Crisis of Consciousness

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Crisis of Consciousness Page 19

by Dave Galanter


  CHRIS JOLMA FELT DEAD. But exhaustion shouldn’t matter. He’d joined Starfleet to see what was out there, not the overhead above his bunk. Sleep, he tried to convince himself. The captain ordered you to sleep. But that wasn’t how such things worked.

  His mind raced; mostly about the actions he might have taken that wouldn’t have suggested to the captain that he rest.

  “Stupid,” he told himself, and he slammed a fist harshly against the bed frame.

  Filling Commander Spock’s shoes was an impossible task. Rationally Jolma understood that the captain wasn’t expecting him to offer the same expertise or skill that someone more experienced could bring to bear. Emotionally, that didn’t matter.

  Jolma hadn’t joined Starfleet just because he was curious and wanted to explore. His grandparents had been a big influence in his life and both had been in Starfleet.

  His father had left when he was young and hadn’t been there for him. He wasn’t a bad man, just not a great father. His mother died when he was eight, and he had gone to live with his maternal grandparents.

  They’d passed some years ago, before he’d left for the Academy. They knew it was his goal and had always supported it. His grandmother was concerned about him pulling duty on a ship and told him stories about her time on a starbase. But Jolma wanted only one thing: to serve on a starship.

  Without his parents, without his gran and gramps, Starfleet became Jolma’s new family. Since his transferring to Enterprise, James Kirk had become a father figure. Not that the captain knew or even suspected. To him, Chris Jolma was just another ensign.

  He does remind me of my grandfather, the ensign thought. Neither man would raise their voice. They chastised someone by being disappointed, rather than angry.

  At Starfleet Academy, one of his roommates had been reprimanded by an instructor, not for a failure of procedure, but one of character.

  Cadet Bleda was one of those “fake-it-until-you-make-it” types. It didn’t engender confidence among his peers or superiors. He didn’t break many rules, but neither did he respect them or consider the reason why they existed.

  It was one thing to read about Starfleet legends like Jonathan Archer, Robert April, or Kelvar Garth, and another to try to emulate them.

  When Bleda failed a psycho-simulator test, not for indecision but for his judgment, he wasn’t dismissed but held back.

  Resentful and worrying about his career, Bleda had complained that his shot at a captaincy had been ruined.

  Jolma remembered telling him, “It’s that kind of thinking that got you where you are.”

  Bleda accused him of being a robot and doing whatever his instructors said.

  “Of course,” Jolma had retorted. “That’s why it’s called training.”

  Not all people who enter the Academy graduated. His roommate hadn’t.

  Jolma had. He was on the United Starship Enterprise, the finest ship in Starfleet.

  Sleep, he told himself. And when you wake up, get back to work and show the captain what you can do.

  “WHAT DO YOU THINK has happened, Commander? Could they be dead?” Pippenge whispered.

  Spock hesitated to answer. The Enterprise might have been destroyed—that was but one of any number of outcomes they needed to consider. However, dwelling on it was illogical. But it was also what could be expected when dealing with beings who allowed their emotions to run unchecked.

  “I choose not to assert a conclusion without conclusive evidence,” Spock said finally. He’d crafted that sentence with care, trying to impress upon the ambassador that his current emotional state was his choice. “It would be best,” he added, “if we remained focused on the task at hand.”

  Spock continued sending covert messages to the Enterprise via his hybrid of Starfleet, Maabassian, and Kenisian technology.

  When Sciver came to check on their progress, the only overt task which Spock seemed to be immersed in was monitoring an ongoing test with the na’hubis compound.

  “State your progress.”

  Swiveling toward the Kenisian scientist, Spock was guarded. “Assessments are continuing.” He motioned to the console display as data scrolled by.

  “We want to know what you’ve learned,” Sciver prodded.

  Spock raised one brow. “I cannot factually say I’ve learned anything until all experiments are complete. That is the reason for the tests, to confirm or refute my hypotheses. As a scientist yourself, I am sure you’d concur.”

  Screwing his lips into a tense frown, Sciver glared at Spock.

  Eyes wide, the Vulcan waited, head tilted slightly to one side.

  “We wish to review your data,” Sciver said. “You will forward your readings to our console immediately.”

  “Of course.” Spock bowed his head respectfully. As the Kenisian turned to leave, Spock added, “Should you need further assistance, please ask. I’d be happy to explain.”

  Sciver stormed off, his face green with rage.

  “Is it wise,” Pippenge whispered, “to provoke him?”

  Responding directly to the ambassador’s implant, Spock was forthright about his plan to, in his own way, act as James Kirk might. “I’d previously thought not, but there is an instability within him. If it moves him to anger, that may be to our benefit. Acts of fury are not often thoughtful, and they are easier to outwit.”

  Pursing his lips, Pippenge agreed.

  “YOU’VE REVIEWED HIS DATA?” Zhatan poured herself a glass of asab nectar but offered none to Sciver. She didn’t care to be bothered while taking her meals, but wouldn’t disallow it, either.

  Sciver sneered. “We have.”

  He stood rigidly before her as she sat at her table and poked at the food on her plate.

  “And?”

  “The test is valid, but so far inconclusive. However, we believe there are other ways to test the theories, including one that would allow us to operate at warp speed.”

  Zhatan nibbled on a reconstituted freeze-dried berry. “We see. Do you know how to perform such testing?”

  He nodded. “With time—”

  “We haven’t the time. They have rebuilt a fleet and could pursue war at any moment.” Zhatan pushed away the nearly full plate, drank the rest of the nectar, then poured herself another glass. This time she just took a sip. “We’ve already talked to the Assembly about this delay. We shall not ask for another.”

  “They’ve not moved to attack us,” Sciver pointed out. “We have evidence of activity that could just as easily be interstellar trade as buildup for war.”

  “Trading with whom?” Zhatan demanded. “For what purpose? The first time they began to rebuild their industrial base, did they not develop a military infrastructure? Despite being banned from that activity?”

  “They were not allowed to take any such actions. They broke the treaty, we do not disagree. But they likely thought we would never come back.”

  “Did you not support us when we brought this plan to Kand? Did you not testify against Alkinth?”

  “We did,” Skiver said. “And we still support you.”

  “All of you?” Zhatan asked.

  He hesitated.

  “You know how they are,” Zhatan spat. “We all remember. How many of us died, lost to eternity? We saved as many as we could, but this isn’t the life we wanted.” She gulped at the nectar again. Most of her enjoyed it. Those that did not had learned to remain silent on that point.

  “Life is life,” Sciver said. “We are not bitter that we live on in this way. At least we live on.”

  “Horrific!”

  “Limited!” Tibis wailed.

  “Painful!”

  “Lingering desolation!”

  “Isolation!”

  “Misery!”

  “We,” Zhatan said, slugging down the rest of her drink, “are mostly bitter.” She slammed the glass down on the table.

  “What if they don’t even remember those days?” Skiver asked. “We do—because we live on. They may not.”
<
br />   “Then we will remind them.” She pushed away her plate. “You say these experiments can be done while we’re at warp?”

  “We believe they can.”

  Zhatan nodded. “Bring us Spock. Now.”

  LOOKING DOWN at the plate, the Vulcan could identify at least one tuber of Vulcan origin. The rest, a variety of alien fruits and vegetables that had been well presented, did not look familiar.

  “Thank you,” Spock said. “Your staff was kind enough to provide the ambassador and me a protein supplement which was sufficient.”

  “This was our dinner,” Zhatan said curtly. “We’d offer you a drink but suspect you do not imbibe spirits.”

  “No, I do not.”

  “Sit.” She motioned to one of the chairs at the table.

  Spock lowered himself gently into the seat and placed his hands on his lap. “If you seek a progress report, I’ve shared the data with your lead scientist.”

  “We are aware.”

  Spock interlocked his fingers and waited patiently for her to indicate the reason for his being summoned. Whatever battle went on within Zhatan, he was not privy to it, but her hesitation suggested it was an extensive debate.

  “Sciver says your tests can be performed while we’re under warp power,” she said finally.

  Spock shook his head slightly. “It is impossible to execute these tests with an active warp engine in range.”

  “But there are other experiments you could do, which would achieve the same end, and allow us to continue toward our enemy.”

  Zhatan was careful not to ask a question, so he was equally cautious in his reply. “To what end, if my research is incomplete?”

  Another long pause, and likely another debate among Zhatan’s numerous and schizophrenic chorus of consciousnesses. “We will be under way as soon as the warp engines are restarted.”

  Spock raised a brow.

  “Please,” Zhatan said, “do not feign surprise. You were clever enough to convince us of a half-truth, and we were gullible enough to believe you. We are not amused, nor are we insulted by your actions.”

  Spock nodded, but doubted there was anything he could say to change her mind—minds—at this juncture.

  “You are directed to assist Sciver with tests which can be performed while traveling at warp speed.” Zhatan motioned for him to rise, and as he stood, the chair dematerialized. “You will delay us no more. Thanks to your matter/antimatter intermix formula, we should be under way within the hour.”

  “Zhatan, you are making a grave error.” Hands clasped behind his back, Spock knew he would be monitored more closely than before. He would need to plan for that contingency.

  “Perhaps,” she said. “But it is ours to make.” The edges of her lips curled upward and she motioned to the door. “You are dismissed.”

  Spock was escorted under guard back to the laboratory complex. It was possible that this would mean increased scrutiny not only of future actions but past ones as well.

  Sciver was waiting for him when he returned to the dedicated consoles he and Pippenge had been assigned. The ambassador sat awkwardly, nearly immobile, as the Kenisian scientist stared him down. If this was meant to show his superiority, he was mistaken. Intimidating Pippenge took little effort.

  “You’ve been ordered to assist me,” Sciver said when Spock sat.

  “I have.”

  “This one doesn’t appear to be of any use.” He nodded toward Pippenge.

  Perhaps to the Kenisians’ ends. Spock wondered how such a conclusion might manifest in action. Would the Maabasian be imprisoned? Killed?

  “ ‘This one’ is a recognized ambassador to the United Federation of Planets.” Leveraging his Vulcan serenity, Spock kept his voice quiet and even. “He and his people are signatories of a binding agreement with the Federation which assures a protective alliance.”

  Either uncertain of what Spock was saying, or confused as to how to respond, Sciver just looked from the Vulcan to the ambassador and then back.

  To remove any ambiguity, Spock added, “You seek to end one conflict. It is ill-advised to begin another without good reason.”

  Sciver still looked perplexed. He understood the threat, but not the reasons for making it. “For this?” He gestured to Pippenge. “Why?”

  “Because I value his life. By oath and by choice, I am sworn to protect it.” Spock allowed that statement to settle, and eventually the Kenisian turned away.

  “Please shut down all ongoing experiments,” Sciver said over his shoulder. “We shall need your help in crafting our tests once we’re under way at maximum level.”

  When Sciver was out of sight, Pippenge opened his mouth to speak.

  Spock put up a finger, waited until he could no longer hear the Kenisian’s breath, then said, “Forgive me, Ambassador. Vulcanoid hearing is quite sensitive. What did you wish to say?”

  Lips pursed, Pippenge smiled tightly but sincerely. “Thank you, Mister Spock. Thank you.”

  “WELL, WHAT DO YOU SEE?” Stretched anxiously over the red rail that separated the upper bridge from the command well, McCoy looked up toward Kirk and Uhura at the science station.

  The captain had been bent over the sensor cowl for a while, and judging by the doctor’s tone of voice, he was anxious to hear what prompted the interest.

  “Spock’s alive,” he told McCoy with an I-told-ya-so smirk.

  “So sensors can pick up comm signals now?” McCoy didn’t like the captain toying with him.

  “Better.” Kirk motioned Uhura back to the scanner. “Transfer coordinates to the helm.” He leaped past McCoy and into the command chair. “Mister Chekov, alter course to location transferred by Lieutenant Uhura. Mister Sulu, best possible speed.”

  The doctor grabbed the arm of Kirk’s seat and turned the captain toward him. “Jim, uncle.”

  “All right, Doctor. You’ve suffered enough.” Smiling, Kirk gestured to the science station. “Uhura found a plasma discharge—same as the Kenisian vessel.”

  “And?”

  The captain nodded confidently. “Bread crumbs, Bones.”

  “Oh, sure. Bread crumbs.” McCoy looked at his boots and shook his head, then glared up at Kirk. “What the devil are you talking about?”

  Still smirking, Kirk explained, “The amount Uhura found is not normal. The only explanation is a stationary vessel releasing plasma slowly or dumping it. It’s Spock sending us a message.”

  “That’s a hell of a leap,” McCoy said. “What if it’s just a ship that sprung a leak?”

  “It’s not, Doctor,” Uhura said, still at the science station. “If it were, there would be telltale signs. This is pure warp-engine plasma; someone spilled it.”

  “Spock,” Kirk added pointedly.

  One side of his mouth curling down, McCoy didn’t seem to buy that. “I hope so,” he said quietly.

  “Kirk to engineering. Mister Scott, we’ll need you to stoke the boilers.”

  SCIVER STOOD at the main computer console which was linked to the na’hubis prototype mines. The screen in front of him pulsated with data as he ran his experiments. From where Spock was allowed to stand, he could see the tests were producing mixed results.

  “You’re aware of the problem,” he told the Kenisian.

  Grunting, Sciver worked on.

  Mines were often used to focus a destructive force. In this case, they’d hoped to use a mine to limit destruction. Unfortunately, the Kenisians were basing their hope on a document that Spock had created.

  Approaching the screen, the Vulcan pointed at a specific data point. “Here.”

  “I see it,” Sciver said.

  When properly stressed, both Zhatan and Sciver changed the personal pronoun from “we” to “I.” As Spock had suspected, there was a primary personality that could be asserted, but was usually held in check by the other consciousnesses within each individual’s psyche.

  As test results confirmed the level of destruction the na’hubis weapon would cause, Sciver
became more anxious, and his own personality revealed itself. “I could mitigate the explosive power,” he said, then added, “somewhat.”

  After a minute he clarified, “If we had time to build a new delivery device.” His exasperated tone, while having this discussion with no one in particular, suggested that Spock was listening to an internal debate spoken aloud.

  One of Sciver’s assistants pulled a large piece of equipment into view and asked him if it was acceptable.

  “No!” he barked. “That won’t help us at all!”

  The burst of anger was disconcerting. Sciver was dealing with a weapon of immeasurable power. He was using sophisticated tools and probes to manipulate and test it. A rash action now could destroy them all. And by “all,” Spock believed that meant a portion of the galaxy as well as the ship.

  I may have miscalculated, the Vulcan thought. He’d provoked the Kenisian believing it would keep the scientist off balance, but he hadn’t intended for Sciver to be working with the na’hubis in an agitated state.

  “Remain calm,” Spock told him.

  Sciver turned slowly toward him, his hands frozen, hovering over his computer’s controls. “I— We are calm.”

  Spock nodded slightly. “Good. In composure one can find concentration.”

  Pulling in and then releasing a long breath, the Kenisian smiled just a bit. “Yes. Thank you, Commander Spock. Would you help us?”

  Bowing his head, Spock accepted the invitation. He moved to the console, and Sciver stepped out of the way to allow the Vulcan to work the controls. “This may not prove possible, but we shall attempt it.” While he might have forged the document, Spock did base the possibility it proposed on a scientific hypothesis.

  The way Spock understood na’hubis, the experiment was unlikely to produce fruitful results. However, it was the only test imaginable which had a chance of working and gave him time to talk to Sciver.

  “We must let this simulation run unencumbered by other processes.”

  The Kenisian nodded. “Of course.” He cleared the other programs from the system, and they watched the data flow across the display.

 

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