The Weight of Worlds

by Greg Cox

  “Madam President!”

  Collins hesitated, torn between her need to rush to Yvete’s side and her duty to the Institute. Her anguished gaze swung from Hevlas to Yvete and back again. “What is it?” she called out to Hevlas. “What can I do?”

  “Look!” he exclaimed. He pointed, with both his fingers and his antennae, at the center of the square. “Something’s happening!”

  A large oval reflecting pool served as the nucleus of Pearl Square. Rippling aquamarine waters provided an oasis of tranquility at the very heart of the Institute. On sunny days, Elena often took her lunch by the pool. When the wind blew just right, the Brownian motion of the waters, lapping against osmotic crystals embedded in the basin, caused the pool to literally sing.

  Now it was screaming.

  The plasma bolts converged on the pool, as though drawn to it by some electromagnetic, or perhaps gravitational, force. Concentrated blasts fused the wailing water into a silent sheet of black glass, surrounded by a ring of molten slag. Steam rose from the murdered pool.

  But that was just the beginning.

  “Do you feel that?” Hevlas asked her. His voice quavered in a way she had never heard before. “In the air?”

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  It was impossible to miss. Weird, indefinable sensations set her nerve endings tingling. A peculiar vibration in the air set her teeth and bones humming. The goosebumps returned in force. She felt nauseous again.

  Now what? she wondered.

  Reality rippled above the steaming black mirror. At first, Collins thought that maybe her eyes were deceiving her, that it was just a trick of the light, but, no, there was definitely something flickering about a meter above the fused remains of the reflecting pool. It started small, no larger than a pinprick, but rapidly expanded, tearing open a hole in the fabric of the universe. Eldritch colors strobed inside the rift, hurting her eyes. Diamond-shaped, the rift expanded and contracted like a pulsating heart, growing measurably larger with each expansion. The harsh yellow light of another dimension spilled through the rift.

  “What is it?” Hevlas asked. His hand went to the type-1 phaser holstered at his hip. “Where did it come from?”

  “I wish I knew,” she said. A theoretical physicist by education, before she found her true calling as an administrator, Collins struggled to interpret what she was seeing. A micro-wormhole? A quantum filament distortion? A Lazarus corridor? Despite the danger and tragic loss of life, she couldn’t help but be intrigued by the phenomenon, even as she dreaded what it might portend. She had joked earlier that the universe wasn’t going anywhere, but now, staring into this unnatural gap in the space-time continuum, she wasn’t quite so sure about that.

  Remind me to knock on wood next time, she thought.

  One small consolation: the gravitational fluxes and plasma discharges seemed to taper off as the rift manifested. The sky above remained cloudy and turbulent, and the air still smelled of smoke and ozone, but at least the destructive tempest had died down. A hush fell over the square, broken only by the crackling of the flames and the whimpers and moans of the wounded. Collins prayed that the worst was over, but knew better than to count on that.

  If only they knew what was coming next.

  “Elena?”

  No longer pinned by gravity, Yvete staggered over to join them, cradling her injured arm against her chest. Her lovely face was scuffed and scratched, but Elena was grateful for her survival. She placed an arm around Yvete’s slender waist as they leaned against each other for support. Yvette was pale and trembling. Her face was more ashen than green.

  “Sri Winchdu,” she murmured. “He pushed me out of the way just in time. . . . He . . . he didn’t make it himself. . . .”

  Elena remembered the motionless tentacle protruding from beneath the fallen sculpture. She shuddered to think how many others might have perished as well.

  “I know.”

  But now was not the time to mourn or tally the dead, not while the unnatural rift continued to pulse at the heart of the Institute. No longer growing in size, the diamond-shaped gap sank halfway into the glazed black mirror below, so that it formed a large triangular portal about the size of a large pair of double doors. The same painfully psychedelic colors continued to swirl violently within the rift; it was like looking into the face of a Medusan.

  “Careful!” Hevlas said sharply. “Something’s coming through!”

  He was right. Blurry figures could be glimpsed through the shimmering colors. They seemed small and distant at first, as though many kilometers away, but time and space and perspective appeared to be distorted by passage through the rift. In a matter of moments, a cadre of darkly clad humanoids emerged from the portal, setting foot on the glassy remains of the reflecting pool, which cracked loudly beneath their weight.

  The aliens were at least two meters in height, wearing belted black tunics and boots. Layers of overlapping silver scales armored their skin. Segmented limbs had a vaguely crustacean look. Glossy black eyes, lacking any visible irises, were more striking than the small, beak-like protuberances that barely registered as noses. A mane of translucent golden spines, like the tentacles of a sea anemone, framed their masculine-looking faces in the place of hair or fur. Hinged jaws hung open as the aliens chanted and marched in unison. An errant breeze carried a smoky aroma, like burnt paper, from the aliens. Green sashes, ranging in hue from chartreuse to jade, stretched diagonally across their chests. Collins wondered if the various shades of green denoted rank.

  This was more than just an academic concern; she needed to figure out who was in charge.

  An advance guard arrived first, fanning out to secure the area immediately around the rift. Polished obsidian batons, roughly thirty centimeters long, were clipped to their belts, but no other weapons were in evidence. Elena prayed that was a good sign.

  “Who?” Yvete whispered.

  Elena had no idea. She had traveled widely in her time, and had studied even more, but this was no species known to her. She suspected they were not known to this universe.

  “Get back!” Hevlas advised. Drawing his phaser, he took up a defensive posture between the intruders and the faculty. A handful of his junior officers, looking distinctly the worse for wear, fanned out behind him. Elena guessed that the rest of the security staff was dead, injured, or dealing with fires, casualties, and other emergencies all across the campus. “Better let us handle this, Madam President.”

  Collins had her own thoughts about that, but before she could respond, one last alien emerged from the rift. His measured pace and commanding bearing instantly pegged him as the expedition’s leader. He also appeared somewhat taller and older. His “beard” of wriggling tentacles was fuller and more imposing, while his higher status was denoted by a striped sash that incorporated every shade of green, as well as by a waist-length black cape with dark green lining. A four-fingered hand clutched a meter-long black lance that appeared to be a larger and more ornate version of the batons worn by his men. Jade and turquoise rings marked off sections of the shaft, while the sharpened head of the lance resembled a large obsidian teardrop. His silver face bore a severe expression. Lustrous black eyes looked about with what appeared to be disapproval. He cut off his men’s chanting with a wave of his hand, then stamped the foot of his lance against the cracked black mirror beneath him.

  “Rejoice!” he declared, speaking standard English with an odd accent. His voice was deep and reverberating. “I am Sokis, warrior-priest of the Crusade. We bring you Truth and Harmony—before it is too late!”

  “Truth?” Hevlas snarled, enraged by the death and havoc unleashed by the strangers’ arrival. He raised his phaser. “I’ll show you enlightenment!”

  “Stand down, Officer!” Elena placed a restraining hand on his arm. His phaser, per Institute regulations, was set permanently on stun, but just the same, she had no intention of allowing him to shoot first and ask questions later. “Hold your fire . . . for now.”

  T
he Andorian’s arm trembled beneath her grip. He kept his finger on the trigger of his weapon. “But . . .”

  She understood his fear and anger. Her own heart grieved for the dead and the wounded, as well as for the devastation unleashed on the Institute, but if this was a first-contact situation, it needed to be handled accordingly. As horrific as the day’s event had been, it would be even more tragic if their first encounter with visitors from another dimension ended in violence.

  “We don’t know for certain that this was an attack,” she reminded him. “For all we know, the . . . disturbances . . . might have just been an unexpected side effect of their passage here. A tragic byproduct of opening that rift.”

  “Or maybe they just didn’t care,” Hevlas said.

  “Possibly,” she conceded. “But we won’t know that unless we ask.” She increased her pressure on his arm. “Stand down, Officer.”

  He reluctantly lowered his weapon, and signaled his people to do the same. “I don’t like this,” he muttered.

  “Duly noted.” She reluctantly let go of Yvete and started forward. “Let’s try talking to them first.”

  Yvete reached out with her good arm and laid her hand on Elena’s shoulder. “Are you sure about this?”

  “Not in the least,” Elena confessed, but what choice did she have? Hadn’t she just been lecturing Mav on the importance of working peacefully with beings from other worlds and cultures? She had a chance here to make contact, and maybe even initiate a fruitful exchange of knowledge and beliefs, with a previously unknown alien race, possibly from an entirely different plane of reality. How could she possibly turn away from that opportunity out of fear and suspicion? “But this is what Ephrata is all about.”

  Yvette nodded and withdrew her hand. “Be careful, my love.”

  “Just write a nice poem about me if this doesn’t work out.”

  Her mouth dry, Collins approached the strangers. She held out open palms in what she hoped was a universal gesture of peace. She swallowed hard, wishing she’d fortified herself with something a little stronger than tea.

  “Greetings. Welcome to Ephrata. On behalf of my people, I—”

  “Silence!” Sokis barked. “We have no interest in your false knowledge and lies. We come to save you, not sully our ears with your heresies.”

  “I don’t understand,” Elena said, still hoping to establish a dialogue. She wiped her sweaty palms on her slacks. “Save us from what?”

  “The End of all things. But fear not, for we bring the weight of the Truth to this fractured realm.”

  He raised his lance. The opaque black shaft lit up from within with a flickering jade-green radiance. The head of the lance spun along its vertical axis. A low whine, not unlike the chant the aliens had keened earlier, emanated from the weapon. The glowing lance cast dark-green shadows on the square.

  “Tezha,” Hevlas swore. “I’ve had enough of this.”

  He fired his phaser at Sokis. A sapphire beam shot across the courtyard, only to fall short of its target. An invisible force tugged on the beam, dragging it down to the ground, where it discharged harmlessly against the pearly tiles, leaving not even a scorch mark behind.

  The Andorian’s jaw dropped. He gaped in shock.

  “Son of an Aenar!”

  Artificial gravity, Collins realized, employed as a shield. Her mind boggled at the concept. Theoretically possible, I suppose, but . . .

  “Let there be no more defiance,” Sokis declared. “Bow down before the weight of Truth.”

  He waved his lance at Collins and the others. Weaponized gravity swept across the campus, driving the survivors to the ground. What felt like hundreds of kilograms yanked Elena down onto the floor of the square, holding her fast. Her face was pressed against the tiles as she lay prostrate before the invaders, unable to lift a finger.

  The Crusade had come to Ephrata.

  ONE

  Captain’s Log. Stardate 6012.9.

  The Enterprise has concluded a successful week charting the Wyvern system, a region devoid of intelligent life but full of fascinating planets, moons, asteroid belts, and radiation fields, or so my first officer informs me. In the meantime, with no immediate crisis on the horizon, the crew is looking forward to some much-needed recreation . . .

  “Mister Spock,” Lieutenant Uhura said. “Do you have a minute?”

  The Vulcan science officer looked up from his scanner. “At our present cruising speed, we are not expected to arrive at Starbase 13 for another 72.03 hours. You have my attention for as many minutes as you require. How can I assist you?”

  It was a relatively quiet moment on the bridge. The U.S.S. Enterprise was cruising at warp 2 through the interstellar void, with the Wyvern system receding in the ship’s aft sensors. Captain James T. Kirk listened casually to the conversation behind him as he reviewed the latest maintenance reports from engineering. A yeoman offered him a fresh cup of coffee, which he gratefully accepted.

  “Oh, I doubt this will take 72.03 hours,” Uhura quipped. She wandered away from the communications station to confer with Spock at his post. “I’m just organizing this year’s holiday party, and I wanted your input.”

  Spock arched an eyebrow. “I am not certain that I am the appropriate officer to consult on such a matter. Levity is hardly the Vulcan way.”

  That’s putting it lightly, Kirk thought. He wondered what Uhura was about.

  “Well, that’s what I wanted to ask you about,” she said. “As usual, the holiday party embraces the varied cultures and traditions of the ship’s entire crew, celebrating Christmas, Hanukkah, Kwanza, Diwali, Ramadan, mololo zam, and the Saturnian Blessing of the Rings, but I admit that I’m not terribly familiar with the customs of your people, Mister Spock. Are there any Vulcan holidays or rituals you would like us to include in the festivities?”

  Kirk rotated the captain’s chair around to observe Spock’s science station. The general chatter on the bridge died down, the better to eavesdrop on this increasingly intriguing conversation. Kirk suspected that Chekov and Sulu and the rest of the bridge crew were listening in as well. Even though they had all been serving beside Spock for at least four years now, there was still much they didn’t know about Vulcan life and customs. Spock, like the rest of his people, tended to be rather close-lipped on the subject.

  “You need not trouble yourself on my behalf, Lieutenant,” he said, “although you are to be applauded for your efforts at inclusiveness, which are very much in keeping with the Vulcan philosophy of IDIC.”

  Infinite diversity in infinite combinations, Kirk translated mentally. He was quite familiar with the motto, which was one of the fundamental touchstones of Vulcan civilization. It had also been one of the guiding principles behind the formation of the Federation itself. No small surprise, considering that Vulcan, along with Earth, was a founding member of the UFP.

  “So you never celebrated any holidays at home?” Uhura pressed. “Not even when you were growing up?”

  “That is not entirely the case,” Spock admitted. “My father occasionally indulged my mother’s fondness for certain Terran holidays, most notably the human custom of St. Valentine’s Day.”

  Uhura reacted with delight to this unexpected revelation. “Why, Mister Spock, that’s positively romantic!”

  “On the contrary,” he stated, “it is simply logical. In a universe populated by myriad species and cultures, respecting and accommodating each other’s disparate traditions is the only rational response.”

  “Well said, Mister Spock,” Kirk said, joining the discussion. “I believe it was George Bernard Shaw who famously stated that a barbarian was someone who confused the customs of his own tribe with the laws of the universe. Or words to that effect.”

  Kirk half expected Spock to make some gibe about humans being well equipped to comment on the topic of barbarism, but the Vulcan refrained, possibly because Doctor McCoy was not in earshot. Bones was presently holding down the fort in sickbay, dealing with an outbreak of The
rbian fever among the crew, which meant there was nobody on the bridge to provoke.

  “A most civilized sentiment,” Spock said instead, “particularly for an Earthman of his generation.”

  “What about you, Captain?” Uhura asked. “Can we expect you at the party?”

  “Er, we’ll see,” he hedged. After the Helen Noel incident a few years back, he was still a bit leery of holiday parties. Such celebrations were good for morale, but too much fraternization could lead to some awkward moments afterward. Thank goodness Helen eventually transferred over to the Reliant, he thought. “It depends on what my schedule is looking like.”

  Uhura wasn’t going to let him off that easy.

  “I’m sure the whole crew is hoping you’ll attend, sir. It wouldn’t be the same without you.”

  She had a point, he admitted. Maybe if he just made an appearance?

  “Well, I certainly wouldn’t want to disappoint the crew—”

  An urgent chime from the communications station interrupted him. Uhura hurried back to her post and adjusted her earpiece. All talk of parties and holidays was instantly put aside as she resumed her duties with her usual brisk professionalism.

  “Captain,” she reported urgently, “we’re receiving an emergency distress signal from Ephrata IV.”

  “Ephrata?” he echoed. “The Institute?”

  It had to be. As far as he knew, there were no other colonies or settlements in the Ephrata system. Indeed, the Institute had chosen Ephrata IV because of its remote and isolated location, far from the hustle and bustle of more populated systems. Seclusion was considered more conducive to serious study and contemplation.

  “Put it on the screen,” he ordered.

  Uhura consulted her control panel and displays. “I’m trying, sir, but there’s interference with the visual component of the signal. I’m mostly getting audio only.” She turned toward the main viewer at the front of the bridge. “Coming through now.”

  On the screen, a burst of visual snow replaced a view of the starry vista they had been traversing. The head and shoulders of a humanoid figure could be only dimly glimpsed through the chaff. A feminine voice, punctuated by static, cried out in obvious distress: