by Barbara Paul
"All right?" he asked.
She smiled. "All right."
Kirk smiled back; she was indeed all right. Uhura understood as well as any of them that these might be their last moments. But she was prepared to die in the celestial furnace they were heading toward if that was to be her fate. The thought of fire no longer terrified her; it was a fact of existence, a source of warmth as well as a danger to be faced. And she would face it. Uhura had conquered her demon.
The temperature was growing uncomfortably high. Kirk got up and moved silently over to stand behind Spock at the sciences station. "Spock, I—"
The Vulcan spun around. "Yes?" he barked.
Kirk let his surprise show.
Spock sighed. "I am sorry, Jim. I find myself possessed by a strange uneasiness. It will not happen again."
The uneasiness wasn't the only thing that was strange; Spock had always been careful never to call him Jim on the bridge. A small distraction seemed to be called for. Kirk said, "I wanted to ask you about the Zirgosian woman, Dorelian. Where is she?"
"She beamed down to Holox immediately after you had been kidnapped by the Vinithi. I did not tell her what had happened."
"Just as well. I'm sorry I didn't get to say goodbye."
"She said the same thing, Captain. In fact, she gave me a message to deliver to you."
"Which is?"
"She said I was to tell you that she holds you to your promise."
Kirk nodded. "To stop the Vinithi—only we were still calling them Sackers then. Well, we've stopped them. But we still have to stop what they started."
"It won't work," McCoy muttered, not even pausing in his pacing.
"Doctor," Spock said in an unusually cold tone, "do you think you could possibly find a place to sit down?"
"I don't want to sit down!"
Chekov turned to face them. "There is an empty seat at the weapons station," he said pointedly.
"I tell you I don't want—"
"McCoy—siddown," Kirk ordered. "You're getting on everyone's nerves."
The doctor grumbled, but he went over and plopped down next to Scotty. The engineer didn't even notice; he was busy running another check.
"It can't work," McCoy told him just the same.
"It can and it will," Kirk said with an optimism he was far from feeling. He went back to the command chair; only when he was seated did he notice that every face on the bridge was turned toward him, and those faces were wearing expressions that could only be described as dubious. Even Uhura's.
Kirk punched a button. "Attention, all decks. Now hear this. It will work! Kirk out."
"That should reassure everybody," McCoy remarked dryly.
A tension-filled silence reigned for a few minutes. The heat was oppressive. Then Spock said, in an almost dreamy tone of voice, "And still we cannot measure it."
"What's that, Spock?"
"I said we do not have the technology to measure the amount of energy leaking into our universe, Captain. If the baryon reverter does not stop the flow from the neighboring universe, what will happen? If the outpouring is large, the inhabitants of other planets will suffer the same heat death as the Zirgosians. The Zirgosians had no knowledge of what was going to happen. Without warning, their sky lit up with the brightness of many suns, and their planet was wrapped in a searing flash of radiation. Farther away from the source, death would come more slowly."
"That's a cheerful thought," McCoy remarked.
"But even if the flow is small enough that it will be attenuated by the time it reaches a distant populated planet, there will still be disaster. The gaseous matter and the cosmic dust of the two universes will oscillate violently and start emitting large quantities of radio waves. What if only a small flow reaches Earth, for instance? The friction between Earth's surface and the particles of dust and gas could leech away Earth's mechanical energy and force it into a smaller orbit. Say Earth lost half its store of mechanical energy that way—its orbit would shrink to half its present size, putting it about forty-six and a half million miles from the sun. Earth would receive four times as much light and heat as it does now, creating thermal conditions that would be quite unsuitable for life."
"Spock," McCoy asked, "is this supposed to make us feel better?"
"That close," Spock went on, unheeding, "the sun's tidal action would act as a giant brake on Earth's rotation, slowing it to a standstill. Earth would then present the same side to the sun at all times, so that one half the planet would be in perpetual darkness. On the side facing the sun, all the vegetation would burn off the surface. All the lakes, rivers, and oceans would start to boil, and would eventually evaporate. Only an unlivable desert would remain. The dark side of Earth, on the other hand, would be covered with layers of ice several thousands of feet thick. Also, if the—"
"Mr. Spock," Kirk said quietly. "Enough."
Silence returned to the bridge. Kirk ran his eyes over the people around him at this most critical moment of his life. Scotty had stopped checking his instruments and sat without moving, waiting tensely for the moment he'd be called upon to activate the baryon reverter. McCoy huddled next to him at the weapons system, arms folded and legs crossed tightly … making himself small. The two men at the engineering station and the two security guards were familiar faces, but at the helm sat a woman named Raina whom Kirk didn't know very well. Maybe it had been a mistake to leave Sulu on the Babe-in-Arms—no, she had to be qualified or she wouldn't be here. But Raina looked every bit as tense as everyone else.
"Four minutes to heat front," Chekov announced.
The bridge temperature was by then in a range that was barely tolerable. Kirk moved over to the environmental systems monitor; the temperature was up all over the ship. "Spock, how much more of this can we take?"
"Approaching critical now, Captain."
Spock and Scotty had agreed that Captain Kirk should take the Enterprise in as close to the heat front as possible. Although they knew the range of the baryon reverter, there was no way to measure the exact distance to the rupture between the two universes. Thus, the closer the better.
"One minute," said Chekov.
"Helm, full stop," Kirk ordered.
"Full stop," Raina said.
"Reverse engines. Match rate of retreat to that of the heat front's advance."
"Aye, sir." The Enterprise began moving back.
"Spock?"
"Temperature is still increasing, Captain."
"Then this is it," Kirk said. "Reverter ready."
"Ready, sir," Scotty replied.
"Activate."
There was nothing to see, no dramatic spectacle, no way of watching or listening to the billions of antiparticles that went streaming out of the Enterprise's phaser banks toward the rupture between the two universes. On and on they poured, until the reverter's preset automatic cutoff stopped the flow. "That's it, sir," Scotty announced. "Our baryon patch is in place."
Everyone on the bridge was thinking the same thing: But will it hold?
"Temperature?"
"Holding steady."
It would take a while for any decrease to show. The temperature would continue to rise as long as it was fueled by new energy pouring in from the other universe; the front would begin to lose heat only if the source were completely sealed off. The residual heat could still do damage, but there was nothing anyone could do about that; eventually it would dissipate. All they could hope to do was prevent its growing larger.
They lived through an eon of anxiety before Spock spoke the magic words: "Temperature down half a degree!"
"Wait," Kirk said sharply, cutting off any premature surge of hope.
They waited a little longer. When Spock was sure, he announced, "Now it's down a full degree … a degree and a half … two … Captain, the heat level is definitely on the decline!"
"Ah ha! Got 'im!" Kirk laughed out loud in relief and slapped a button on the armrest. But while he was announcing their success to the rest of the crew, an upr
oar of whooping and cheering erupted on the bridge that forced him to yell to make himself heard.
When he'd finished, he gazed at his normally well-disciplined crew in astonishment. Scotty and McCoy were hugging each other like brothers who'd been separated for twenty years. The two men at the engineering station were shaking hands and pounding each other on the back and screaming congratulations. The two security guards were punching each other like a couple of small boys whose team had just won the Big Game. Uhura was doing a little dance in front of her station, providing her own music and snapping her fingers to the beat. And Chekov and Raina—oblivious to everything around them, Chekov and Raina were locked in a passionate embrace.
Kirk wondered if the rest of the ship had gone as mad as the bridge. He opened his mouth to tell them to knock it off—but then shut it again. Oh, why the hell not.
And then they were all over him—pulling him out of the command chair, slapping his back, shaking his hand, shouting congratulations at him. Uhura gave him a hug which he didn't have time to enjoy because Scotty grabbed his hand and was doing his damnedest to shake his arm off. They all kept touching him, giving him little pats of approval. Kirk was not one to pass up a development like that, so he went with the flow and gloried in the moment—until he caught sight of Spock standing stiffly apart from the others, distancing himself from the celebration.
Eventually the furor died down and the crew cheerfully drifted back to their posts and Kirk sank down into the command chair. Only then did Spock approach him. But instead of offering his congratulations, he said, "Captain, permission to leave the bridge."
Kirk was surprised. "Is something wrong?"
"I need … to return to my quarters. Permission to leave?"
"Granted."
Kirk stared after his first officer as Spock disappeared into the turbolift. Dr. McCoy too had noticed something was amiss. He leaned in close to Kirk and said, low, "Something is troubling our Vulcan friend, Jim. Perhaps I should—"
"No, I'd better go. If he needs help, I'll call you." He vacated the command chair. "Uhura, notify Starfleet Command that the baryon reverter did its job."
"You betcha, sir!" she sang.
"Scotty!"
"Sir?"
"Take over." Kirk headed toward the turbolift.
"Aye, sir!" Scotty boomed heartily. "Mr. Chekov! Do y'think it'd be possible for ye to find us a nice safe route out o' these burnin' heavens?"
"Oh, I think thet vould be possible, Mr. Scott!" Chekov allowed happily.
Kirk wasted no time in getting to his first officer's quarters. "It's Jim," he said to the door speaker. The doors hissed open.
Inside, he found the Vulcan in a physical posture he'd never seen once in all the years he'd known him. Spock was seated, his elbows resting on his knees and his face buried in his hands.
Despair? Kirk thought, shocked. Spock? Spock lifted his head and Kirk tried to read his expression—but the Vulcan mask was back in place.
"I have just realized I was remiss in the matter of offering my congratulations," Spock said formally. "You have brought about a successful conclusion to a catastrophic situation and you deserve the highest commendation. I should have said so on the bridge."
Kirk deliberately adopted a casual manner as he dropped into a chair and said, "Well, you didn't have much chance. Discipline on the bridge kind of broke down there for a minute or two. It was a special situation."
Spock did not respond to the friendliness in Kirk's voice; he said nothing, offering no clue.
Seize the bull by the horns. "Spock," Kirk said earnestly, "I want you to tell me what's wrong. I'm not ordering you to say anything. But I'm asking you, as a friend."
Spock was silent for so long that Kirk thought he wasn't going to answer. But at last the Vulcan said, "I am overcome with awe, Jim. I have understood for the first time something humans have had to deal with their entire lives. Can you imagine what it is like to feel a brand-new emotion for the first time? Something that you have known about for years, that you have a name for … but which you have never experienced firsthand? Jim, for the first time in my life, I have felt fear."
Oh-h-h-h, Kirk groaned silently, so that was it. If he were to answer Spock's question, he would have to say no, he could not imagine what it was like for a mature man to experience fear for the first time. That was beyond him; no one could imagine that. He just knew that it must be a terrible thing indeed. Especially for a man as disciplined and self-controlled as Mr. Spock.
He chose his words carefully before he started to speak. "You know, Spock, fear is not altogether a bad thing. Believe me, I've had lots of experience with it. But fear is … full of opposites. It can paralyze you, or it can galvanize you into actions you never thought yourself capable of. It can make you rash, or it can make you overly cautious. It can fill your veins with ice—or it can pump you so full of adrenaline you can't wait to get going, to do something, anything."
Spock's head sank forward to his chest. "A highly contradictory and destructive emotion."
"Not necessarily. It's a question of directing your fear into channels that help you, making it work for you instead of against you. It's a question of control." Kirk paused. "And I don't know of anyone in all of Starfleet who's better equipped to find that control than you, Spock."
Spock repeated the key word: "Control."
"Yes! Don't deny your fear. Use it. You'll see, it will add a whole new dimension to your life—you'll start seeing things in a way you've never seen them before. Anyone with human genes in him who's never known fear—well, he's not … whole. Oh, Spock, don't you see? You've found a part of yourself that was missing. Don't despair, Spock! Rejoice! Rejoice."
For a long moment there was no response. Then the Vulcan slowly lifted his head, looked his friend straight in the eye … and rejoiced.
The Enterprise went home, leaving the universe next door to develop in its own time and, as it always should have been, in its own space.
STAR TREK®
THE LOST YEARS
by J.M. Dillard
Copyright © 1989 Paramount Pictures Corporation. All Rights Reserved. STAR TREK is a registered Trademark of Paramount Pictures Corporation.
THE MOUNTAINS OF GOL:
140005 V.O.D.
(Vulcan Old Date)
Zakal spent the first half of the night coughing up green-black blood and listening to the wind hurl sand against the side of the mountain fortress. The cavernous chamber was windowless and dark, save for the feeble light emanating from the initiates' room, but Zakal had seen enough sandstorms to picture this one clearly in his mind's eye: a huge, vibrating column of red sand that blotted out the sky until nothing remained but moving desert. Any creatures foolish enough to venture unprotected into the storm would be found the next day, their mummies leached of all moisture, their skin crackling like parchment at the slightest touch.
Around the middle of the night, the stains on his handcloth changed from dark green to bright, the color of a d'mallu vine after a rare spell of rain. Shortly thereafter, the healer left him, a sign that there was nothing more to be done, no more easing of pain possible; a sign that he would be dead before sunrise. The relief on her drawn face was all too evident. She was not of the Kolinahru, and had attended her charge with a mixture of loathing and terror. For this was Zakal the Terrible, the greatest of the Kolinahr masters, with a mind so powerful he had twice used it to melt the skin of his enemies into puddles at his feet.
He said nothing to stop the healer from going, merely closed his eyes and smiled wanly. It was fitting to lie here and listen to the roar of the storm on the last night of his life. Eight hundred and eighty-seven seasons1 ago, he had been born in a storm like this one, and so his mother had named him Zakal: the Fury, the Desert Storm.
He was drowsing off when an image jolted him awake. Khoteth, lean and young and strong, furling himself in his black traveling cloak, his expression severe, brows weighed down by the heaviness of what he was
about to do. Khoteth was crossing the desert, Khoteth was coming for him. Zakal knew this with unquestionable surety, in spite of the three initiates in the next room who stood guard, not over his aged, dying body, but over a far more dangerous weapon: his mind. Even their combined efforts to shield the truth from him could not completely sever his link to the man he had raised as his own son. Khoteth had sensed his master's impending death, and would be here well before dawn.
The new High Master was risking his life by crossing the desert in a sandstorm … and oh, how Zakal listened to the wind and willed for Khoteth to be swallowed up by it! He tried in vain to summon up the old powers, but fever and the continual mental oppression caused by the initiates made it impossible. Zakal contented himself with cheering on the storm as if he had conjured it himself. Even so, he knew that Khoteth would complete his journey successfully.
So it was that, a few hours later when Khoteth's soft words drew Zakal from a feverish reverie, they brought with them no surprise.
"Master? I have come."
Outside, the wind had eased, but still moaned softly. Zakal kept his face toward the black stone wall and did not trouble to raise his head. The sound of his former student's voice evoked within him a curious mixture of fondness and bitter hatred.
"Go away." He meant to thunder it with authority, but what emerged was weak and quavering, the ineffectual wheezing of an old man. He felt shame. Could this be the voice of the Ruler of ShanaiKahr, the most powerful and feared mind-lord of all Vulcan? He had known more of the secrets of power than the rest of the Kolinahru put together, but fool that he was, he had entrusted too many of them to the man who stood before him now. He turned his head—slowly, for any movement made him dizzy and liable to start coughing again—and opened fever-pained eyes to the sight of the one he had loved as a son, had chosen as his successor, and now despised as his mortal enemy. "Leave me, Khoteth. I may be your prisoner, but you cannot tell me when to die. There is time yet."
