The Weight of Worlds

  She didn’t envy him.

  • • •

  Kirk blacked out for a time. By the time he gradually regained consciousness, the sky above the Institute was lightening and dawn could be glimpsed rising in the west. Turquoise and lavender fingers streaked the horizon, as seen through the gaps in the Institute’s various buildings. Kirk was briefly disoriented, until he remembered that Ephrata IV rotated clockwise, not unlike Venus back in the Sol System.

  He found himself lying prone on the pearl square. He felt bruised and sore from his collision with the pavement, but the awful, crushing weight seemed to have evaporated. He tentatively lifted his head from the tiles; it didn’t feel like it weighed a ton anymore. He could breathe more easily.

  “Rise!” a loud, basso-profundo voice commanded. “But know that the Truth can strike you down at the first sign of defiance.”

  Sokis stood before the triangular rift, holding his lance. His fellow Crusaders stood at attention, but struck Kirk as superfluous. Their commander had already demonstrated that he had enough power to subdue a small landing party at least. Masked converts watched from the sidelines. Kirk recalled how eagerly they had attacked before.

  “Yes,” he said. “I think we got the message.”

  He staggered to his feet, assessing the situation. Despite some aches and pains, he appeared to be in one piece, with no bones broken. A quick inventory, however, revealed that both his phaser and his communicator were gone. He assumed that the Crusaders had confiscated them while he out cold.

  Figures, he thought. That was to be expected.

  “Are you well, Captain?” a familiar voice asked.

  Glancing to the right, he saw that Spock had also recovered from their literally massive defeat. Greenish scrapes and bruises blemished his face, but the Vulcan displayed no obvious signs of discomfort. He stood calmly only a few meters away from Kirk, guarded by two looming Crusaders. Kirk noted that Spock’s tricorder had been confiscated as well—and that two of their comrades were missing.

  “Where are Sulu and Yaseen?” he demanded.

  “They are no longer your concern,” Sokis said.

  “The hell they aren’t!” Kirk glared angrily at Sokis. It took a fair amount of self-control not to lunge at the self-described “warrior-priest,” even though Kirk knew he had to be smarter than that. “I’m Captain James T. Kirk of the U.S.S. Enterprise, and those people are my responsibility.”

  “Not any longer,” Sokis said. “But you need not fear for your kin. They will be safe once they accept the Truth.”

  Kirk’s temper was fraying by the minute. Diplomacy came second to the safety of his crew.

  “That’s not good enough,” he said. “What do you mean by that? And don’t give me any more cryptic mumbo-jumbo about the ‘Truth’ or the end of everything.”

  Sokis’s expression darkened.

  “ ‘Mumbo-jumbo’?” His argent features registered offense. His segmented knuckles tightened around his lance. “You dare mock the Truth?”

  Spock spoke up.

  “Perhaps if you care to enlighten us, we can better appreciate your truth, as well as your purpose on this planet.”

  His diplomatic tone appeared to appease Sokis.

  “So be it,” he said. “I sometimes forget that this benighted universe of yours has been cut off from the Truth, and lost in lies and illusions, until our coming. You cannot be blamed for your ignorance.”

  “That’s very big of you,” Kirk said, while resisting the temptation to demand answers from Sokis again. Following Spock’s lead, he decided it might be more effective to encourage the prickly warrior-priest to proselytize instead. One way or another, they needed to find out more about the Crusade and its agenda. “Please, tell us more.”

  Sokis nodded.

  “Know that the Truth was passed down to us by our heavenly ancestors, the first of the Ialatl, who built creation for us, their descendants. We serve our mighty God-King, whose sacred bloodline stretches back to the dawn of the universe. For countless generations, the Ialatl have known nothing but the Truth. It weighs us down, holds our feet to the path of harmony.”

  Kirk had seen where that path led—to the invasion of Ephrata and the attack on his people—but he refrained from comment . . . for now.

  “I see,” he said. “But what brings you here? What does your truth have to do with us?”

  Sokis eyed Kirk suspiciously, as though wary of some veiled challenge in the captain’s queries.

  Kirk wondered if he’d pushed too hard.

  “Indeed,” Spock added. “Your purpose here is of great interest to us.”

  Kirk cracked a smile. Spock had a talent for diplomacy, perhaps inherited from his distinguished father. Probably wouldn’t make a bad ambassador, Kirk thought, if and when he ever opts out of Starfleet.

  Sokis accepted the implied apology.

  “The prophecies of our ancestors have long warned of a day, at the close of this present cycle of being, when all of creation will be destroyed and re-created. It is also said that only those who surrender to the Truth will be reborn in the new universe to come.”

  The Crusaders’ beliefs had a vaguely familiar ring. Kirk was aware that various cultures, throughout history and across the galaxy, had anticipated similar apocalypses. Personally, he tended to be leery of doomsday prophecies. He didn’t believe in no-win scenarios.

  “For most of our history,” Sokis continued, “we believed that the end was long distant. There were even some foolish skeptics who believed that the prophecies were mere myth and poetry. But then the ancestors granted our scientists the knowledge to rend the fabric of creation, and we discovered your false universe hiding behind a veil. Clearly, this was a sign that the prophecies were coming true at last.”

  “Clearly,” Kirk said. “But, again, what has that to do with us?”

  Sokis regarded Kirk as though he were a child—or an idiot.

  “Do you not understand? Time is running out, and your people must embrace the Truth or they will be lost.” He swept out his arm at the occupied campus around them. “We brave this false universe not for our sake, but for yours. We come not to conquer you, but to deliver you all!”

  “The way you ‘delivered’ these people here?” Kirk spotted Elena Collins among the faceless zealots. Her silver mask denied her humanity. He was relieved to see that she had not been trampled in last night’s crush, but he was appalled at the way she—and the other brilliant residents of the Institute—had apparently been brainwashed by the Crusaders. He couldn’t believe that they had all surrendered to this alien creed without question. There had to be something more to it.

  “They are but the beginning,” Sokis declared. “Our mission is to bring the Truth to as many of your worlds as we can before the end arrives . . . . and a new creation is born.”

  “And if those worlds do not welcome your teachings?” Spock asked. “What then?”

  Sokis did not seem to regard that as a possibility. “The Truth cannot be denied.”

  “And what about doubt, dissent, diversity?” Kirk challenged him. “Don’t these things exist in your universe?”

  He raised his voice in hopes that his words would touch the masked spectators, despite whatever the Crusaders had done to them. It was a long shot, perhaps, but who knew? Maybe there was still a chance to reach the Elena he knew. . . .

  “Not any longer,” Sokis said. “We have eliminated such evils. Ours is a society of perfect harmony, in accordance with the timeless wisdom of the ancestors. As ordained, the weight of the Truth holds us fast and keeps us from straying into error.”

  “Then I am surprised that you have achieved such breakthroughs in gravity control,” Spock said. “Without doubt, or the willingness to question established dogma, revolutionary scientific discoveries are unlikely, if not impossible.”

  Spoken like a Vulcan, Kirk thought. And a scientist.

  “Doubt is not required,” Sokis countered, “only divine inspiration. When the
time was right, the ancestors saw to it that we discovered a way to reach your fragmented realm, so that we could bring you the Truth.”

  Kirk decided Sokis needed a reality check—about this reality.

  “If you think the Federation, with all its myriad worlds, is just going to roll over for your ‘Crusade,’ then maybe you don’t understand our universe as well as you think you do,” he scoffed. “And somehow I don’t think the Klingons or the Romulans or the Tholians are going to be in hurry to accept your truth either, although you’re welcome to try, if you’re feeling suicidal.”

  Sokis’s mane of spines flared outward, stiffening in anger. They turned a darker shade of gold. He stomped his lance on the tiles. Retractable claws extended from his fingertips.

  “Ungrateful creatures!” he roared. “Unless you submit to the Truth, you are doomed to oblivion. Can you not grasp that we are your only hope for rebirth?”

  Kirk gestured at the damaged buildings and rubble surrounding them. The Ephrata Institute had once been a temple of learning and culture, but apparently the Crusade had no respect for any knowledge beyond their own. The wanton vandalism offended Kirk deeply.

  “You’ll forgive me if I fail to appreciate your altruistic motives, especially when two of my people are missing!”

  I probably shouldn’t provoke him, Kirk thought, but he had seldom been one to curb his tongue when faced with petty tyrants, bullies, and injustice. He was a soldier, not a diplomat, at least where the safety of his crew was concerned. I think I’ve heard quite enough from this fanatic.

  Sokis’s temper flared as well.

  “Blind fools!” He gripped his lance with both hands and swung the business end toward Kirk and Spock. The point began to spin fiercely. A greenish glow radiated from the lance. A rising whine sounded like a phaser on overload. “Feel the full weight of the Truth!”

  Kirk braced himself for another gravity attack. Without his phaser, there was little he could do to defend himself. He just hoped that Sokis wasn’t planning to flatten them to pancakes this time around.

  “High Brother!” one of the other Crusaders cried out. “Curb your wrath!”

  Sokis halted, puzzled by the interruption. His head swiveled toward the other alien even as his weapon remained energized and pointed at Kirk and Spock.

  “Brother Maxah?”

  The other Ialatl appeared younger than the caped warrior-priest. His fringe-like “beard” was shorter and less dramatic. The scales covering his skin were smaller and less rigid. His face was a duller shade of silver. His voice was deep, but not as stentorian as his leader’s.

  “Forgive me, High Brother,” he said. “I well understand your impatience with these infidels. But I believe Ialat is waiting. . . .”

  A look of frustration came over Sokis’s saturnine features. His baleful gaze shifted back toward Kirk, and he let out an indignant huff before turning his lance back toward the sky. Kirk repressed a sigh of relief as the keening weapon powered down.

  “Alas, you are correct,” Sokis said. He struggled visibly to compose himself as he glared at the prisoners. “Were it up to me, I would make examples of you both by punishing you for your sacrilege here before your fellow creatures.” He looked as though he was still sorely tempted to do so. “But your judgment lies elsewhere.”

  Spock arched an eyebrow. “And where might that be?”

  Sokis swung his lance toward the rift.

  “Those above me have decreed that you be sent on to the true realm, Ialat, where the God-King himself desires your presence.”

  He sounded jealous. Kirk guessed that a summons from the “God-King” was not to be taken lightly.

  “And why is that?” Kirk asked. “What does he want with us?”

  Various troubling possibilities came to mind. Did Sokis’s superiors hope to extract strategic information on the Federation’s defenses from him and Spock, or were they simply intended to be trophies, paraded through the streets in celebration of the Crusade’s first victory? Or were they to be specimens in some alien menagerie like poor Chris Pike?

  “That is not for me to know or question,” Sokis replied. “I but submit to the will of the God-King . . . as shall you.”

  “We’ll see about that,” Kirk said.

  Sokis scowled, still irked by the captain’s attitude.

  “You should consider yourselves blessed,” he scolded. “You are being granted a great privilege, never before bestowed upon any denizens of your realm: to pass from this false universe to the true realm beyond the portal.”

  “I confess that I am intrigued by the prospect,” Spock said. He examined the shimmering rift. “Am I correct in assuming that you employed artificial gravity to create a passage from one space-time continuum to another? And that the apparatus surrounding the rift, which appears to have been constructed after the fact, serves to help maintain the rift and prevent it from closing?”

  That’s Spock for you, Kirk thought, admiring his friend’s indefatigable scientific curiosity, even in the face of unknown perils. Always figuring things out.

  Sokis was less impressed by Spock’s quizzical nature.

  “The workings of the portal need not concern you,” he said impatiently. “And I grow weary of your incessant questions.” He called out to his minions. “Send them through!”

  Crusaders came up behind Kirk and Spock, prodding them with their batons. Kirk’s skin crawled as they were marched toward the portal. Peculiar sensations washed over him as they approached the rift, raising the hairs at the back of his neck. Unnatural colors, some of which he couldn’t even name, made his eyes water and throb. Bile rose at the back of his throat. This rift was a distortion of time and space that wasn’t meant to exist; his whole body was telling him to stay away from it.

  Not that they had much choice.

  “It seems, Mister Spock, we are going from the frying pan into the proverbial fire.”

  “A less than comforting idiom,” Spock replied. “I prefer to think that we are making significant progress toward locating the root source of our present dilemma.”

  Kirk couldn’t help smiling, despite the unsettling presence of the rift. He took considerable comfort in knowing that, whatever lay ahead, his first officer would be at his side as usual.

  “A commendably positive attitude, Mister Spock.”

  “And, I would hope, a logical one.”

  Their banter did not go over well with their armed escorts.

  “Still your heathen tongues!” the guard behind Kirk ordered, jabbing Kirk in the back with his baton. It took Kirk a moment to realize that it was the same young Crusader who had interrupted Sokis a few minutes ago. He leaned forward and whispered in Kirk’s ear. “Be not afraid. Allies await you on the other side.”

  A deft hand furtively slipped a small metallic object beneath the waistband of Kirk’s trousers. Kirk recognized the weight and feel of it immediately.

  My phaser.

  Kirk carefully concealed his surprise at this unexpected development, even as his mind raced to figure out its implications. Maybe Sokis’s Crusade did not have as many adherents as the unquestioning warrior-priest believed?

  Interesting, Kirk thought.

  But first the portal waited. Kirk gritted his teeth against the nauseating sensations emanating from the rift. He averted his eyes from the strobing colors. All in all, he preferred the Enterprise’s transporter.

  “Prepare yourselves, deluded creatures,” Sokis boomed, throwing out his arms dramatically, “for the only true realm!”

  Kirk glanced over at Spock, who displayed not a trace of discomfort or trepidation. Kirk envied his Vulcan calm—and inner eyelids.

  He forced himself to keep his own eyes open as they were thrust roughly through the rift.

  Here goes nothing, Kirk thought.

  He just wished he knew what had become of Sulu and Yaseen.

  FOUR

  The museum had seen better days. Shelves had been stripped clean of microtapes. Compute
r terminals had been trashed. Display cases, which might once have held priceless artifacts or documents, had been emptied—and apparently with extreme prejudice. Shards of broken pottery and shattered idols littered the floor, along with shredded and trampled parchments. Chairs and tables were overturned. Phaser burns blackened the walls. Frames held torn and mutilated canvases. The remains of what looked like an authentic pre-warp Arcturian tapestry were strewn about the room.

  Sulu was sickened by the wanton vandalism.

  “How’s your head?” Yaseen asked.

  They were pinned to the floor by their own weight, barely able to move a muscle. Flat on their backs, staring up at a high domed ceiling and the upper galleries of the museum, they lay side-by-side but in opposite directions, so that Sulu’s head was even with Yaseen’s boots. A skylight let in the violet sunlight. He was hungry and thirsty and would have killed for a refreshing cup of tea. A misty green nimbus enveloped them like a low-hanging fog.

  “Better.” He still had a bit of a headache from being phasered, but the effect was fading. “Thanks for asking.”

  He was grateful for her company. To be honest, he had noticed her as soon as she’d transferred aboard and had been looking forward to the opportunity to get to know her better. Granted, this wasn’t exactly what he’d had in mind. . . .

  “So how are you liking your first landing party with the Enterprise?”

  “Somewhat heavy going,” she quipped. “Your rescue missions always this . . . complicated?”

  She had filled him in on everything that had transpired after he was stunned by that phaser blast, including the appearance of the alien Crusaders. The only thing she didn’t know was what had become of Captain Kirk and Mister Spock.

  “Remind me to tell you about the time an alien virus made me think I was d’Artagnan.”

  A fuzzy memory, of prancing shirtless through the corridors of the Enterprise with sword in hand, challenging bewildered crewmates to duels, surfaced from the past. He had been a long time living that down.