by Greg Cox
Maybe he should put that to good use?
He nodded at the gravity cannon. “That thing is locked on the Enterprise?”
“Your vessel is meant to serve the Crusade!” Sokis insisted. “It can have no greater purpose than spreading the Truth throughout this forsaken universe!”
“I’m going to take that as a yes,” Sulu said. Spotting a certain technician in the crowd, he recalled the alien’s panicky reaction when the Crusaders had targeted the cannon with their batons. “And I’m thinking maybe the best thing I can do right now is eliminate a threat to the Enterprise.”
“No!” Sokis exclaimed. “In the name of the Truth, I command you to leave our mighty cannon alone!”
“Not a chance.”
Stepping away from Sokis, Sulu swung around and aimed the head of the lance at the looming cannon. There was no sign of Yaseen; he had to hope that she was already well clear of the observatory. He fumbled with what he prayed were the firing controls.
His prayers went unanswered.
He had hoped that a powerful gravity beam would “disrupt” the cannon, or at least tear the huge weapon from its moorings, freeing the Enterprise. Instead the head of the lance suddenly became a thousand times heavier. A bright green glow rippled up and down its length, while it keened like a Senturan banshee. The spear crashed through the floor, dragging Sulu behind it.
Guess I pushed the wrong button, he thought.
The lance tore through floor after floor. Only the fact that its point was smashing through the floors ahead of Sulu kept him from colliding with the building’s sturdy construction. Reacting quickly, he let go of the lance and twisted in midair. His fingers grabbed onto the ragged edge of the pit carved out by the superheavy lance. For a second, the damaged floor threatened to come loose beneath his grip, but he managed to get hold of an exposed steel joist that supported his weight. Dangling above the newly created chasm, he glanced down in time to see the lance smash through the ground floor of the observatory and keep plunging down toward the heart of Ephrata IV. A bottomless pit opened up beneath Sulu. He wondered how far the lance would fall before the heat and pressure of the planet’s core destroyed it.
Oops.
The severed joist began to give way. Grunting, he clambered up onto the floor above and scrambled away from the tattered hole. Loose bits of tile and insulation tumbled into the waiting pit. Taking care not to join them, he jumped to his feet. Ironically, the silver mask had protected his face from any serious cuts or scratches, but his hands and uniform had seen better days. His shirt and trousers were ripped in places, along with some of his skin. Blood leaked from various scrapes and lacerations, which stung like the devil. His ears were ringing.
Could be worse, he figured.
Glancing around, he found himself in what appeared to be an abandoned planetarium about three stories below the cannon’s control room. Confused shouts and exclamations came from the floors above and below him. Sparks and flames erupted where the falling lance had torn through random power conduits. Smoke billowed up from the lower levels.
“Find the heretics!” Sokis bellowed from above. “Do not let them escape!”
Sulu judged that he had worn out his welcome, not to mention pretty much blown his cover as a faithful “adoptee.” He was tempted to discard his mask, but decided that it might come in handy later on. Heavy steps pounded up and down the stairs outside the planetarium. He figured that he had less than a minute before the Crusaders found him. Glancing around, he spotted a window hidden behind Venetian blinds.
Please don’t let it be locked, he thought.
Racing to the window, he shoved aside the blinds and yanked on a pane of transparent aluminum. To his relief, the window slid open easily and he climbed out on the narrow ledge outside, which faced a drop of at least seventeen stories. There wasn’t much in the way of footing, so he flattened his back against the outer wall of the observatory as he cautiously inched his way along the ledge, trying not to look down.
“Where’s an antigrav lifter when you need one?” he muttered.
He had just managed to get to the left of the open window when he heard Crusaders barging into the planetarium. He held his breath and prayed that the frantic soldiers wouldn’t notice the disturbed blinds amid the greater destruction caused by the lance. There was, after all, a large, gaping pit in the middle of the floor.
“Do you see the heretic?” a furious voice demanded. “Is he here?”
Crusaders noisily searched the room, turning over seats and displays. “There is no sign of him,” another soldier reported, proving himself more devout than observant. “Perhaps he has plunged to his death.”
“We cannot take that chance! Keep looking!”
Sulu sighed in relief as the men moved on to search the rest of the building. Now he just needed to figure out how to get down from the ledge without breaking his neck.
A conspicuous lack of fire escapes made him question the planet’s building codes, but a growth of thick purple ivy covered the observatory’s venerable walls. He tugged experimentally on the vines. They felt like they might support his weight . . . maybe.
Beats waiting for somebody to spot me up here, he decided. He could hear more footsteps and shouting drawing nearer. It sounded like the entire campus was up in arms—and possibly out for his blood. He was pretty sure he didn’t want to find out how exactly the Crusade dealt with turncoats. Time to find someplace a little less exposed. . . .
As he cautiously started down the wall, he couldn’t help wondering what had become of Yaseen. He wanted to think that she had made a clean escape and was just waiting for him to catch up with her.
Otherwise, he was on his own.
TEN
“Please, eat. Restore yourselves.”
The underground train sped through the abandoned tunnels. In the luxury car, Kirk helped himself to a plate of fresh fruits, vegetables, and alien antipasto provided by Vlisora and her fellow freethinkers. The exotic morsels were tangy but refreshing. Kirk hadn’t realized how hungry he was until now.
Native attire had been supplied as well. A pair of hooded ponchos, made of a metallic bronze fabric, were draped over a nearby stack of relics, for him and Spock to wear when they had to venture out into the open again. Kirk assumed local garb would be less conspicuous than their battered Starfleet uniforms.
“I appreciate your hospitality,” he told Vlisora, who was seated opposite him. Lasem had left to check on his people, leaving the High Priestess alone with the fugitives. “And my compliments to your chef.”
“Indeed,” Spock said. Being a vegetarian, he refrained from sampling the meatier tidbits. “It is logical that we take advantage of this opportunity to replenish our energies.”
“Especially if we’re going to take out that portal,” Kirk said. “The way I see it, that’s our first priority. We need to stop the Crusade from spreading further into our universe, no matter what.”
Spock did not disagree, but raised an important caveat. “You realize, of course, that destroying the portal might trap both of us here permanently?”
“If that’s what it takes,” Kirk said grimly. “Ideally, we’ll time matters so that one or both of us make it back through the rift before the portal is closed, possibly with the help of our friend here.” He looked hopefully at Vlisora. “But, one way or another, we need to shut down that portal for good.”
“And what of our world?” she protested. “Surely you don’t intend to abandon us?”
Kirk sighed. “I explained before. The Prime Directive—”
“—is no excuse for leaving Ialat under the oppressive weight of the Crusade,” she insisted, her golden spines bristling along the top of her head. “I did not risk all to bring you across the rift simply to have you flee back to your own universe before confronting the God-King!”
“Your husband,” Kirk clarified. “I admit I’m still a bit puzzled by that. How is it that you’ve ended up on opposite sides?”
&nb
sp; Her indignant tentacles sagged, falling flat against her bare scalp.
“Strange as it may seem, we were once very much in love. Our union was ordained by our roles in society, but we were happy together . . . until the discovery of your universe turned our understanding of reality upside down, throwing timeless beliefs into question. Jaenab took this shock deeply to heart, perhaps because of his profound connection to our people, perhaps because this new revelation struck at the very roots of his identity and authority. In any event, I could only watch in dismay as the husband-king I loved slipped away from me, seizing upon a militantly absolutist interpretation of the ancient texts, until even I dared not speak against the Crusade.”
Her black eyes moistened. A golden tear trickled down the elegant planes of her face. She dabbed at it with a napkin.
“You must understand,” she continued. “Jaenab means well. He truly believes that he is protecting our people by holding fast to the old ways and waging war on dangerous new ideas. And that he is rescuing your varied peoples from ignorance and oblivion. But the Crusade is crushing our culture . . . and now endangers your worlds as well.”
It was easy to tell that she still had feelings for her husband, even if she was urging Kirk to overthrow him. He could sympathize; he knew the pain and frustration of watching a loved one turn into someone you barely recognized. He had once cared very deeply for Janice Lester, before bitterness and self-loathing consumed her. But at least Janice had never attempted to conquer the Federation.
“So you want me to fight your husband, maybe even destroy him?”
“I pray it will not come to that,” she confessed, “but the Crusade must be stopped. Better that Jaenab be destroyed than let his present madness infect both our universes.”
Kirk admired her determination to place the freedom of her people over her own personal anguish. But that didn’t change the Prime Directive.
“First things first,” he hedged, not wanting to alienate their only ally at this point. “I need to make certain my universe is safe before we can even discuss saving yours. We have to quarantine the Crusade before it spreads any further.”
She mulled it over.
“There is wisdom in your words,” she conceded. “Very well. Let us strike our first blow against the portal, before taking the battle to the God-King himself.”
“That could be difficult,” Spock pointed out. “The portal rests atop a levitating pyramid, making it rather inaccessible, and it is guarded by a force field as well. Achieving our objective presents definite challenges, to say the least.”
“I may be able to assist you there,” Vlisora said, lowering her voice to a hush. “As it happens, there is a technician at the Temple of Passage who is sympathetic to our cause. He may be willing to allow us access to the facility.”
Kirk grinned. “You have an inside man.”
“Perhaps,” she said cautiously. “A former archaeologist whose computer models tracing the migrations of our earliest ancestors were suppressed by the Crusade. He had to renounce his own work in order to remain in favor with the regime.”
Spock asked the obvious question. “If you already have a contact within the pyramid, why cannot he simply sabotage the portal?”
“He dares not. It will be risky enough to ease our entry. To lower the force field, confront the guards, and actually destroy the portal is too much to ask of any Ialatl.” She offered an apologetic shrug. “Please remember, rebellion does not come easily to us. It is against our very nature to defy the God-King.” She massaged her temple, wincing slightly. “Truly, I hear his commandments echoing inside my brain even as we plot against him.”
Kirk didn’t know whether it was a good or a bad thing that he couldn’t hear Jaenab’s telepathic communications himself. “What’s he saying?”
“The same,” she reported soberly. “That you are to be hunted down and brought before him for judgment. And that I have been condemned as a heretic, adulteress, and traitor.”
“I’m sorry,” Kirk said. Still, it was probably just as well that he and Spock dispose of the portal in person. It was their best chance of ever seeing the Enterprise again. “This can’t be easy for you.”
“I made my choice.” She dried her eyes. “I will see it through.”
The captain noticed Spock frowning. The expression was subtle enough that most people might miss it. “Something bothering you, Mister Spock?”
“I confess that this outbreak of extreme religious mania makes me uncomfortable,” he replied. “It is most illogical.”
“I don’t know,” Kirk said. He couldn’t resist the temptation to tweak Spock a bit in McCoy’s absence. “Vulcans have their own esoteric practices and rituals that can seem positively strange and mystical to outsiders. Mind-melds, the Kal-if-fee, and so on.”
“All based on centuries of rigorous logic and science,” Spock insisted, perhaps a trifle defensively. “It is true that my people can sometimes be a bit . . . inflexible . . . where our traditions are concerned, but I must categorically reject any comparison to the Crusade. Certainly, Vulcan has never seen fit to impose its ways on other species and cultures . . . as Earth can attest.”
“Fair enough,” Kirk said. “And don’t think we’re not grateful that your Vulcan ancestors didn’t try to conquer or convert us, despite our shameless propensity for emotion.”
“Humans are not Vulcans. Converting you to Vulcan ways would be as illogical as attempting to turn a sehlat into a tribble, or a Klingon into an Organian.” A wry smile dispelled his frown. “And we are wise enough to recognize a hopeless cause when we see one.”
“Like freeing humans from emotions and illogic?”
“Precisely,” Spock said. “Nevertheless, I fear that I may be out of my element, and of limited use to you, on this particular mission. Religious revivals and doomsday prophecies are hardly my fields of expertise.”
“Perhaps not,” Vlisora said. “But who knows? It may be that your celebrated logic and rationality will prove to be our best weapon against the unthinking zealotry that has consumed my people.”
“We can only hope—” Kirk began.
An explosion, somewhere up ahead, shook the train. The floor of the carriage rocked beneath them, spilling uneaten food and drink onto the carpet. The train listed to one side, scraping against the curved wall of the tunnel. Sparks flared outside the porthole.
“What the devil?” Kirk exclaimed.
“The Crusade!” Vlisora blurted. Anxious tentacles writhed atop her head. She jumped to her feet. “They’re closing in on us!”
“That would be the most logical conclusion,” Spock agreed as the train leveled out again. “It seems the conflict has come to us.”
The train braked abruptly, toppling heaps of boxes and loose artifacts. Vlisora lost her balance and started to fall. Kirk lunged forward to catch her before she hit the floor.
“Careful,” he said. “That was a sudden stop.”
“A mere jolt is the least of our worries,” she replied. “The enemy is upon us, even sooner than I anticipated!”
A moment later, Lasem burst into the carriage to confirm their dire suppositions.
“We’re under attack!” he announced redundantly. “They’ve closed off the tunnel ahead of us, cutting off our escape!”
“But how did they find us?” Vlisora asked.
“The Crusade is sparing no effort to recapture our guests,” he said. “They are swarming the tunnels in full force, using every resource at their disposal . . . including entire flocks of scrilatyl.”
“Scrilatyl?” Kirk asked.
“A winged serpent native to our world,” she explained, “famed for its tracking abilities.”
Kirk recalled the creature embossed on the hull of Vlisora’s flyer. In other words, they’ve called out the bloodhounds.
“So what now?” he asked.
“Going forward is impossible,” Lasem said. “And the Crusade is close behind us. Our only choices are surrender or resist
ance.” He reeled slightly, clutching his head. “The God-King demands that we give ourselves up. He promises absolution for all who return to the Truth . . . and hand over the foreign infidels.”
“How generous,” Kirk said drily.
He hoped Lasem and his cohorts weren’t planning to take their ruler up on his offer.
“We cannot surrender,” Vlisora said. “Nor allow the Crusade to capture the God-Slayer.”
“I know.” Lasem swept his ebony gaze over them. “So only one recourse presents itself. We must jettison this car, leaving you behind, while the rest of us race back along the tracks to face the enemy. If the ancestors are with us, we shall buy you enough time to slip away while the Crusaders and their trackers are otherwise engaged.”
Kirk felt guilty for ever doubting the man’s conviction. He was reluctant to abandon the rebels, even though this wasn’t really his fight.
“But your people . . . your treasures?”
Lasem was philosophical. “In bygone days, our people often faced trial by ordeal, letting their departed ancestors determine their fate. So must it be now. Our destinies are in the hands of the ancestors. We can only follow our consciences . . . and have faith that they will not lead us astray.”
“I appreciate your courage,” Kirk said, impressed. “And your willingness to sacrifice yourself for your cause.”
“Lasem was once a priest,” Vlisora explained, “before the Crusade.”
A siren squealed, followed by a frantic voice over the train’s public address system:
“Lasem! The Crusaders are advancing on us, led by a swarm of scrilatyl! By the ancestors, I’ve never seen so many wings and fangs in one place!”
Both fear and awe could be heard in the nameless rebel’s voice. Lasem replied into the bracelet on his wrist.
“Reverse course! Full speed! Let’s ram this train right down the Crusaders’ throats!”
