by Greg Cox
“You did it?” He stared at Kirk and Spock in disbelief. “These are the strangers from beyond?”
“See for yourself,” she said proudly. “Many thanks for those timely diversions. We would not have eluded the Crusade without them.”
“A few valiant compatriots were lost or captured during those efforts,” he said gravely. “May the ancestors grant that their sacrifices were not in vain.”
“You must have faith that our deliverance is at hand.” She introduced her companion to Kirk and Spock. “This is Lasem, the leader of this intrepid band of dissidents and freethinkers.”
He saluted the visitors, using the same sign Vlisora had used. His black eyes held an uneasy blend of fear and reverence. The spines around his face tensed warily, but did not flare outward in anger.
“Welcome to Ialat,” he said. “I regret that your visit is less than voluntary.”
“That’s one way to put it.” Kirk said, looking around. He saw that the interior of the train was better lit and maintained than its deceptively rundown exterior. One-way windows, appearing black from the outside, were transparent within. Upholstered couches, packed with supplies and provisions, lined the rear compartment. A sealed doorway at the other end of the car presumably led to other compartments. “I’m Captain James T. Kirk of the Starship Enterprise, and this is my first officer, Commander Spock.”
“Your names and deeds are already known to us,” Lasem said before turning toward Vlisora. Concern furrowed his brow. “Your courage and commitment to our cause honors us all, High Priestess, but you know, of course, that you can never return to the royal temple now. Jaenab will neither forget nor forgive what you have done today.”
“Jaenab?” Kirk asked.
“The God-King,” she explained. The sorrow in her voice required no translation. “My husband.”
Husband? Kirk needed a moment to process that revelation.
Spock merely arched an eyebrow. “Fascinating.”
“They have many questions,” she informed Lasem. “Is there someplace where we can converse in comfort and privacy? And perhaps provide our guests with food and drink?”
“Of course.” He indicated the doorway ahead. “The upper-caste carriage is at your disposal.” He paused to address a female subordinate, who also sported civilian attire. “Let us be under way once more. Commence route dragon-corbel-quaternion.”
“Yes, Lasem.” She repeated the command into a blinking turquoise bracelet. “Get us moving.”
A moment later, the train lurched to life, briefly throwing Kirk off balance. The curved gray walls of the tunnel seemed to rush past the windows as the train smoothly accelerated toward . . . where?
“We going somewhere?” Kirk asked.
“Always,” Lasem said wryly. “To everywhere and nowhere.”
“A mobile command center,” Spock deduced. “Constantly in motion to elude detection.”
Lasem nodded. “And to protect our treasures.”
“Treasures?” Kirk asked.
Lasem smiled proudly. The interior doorway opened at his approach. “Come and see.”
Along with Vlisora, he led them through a string of compartments, all of which appeared to be packed with art, literature, and historical artifacts. Transparent bins held stacks of books, scrolls, and data storage devices. Fossils, both humanoid and otherwise, had been carefully wrapped and organized. Other items had been piled together more haphazardly. A granite cartouche inscribed with alien hieroglyphics was propped up against a jade bust of some ancient Ialatl priestess. An illuminated manuscript lay open atop what appeared to be an ornately decorated sarcophagus. Rolled-up tapestries and canvases were tucked awkwardly into corners. Prehistoric bone tools shared shelf space with modern-looking erotic artwork. It was like navigating through the overstuffed basement of a library or museum.
“A most impressive collection.” Spock paused briefly to admire a beautifully rendered map of the planet. “If there is time, I would appreciate the opportunity to examine the contents more carefully.”
“All this art and knowledge has been condemned by the Crusade,” Vlisora explained, “for not adhering to the strictest, most literal interpretations of our ancestors’ teachings. Indeed, much of it is officially listed as ‘purged.’ Countless scholars and curators and even a few sympathetic Crusaders have risked much to save these precious relics from destruction and preserve them for future generations.” A sweeping gesture encompassed the cluttered stockpile. “The train is but one of several moving repositories, forever keeping one step ahead of the Crusade.”
“Like an old-fashioned shell game,” Kirk said.
Vlisora did not get the reference. She gave him a puzzled look. “Forgive me?”
“Never mind,” he assured her. “Just a human figure of speech.” He took a rough count of the Ialatl in sight. There appeared to be only a handful of rebels occupying the train. “I take it this is not your entire resistance movement?”
“Not at all,” Lasem said. “But we find it wiser not to concentrate in large numbers, or even to share our identities too widely. Each small enclave functions independently for the most part, with contact between separate enclaves kept to a minimum.”
Kirk nodded. “So that if one group is captured, they can’t be forced to inform on the others.” He was familiar with the concept from Earth’s own history, as well those of numerous other worlds. “Isolated resistance cells, with members knowing only their own immediate comrades and superiors.”
“Precisely,” Vlisora said. “It is the only way. The Crusade’s informers are everywhere, sniffing out heretics and radicals.”
“And now fugitives from another universe,” Lasem said, guiding them through another doorway into the compartment beyond. “But you may take shelter here, if only for a time.”
They found themselves in what looked as if it had once been a luxury coach for VIP travelers. Plush chairs and couches, with plenty of leg room, faced elegant coffee tables inlaid with jade and turquoise. A muted blue carpet covered the floor. Books, bins, and boxes were piled on every available surface, but Lasem cleared off one couch to make room for his guests. The displaced treasures were relocated to an out-of-the way corner of the carriage.
“Please, make yourselves comfortable,” Lasem said. He procured several bottles of an amber liquid from an overhead luggage rack and placed them on the cluttered table before Kirk and Spock. “Drink this. It will restore you.”
Kirk hesitated before consuming the unknown liquid. Ideally, he would want to analyze the drink first, but the Crusaders had confiscated Spock’s tricorder back on Ephrata IV. And he was damn thirsty.
“Thanks,” he said. “Bottoms up.”
The drink was cool and refreshing, with a distinctly nutty aftertaste. Spock observed Kirk’s reaction before helping himself. Kirk gulped down the whole bottle and opened another before getting down to business. He needed to be sharp now, not groggy and dehydrated.
“I’m grateful for your hospitality, but I still need answers,” he said. “What are we doing here, and why did you rescue us from the Crusaders?”
“It’s quite simple,” Vlisora said. “We desperately need your help to free our world from the madness that is crushing our civilization—and which now threatens your own universe.”
“But we know little about your world,” Kirk protested, “let alone the nature of the threat.”
“Perhaps you can elaborate on how this present situation came to pass,” Spock suggested. “More data on your world and the Crusade’s objectives would be of great value at this point.”
“Of course.” She chuckled ruefully. “You must understand that it is easy to forget that our ways and history are unknown to you. We have little experience with foreigners, or ‘aliens’ as you call them. Indeed, the words are obscure in our language.”
She took a deep breath before launching into her explanation.
“Know then that Ialat is unlike your own worlds and Federation, which, s
o I understand, are populated by a bewildering variety of races, species, and cultures. There is but a single continent and kingdom on our world, a single civilization stretching back for untold millennia, our true origins lost in the mists of myth and legend.
“Moreover, there are no other planets orbiting our sun, and no evidence of life in the starry void beyond, so we have always assumed that we were the only sentient beings in creation, and that Ialat was the unquestioned center of all things, created by our divine ancestors at the dawn of this present cycle of existence. Jaenab, my king and husband, is believed to be the direct descendant of our ancient creators, carrying on a lineage that extends all the way back to the previous creation and the infinite cycles before that. As you saw, he can communicate with all our people by means of a crown, which has been passed down from ruler to ruler for generations.”
“A telepathic amplifier,” Spock theorized, “based on forgotten technology.”
“That is what some of our own scientists and archaeologists believed,” she said, “before their theories ran afoul of the Crusade. It is now forbidden to regard the Crown as anything but a sacred gift from our creators and the divine birthright of the God-King.”
“Your husband?” Kirk said.
A sad smile hinted at conflicted feelings. “Am I not the High Priestess?”
Apparently that was meant to be self-explanatory.
Spock had a more urgent concern. “But how did the Crusade come to wield such power?”
“It was not always so,” she said. “Until recently, all was well and our world thrived. Because we were unified in our ways, there was little dissent and thus no cause for oppression. The God-King attended primarily to spiritual matters, performing the traditional rites and ceremonies while allowing the civil authorities to govern with little interference from the priestly caste. The arts and sciences flourished during a golden age of peace and prosperity. The mastery of gravity, over a generation ago, caused an explosion of new innovations and applications, making our lives even easier.”
Kirk recalled the highly advanced metropolis he had glimpsed before. “So what went wrong?”
“An unexpected scientific breakthrough,” she said. “Experiments in applied gravity accidentally pierced the fabric of space-time . . . and revealed the existence of an entirely new universe. Your universe.”
“A remarkable accomplishment,” Spock said.
“But with dire consequences,” she said gravely. “You must understand, we thought we were entirely alone and unique. We had never even conceived of the notion of other worlds or beings. The shock of discovering that literally billions of other species and civilizations existed was more than our society could absorb overnight. The result was a backlash that captured even the heart and mind of my own beloved husband and king. A wave of religious extremism, violently opposed to any new or unorthodox ideas, spread like a collective madness. The opening of the rifts was seen as the sign of an impending apocalypse . . . and the Crusade was born.”
“In reaction to a severe cultural trauma which your homogeneous society was not equipped to cope with,” Spock concluded. “An irrational response, but not without a certain dangerous logic.”
“I don’t know,” Kirk said. “It seems a bit extreme to me. On Earth, First Contact led to a grand awakening that ultimately unified Earth and allowed humanity to takes its first steps toward joining a larger interplanetary community. We didn’t go crazy . . . and set out to convert the rest of the universe to our ways.”
“True,” Spock conceded, “but recall that Earth, for all its troubled history, had been a world of myriad races and cultures almost since the time the first protohumans learned to walk erect. You had dealt, sometimes badly, sometimes nobly, with the challenge of conflicting ideologies and belief systems for many thousands of years, and, to give humanity its due, you had already begun to make progress in overcoming racial, religious, and other prejudices long before my own forebears introduced you to the reality of extraterrestrial life.”
“You mean your forebears said hello to your other forebears,” Kirk said, reminding Spock of his mixed heritage. “You don’t need to refer to humanity in the third—or second—person.”
“But I generally prefer to do so,” Spock said, with a slightly pained expression. “In any event, put yourself in the place of the Ialatl, who had never even dealt with diversity among their own kind before discovering a separate universe teeming with strange new worlds and civilizations. Is it any wonder that they reacted by clinging even more tightly to the timeless verities that were all they had ever known?”
I suppose, Kirk thought. In all fairness, there had been some xenophobic extremists back in Jonathan Archer’s time, when Earth and Starfleet were just beginning to encounter the various alien species that would someday come together as the United Federation of Planets. But thankfully those reactionary elements had ended up on the wrong side of history. Humanity had ultimately rejected fear of the unknown and had chosen to seek out new ideas and worlds instead.
Unlike the Ialatl, it seemed.
“Just so,” Vlisora confirmed. “My people cannot accept that your people can exist without our Truth. They are determined to enlighten you . . . for your own sakes.”
Kirk recalled Sokis’s intolerant attitude back on Ephrata. “I’m getting the picture, but I still don’t understand what your God-King wants with Spock and me. Why bring us here to your world?”
A guilty look came over Vlisora’s face.
“In truth, that was my doing, not my husband’s. I led the Crusaders to believe that it was the God-King’s will that you be sent through the portal, so that I could secure your aid.”
Kirk could not contain his anger. “You had us dragged here against our will, away from my ship and my crew?”
“I had no choice! You were our only hope!”
“Why?” he demanded. “Why me?”
“Because you are the God-Slayer,” she said, as though the answer were manifestly obvious. “The Freedom-Bringer.”
Kirk blinked in surprise. “Excuse me?”
“I have laid eyes on the forbidden knowledge captured from the world you call Ephrata IV. My comrades and I,” she said, gesturing at Lasem, “have carefully perused the records of your voyages and exploits. We know of the many worlds you have liberated from the weight of oppression, of the many tyrants and false gods you have overthrown: Landru, Vaal, the Oracle of Yonada, the Controller of Sigma Draconis VI, the Providers of Triskelion, the Platonians, the heartless elites of Stratos, Apollo of Olympus, the all-powerful Squire of Gothos . . .”
“Well, yes,” Kirk said, slightly embarrassed by the litany. “You’ve obviously done your homework. . . .”
“Imagine our excitement when we discovered the existence of one such as you, and that the Crusade meant to lure your vessel to Ephrata IV,” Lasem stated. “Never in our history has anyone opposed the God-King, yet you have often waged such battles.”
“It would appear, Captain,” Spock said with a trace of amusement, “that your reputation precedes you.”
“We do not mean to discount your own vital role in such victories, Mister Spock,” Lasem added hastily. “The Starfleet chronicles make it clear that you and Captain Kirk have achieved your mighty feats in tandem. Together you have accomplished many times what our struggling rebellion has only dreamed of.”
“Surely it is not by chance,” Vlisora said, “that the ancestors brought you within the Crusade’s grasp. I truly believe that you were sent to restore freedom of thought to Ialat.”
“Hang on there,” Kirk said. His earlier anger at being shanghaied by Vlisora and her cronies gave way to an acute awareness of just how much they expected of him—and how severely he was likely to disappoint them. “I’m afraid there’s been a serious misunderstanding here. Our Prime Directive expressly forbids us from interfering in the affairs of other worlds, not to mention other universes.”
Her brow wrinkled in confusion. “But your many
victories over the alien gods . . . ?”
“Those were special cases,” he insisted, “usually where the safety of my ship was at stake, or where it was necessary to correct some previous influence that was distorting the natural evolution of a civilization. I never set out to overthrow any existing governments or religions. Your internal affairs are your own business.”
“But it was the discovery of your universe that drove my people mad,” she argued. “So is it not your responsibility to undo the damage, to ‘correct’ the insanity that your very existence brought about?”
“A clever bit of sophistry,” Spock said, “but your logic is flawed. It was not our scientists that created the rift and exposed your people to the fact of our existence, nor did we induce you to react to that discovery by retreating into fanaticism and fundamentalism. We cannot be held accountable for your own cultural inability to cope with an unexpected truth.”
“But we were not ready!” she insisted. “We had no Prime Directive to guide us. You cannot blame us for not knowing where to turn.”
“It’s not about blame,” Kirk said. “Believe me, I’m not judging you. My own planet has survived similar crusades and inquisitions. I think I understand what you’re going through here, and I admire your determination to set things right, but you can’t look to us to fight your battles for you. This is none of our business. We don’t have the right to take sides here.”
“It that so?” she said bitterly. “Then think of your own worlds . . . and what the God-King means to do to them. Or have you forgotten that the Crusade is no longer merely our ‘business’?”
She had a point. Kirk remained concerned about his ship—and the security of the Federation.
“Tell me more,” he said. “What exactly is the Crusade doing on Ephrata IV? Just how big a threat do they pose?”
“Bigger than you can imagine.” She leaned forward, intent on getting her message across. The intensity of her tone imbued every word with dire import. “The world you call Ephrata is only the beginning.”