Crisis of Consciousness by Dave Galanter

.”
    “Spock is weak.”
    “Insignificant.”
    “Our time is now.”
    “Have trust, child. Have trust.”
    “Trust,” Zhatan said. “Yes.” Doubts were for feeble minds, were they not?
    “Do not let doubt weaken you,” Tibis chided. “We are strong.”
    “Together.”
    “Together we are strong.”
    “Together we are decisive.”
    “Listen to us.”
    “Listen.”
    “Listen.”
    “Listen.”

FIVE
    The Maaba S’Ja star shone brightly on the steppe the records had referred to as the Gloskik Plain. The air had a chill here and less oxygen than Kirk was used to. It was uncomfortable. Which was why McCoy was along, though he lagged behind Spock and Pippenge, as well as the ambassador’s aide, Tainler.
    “Come along, Doctor.” Kirk tried to keep a gasp from his voice. “You’re falling behind.”
    There was one security officer behind McCoy and one who took point just in front of Spock. Next to Kirk was Lieutenant Palamas, who continued to provide useful information based on her study of the Maabas.
    “Damned transporter,” McCoy huffed. “Could have put us down closer to the site.”
    “I’m afraid that’s my fault, Doctor,” Pippenge said with requisite remorse. “We transposed a coordinate number.”
    “Mister Ambassador, I was sure those were the right coordinates, but I see now I must have made a mistake.” Like all Maabas, Tainler had a computerized implant, the display of which was written right to her visual cortex. It was clear she was looking through some data as she scampered alongside him.
    Pippenge waved off Tainler’s apology with a dismissive hand. “Please think nothing more of it. A brisk walk is just what we need to clear our thoughts.”
    “I could never live with an implant,” Palamas whispered to Kirk. Like many humans, especially those serving in Starfleet, Palamas was horrified by the idea of unnatural biological alterations. The hubris of augmenting humans led to one of the most horrific conflicts in Earth’s history, the Eugenics War, and was outlawed in the Federation.
    Kirk glanced back at Crewman Kaalburg, then forward toward Ensign Ottenbrite. Neither of his security team were having problems breathing. Or, like their captain, they were trying to hide it.
    “Have you been here before?” Kirk asked Pippenge.
    “No, I’m afraid. I’m more an administrative animal than a scientific one.”
    “I didn’t mean the archaeological site.” Kirk gestured to the land around them. “I meant this countryside.”
    “Oh, here? No.” Pippenge surveyed the flat land with its peppering of grasses and brush.
    The plain could have been Mongolia or a terraformed part of Mars, by the looks of it. Natural beauty took many forms, and an even expanse of prairie or a lush jungle each held their own innate allure, especially for someone who worked in outer space.
    “As a youth, my caretakers would suggest outings to nature areas with plant growth and waters and the like.” A mild disdain leaked into Pippenge’s tone. “I was not . . . I’m not sure how to say it.”
    “An outdoorsman?” Kirk offered.
    “Yes! That is a delightful word. I was not an outdoorsman. I was raised in the city, and preferred my studies and activities with comforts, not insects and harsh conditions.”
    Listening to the dry grass crunch under his boots, Kirk wondered if he had not been raised on a farm, close to nature, might he have shared Pippenge’s attitude? The captain couldn’t imagine not enjoying the sun—any sun—shining on his face, warming it, feeling the breath it gave to all things on any world that lived.
    “Here,” Spock announced, studying his tricorder.
    All stopped and looked around at the empty plain. Huffing lightly, McCoy trudged up alongside Kirk and stuck a hypo into his arm.
    The captain spun toward the hissing sound.
    “Tri-ox.” McCoy turned the hypo on himself and pressed. “I wouldn’t give you anything I wouldn’t prescribe for myself.” He then injected