. We need breakthroughs.”

  “Scientific innovations do not occur on a timetable,” Spock said.

  Frustrated, Zhatan stamped a foot in a childlike manner. “They can! Did you not—with only minutes to perform the task—once formulate a matter/antimatter intermix procedure that saved your vessel from a decaying orbit after her engines had been in cold shutdown?”

  Resisting the urge to show shock, Spock merely raised a curious brow. “Interesting.” There was no way to have that information unless the Kenisians were far more familiar with the Federation—and Starfleet—than they had let on. “I must now assume the timing of your arrival within the Maabas system was not happenstance.”

  He hadn’t framed that as question, because the answer was obvious.

  At first Zhatan hesitated as if caught in a lie. After that, she simply nodded.

  However, Sciver looked quite taken aback. Eyes narrow, he sought the commander’s gaze. “Is this true?”

  She silenced him with a sharp glare, and he bowed his head in recognition of her authority.

  “I don’t understand,” Pippenge said.

  Turning to face the ambassador, Spock explained. “Commander Zhatan has just revealed that she has classified Starfleet intelligence. Either she sought out this information previous to the Enterprise’s arrival in the Maabas system—”