Star Trek: The Original Series - 148 - The Weight of Worlds

by Greg Cox

  Looks like those life-forms readings were accurate, he concluded, relieved by the sight of the survivors. Perhaps the disaster had not been as devastating as he had feared, and there had been fewer fatalities. I could live with that.

  “Hello,” he called out to reassure the Ephratans. “We’re from the Enterprise. . . .”

  His voice trailed off as the approaching figures stepped into the light. To his surprise, every member of the crowd wore the same burnished silver mask. Only their eyes were visible through the masks, which were affixed to their faces somehow. Protruding beaks made room for noses and snouts of various sizes. Hinged jaws allowed for speech and respiration. A metallic gold fringe framed the faces of the men. Eerily homogeneous in nature, the masks seemed to erase the survivors’ individualities even as they concealed their identities. There was something distinctly unsettling about them.

  “Captain?” Sulu asked. His hand remained glued to his phaser.

  “Stand fast, Lieutenant.” Kirk wished he had more in the way of an explanation to offer the helmsman. “Remember, this is a relief mission.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The crowd closed in on the landing party, surrounding them. It was clear that, beneath their masks, any number of alien races were represented in the assemblage. Their hands and paws and tails gripped a variety of improvised weapons: twisted metal rods, rocks and chunks of rubble, heavy tree branches, hammers, a steak knife, a laser scalpel . . .

  Simply for self-defense?

  “Phasers on stun,” Kirk instructed. “But hold your fire.”

  He scanned the crowd, searching for a familiar . . . face? The masks frustrated his efforts, but his eyes zeroed in on one particular figure in the forefront of the crowd. A mane of lustrous white hair distinguished a masked woman whose gait and build stirred Kirk’s memory.

  “Doctor Collins? Elena?”

  “Accept the Truth!” she said fervently, her voice slightly muffled by the mask. Crazed blue eyes gleamed behind the disguise. She clutched what looked like an antique Troyian dagger, possibly salvaged from the Institute’s xenoarchaeology department. “Surrender to the Truth . . . or face obliteration!”

  “What?” Kirk recognized the voice, but not the zealous tone. Elena Collins had always been a very sensible, level-headed individual, as she would have to be to run an institution like Ephrata. He had seldom known her to raise her voice. “We received a distress signal. What is the nature of your emergency?”

  “The end of all things is nigh. Only the Truth can save you!”

  “Captain?” Sulu repeated. “I’m not liking the sound of this.”

  You and me both, Kirk thought. Memories of Beta III surfaced from the past. He was getting an uncomfortably Landru-like vibe from the masked survivors, who began chanting an atonal hymn or dirge in a language Kirk didn’t recognize. Even the universal translator seemed stymied by the unearthly refrain. “Spock?”

  “The music is not to my taste,” he replied, “but beyond that I have little to offer.” He put away his tricorder, slinging the strap over his shoulder, and drew his phaser. “I suspect, however, that Doctor Collins and the other Ephratans are not themselves.”

  “I would hope not,” Yaseen said. “ ’Cause I’m picking up a real whiff of crazy here.”

  Kirk had the same feeling.

  “We have cast aside the deceits of this universe!” Elena insisted. “Surrender to the Truth and you will survive the coming cataclysm!”

  “Not until someone tells me what is going on!” Kirk said, losing his patience. It was as though the entire population had become possessed by some kind of religious mania. “I want some solid, concrete answers.”

  “We have seen the Truth,” she repeated, unhelpfully. The chanting grew louder and more militant. She brandished the ancient dagger. “As will you!”

  The masked zealots, including Elena, charged at the landing party from all sides. They waved their makeshift weapons in the air. Unnervingly, they kept on chanting.

  “Fire!” Kirk ordered. “Stun only!”

  Phaser beams swept in arcs over the attacking crowd, dropping the first wave of assailants to the ground, where they were immediately trampled on by the zealots behind them, who displayed no fear of the landing party’s superior firepower. Kirk and the others formed a tight circle, their backs to each other, as they defended themselves against the crazed mob. Kirk winced as a beam from his own type-1 phaser stunned Elena Collins, causing her to crumple to the ground. His jaw clenched.

  This is all wrong, he thought. We came to rescue these people, not battle them!

  “Captain.” Spock calmly fended off attacks from the east. “Might I suggest a strategic retreat?”

  “Logical as ever, Mister Spock.” Kirk used his free hand to unhook his communicator from his belt. He flipped it open with a practiced motion and held it to his lips. “Scotty. Beam us up!”

  Static crackled from the device.

  “Scotty? Kyle? Uhura?”

  There was no response.

  “I can’t make contact with the ship!” Kirk shouted. “We’re cut off!”

  Sulu held his own against the mob. “This just keeps getting better and bet—”

  A phaser beam, flashing out of the crowd, hit Sulu, knocking him out in mid-sentence. The helmsman collapsed onto the scorched pearly tiles.

  “Hikaru!”

  Yaseen swept her phaser in a wider arc, trying to compensate for Sulu’s absence, while simultaneously crouching to check on their downed comrade. She placed her fingers against his neck.

  “He’s alive,” she reported. “Just stunned.”

  Kirk was glad to hear it. They want to convert us, he guessed, not kill us.

  He was none too keen on either prospect.

  Another beam shot from the same direction, barely missing Kirk. He could feel the phased energy sizzle past his ear. The beam continued past its target to strike a zealot charging from the opposite direction. The stunned attacker—a Tellarite from the looks of him—was dropped in his tracks.

  Kirk was grateful for the assist, but wasn’t about to give the enemy sniper another shot. Clubs and knives were bad enough; they didn’t need a phaser blasting at them as well. Tracking the origin of the beam, Kirk spotted the shooter: a masked security officer whose twitching blue antennae betrayed his Andorian roots. The uniformed sniper elbowed his way through the crowd, trying to get a clear shot at the Starfleet officers. His fellow zealots jostled and obstructed him, interfering with his aim. These were academics, not soldiers, Kirk remembered; their tactics left something to be desired.

  A gap opened in the crowd. The Andorian aimed at Kirk.

  Kirk was faster.

  A sapphire beam struck at literally the speed of light. The Andorian toppled backward, his type-1 phaser flying from his fingers. The weapon, as well as the Andorian’s unconscious form, was swallowed up by the rioting mob. Kirk hoped that the other zealots were too crazed to retrieve it.

  We should be so lucky, he thought.

  Despite their advantage in training and arms, the situation was becoming increasingly untenable. Sulu was already down and the chanting zealots kept on coming. Kirk was already sick of that damn anthem.

  “Captain!” Yaseen shouted. “To your right!”

  A masked Orion woman, scrambling up the side of a large pile of rubble, threw herself at Kirk from above. She sailed above the sweeping phaser beams keeping the other zealots at bay. A green fist was wrapped around a polished metal chisel. Kirk dodged the attack just in time, twisting out of the way of the chisel as the woman crashed to the ground within the landing party’s defensive circle. Fueled by fanaticism, the Orion sprang nimbly to her feet, slashing wildly with her weapon. Intent on Kirk, she overlooked Spock, who pinched her neck with one hand while continuously firing his phaser with the other. The masked woman slid to the ground, landing only a few centimeters away from Sulu. Kirk wondered what her name was, and who she had been . . . before.

  “A more
defensible location may be order,” Spock observed.

  Kirk was inclined to agree. His eyes searched the ruined campus as he repelled the never-ending zealots with his phaser. His gaze went at first to the shimmering rift at the center of the square. Its iridescent depths offered a possible route to . . . where?

  No, Kirk thought. I don’t think we’re quite that desperate yet.

  A darkened library to their left struck him as a more promising option. The two-story building appeared structurally sound, and its open doorway was less than fifty meters away. A colonnaded portico also offered potential cover from any future phaser blasts. Kirk couldn’t rule out the possibility that there were more sidearms in the mob.

  “Over there!” he ordered. “That library!”

  A few dozen zealots teemed between them and their destination; they would have to clear a path through the massed hostiles, without actually hurting anyone, Kirk reminded himself. As Spock had put it, the survivors were not themselves. Elena had not been herself. They couldn’t risk using their phasers at any higher settings.

  Something’s been done to these people, Kirk thought. I don’t know how or by whom, but it’s not their fault. We don’t even know who the real enemy is yet.

  Sulu was still out cold, making their retreat more complicated. Yaseen bent to lift him, but Spock had another idea.

  “Allow me, Ensign.”

  “I can manage, sir,” Yaseen insisted.

  “No doubt,” Spock said. “But you are not a Vulcan. Under the circumstances, it is only logical that we take advantage of my natural strength.”

  Yaseen shrugged. “Can’t argue with that, sir.” She stepped back, providing cover with her phaser, while Spock easily hefted Sulu onto his shoulders in a fireman’s carry. “Thank you, sir.”

  “Watch our backs, Ensign,” Kirk instructed, taking point. With Spock and Sulu between them, he set his sights on the library. He kept his phaser set on stun. Here’s hoping that’s enough.

  He didn’t get a chance to find out.

  “Infidels! Halt your defiance!”

  The crowd parted to reveal a tall, caped alien standing on the empty pedestal. He was an imposing humanoid, over two meters tall, whose scaly skin had a metallic silver sheen. A pair of lustrous ebony eyes peered out of a smooth, inhuman countenance with only a slight beak of a nose. A hinged jaw reminded Kirk of a Moray eel. Clear golden spines “bearded” his face.

  Kirk didn’t recognize the species.

  A belted black tunic, made of a satiny black material, clothed the alien’s broad torso, exposing silvery, segmented limbs and joints. A striped green sash stretched across his chest, matching the green-lined cloak hanging from his shoulders. One hand grasped a gleaming black lance. Metallic rings girded the weapon’s shaft. A polished black teardrop was mounted at its business end.

  A squadron of similar aliens, numbering at least fifty soldiers, flanked their commander, whose status was evident by his more ornate attire, weaponry, and fringe. The other intruders had smaller beards, no cloaks, and were armed merely with short obsidian batons. They appeared to be male, although sex could be tricky to determine when dealing with an unknown alien species. Kirk had been fooled before.

  Not that it mattered right now.

  He noted the obvious resemblance between the aliens’ silver faces and the masks worn by the brainwashed survivors. It was as though the varied members of the Institute had surrendered their individual identities to emulate the strangers—or had been forced to.

  Here at last was the true face of the enemy.

  “You have done well, my adopted kin,” the alien commander addressed the masked devotees. His deep, resounding voice made a Klingon sound like a soprano by comparison. “Your newfound devotion to the Truth does you credit. But it appears stronger measures are required to liberate these visitors from the lies of this false universe.”

  Kirk wondered why the invaders had not shown themselves earlier. He suspected that the aliens had used the converted academics as cannon fodder, possibly to gauge the landing party’s defenses. It was possible the entire battle had been nothing but a test. His blood simmered at the thought of Elena and the others being exploited so callously, not to mention the attack on Sulu.

  “Who are you?” he demanded. “What have you done to these people?”

  “I am Sokis of Ialat, warrior-priest of the Crusade,” the alien stated. “And I have come to save you all from the destruction to come.”

  “Seems to me you’re the ones who brought destruction here,” Kirk said. “And you’re going to have to answer for that.”

  “I answer only to the Truth!” Sokis thundered. “As passed down to us since the beginning of time!”

  “We’ll see about that.”

  Kirk saw no point in trying to reason with a fanatic, at least not while the landing party was in jeopardy. He had already seen enough of the Crusade’s handiwork to know that he couldn’t allow Sokis to get the upper hand. He could attempt to make peace with the Crusaders later, after he had freed the Institute from their control—and guaranteed the safety of his people.

  He aimed his phaser at Sokis. It was still set on stun, but the alien didn’t need to know that. Yaseen watched his back, as instructed.

  “On behalf of Starfleet and the United Federation of Planets,” Kirk said firmly, “I am ordering you to lay down your weapons and tell me how to release your hold on these people. You have no right to impose your ‘Truth’ upon them!”

  Sokis shook his head sadly.

  “You are blinded by falsity. The lies must be crushed from you!”

  He raised his lance, which took on an ominous green glow. The weapon keened shrilly. Kirk knew a threat when he saw one.

  “Fire!” Kirk unleashed a phaser beam at Sokis, hoping to take out the leader of the invaders before matters could escalate further. But his beam fell short of its target, bending downward to strike the pavement at the foot of the pedestal. Discharged energy flashed harmlessly against the pearly tiles. Kirk gaped in surprise. He had never seen a phaser beam diverted like that. It was as though it had been pulled down to the earth by some irresistible force.

  What had Spock said earlier about applied artificial gravity?

  Yaseen swore under her breath.

  “Fascinating,” Spock observed. “Captain, I believe . . .”

  A moment later, Kirk experienced the same irresistible force. A massive weight descended upon him. His phaser became too heavy to hold; it was like trying to lift a shuttlecraft with one hand. His arm dropped to his side. The phaser tore itself from his grip, crashing onto the pavement hard to enough the crack the pearl tiles. His knees buckled, unable to support his own weight, and he dropped to the ground beside his weapon. He felt as though he had just beamed from a zero-g environment to a Class-J gravity well. His own weight pinned him to the earth, and the same thing was happening to Spock and Yaseen and Sulu.

  “Feel the weight of the Truth!” Sokis preached. “You cannot escape it!”

  For the time being, that seemed to be the case.

  THREE

  “No word from the landing party,” Uhura reported, after scanning every frequency. She looked up from her console. “I’m worried, Mister Scott.”

  “Aye.” Lieutenant Commander Montgomery Scott occupied the captain’s chair on the bridge of the Enterprise. His rugged face bore a grave expression. “I cannae blame you there, Lieutenant. I’m worried, too.”

  Ephrata IV rotated on the main viewer, its assorted seas and continents offering no clue as to what was transpiring on the planet’s surface. Over forty-five minutes had passed since Captain Kirk and the rest of the landing party had beamed down from the Enterprise, but there had been no updates from them since. Nor had Uhura been able to make contact with anyone at the Institute.

  She didn’t like it. As the ship’s senior communications officer, Uhura took it personally when her hails went unanswered. Silence meant that she couldn’t keep the captain and crew informed
and in touch, which was what her job was all about.

  Is this Institute unable to respond, she wondered, or unwilling?

  “Do you think we should send down a search party, Mister Scott?” Chekov asked from his post at navigation. A thick Russian accent proudly proclaimed his heritage. “I volunteer to beam down.”

  “You can count me in, too, sir,” added Lieutenant Fisher, who had taken Sulu’s place at the helm. He was a sturdy redhead from New Sonoma. “If you think the captain might need reinforcements.”

  Scotty weighed his options before replying.

  “I appreciate your spirit, laddies,” he said finally. “But let’s give the captain a little more time before we send another landing party into heaven knows what with nary a clue as to the situation down there.” He consulted the chronometer on the right armrest of the chair. “The landing party’s next scheduled check-in is approximately fifteen minutes from now.” He settled back into his chair. “We’ll hold fast until then.”

  “But what if the captain is in trouble?” Chekov asked with the impatience of youth. “And can’t call for help?”

  In truth, that possibility had occurred to Uhura as well. She wasn’t going to breathe easy until she heard from the landing party. They all knew how dangerous beaming down to a planet could be, especially in response to a distress signal.

  “Have a wee bit of faith in our comrades,” Scotty gently admonished the young ensign. “Captain Kirk and Mister Spock have been in tight spots before, and they’ve already got Sulu and that Yaseen lassie to lend them a hand if needs be. Don’t forget that, Ensign.”

  “Yes, sir,” Chekov said.

  “In the meantime,” Scotty said, “keep our shields raised until we find out just what kind of emergency we’re dealing with.” He eyed the planet on the viewer with a healthy degree of caution. “We don’t want to get caught with our pants down.”

  “I thought you preferred kilts, Mister Scott,” Uhura said, hoping to lighten the mood.

  “Only on special occasions, lass.”