Crisis of Consciousness (19 page)

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.

Spock chose this moment to engage Sciver on a nonscientific level. Notwithstanding Doctor McCoy’s belief to the contrary, Vulcan emotional disciplines didn’t preclude one from engaging individuals on a personal level.

“Your task is difficult,” Spock said.

Continuing to study the screen, Sciver said, “We appreciate your assistance, as we said.”

“I don’t refer to the
na’hubis
.”

Slowly he turned to meet Spock’s gaze. “You speak of . . . ?”

“Your Kenisian condition. The
shautish-keem
.”

“Condition? You deem it an affliction?” Sciver frowned.

Offended? Perhaps hurt?

Spock was unsure. “I meant no offense. I’ve had an opportunity to touch the minds of others, and I have even melded with a community of individuals who were telepathically linked.”

“And this distressed you?” The Kenisian was now looking at Spock and ignoring the data that scrolled rapidly across his computer screen.

Spock considered how he should reply. “On occasion,” he began slowly, “it has proven somewhat
troublesome
. While my experience has been different than yours, I assume there is some inherent effort necessary in your situation.”

Sciver sighed. “Your assumption is correct.”

“Have your people always engaged in
shautish-keem
?” Spock asked.

The Kenisian shifted his weight uneasily. Any delay in answering was likely the internal debate Spock hoped would be raging within.

After five minutes, Sciver took in a deep breath and responded. “Not always, no. When the first of us joined another, the bond was only among the same clan. We knew each other. We loved, as only kin do, perhaps as only they can.”

There was an ancient process, still practiced by some on Vulcan, of transferring one’s
katra
—their living mental essence—to a close family member. The
katra
was then released into a
katra
ark, after a ceremony where relations were able to say their farewells. It was closure for Vulcans, and while not practiced by many, the process was revered.

Perhaps that is how
shautish-keem
began for the Kenisians. “Eventually, things changed,” Spock said.

Sciver whispered, “The war brought change.”

“And to whom does one trust their essence when their clan has been decimated?”

“Eventually
shautish-keem
was initiated when an attack was anticipated. If one’s death came unexpectedly, their
ka’atrehs
were safe.”

“A logical step for a race trying to preserve themselves,” Spock said.

“Many found,” Sciver said, “if they stayed in telepathic contact, it helped our defense and attack tactics.”

“Those that didn’t employ
shautish-keem
perished.”

Again, the Kenisian agreed.

That explained how the Kenisians became such powerful telepaths; survival of the fittest. Or in this case, the best prepared.

“With time, we found that life could be lived within the form of another. It could be pleasant. Even if we were from opposing clans, we banded together against a common foe.”

“Those who conquered you,” the Vulcan said.

“Yes.”

To avoid the conflicts within, the Kenisians needed an external enemy. How real was the current threat?

“But you struggle, you said.”

“We thought, if two minds were better . . .” Sciver’s sentence trailed off, either because he thought he revealed too much, or he didn’t know how to precisely articulate the difficulty.

Spock pressed forward. “How do you cope with so many disparate personalities within you?” Zhatan had attempted to evade the same question, but she was a commander on a mission. Sciver was a scientist, engaging with another scientist. He seemed more open to a frank discussion.

“Like any group of individuals, we discuss. Debate. Deliberate. Not everything, of course,” the Kenisian laughed. “We do not squabble with regard to which meal we’ll have.” His chuckle trailed off and toward the end became nervous. It seemed there was an argument even on the trivial.

Spock wondered how far he could push Sciver. He glanced at the computer display and saw the simulation they’d initiated was done compiling data.