Star Trek V: The Final Frontier (21 page)

The doctor was frowning. “Now, Spock, let me get this straight. You and Sybok have the same father, but different mothers.”

“Correct,” Spock said. Even speaking of the matter was difficult, awkward; he had not spoken his brother’s name aloud, had in no way acknowledged Sybok’s existence, for more than thirty years. “Sybok’s mother was a Vulcan priestess—”

McCoy interrupted. “I thought your father was never married before he met your—”

Spock stopped him. “Legally, he never was. After T’Rea—the priestess, his first wife—decided to devote her life to the priesthood, the marriage was annulled. Such things are permitted members of the priesthood. There had been only one mating cycle, and Sarek was led to believe that the union had borne no fruit. Had he known . . .” Spock paused, then continued. “T’Rea conceived a son and kept his birth a secret. It was not until she died that Sarek learned of his son, Sybok. After that time, he brought Sybok to live with him. Sybok and I were raised as brothers,”
Until the elders banished him forever from Vulcan.

“Why didn’t you tell us this before?” Jim asked. “At least, when you first recognized him from the hostage tape?”

Because he is a criminal
Spock could have said.
Because I am torn. A part of me is deeply ashamed of what he is, and yet another part yearns to call him brother.
Woodenly, he replied: “I was not prepared to discuss . . . matters of such a personal nature. For that I am sorry.”

“Sorry,” Kirk said haggardly. “And the
Enterprise
is in the hands of a lunatic. Who just happens to be your brother.”

McCoy spoke up with surprising ferocity. “Lay off, Jim. Spock couldn’t kill his brother any more than he could kill you. Put yourself in his place. What if it had been Sam?”

Jim turned away, stone-faced.

McCoy persisted. “So if you want to punish him for what he’s done, what are you going to do? Throw him in the brig?”

Jim sighed, relenting. “I guess we’ve got bigger problems to deal with. Such as how we’re going to get out of here.” He glanced over at Spock. “Spock, I shouldn’t have lost my temper. I suppose if the positions had been reversed . . .” He shrugged.

“I quite understand,” Spock said.

Jim’s lips twisted wryly. “For the record, however, I am still galled that someone else has control of my ship.”

“And I,” Spock said, “am quite amazed to find Dr. McCoy rushing to my defense.”

McCoy grunted. “All that time with your
katra
rattling around in my head must have unhinged me.
God help me, I’m starting to see your point of view. I’ll just say this, Spock:
you
never cease to amaze
me.”

“Amen,” Jim echoed.

“Nor I myself,” Spock confessed. He was quite shocked at the conflicting emotions that had filled him upon confronting his brother: hatred, love, anger . . .

Most surprising of all was gratitude.

It is because of Sybok, after all
Spock thought,
that I am who I am.

It was because of Sybok that Spock entered Starfleet.

More than thirty years before, Spock had wandered out into the garden in the cool night and discovered his elder brother sitting in the seclusion of the arbor, weeping.

Sybok made no sound. His face was expressionless, not at all contorted; he merely closed his eyes briefly from time to time and let the tears flow down his cheeks without making any effort to contain them.

Spock was horrified. Up to that moment, Sybok had comported himself in the circumspect Vulcan fashion. Spock had great admiration for him, for Sybok possessed a serene confidence that Spock entirely lacked.

To Spock’s embarrassment, he gasped aloud at the sight of Sybok’s tears. Sybok noted the intrusion and calmly, deliberately, ran both hands over his face and wiped the tears away.

“Forgive me,” Sybok said. “Had I known you were in the garden, I would not have indulged myself. I realize you are offended by such a display of emotion.” His tone was matter-of-fact and entirely free of shame.

Spock was astonished into speechlessness; he stared, wide-eyed, at his brother.

Sybok came close to smiling—a small, ironic smile—which astonished Spock even further. “I was not raised as you were, Spock. I was taught not to fear emotion.”

“I am not afraid,” Spock protested. It occurred to him that this might be a lie, but he was young and decided against such intense self-honesty.

“You
are
afraid,” Sybok corrected him. “The elders have taught you that emotion is the ultimate evil, and you do not think to question their wisdom.”

“Question the elders? But they have acquired much knowledge.”

“What if they are wrong?” Sybok asked simply. His expression was implacable.

Spock began to answer indignantly, then decided against it. For the first time in his life, he considered the possibility that the elders might be wrong. The best tactic, he decided, was evasion. He asked Sybok a question.

“Why are you weeping?”

“For my mother,” Sybok said. It was the first and last time that Spock would hear him speak of her. “Because she is dead, and I miss her, and because I could not keep a promise I once made to her.” Before Spock could ask another question, Sybok said, “You are going to follow in Sarek’s footsteps and become a diplomat,” he said. It was not quite a question; Vulcan custom dictated that Spock would do so, and, besides, Sarek had always said as much.

Spock nodded.

“Is that what you really want, Spock?”

“Of course,” Spock replied . . . and then stopped as the full impact of Sybok’s question struck him.

“Is that what you really want? To live and die to please someone else, to live according to tradition simply because that is the way things have always been done? Is that logical,
t’hyla?”

Spock had no answer then, but from that moment, he began to consider the question in earnest.

Chekov sat in the command chair and puzzled over Mr. Scott’s cryptic message about the hostages. He tried vainly to raise someone—anyone—on the hangar deck, but received no reply.

It occurred to Chekov that he was alone on the bridge. With the captain and Mr. Scott gone, and a skeleton crew of mostly repair technicians, there was no one to relieve him of duty. And he was unarmed. He considered going to his quarters to retrieve a weapon, but leaving the bridge unattended, especially after Scott’s strange communiqué, went against Chekov’s ingrained sense of duty.

No, he could not leave. He would simply wait until he heard from Scott or the landing party. The thought brought the memory of the unpleasant premonition he’d experienced earlier, that something had definitely gone very, very wrong with the landing party’s mission. The captain and the others were in trouble, and Chekov had no way of knowing how to help them.

The lift doors snapped open behind him. Chekov jumped out of the chair and whirled around. At the sight of Sulu and Uhura, his nervousness became relief.

“Thank God.” Chekov grinned. “I was beginning to worry. Where is the captain?”

His relief vanished as the terrorist leader, Sybok, strode onto the bridge. He was followed by the hostages and several armed soldiers. Oddly, the soldiers’ primitive weapons were aimed, not at the three diplomats, not at Sulu or Uhura, but at Chekov alone. Worse yet, Sybok, the diplomats, Sulu, and Uhura were all smiling the same faintly psychotic smile.

Horrified, Chekov took a step backwards and stumbled over the command platform. “He’s done something to you,” he said to Uhura and Sulu. “What has he done to you?”

Uhura moved toward him, her voice warm and soothing. “It’s all right, Pavel. You don’t have to be afraid of anything anymore. Sybok will explain it all to you.”

“I’ve already listened to Sybok enough to know he is a liar.” Chekov directed a cold glare at the Vulcan, who smiled in return.

Sulu swept past Chekov and took his seat at the helm. He began to program in commands.

Aghast, Chekov turned to him. “Sulu, what are you doing?”

Sulu smiled serenely; his attention never wavered from the helm. “Plotting our new course.”

“New course? You have no authority!” Chekov faced Sybok angrily. “What have you done to my friends?”

“Pavel,” Sulu said gently behind him, “I’m doing what I think is right. Listen to what Sybok has to say. For my sake. Please.”

Suddenly Sybok was standing before him, close enough to rest a hand on his shoulder.

“I don’t want to force you,” Sybok said.

The bridge suddenly faded. Chekov was aware of nothing but the Vulcan’s dark eyes. They seemed incredibly ancient, wise . . . and strangely sad.

“I don’t understand,” Chekov protested weakly. His own voice sounded very far away.

“Each of us hides a secret pain,” Sybok told him. Pavel felt the touch of a feverish hand on his brow, though the Vulcan never moved. “Share yours and gain strength from the sharing.”

It would be some time later before Chekov realized that Sybok had spoken to him in Russian.

Kirk’s anger sublimated itself in the need to escape. Inside the brig, Jim balanced precariously on Spock’s shoulders and loosened a circuitry panel. McCoy watched with a notable lack of interest from his place on the bunk.

“Captain.” Spock held Kirk’s ankles in a firm grip. “May I reiterate that this entire attempt is quite useless?”

Instead of sliding away smoothly, as it should have, the panel cover broke off in Jim’s hand. “Shut up, Spock,” he answered pleasantly. “I’m trying to find a way out of here, and I think I’m onto something.” He reached out to touch the partially exposed panel of glowing circuits.

“Unwise,” Spock said.

Jim touched the panel. The resulting shock knocked him to the floor. Spock staggered backwards and barely managed to keep his footing.

McCoy was instantly beside the captain. “You all right, Jim?”

Kirk opened his eyes. “Yes. I think.” He raised his head off the floor and glowered at the Vulcan. “You could’ve at least warned me.”

“He did, Jim.” McCoy helped him to his feet. “You know, I want to take back all that nasty comment I made about this ship. After all, the shields worked, the hangar doors worked. Hell, even the brig works.”

“Now
it has to work,” Jim said crossly. He rubbed the spot on the back of his skull where it had struck the floor. “I don’t care what anyone says. There’s got to be a way out of here.”

Spock clasped his hands behind his back. “This brig is a completely new design, Captain. A flawless one. It is escape-proof.”

“The designers
always
claim the brig’s escape-proof, Spock. What makes you think this time is any different?”

“The designers tested it on the most intelligent and resourceful individual they could find. He failed to escape.”

McCoy shot Jim a look. “This sounds pretty suspicious to me, Jim.”

Kirk narrowed his eyes. “This . . . resourceful individual. He didn’t by any chance have pointed ears and an unerring capacity for getting his shipmates into trouble, did he?”

Spock considered the question thoughtfully. “He
did
have pointed ears.”

“Well, Spock, maybe you couldn’t find a way out by yourself, but the three of us together can accomplish it.”

“I doubt it.” Speck’s tone was matter-of-fact.

“Here, help me up again.” Jim reached for the Vulcan’s shoulder—and stopped. Outside the cell, a monitor screen on the security terminal flickered and came to life with an image of Sybok standing on the bridge flanked by Chekov, Uhura, and Sulu.

“My crew,” Jim said bitterly. He stepped as close to the brig entrance as possible without touching the glowing force field that kept them prisoners. “The bastard’s brainwashed my crew.”

“Brave crew of the starship
Enterprise,”
Sybok intoned dramatically. “Consider the questions of existence: Who am I? Why am I here? Does God exist? These are the questions all beings have asked since they first gazed at the stars and dreamed.

“My Vulcan ancestors were ruled by their emotions. They felt with their hearts, made love with their hearts, believed with their hearts. But modern Vulcan philosophy has stripped away emotion, leading to imbalance and unhappiness. Suppress
all
emotion, Surak insisted. To suppress hate, you must also suppress love.

“Is this truly wisdom? We know no more than our ancestors did about our beginnings. We still grope in darkness, seeking answers to our questions. Unless we are guided by our hearts as well as our intellects, we shall never find them.

“Our ancestors believed in a place where all these questions of existence could be answered. Modern dogma, of course, tells us this place is a myth, a fantasy concocted by misled fanatics. But even in legend one can always find a kernel of truth.” Sybok leaned closer to the screen, his eyes blazing fiercely. “I
tell you that it exists! My sisters and brothers, we have been chosen to undertake the greatest adventure of all time—the discovery of Sha Ka Ree.”

“Fascinating,” Spock whispered. By now he stood next to the captain. “I suppose he believes he has found it.”

“Found
what?”
Jim was baffled.

“Sha Ka Ree. The reason Sybok left Vulcan.” Spock turned his attention back to the screen.

“Just a dad-blame minute,” McCoy said. “What the hell are you two talking about?”

Sybok spoke again. “Our destination: the planet Sha Ka Ree. It lies beyond the Great Barrier at the center of our galaxy.”

His image faded into darkness.

“Bless my soul,” the doctor remarked sarcastically. “Sounds to me like we’re headed for the Promised Land.”

But Kirk drew back, alarmed. “The center of the galaxy?”

“Apparently he intends to take the
Enterprise
there.” Spock looked at him knowingly.

“But the center of the galaxy can’t be reached!” Jim said. “Even a schoolchild knows that! The radiation is too intense. No probe has ever returned from there.”

“Quite true.” Spock’s expression was thoughtful.

“What the hell does he mean? What
is
the Great Barrier?” McCoy demanded.

“An accretion disk,” Spock explained, “bordered by an area which is densely populated by stars.”