Star Trek V: The Final Frontier (27 page)

“Then we’ll go to the bridge,” Jim said, “and find out.”

McCoy spoke, still unable to look away from the sight. “if it’s an illusion, I don’t want to know. Besides, the guards aren’t gonna let us walk out of here.”

“They might, if we invite them along.”

On the bridge, Chekov started as his monitor screen crackled back to life. The main viewscreen lit up with a breathtaking sight: a planet with swirling white clouds. At the command console, Sybok rose and spoke in an awed whisper.

“Sha Ka Ree.” A smile as beautiful and luminous as the planet before them crossed his face. The diplomats stood beside him, their faces aglow with ecstasy.

Dar laughed. It was a sound of release, of infinite joy. “Vorta Vor.”

“Eden,” Talbot breathed.

They turned as the lift doors opened to reveal Kirk, Spock, and McCoy, flanked by soldiers.

Jim faced Sybok calmly. “We come in peace. About the ship . . .”

Sybok still smiled. “You were right to come here. The ship needs its captain.” To Jim’s surprise, he stepped down from the command chair and gestured for Kirk to take his place. “Perhaps now you believe me, Captain Kirk, when I say I mean no harm to the
Enterprise
and its crew. My mission has been fulfilled. I now return control of your vessel to you, with my deepest thanks and apologies.”

Kirk took an eager step toward the conn, then hesitated. “No special conditions?”

“No conditions,” Sybok answered happily.

“What makes you think I won’t turn us around?”

Grinning, Sybok arched a brow in a striking imitation of Spock. “Because, James Kirk, you too must know, and you must understand. A starship’s purpose is to explore the vast mysteries of space . . . and now
Enterprise
is poised on the verge of a great mystery, a great frontier—no, not great. The
greatest
frontier of all.”

Jim looked about at the bright, hopeful faces of his crew.

“Mr. Chekov,” he began.

The navigator responded excitedly before the captain had a chance to ask the question. “Aye, Captain. Instruments back on line.”

“Radiation levels?”

“Enormously high passing through the dust ring, sir, but the shields held. There is a source of incredible power emanating from the planet—not electromagnetic, not thermal or radioactive. It’s something I’ve never seen.”

“Dangerous?”

“Doubtful, Captain.” Chekov glanced briefly over his shoulder to show Kirk a dazzling smile. “Probably far less dangerous than the Barrier we just passed through.” He looked back down at the readout. “The atmosphere below is ninety-three percent nitrogen; the rest is oxygen and a few trace gases. Entirely breathable. And the temperature is a comfortable twenty-five degrees centigrade.” He smiled again. “Perfect weather for shore leave, sir.”

Sybok watched the two of them expectantly.

Kirk made his decision. “Then if we’re going to do it. . . We’ll do it by the book. Chekov, take the conn. Sulu, standard orbital approach. Uhura, is the transporter fixed?”

“Not yet, sir. Mr. Scott’s working on it.”

“Then alert the shuttlecraft crew to stand by. Sybok, Spock, and Dr. McCoy will come with me. The rest of you will remain on board until we’ve determined what we’re dealing with.”

He turned to Sybok, who stood gaping at him with a joyous expression.

“Well, don’t just stand there,” Jim told him. “God’s a very busy person.”

S
POCK PILOTED
the backup shuttle
Copernicus.
Jim sat between Sybok and McCoy and stared out through the visor as the shuttlecraft entered the planet’s atmosphere. For an instant, the view was obliterated as they descended into the swirling clouds, which parted abruptly as if swept aside by an invisible hand.

Intrigued, Jim leaned closer to the shield. The terrain below was varied: verdant and lush as a rain forest near lakes and streams, breathtakingly Spartan near the highest mountains Jim had ever seen. The entire panorama seemed to glow, awash with primary colors of unearthly brilliance.

“Like Yosemite,” McCoy said half under his breath, “and
then
some.”

“Different,” Jim said. The landscape was a glorious riot of shape and color, ranging from the pale pastels
and low growth of a seascape to the intense, vibrant shades of jungle and forest.

“Captain,” Spock said. There was an uncharacteristic note of urgency in his voice.

Jim looked up to see the Vulcan remove his hands from the controls . . . which continued to move, guided by some invisible force. Clearly amazed, Spock glanced back at Jim.

“I am no longer in control of the craft,” Spock said.

“There!” Sybok cried excitedly. He stretched out an arm and pointed at the scenery below. “That’s it!”

Jim looked. Beneath
Copernicus,
in the far distance, a series of blue-violet peaks formed a perfect circle—too perfect to be the product of natural accident. The mountains stood equidistant, and were of nearly identical height and shape. Jim was oddly reminded of Stonehenge.

Copernicus
descended gently on her own, under Spock’s watchful gaze, and came to a rest several meters outside the ring of mountains.

Before Spock could tend to them, the engines switched themselves off; the exit hatch opened, Jim rose and went over to a storage compartment. He riffled through it and found a communicator, which he slipped onto his belt. He was about to pick up a hand phaser . . . when he felt someone’s eyes on him. He turned.

Sybok was watching with sad disapproval.

“Captain,” he said, “do you really expect to find Klingons here?”

Jim thought about it, then smiled. “Force of habit.” He put the phaser back and shut the compartment.

Sybok was first out, followed by Jim and the others. Before them, the closest of the ancient, rugged peaks rose into the clouds.

Sybok tilted his face up to the sky, his expression one of childlike wonder. “Amazing! The land . . . the sky . . . This is the place of my vision, just as I knew it would be.” He walked with slow, rambling steps; Jim forged past him into the narrow passageway between the bases of two mountains.

On the
Enterprise
bridge, a miracle occurred.

The main viewscreen flickered, then came into abrupt focus, no longer showing the lone planet in its distant orbit, but the landing party as they made their way through the narrow passage.

“What the—” Sulu exclaimed.

Caithlin Dar stared at the screen, quite unable to believe what she was seeing. “Look!” She touched Talbot’s arm.

Talbot glanced up with his pale gray eyes—now that he had released his pain, with Sybok’s help, Talbot’s eyes were very clear, very gentle. At the sight before him, his lips curved into a wide grin. “Now
that’s
what I call Paradise!”

Even Korrd was smiling. “Qui’Tu,” he corrected Talbot.

“You can call it whatever you bloody well like,” Talbot told him, slapping the Klingon’s shoulder. They both laughed.

At their reactions, Commander Uhura swiveled in her chair to see what the excitement was about. Her large eyes widened; she stood up, leaving the communications
board unattended, and crossed over to the helm for a better view of the screen. “How did
that
happen? Who’s transmitting the visual of the planet surface?”

The helmsman, Sulu, shook his head slowly as a smile spread over his face. “No one from the landing party, that’s for sure.”

“Whoever’s doing it, it’s beautiful,” Chekov whispered. He and Sulu rose and stepped around to join Uhura in front of the helm. The three of them exchanged joyous smiles before fixing their gazes back on the screen.

“Where’s Mr. Scott, your engineer?” Caithlin asked suddenly. “Shouldn’t he see this?”

Uhura turned to her with a smile. “That’s a nice thought. He’s in the transporter room. I’ll give him a call.”

She moved back to her station, almost stumbling on her way because she dared not look away from the unfolding scene. She leaned over, so familiar with her board that her fingers found the toggle for the transporter room without her having to look. Eyes still focused on the screen, she said, in an urgent tone, “Scotty?”

“Scott here.” The engineer sounded infinitely weary.

“Scotty, you’ve got to get up here and see this.”

“In a minute,” Scott answered unenthusiastically. “I have no time right now. The captain told me to get the transporter working, and I’m not about to let him down.”

“It’s important! You’ve got to—”

The engineer interrupted her.
“Nothing is
as important
as getting the transporter in working order. I’ve already put it off long enough. Scott out.”

He cut off the communication.

Uhura looked over at Caithlin and sighed. “I tried.” She joined Caithlin, Talbot, and Korrd to marvel at the view on the screen.

Behind them, the unattended defense station at the helm blinked, then emitted a low warning beep as the graphic of a Klingon Bird of Prey appeared on its console screen. A warning flashed:
KLINGON VESSEL IN QUADRANT. RECOMMEND ACTIVATION OF DEFENSE SYSTEMS. AWAITING COMMAND.

No one was there to respond.

Joyfully, Sybok made his way into the center of the mountain circle. All that he had seen—the single planet orbiting the star, the glorious landscape, the impossibly perfect ring of peaks—all of it was exactly as it had appeared in the vision T’Rea had shown him.

His heart was filled with wonder and gladness at the vision made real, but there was one small spot of dark grief: T’Rea could not share his joy.

In the center of the ring was a roughly hewn crater; the effect was that of a natural amphitheater. Sybok scrambled down into its rocky bowl.

Herein lies the One . . .

His heart was beating wildly by the time the others joined him. Spock was taking it all in with his usual reserve. Sybok laughed fondly and addressed his younger brother.

“Spock,” he whispered, inspired to quiet reverence by their magnificent surroundings. “Don’t you understand? We are here, you and I, in Sha Ka Ree!”

Spock wore a noncommittal expression. He stood beside his friends and continued to study their surroundings warily. In reply, he lifted the tricorder that dangled from a strap around his neck and scanned the bowl of the crater. The device hummed softly.

“Fascinating.” Spock said, more to his captain than to his brother. “The force seems to be emanating from a point several kilometers below the surface of this crater. The readings are—” He frowned at the instrument as it emitted a single distressed beep and fell silent. Spock pressed several controls without success. “Readings were off the scale, Captain. It appears the energy flux has damaged the internal mechanisms of the tricorder.” He looked up, his expression puzzled.

“Of course it broke your tricorder, Spock.” Sybok smiled. He needed no more proof. All they had to do now was await the manifestation of the One.

The others waited, somewhat uncomfortably, with him.

Several moments of silence passed . . . moments during which Sybok’s joyous anticipation metamorphosed into impatience, then disappointment, then despair. When he could bear the awful silence no longer, he cried out, beseeching the One of his vision. “We have traveled far,” Sybok shouted, “many light-years, in a starship . . .”

His voice broke. He fell to his knees, bowed by a grief far blacker than the one he had known at his mother’s loss.

Behind him, the captain spoke into his communicator.
“Enterprise,
this is Kirk.”

“I will not leave,” Sybok whispered. He lowered his head.

Someone laid a hand on his shoulder. Sybok glanced up and saw, to his astonishment, Spock.

His younger brother’s expression was, as always, restrained, but Sybok saw the unmistakable compassion in Spock’s eyes. In the midst of his anguish, Sybok felt a small ray of warmth.

His brother’s tone was quietly consoling. “Perhaps,” Spock said, “the energy—”

The crater rumbled mightily, drowning out the sound of Spock’s voice. Sybok pitched forward as the ground under him rocked.

A shadow fell over the amphitheater as the sky darkened from an onrush of jet-colored clouds. The rock beneath Sybok’s hands and knees shuddered; next to him, Spock lost his footing and fell. The earth began to undulate, swelling and rippling like a storm-ravaged sea. An enormous earthquake, Sybok thought—until the impossible occurred.

Along the outer perimeter of the crater, a pillar of sheer rock ripped its way through the barren surface, and hurtled skyward. Sybok held his breath and waited, uncertain what would happen next; these were not the sights T’Rea had unveiled to him.

Another pillar reared up, crashing its way through the rocky ground, into the sky. Another. And another, and another . . . until the crater’s basin was encircled by gigantic fingers of stone.

Sybok watched as the fingers interlaced to form a shrine, a crude cathedral of rock. Abruptly, the earth ceased its torment—but the ground in the center of the shrine began to glow a dull, deep red. As Sybok watched, the earth melted, and the molten rock began to swirl in spiral motion. There came the rushing sound of a mighty wind.

The energy flux Spock had detected deep beneath the crater’s surface was pushing its way to the surface.

“The One!” Sybok cried in triumph as he scrambled to his feet—but the words were swallowed up as a brilliant beam of pure force exploded out of the vortex and burst upward in an erupting geyser of light. Particles of energy flew outward onto the four bystanders. Sybok’s skin tingled electrically where the sparks struck him. Blinded by the raw beauty of the beam, he shielded his eyes with his arm and staggered back against Spock and the others.

A voice spoke—a voice that Sybok thought he knew, but his glad recognition was tainted with a small, dark particle of doubt.

“BRAVE SOULS,” the voice boomed, with infinite power, infinite grandeur. “WELCOME.”

Remarkably, the doctor recovered first. “Is this the voice of God?” McCoy asked in a hushed, respectful tone.

As if in answer to his question, the shaft of light throbbed; the dust within it began to swirl and form shapes. Sybok lowered his arms and watched the light perform a dance of incredible, enticing beauty.