Star Trek V: The Final Frontier (25 page)

He understood now why the Vulcan smiled so often. Gratefully the doctor glanced at his savior; Sybok was speaking.

“This pain has poisoned your soul for a long time. But now you’ve taken the first step. The other steps we’ll take together.”

“Thank you,” McCoy whispered, wiping at stray tears. “Thank you.” He smiled up at the Vulcan.

Spock observed the unfolding drama between McCoy and his dying father with growing distress. Not only had he been forced to witness something that should have remained private, but he had been dismayed at the degree to which Sybok had strengthened his natural telepathic powers. Violating a person’s mind was a criminal act. . . but to do so and then
project eidetic images of that violation for others to witness was monstrous.

Spock found himself grieving with McCoy, not only for his father’s death but also at the grievous invasion of the doctor’s privacy.

And now Sybok turned to Spock.

Spock regarded him with something very much like loathing.

“Each individual is unique,” Sybok continued.

“I hide no pain,” Spock said coldly.

Sybok smiled. “I know you better than that, Spock.”

“Do you?” Spock challenged. He could struggle mentally against Sybok’s invading mind, but the most likely outcome was that Spock’s mental defenses would be permanently damaged and Sybok would no doubt be the eventual victor. Better, Spock decided, to risk a temporary loss of face than endure such damage. “Go ahead,” he told Sybok. “I shall not resist you.”

“Spock,” Jim said next to him. The captain’s face was lined with concern. “Don’t.”

“It’s quite all right, Captain.” Spock faced his brother. “Proceed.”

The lights dimmed. Somewhere in the darkness, a woman screamed. Out of the blackness, sounds and images formed: the insistent throb of ceremonial drums echoed against the high stone walls of a cave. Crude torches illuminated the scene and threw shadows of a woman in labor against the walls. It was a scene from Vulcan prehistory, starkly primitive, and for a moment, Spock was confused. Then, from deep within his consciousness, long-buried memories rose.

Like the ceremonies of marriage and burial, the Vulcan ritual surrounding birth had remained intact over the millennia. Even the logic of Surak had failed to strip the Vulcans of their dark and ancient rites.

Jim turned to his friend, perplexed. “Spock, what
is
this?”

“I believe,” Spock said calmly, “that we are witnessing my birth.”

Sybok appeared before him, holding out a hand. “Come. If you are truly unafraid, let me lead you into the past.”

Spock rose and went with him. In the far reaches of the cave, Spock recognized the young human female lying on the rough pallet as his mother. Beneath her ceremonial robes, Amanda’s distended stomach lifted; her contorted face shone with perspiration. At her feet, a Vulcan high priestess intoned the ancient rites of birth. Spock recognized her as the regal T’Lar, the priestess who had fused Spock’s body and spirit after his death.

How appropriate,
Spock thought,
that she who attended my second entry into this life also attended me at the first.

At Amanda’s side stood Sarek, Spock’s Vulcan father, who watched the proceedings with uncomfortable reserve.

Because of T’Lar,
Spock realized,
he does not show his concern for my mother.
Even more than Sarek’s apparent detachment from the proceedings, Spock was struck by how young his parents appeared; Sarek’s hair was jet black, Amanda’s golden brown, neither with a trace of silver.

Amanda screamed; the drums quickened to a climax—then stopped abruptly as the child was born. A sound: an infant crying.

T’Lar picked up the child and presented it to the father. Sarek stared at it without joy.

So human,
he said. Spock thought he detected a trace of disappointment in the father’s tone. Sarek took the infant and gently handed it to his wife. Amanda cradled it next to her, and traced a finger along its tiny pointed ears. She glanced up at her husband.

Neither human nor Vulcan, but ours.

Jim watched the proceedings with growing anxiety. “Spock . . .” He laid a tentative hand on his first officer’s shoulder, but the Vulcan remained mute. Angrily Jim turned on Sybok. “What have you done to my friend?”

Sybok’s expression was serenely satisfied. “I’ve done nothing. Your friends . . . this is who they are. Didn’t you know that?”

The question caught Jim off-guard. “No,” he said blankly. “No, I suppose I didn’t.”

“Now learn something about yourself.” Sybok drew closer.

Jim avoided meeting the Vulcan’s eyes. “No! I refuse.”

McCoy emerged from his solitary reverie and laid a comforting hand on Kirk’s arm. “Jim, try to be open about this.” There was a vagueness in the doctor’s eyes that was unsettlingly familiar. . . .

The hostage tape. Caithlin Dar’s eyes had looked exactly the same.

Brainwashed, all right,
McCoy had said then.

Jim realized that he was on the verge of losing his two best friends to a madman. He pulled away from McCoy. “Open about what?” He almost shouted it. “That I’ve made the wrong choices in my life? That I went left when I should’ve gone right? I know what my weaknesses are.”

The very thought made images shimmer and swirl in the shadows:
Enterprise,
as her fiery hull streaked through the sky toward Genesis like a falling star as she plummeted to her death.
David, my son, my own flesh and blood, dead before I had the chance to really know him. Lost chances with his mother, Carol.
. . “I don’t need Sybok to take me on a tour of them.”

“Jim,” McCoy pleaded, his eyes dulled by euphoria, “if you’d just unbend and allow yourself—”

“To be brainwashed by the con man? You said it yourself, Doctor, remember?”

“I was wrong,” McCoy countered. “This ’con man’ took away my pain! No psychiatrist in the universe has ever—”

“Dammit, Bones, you’re a doctor. You know that pain and guilt can’t be dispelled with the wave of a magic wand. They’re things we carry with us—the things that make us who we are. If we lose them, we lose ourselves. I don’t want my pain taken away. I don’t want to forget David and Carol . . . and losing the
Enterprise.
I
need
my pain.”

“Jim, you’ve got to listen—” the doctor began, but he was interrupted by a hailing whistle, followed by Uhura’s voice emanating from the communications console.

“Sybok, this is the bridge.” Her pitch rose a half-
octave in excitement. “We are in approach of the Great Barrier.”

Beyond the observation window, the starlight was fading, swallowed up by a bright reddish pink glow.

Sybok’s face brightened with anticipation. “Captain Kirk, I’m afraid you’ll have to remain here. Spock. . . Doctor . . . come with me.” He headed confidently for the exit.

McCoy took a step toward the exit, then stopped and looked uncertainly back at Kirk and Spock. The Vulcan remained next to his captain and did not stir. Jim gave his first officer a look of gratitude mixed with a sizable amount of relief.

Sybok reached the exit before realizing he was alone; he turned to regard his half brother with puzzlement. “Spock? Aren’t you coming?”

“I cannot go with you,” Spock replied with utmost dignity.

Sybok stared at him in disbelief.
“Why?”
There were traces of petulance and hurt in his voice.

“My loyalty is to my captain.”

“I don’t understand . . .”

“You are my brother, but you do not know me,” Spock said. “I am not the outcast boy you left behind. Since that time, I have found myself and my place in the universe . . . here, among my shipmates. My life is here, aboard the
Enterprise.”

McCoy listened to this speech intently; his eyes seemed to clear. He returned to take his seat next to Spock and Kirk. “I guess you’d better count me out, too, Sybok.”

Kirk smiled at him; guiltily, McCoy averted his gaze. “Sorry, Jim. It’s just that—”

“You don’t have to explain, Bones. Besides, it doesn’t matter.” Jim touched his shoulder. “You’re here now.”

To Jim’s surprise, Sybok regarded them not angrily but with honest affection. “The bond between the three of you is strong, very strong, but the ultimate victory will be mine.” He headed for the exit; the doors slid open to reveal his soldiers waiting patiently in the corridor.

“Wait!” Kirk called.

Sybok paused in the open doorway and looked back at him.

“We’ll never make it through the Great Barrier,” Jim said, in a desperate attempt to reason with the Vulcan. “As a scientist, you must know that. The shields—”

Sybok interrupted him. “But if we
do”—
he smiled mysteriously—“will that convince you that my vision was true?”

“Your vision?” With a sinking sensation, Jim realized what was coming next.

“Given to me by the One,” Sybok said boldly, “who waits for us on the other side.” He watched their surprised reactions with relish.

“You
are
insane,” Jim told him.

“Am I?” For an instant, honest doubt flickered in Sybok’s eyes, only to be replaced by a fiery look that could have been confidence . . . or utter madness. “I’ll see you on the other side.”

The doors closed behind him.

V
IXIS PATTED THE PHASER
concealed beneath her belt and pressed the buzzer on the captain’s door. The doors snapped open so abruptly—as if anticipating her arrival—that she had to force herself not to jump. Her nerves were frayed, the result of being constantly alert, for she could trust no one: not Klaa, certainly not Morek.

“Come,” Klaa called gruffly.

She entered; the door closed behind her. Klaa sat at his desk, his dark eyes focused intently on the terminal monitor, his expression smug, almost gloating. Vixis searched his face for traces of insanity, but found none.

She stepped before the desk and waited for the captain to acknowledge her presence.

A full minute of silence passed before he glanced distractedly up at her. “Ah. Vixis.” He gestured at a chair across from his. “Sit.”

She sat. Klaa appeared distracted, intent. . . but not mad,

“Well?” He interlaced his fingers and rested his hands on the desk, then leaned forward, inviting her to speak,

Vixis collected herself. She had considered her actions and their consequences most carefully; if it was necessary for Klaa to die, then he would die by her own hand, not the hand of a dishonorable creature like Morek.

“I came to warn you. Captain.”

“Of what?” His eyebrows lifted slightly, but he did not seem particularly surprised. She got the impression he was—indeed, they both were playing carefully scripted roles.

“A plot against your life. A certain member of the crew—”

“Morek,” Klaa interjected.

“Yes. Morek is concerned that
Okrona
will be destroyed when we enter the Great Barrier.” She paused. “It is a valid fear. He sent me here to distract you, at which point he intends to strike. I have no doubt he means to kill me as well and then take command himself.”

“So.” Rage flickered across Klaa’s features, then faded, replaced by an expression of gratitude. “It is all as I expected, Vixis. I appreciate your loyalty. You will be rewarded.”

She smiled thinly. Even if Klaa really was mad, she
knew he would be grateful to hear of Morek’s treason. If she found it necessary to assassinate the captain in order to protect the ship, it would be far easier now that she had gained his trust.

“Morek thinks he has set a trap for me,” Klaa said, “but he is about to spring the one I’ve laid for him. Congratulations, First Officer. You have passed the test.”

He swiveled the monitor so that Vixis could see the graphic on the screen: a representation of the
Enterprise,
enclosed inside a fantastic web of glowing filaments that formed miniature dodecahedrons, all fitted together in several complex layers.

“The
Enterprise’s
shields,” Vixis remarked, gazing at the screen in wonder. Their structure was unlike that of any shields she had ever seen. Somehow, Klaa had used
Okrona’s
scanners to gain access to them.

In a flash, she understood Klaa’s motives. She knew that he had behaved irrationally in order to test his crew, that he had forced Morek to reveal his disloyalty in order to be rid of him legitimately, without giving Morek’s relatives cause to seek vengeance.

And she knew that, all along, Klaa had studied the unusual design
of Enterprise’s
shields.

Vixis regarded him with infinite admiration. “Shrewd, my captain. Very shrewd.”

He smiled faintly, then returned his attention to the screen. “Some hours ago, the
Enterprise’s
shields underwent a dramatic alteration. Tarag called it to my attention. I have entered the new design into our computers; he is working now to restructure
Okrona’s
shields as well.” He nodded at the screen. “These
shields were invented by a genius. Somehow the Federation has stumbled upon a way to protect a ship from the increased radiation in the Great Barrier.”

“But no one has ever entered the Barrier,” Vixis protested. “How do we know the shields will hold?”

“Enterprise
will enter the Barrier first,” Klaa said firmly. “If she is destroyed, we will turn back.”

Vixis stared at the terminal in amazement. “But, Captain, how did you—”

“How did I get past the security on the shields’ structure?” Klaa finished for her. “In their haste, the
Enterprise
crew neglected to affix a security code. Apparently they think they have discouraged us from following.”

“It could be a trick.”

His confidence did not waver. “If it is, those aboard
Enterprise
will die, either from radiation or
Okrona’s
phasers.”

She stared in silence at the amazing spectacle on the screen.

Klaa watched her for a time. When he spoke again, his voice was low and soft. “First Officer, if I had insisted on taking
Okrona
into the Barrier unprotected, you would have killed me, yes?”