by Greg Cox
“Like the musketeer?” She sounded intrigued, despite their present circumstances. “I’m going to hold you to that.” She grunted as she strained unsuccessfully to break the hold of the gravity trap. Her back arched but failed to lift her from the floor. “Especially since it doesn’t look like we’re going anywhere soon.”
Sulu tested their unusual restraints as well. He wasn’t literally paralyzed, but he might as well have been. Human muscles simply weren’t built to function in this kind of gravity. With effort, he managed to slightly tilt his head to one side so he could glimpse Yaseen out of the corner of his eye.
“I know what you mean,” he said. “You might as well save your energy. We’re pretty much anchored here.”
She gave up her fight against gravity. She sagged against the floor, gasping with exertion.
“What do you think happened here?” Her chipper tone faltered for a moment. “To those people?”
Sulu remembered the masked zealots, chanting in unison.
“I’m guessing they were brainwashed somehow,” he said. “Via telepathic mind control, hypnosis, drugs, alien spores. . . . I don’t know.”
“It has to be something like that,” she agreed. “No matter how persuasive these aliens are, I can’t believe that all of those people could turn into fanatics so readily.” She managed to shudder at the memory. “I mean, don’t get me wrong. I grew up in a Za’Huli colony on Hayak V. I still believe in the teachings of the twelve celestial messengers, and have been known to offer up a prayer or two in a tricky situation, but even back home we never thought that we had all the answers, or that there weren’t new revelations to be found out there in the great, big universe. We weren’t like . . . those people in the square.”
“I know,” he said. “That was pretty disturbing.”
“You ever seen anything like this before?”
“Unfortunately, yes.”
A troubling sense of déjà vu preyed on his nerves. He couldn’t help remembering Beta III, where a godlike computer program had captured the minds and souls of the lobotomized populace. Sulu himself had fallen under the sway of “Landru,” an experience he was in no hurry to repeat.
I’ll be damned if I let myself get turned into a brainwashed puppet again!
“But things got better, right?” Yaseen asked.
“Usually,” he assured her. “Thanks to the captain.”
“What do you think has happened to him and Mister Spock?” She fought again against the artificial gravity. “It kills me to think that they’re in trouble . . . and we’re stuck here, doing nothing.”
“Ditto,” he said. “I’d rather hug a Horta than be sidelined like this.”
Before he could say more, the museum doors slid open and a solitary Crusader entered. The silver alien matched Yaseen’s description of the invaders. Sulu lifted his head and took his first look at the enemy. He saw with alarm that the Crusader was bearing two ominous silver masks, identical to the ones worn by the “converted” residents of Ephrata. The masks’ obvious resemblance to the alien’s own features did not escape his notice.
Uh-oh, he thought. This can’t be good.
Yaseen twisted her head toward the intruder. “If you think we’re going to wear those ugly masks, you’re sadly mistaken.”
“What she said,” Sulu agreed.
Despite their bravado, he feared the worst, and not just for himself and Yaseen. How could they help the captain and Spock, and alert the Enterprise, if they were converted into masked zealots as well? Memories of Landru sent a chill down his spine.
“Fear not,” the Crusader said, gazing down at them. He lowered his voice and glanced around furtively, as though fearful of being observed. He put the masks aside, placing them on an empty shelf. He fingered the baton at his waist. “I’ve come to release you.”
Okay, I didn’t see this coming, Sulu thought. Hope surged in his chest, even as he remained wary of the alien’s intentions. This had better not be a trick.
“Come again?” Yaseen said simply.
“Patience,” the Crusader said.
He removed his baton from his belt and waved it at them like a magic wand. It briefly flashed green before turning black and opaque again. All at once, the oppressive weight departed along with the phosphorescent green nimbus. Sulu sprang to his feet like John Carter of Mars, feeling light as a feather. He had once taken part in a low-g fencing tournament on Earth’s moon. This felt even better.
Yaseen scrambled to her feet beside him. She smoothed out her cherry-red skirt.
“Things are looking up, d’Artagnan,” she said with a wink. “All for one and one for all.”
Sulu checked out their third musketeer. The towering Crusader had at least ten centimeters on them. A smoky odor wafted from him. He returned his baton to his belt.
“Who are you?” Sulu asked. “Why are you doing this?”
“Call me Maxah,” the alien said. “As to why, look about you.” A sweeping gesture encompassed the wreckage and emptied shelves around them. “My people did this, destroying knowledge, eradicating art and culture, burning books and scrolls, rewriting history, simply to expunge any ‘dangerous’ ideas that might question our ancient truths.”
Sulu envisioned the Crusaders—and the masked converts—ransacking the museum. His blood boiled at the thought. What Maxah was describing went against everything Starfleet stood for.
“And you have a problem with this?” Yaseen asked.
“You must understand,” Maxah said. “We Ialatl were not always like this. I was a librarian . . . before.” Guilt contorted his face. “I cannot stand by while the Crusade spreads this madness to another universe. It is bad enough that my own people have come to fear anything new or different, while eagerly anticipating the end of all things.”
Sulu’s fears of trickery receded. The anguished Crusader struck him as both sincere and passionate. I think we can trust him.
“But what happened to your people?” Yaseen asked. “What changed you?”
“You did,” he said ruefully. “Your universe.”
Sulu didn’t understand. “What do you mean?”
“There is no time to explain.” Maxah glanced nervously at the doorway, which had slid shut behind him. “I was sent to convert you. They must believe I succeeded.” He hastily retrieved the silver masks from the shelf. “Put these on.”
“Not so fast,” Sulu said, regarding the masks warily. His earlier suspicions began to resurface. “What if this is a trick?”
“I could have masked you at any time,” Maxah pointed out. “Why would I go to such lengths to win your trust if I merely intended to let the masks convert you as they did your kin.”
“The masks?” Yaseen said. “They warped those people’s minds?”
“Yes,” he confessed. “They emit an electromagnetic signal that manipulates brain waves and provokes a powerful religious response in the temporal lobes. But you need not be concerned. I have deactivated these masks so that they will not remove your ability to think for yourselves.”
“Good to know,” Sulu said. He accepted the mask, but hesitated before donning it. The memory of those brainwashed Ephratans was hard to get past, not to mention his own past experiences with mind control, not just on Beta III but on Pyris VII as well. He could live without becoming a zombie once again.
Heavy footsteps sounded outside the door.
“The others!” Maxah said urgently. “They’re coming. You must trust me. Put on the masks!”
Looks like we don’t have much choice, Sulu thought. He exchanged a look with Yaseen. “We on the same page here?”
She nodded back at him. “Ready when you are, d’Artagnan.”
They put the masks on together. Sulu swallowed hard, half expecting to start chanting a hymn to the Truth at any moment, but nothing happened except that the cold metal felt cool against his face. A weak attractive force held the mask in place.
“Praise the messengers,” Yaseen whispered, offering up
a heartfelt prayer of thanks. She reached over and squeezed his hand. “Don’t worry. I’m still me. You?”
“Do you hear me chanting?”
A moment later, the doors slid open to admit two more Crusaders, both of whom seemed older and more intimidating than Maxah. Sulu let go of Yaseen’s hand. He held his breath.
“Is it done?” one of the newcomers asked Maxah. “High Brother Sokis grows impatient.”
Maxah indicated the masked captives. He shot the Starfleet officers a warning look.
“They have seen the Truth,” he lied, before addressing the supposed converts. “Is that not so?”
Sulu remembered the masked zealots that had confronted them last night. He hoped he got this right.
“The Truth will save us,” he parroted. His voice rang with counterfeit fervor. He forced his eyes wider. “All else is lies.”
Yaseen played along. “There is no other Truth.”
Sulu wished he knew more about the finer points of the aliens’ theology, but their vague declarations of faith seemed to convince the other Crusaders.
“Well done,” the tallest Crusader said. He had a fuller growth of spines around his face. “Come, adoptees. The High Brother awaits you.”
Sulu and Yaseen let themselves be escorted to the exit, but Maxah lingered behind in the pillaged museum.
“Are you not joining us, brother?” the senior Crusader asked.
Maxah shook his head. “My duties call me elsewhere.”
Wait a second, Sulu thought. Maxah wasn’t sticking with them? Sulu didn’t like the sound of that. He was reluctant to lose their only ally so soon.
“Hold fast to the Truth, brothers and sister,” Maxah said. He activated his baton, which lifted him off the debris-strewn floor of the museum toward the skylight above. He disappeared into the lavender-tinted heavens, abandoning Sulu and Yaseen to their own devices.
Sulu’s mask concealed his dismay.
So much for the Three Musketeers. . . .
FIVE
James Kirk kept his eyes open through the rift. This was easier than he expected, given that the passage took place in what felt like a heartbeat. One moment he was in the occupied square on Ephrata IV, the next he was . . . somewhere else.
The first thing he noticed was the heat. The weather had been cool and fall-like at the Institute, but it was mercilessly hot and humid here. The sweltering heat hit him like a blast from an unshielded plasma conduit. Momentarily blinded by the glare, he lifted his hand to shield his eyes. He felt as though he had beamed directly from a climate-controlled starbase to Atlanta, Georgia, in the middle of July. Or maybe one of the equatorial swamps on Nova Amazonia.
At least Spock won’t mind the heat, Kirk thought, even if it’s a bit damper than Vulcan’s Forge.
The next thing he noticed, once his eyes adjusted, was the view. The other side of the portal was located atop what appeared to be a large floating pyramid overlooking a sprawling, modern-looking megalopolis that spread out for kilometers in all directions. Gleaming steel and stone-faced structures, large enough to rival the grandest skyscrapers and spaceports back on Earth, made it clear that this was no minor colony or outpost. Kirk spied courtyards, high-rises, auditoriums, open-air markets, and even what looked to be an immense sports stadium. The cityscape was dominated by another pyramid: a fifty-story ziggurat, crafted of polished black marble or obsidian, which rested atop a steep plateau at the center of the city. It struck Kirk as older than the rest of the city, which had possibly grown up around it. Its elevated position would have made it the most defensible location in days gone by, not unlike a medieval fortress back in Earth’s feudal era. He wondered if it was a palace or a temple or both.
They do have a God-King, he remembered. I have a sneaking suspicion I know where he hangs his hat . . . or crown.
Teeming crowds populated the streets and sidewalks below, or else traversed the sky via gravity-defying trams and floating walkways. If anything, antigrav technology seemed to be applied even more extensively here than anywhere in the Federation, except maybe Stratos. Levitating sculptures, depicting colossal kings and heroes, floated above the parks and plazas, unmoored to any earthly pedestals. Sleek, aerodynamic gliders, of various models and designs, zipped from place to place. Although the people looked like shiny, silver insects from this height, Kirk got the impression that they belonged to the same species as the Crusaders. Were only Ialatl welcome here?
“Impressive,” Spock observed.
Kirk had to agree. This was a quite a city, especially compared to the modest campus on Ephrata, or, for that matter, most of the remote colonies and starbases the Enterprise usually encountered out on the fringes of known space. The thriving metropolis was clearly a major population center, maybe even the capital of a vast kingdom or empire.
The view is almost worth the trip, Kirk thought.
Almost.
“Welcome to Ialat,” a husky voice greeted them. “The one true realm in all of creation.”
The voice belonged to what Kirk assumed to be a female Crusader, the first he had seen. Instead of a beard, she had only a short row of spines bisecting her otherwise smooth cranium, while her figure suggested that the Ialatl were at least partially mammalian. Like Sokis, she wore a belted black tunic and cape. An ornate pendant, composed of concentric circles of obsidian, jade, and turquoise, hung from her neck. A mesh glove of lacy black filaments partially veiled her right hand. She was as tall as the male Crusaders, perhaps even more so. Kirk caught a whiff of a pleasantly smoky aroma.
She was flanked by three male Crusaders, who regarded Kirk and Spock with various combinations of suspicion, curiosity, and distaste. Additional Crusaders, each armed with variants of the lance wielded by Sokis, guarded the portal itself, while also keeping an eye on the proceedings. The Crusade was clearly not taking any chances, particularly where the portal was concerned.
Probably not a good time to reach for my phaser, Kirk decided. He would have to wait for a more opportune moment, and hope that the guards didn’t think to search him first. Kirk still had no idea why that young Crusader had furtively returned his phaser to him, but he intended to make the most of it. Assuming I get the chance.
“And you are?” he asked.
“I am Vlisora, High Priestess of the royal temple.” She gestured toward the shining black ziggurat Kirk had noticed before. “I am here to escort you to the temple, as demanded by the God-King.”
“Very well,” Kirk said. “I look forward to speaking to whoever is in charge. Perhaps we can still find a way to work out our differences.”
“One does not speak to the God-King,” she corrected him. “One listens . . . and obeys.”
“That hardly seems conducive to a productive dialogue,” Spock observed, eliciting a frown from Vlisora. A Crusader stepped forward menacingly. “But, of course, we appreciate your guidance when it comes to matters of court etiquette.”
There’s that Vulcan diplomacy again, Kirk thought. Sarek would be proud.
“As well you should,” she said, appeased. She turned toward the portal’s guards. “Disengage the barrier so that we may depart.”
Barrier?
Kirk didn’t see any barrier.
“Yes, High Priestess.” The guard activated his lance, and Kirk felt a tremor in the gravity. A bubble of air rippled around them. Crackling energy dissipated. A hot breeze crossed an invisible boundary. “You may pass safely, Priestess.”
Kirk and Spock traded looks. Clearly, the portal was guarded by more than just armed sentries. It was apparently shielded as well, and access to it was strictly controlled. No unauthorized trips were allowed.
Talk about strict border control, he thought.
A possibility occurred to the captain. Was this the only portal? Spock had mentioned that tremendous resources would be required to breach the dimensional barrier. Kirk wondered if the entire pyramid was devoted to that purpose. He glanced back at the enigmatic alien technology framing the portal. I
t appeared much more elaborate and grandiose than the improvised, cobbled-together version back on Ephrata. Burnished steel plates, inscribed with alien symbols, hid whatever circuits, crystals, or conductors were threaded inside the towering apparatus. Reflective black disks, inlaid within angled metal beams, spun continuously to generate a pulsing green aura. Thick cables, thrumming with energy, spread out from the portal like the half-buried roots of a world tree before sinking beneath the surface of the roof. Although the rift itself was the same size as the one on Ephrata, this portal was at least five times bigger than the Guardian of Forever. It was a substantial feat of engineering.
This portal creates the rift, Kirk theorized. The one on Ephrata just anchors the other end of the passage.
Or so he speculated. No doubt Spock had his own thoughts on the matter. Kirk hoped they would have a chance to compare notes soon. In the meantime, the intense security measures could make returning to their own universe more difficult should the opportunity arise.
I guess we’ll have to cross that barrier when we come to it.
“Many thanks, brother,” Vlisora said, before leading Kirk and Spock away from the portal to a sunken circular depression a few meters away. The level floor of the ring was only a couple of centimeters below the roof of the pyramid. She stepped inside the circle. Her guards saw to it that their captives followed. The ring, which was the size of a standard transporter platform, accommodated Vlisora, Kirk, Spock, and the guards.
“There is a no-fly zone in force around the portal,” she explained, “so we have a short distance to traverse. Our transport waits below.”
“How convenient,” Kirk said.
She touched the obsidian pendant, and the ring began to sink below the top of the pyramid, taking its passengers with it. Some kind of elevator or turbolift, Kirk realized, as they descended vertically through the heart of the pyramid. Despite her apology for the delay, the ride was both swift and smooth. Illuminated steel walls, punctuated by occasional silver doors, seemed to rush past as the ring carried them downward. Kirk became aware of a persistent steady hum in the background, as well as a buzz of harnessed energy in the air. You could literally feel the surging power contained within the pyramid, in your bones and teeth and skin. More and more, Kirk got the sense that the entire vast pyramid existed to generate the portal above.
