Uhura had no idea. She had read enough about the Institute and its environs to know that the silver invader was not of any species native to Ephrata IV—or any other planet she was familiar with.
“He seems to know the way,” Chekov said, “but how?”
Uhura figured it out.
“He’s probably had access to the Institute’s libraries, scientists, and engineers. With all that knowledge accumulated in one place, it wouldn’t be hard to learn the basic layout of a Constitution-class starship.”
“Aye,” Scotty said grimly. “That’s surely the truth of it.”
On-screen, the alien forced his way into a turbolift. Nobody seemed to be able to stop him. Bright red doors closed behind him, cutting him off from view. Uhura recalled that there were no monitors in the turbolifts.
“Mister Scott!” Lieutenant Charlene Masters called out from the engineering station. She was an attractive black woman in a blue uniform. Her hair was cut short. “He’s taking the turbolift to the bridge.”
“Not if I have anything to say about it,” Scotty declared. “Seal off the bridge—and shut down that turbolift.”
“Aye, sir,” Masters said. “Done.”
“That’s better,” Scotty said. “Here’s hoping the blackguard has trapped himself.”
Uhura received a message from the stalled turbolift. “Mister Scott, the intruder has activated the intercom in the lift. He’s demanding to speak to you.”
“Is he now?” Scotty’s surly expression showed exactly what he thought of intruders who barged aboard the Enterprise uninvited. “Pipe him through, Lieutenant.”
“Aye, sir.”
A deep voice issued from the speakers on the bridge:
“Let me through! I must speak to your commanding officer. I have urgent news of your captain and your comrades!”
Uhura’s interest, which was already acute, ratcheted up another notch. Did this intruder really know what had become of Captain Kirk and the others?
“You’re not going anywhere,” Scott said firmly, “until you put down your weapon and surrender to our security forces. Then maybe we can talk.”
“You don’t understand! We’re running out of time. You must trust me!”
“After you beamed aboard under false pretenses?” Scott replied. “Not bloody likely.”
Uhura wondered what had happened to Sulu, and how the alien had obtained his communicator. Did this mean the landing party had been taken captive—or worse?
“You fools!” the voice roared in frustration. “I’m trying to save your entire Federation. Let me through . . . or I’ll destroy us all!”
A sudden shudder shook the ship.
“Sir!” Masters exclaimed. “The turbolift! It’s increasing in weight. It’s tearing loose from its restraints!”
“What?” Scotty looked at her in shock. “That’s nae possible!”
“Maybe not,” Lieutenant Philip Ferrari reported from the science station, which he was manning in Spock’s absence. He was a lanky blond with whom Uhura had once shared a shore leave on Shawan V. “I’m picking up some truly bizarre gravitational fluctuations inside the turbolift. They’re like nothing I’ve ever seen before!”
“Kill the gravity in the turbolift!” Scotty ordered. “And seal off that shaft!”
In the unlikely event of an emergency, Uhura knew, force fields and even solid duranium barriers could be used to halt an out-of-control or falling turbolift. She hoped that would be enough.
Another shudder rattled the bridge.
“I don’t believe it!,” Masters exclaimed. “The lift just tore through the first line of safety barriers. Its weight is increasing by the moment!”
“Please,” the intruder begged. “I don’t want to damage your ship . . . but I will if have to!”
Scott’s expression grew darker. He looked around the bridge.
“Anybody got any bright ideas how to stop that turbolift before it tears a hole in the ship?”
A worrisome silence greeted him. Uhura wished she had a solution for him, but what she didn’t know about turbolift engineering and gravitational fluxes would fill several databases. Stopping runaway turbolifts was hardly her area of expertise.
“Aye, I was afraid of that.” He hit the switch on his intercom. “All right, you made your point. Let’s hear what you have to say.”
“A wise decision,” the voice answered. “More than you can possibly know.”
“Dramatic much?” Chekov scoffed.
Scotty turned back toward Masters. “All right, Lieutenant. Bring our visitor to us.”
“I don’t need to, sir.” She stared in wonder at her board. “The lift is rising of its own accord.”
Security officers, assigned to the bridge, fanned out to cover the entrance. Tension mounted as all eyes turned toward the familiar red doors, which slid open to reveal the alien in the flesh. He strode out onto the bridge, clutching his baton. A mane of golden tentacles fringed his face. His height put even the tallest security officer to shame. He smelled like smoke.
“That’s far enough, mister.” Scotty rose from his chair to confront the invader. “You want to talk, put down that weapon.”
“Not yet,” the alien said, unwilling to relinquish his one advantage. “But I mean you no harm. Far to the contrary.”
“Tell that to the crew you bushwhacked on the way here,” Scotty said. “And who might you be anyway?”
“You can call me Maxah, but that doesn’t matter. You must leave this world at once . . . for your galaxy’s sake!”
Scotty crossed his arms across his chest. “And why would I want to do that?”
“Please listen to me,” Maxah said. “You have to leave orbit before—”
A jolt, far more powerful than before, overpowered the ship’s inertial dampers. The prow of the bridge actually dipped forward, almost spilling Uhura from her seat. She grabbed onto her console to keep from falling. Coffee cups, data slates, and other unmoored debris went flying toward the main viewer. Chekov grunted as his gut slammed into the nav controls. Fisher tumbled over the helm. A greenish hue lit up the viewscreen, tinting the image.
What in the world?
“No!” Maxah cried out in despair. He took hold of one of the bright red safety rails surrounding the recessed command area. Despair contorted his argent countenance. “It’s too late! They know I’m here!”
They? Uhura wondered. “Who do you mean?”
“What’s happening?” Scotty demanded. He lunged across the bridge and threw Maxah up against the rail. “Is this your doing?”
The alien’s head drooped forward. His shoulders slumped in defeat.
“No,” he whispered, so that Uhura had to strain to hear him. “The gravity cannon. It’s locked onto you. We cannot escape.”
“Gravity cannon?” Chekov echoed, even as he and Fisher feverishly worked the helm and nav controls to right the ship. The bridge leveled out slowly and jerkily, as though fighting some powerful force. “I’ve never heard of such a thing.”
“It matters not what you’ve heard,” Maxah said gloomily. “Our moment has passed. The cannon shall not let us go.”
“The devil you say.” Scotty dropped back into the captain’s chair. “Mister Fisher, take us out of orbit.”
Uhura caught a tinge of regret beneath his resolve. She knew it had to be killing him to leave Captain Kirk and the others behind, but his first responsibility was the safety of the ship and the crew. Given that they seemed to be under attack from some powerful new weapon, a strategic retreat was clearly in order. Uhura would have made the same call.
Not that it’s up to me, she thought. Thank goodness.
She waited for the stationary planet to disappear from the viewer, but if anything, Ephrata IV seemed even closer than before. A vibration rattled the ship. A distracting green glow still tinted the viewer.
“Mister Fisher?” Scotty asked. “Why are we still in orbit?”
“I’m trying, sir!” the helmsman
said. Perspiration broke out across his forehead as he wrestled with his controls. “But the gravity is too strong. We’re locked into a geosynchronous orbit directly above the Institute. We can’t break free.”
“It’s coming from the planet,” Ferrari confirmed. “Some kind of targeted gravity beam originating from”—he double-checked his readouts—“the approximate location of the Institute.”
The ship’s impulse engines whirred loudly as they strained against the pull of the gravity cannon. Uhura could feel the vibration growing stronger, rising through her seat into her spine. It was like riding one of the old-fashioned roller coasters at New Coney Island.
“More power,” Scotty ordered. “Give us all she’s got.”
Fisher gulped. “Yes, sir.”
The roar of the engines increased, but the Enterprise remained mired in orbit. The overhead lights flickered. Damage reports—burst plasma conduits, coolant leaks, cracked manifolds, and other mechanical injuries—began flooding Uhura’s board, even as she was shaken and tossed about in her seat. She felt as if she were riding a shuttlecraft through heavy turbulence. A jarring bump shook her earpiece loose, and she grabbed it before it hit the floor. She clenched her jaw to keep her teeth from rattling. Bulkheads groaned ominously. The deadly vacuum of space suddenly felt a little bit closer.
“Mister Scott!” Masters said. “The impulse engines are superheating. The containment fields are failing. They can’t take it anymore!”
“That’s my line, lassie.” Scotty jumped to his feet and lurched across the quaking bridge to his usual post at engineering. Masters stepped aside to let him get at the controls. “I’ve still got a few tricks up my sleeve, the kind they don’t teach at the Academy. . . .”
He fiddled with the controls, and an extra surge of power sent the Enterprise shooting forward. For a second, it looked as though the ship was actually going to break orbit, but then the ship was yanked backward abruptly, as though it had reached the end of its tether.
“The gravity beam!” Ferrari exclaimed. “It’s increasing!”
The abrupt halt was more than the inertial dampers could cope with. People and equipment were thrown across the bridge. Warning lights and displays went into the red zone. Sparks erupted from overloaded consoles. Uhura managed to hang on to her post, but only just barely. A loose data slate landed on the floor near her feet.
“Full reverse!” Scotty shouted, trying to save the ship from being ripped apart. “Reduce pow—”
The engineering console exploded, hurling him across the bridge into the safety rail around the command area. He bounced off the rail onto the floor, where he convulsed in agony. Smoke rose from his scorched red uniform. His face and hands had suffered serious burns as well. His breathing was ragged.
“Bridge to sickbay!” Uhura said, reacting instantly. “Mister Scott has been injured! Report immediately!”
Scotty held himself together long enough to complete his orders. “Reduce power,” he said weakly, fighting to stay conscious. “Maintain orbit . . . cannae tear the old girl to pieces. . . .”
He passed out on the floor.
Fisher eased back on the throttle, reducing the strain on the engines. The punishing tremors quieted as the Enterprise stopped fighting the “gravity cannon” and eased back into a stable orbit around Ephrata IV. Charlene Masters retrieved an emergency first-aid kit and rushed to Scotty’s side. An analgesic hypospray helped ease his pain.
“No!” Maxah wailed from his position by the rail. “This is all your fault!” He shook his fist at the crew. His tentacles writhed in agitation. “Why didn’t you listen to me?”
In the tumult, Uhura had almost forgotten about the invader, but he clearly hadn’t forgotten about them. She frowned. Things were bad enough without a hysterical alien, armed with a dangerous weapon of unknown potential, losing his marbles all over the bridge.
Something had to be done—and quickly.
The fallen data slate caught her eye. She snatched it up and, without stopping to think about it, whacked Maxah across the back of his head. The slate cracked loudly against his skull, and he staggered forward before falling face-first onto the floor. Limp fingers let go of his baton, which rolled across the floor toward Masters, who turned away from Scotty long enough to grab it.
“Careful with that,” Uhura said. “We don’t know what that’s capable of.”
“Yes, Lieutenant.” Masters handled the captured weapon gingerly. She looked up at Uhura. “Any other orders?”
“Orders?”
Still coming down from the adrenaline rush of her sneak attack, it took Uhura a moment to notice that all eyes on the bridge had turned toward her. The battered bridge crew gazed at her expectantly. Uhura was momentarily taken aback.
Then it hit her. Now that Lieutenant DeSalle had transferred over to the Columbia, she was the senior officer on the bridge.
I’m in command, she realized.
SEVEN
“Why are these tunnels abandoned?” Kirk asked.
He and Spock followed Vlisora through an underground labyrinth of winding tunnels, service corridors, junctions, and loading platforms. Kirk tried to memorize the route, but soon lost track of the confusing twists and turns. Arcane markings, inscribed on the walls in an alien tongue, offered little in the way of direction. He hoped Spock’s more analytical mind was faring better, just in case they needed to retrace their steps—without the aid of their current guide.
“Once we conquered gravity,” she explained, “my people chose to traverse the sky rather than ride beneath the surface. This vast underground transport system rapidly fell into disuse and was eventually shut down.”
Her portable light held back the darkness.
“There was some talk of filling in the tunnels,” she recalled with a rueful tone, “or perhaps converting them to another purpose, but then the Crusade arose to devour our society’s attention and resources, and less pressing endeavors fell by the wayside.” She made her way through the tunnels; she clearly knew exactly where she was going. “Which has proven advantageous for those few of us with other ideas, ones best hidden from the light.”
Kirk contemplated the lonely tunnels. They certainly seemed a far cry from the floating pyramid and brilliant daylight he and Spock had first encountered on this world. Their footsteps echoed worryingly in the long cylindrical tubes.
“Will not this Crusade be able to pursue us down here?” Spock glanced back the way they had come. “From what I have seen of your technology, I cannot imagine that a mere cave-in will deter them for long.”
Kirk saw his point. If their mastery of artificial gravity could lift an entire pyramid above the city, how hard could it be to clear away some accumulated debris? Even back home, antigrav lifters were often used in excavation efforts.
“True,” she said. “Hence the rather circuitous route we have been taking. These tunnels extend beneath the entire surface of Ialat, with multiple overlapping levels and junctions. If the ancestors are with us, we will not be easily found.”
Kirk took her word for it. He had little choice but to do so.
“Well, I certainly hope you’re not planning to hike all the way around the planet,” he said. “I can’t speak for my friend here, but I’m only human.”
He wasn’t joking. Although he was glad to have escaped this world’s scorching daylight, the tunnels were still uncomfortably hot and muggy. Sweat glued his shirt to his back. His stomach grumbled. He was tired and sore and his mouth felt as dry as the Mojave; unfortunately, Vlisora did not appear to be carrying a canteen.
He was also worried about his ship and his crew. Hours had passed since he had beamed down to Ephrata IV. Since then he’d lost half his landing party, and the Enterprise was now a universe away, possibly unaware of the threat posed by the Crusaders. Kirk would have given anything for a chance to contact his ship.
The Enterprise is in good hands, he reminded himself. Scotty can hold down the fort until I get back.
&
nbsp; “Fear not,” Vlisora said. “Our destination draws near.”
Kirk was glad to hear it, but he didn’t want to wait any longer for answers. “About this Crusade of yours . . .”
“It is not my Crusade,” she said vehemently. The spines running across the top of her head stiffened, creating a spiky crest. They darkened angrily. “Far from it.”
“So you belong to some kind of underground resistance?” he surmised. “No pun intended.” He needed to know more about the situation on this world. “Just how many of you are there? And what do you want with us?”
She held up her hand to forestall further questions. “Hold your questions just a while more.”
At first, he feared she was stalling, then he saw that they had come to a dead end. One end of what appeared to be a derelict bullet train blocked the track in front of them. Blackened windows concealed the interior of the car. Its tarnished black-and-silver hull was scratched and dented. Alien graffiti revealed that vandalism was not unknown on Ialat, despite the piousness of the Crusade. Filmy orange cobwebs indicated that the train had not carried passengers for some time. Kirk saw no obvious way around it.
“What?” he asked. “Did we take a wrong turn?”
“Wait.”
She cautiously approached the train. Raising her hand to her pendant, she spun its concentric circles in a specific sequence. Her deft manipulations produced a series of clicks and chirps. Jade, turquoise, and obsidian rings flashed out a code—but to what purpose?
The train’s taillights flared to life, practically blinding Kirk. An amplified voice blared from the car, which was apparently not quite as abandoned as it appeared:
“Your name?”
“It is I, Vlisora.” She held up her hand and made a distinctive gesture with her four fingers. “I come bringing guests.”
“And your creed?”
“Question everything, even the Truth.”
The exchange seemed to satisfy her unseen interrogator. The floodlights dimmed to a less aggressive intensity. A door opened and a ramp extended from the rear of the train. Ialatl, armed with rifles and bayonets of some kind, scurried forth and escorted the new arrivals into the train, where Vlisora was greeted warmly by a male Ialatl who seemed to be in charge. His rumpled, copper-colored attire did not resemble the uniform worn by the Crusaders, nor was there any sash across his chest. Kirk guessed he was a civilian.