nearly all of Kirk’s remaining money to wipe it clean.
Kaseme, no longer feeling endangered, snapped an order in a haughty voice and led the party to a table. He went through his first jug of wine in no time at all, and was waving for a refill when Kirk caught his wrist, calling a halt.
“Tell him that’s all the medicine he gets until I get some answers,” he ordered.
Kaseme looked woebegone at Sara’s words, croaking and rubbing his throat. Kirk glared at him. Kaseme shot a wistful glance at his jug, then began to talk. When he was finished, Sara snapped a few more questions. He responded to each with a shrug and a raising of his palms indicating he didn’t know the answers. Finally, in response to a question from Kaseme, Sara nodded her head. The little man took his wine jug and trotted happily to the bar.
“Well?” Kirk said.
“Problems,” she said unhappily. “Less than an hour ago, a tall hillman wearing a black and red clan mask went into Chag Gara’s house. When he came out, he was carrying a figure wrapped in a blanket over one shoulder. Ker said a couple of the neighbors tried to interfere, but the hooded man paralyzed them with just a touch. So they let him carry Chag Gara away.”
“The nerve pinch!” McCoy burst out.
“Yes,” Kirk said nodding somberly. “It has to be Spock. Only a Vulcan can do that, and now he’s got Gara.”
“It looks as if Spock is invulnerable now,” McCoy muttered.
“We’ll find a way to stop him,” Kirk replied, his voice ringing with more confidence than perhaps he actually felt. Kaseme returned from the bar and plopped down happily, sipped from his wine bowl, and watched the other three talk.
“There’s nothing we can do down here now,” Kirk said. “We’d better get up to the ship and figure out our next move.” He began to stand, but McCoy, gazing at the smiling, curious face of Ker Kaseme, held up a hand.
“Just a second, Jim. We may be missing a bet here.”
“Specify.”
“Our friend here.” McCoy tipped his head toward the healer. “Dops are fine as far as they go, but we’re still strangers in town.”
“So?” Kirk demanded. “What does Kaseme have to do with it?”
“He knows the town. As a healer, he had to have been able to move through all the levels of society. He may be down at the heels now, but he was head of the guild. He probably has a lot of important, official friends who might help us. And,” McCoy looked around at the somnolent figures slumped at the tables of the dingy bar, “he certainly knows the seamier side of Andros rather intimately, I imagine. I think it’s about time we put Scotty to work on our secret weapon.”
“What do you mean?” Sara asked curiously.
“Money.” McCoy tapped Kirk’s depleted purse which lay on the table. “Scotty can turn out perfect replicas of the local coinage for us by the bushel, using the matter converters. I’ll bet if we filled Kaseme’s pockets full enough, he could get the charges against him dropped in no time. He’d make a perfect front man.”
Kirk nodded thoughtfully. “You’re right, Bones. We can’t use the inn as our safe house any longer. Spock knows about it, and he’s apt to counterattack any time. If Ker could get back into the Healer’s Guild, he could rent a house as a clinic. It would be a perfect cover for our operations.”
The little Kyrosian drained his bowl and smiled at Kirk. Kirk smiled back and handed him the purse of coins.
“Sara, ask him if…”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Captain’s log: Stardate 6724.2:
Ker Kaseme is once again a healer in good standing. He is so delighted with his sudden change of fortune that he has his proclivity toward wine and women under control and is giving us absolute cooperation. He has opened a clinic in a large house near the central square. The back of it is reserved for our use and, because of the constant flow of patients in and out of the clinic part, we can enter and leave without question. McCoy and I now have implants and we are able to pass as native healers, members of Kaseme’s staff. Kaseme knows which side his bread is buttered on and has accepted our identity switch. He must be puzzled, though, when McCoy displays some of his own mannerisms. Kaseme doesn’t know it, of course, but he is our chief surgeon’s dop.
Kaseme’s contacts have reported the location of Speck’s headquarters. Unfortunately, it is so well guarded by his hill followers that any direct assault is out of the question. We have been unable to come up with a plan for forcible entry that wouldn’t alert Spock in time for him to carry out his threat to destroy the trilithium modules.
Spock is up to something—a number of hill chiefs have visited him in the last two days—but we haven’t been able to find out what it is. Little time is left. Unless we can recover the crystals in the next five days, we will be forced to abandon the Enterprise.
Captain James Kirk, now known as Healer Hirga, sat at a makeshift desk in a room at the rear of Kaseme’s clinic. Dr. McCoy, alias Healer Makai, snored softly on a cot at the far side of the room. Behind Kirk, a heavy door closed off the room used as a transporter terminal. Since communicators couldn’t be used to call the Enterprise for a pick-up because of the Messiah’s threat, a schedule had been worked out that automatically energized the transporters every fifteen minutes. Time was measured by a large and complicated water clock that stood beside Kirk’s desk.
Kirk rose to his feet as a faint hum sounded from the inner room. A moment later the door opened and Lieutenant Commander Scott entered the room.
“I think this will do the job, Captain,” he said, handing Kirk a silver rod which was richly ornamented with gold rings and jeweled studs.
Kirk turned the rod over in his hands and examined it critically. “Good job, Scotty,” he said. “It’ll pass as a healer’s wand—same heft and everything. How does it work?”
“If I may, sir,” Scott said, taking the wand back. He pointed to one stud set with a tiny opal. “The trigger. The band next to it is the safety. Turn it to the right to activate the firing mechanism. Like this.” He turned the ring and pointed it toward the cot where McCoy lay sleeping. When he pressed the stud there was a slight hiss and then a thunk as a tiny dart slammed into the wall a few centimeters above McCoy’s head. The sleeping doctor woke with a start.
“What was that?” he said in a blurry voice.
“Naething,” Scott said. “Go back to sleep.” He handed the wand back to Kirk. “There’s a clip o’ twenty darts in the butt. Each one is made from 1.4 hyperpyroxine which will dissolve instantly upon impact. Paralysis is instantaneous, according to Dr. Mbenga. Anybody hit with one of those won’t be able to move a muscle for at least an hour. The range is limited though, aboot ten meters. You’ll have to get pretty close to Mr. Spock to hit him.”
“No problem there,” Kirk said. “Healers are privileged people on Kyros, and after Spock is down, his bodyguards won’t want to bother us.” He glanced at the water clock. “Only a few hours left. Is the landing party standing by?”
“Aye, sir,” Scott replied. “The twenty with implants are disguised as hillmen and will meet you in the square. I’ll have another twenty armed with Kyrosian weapons here as a back-up force in case of trouble.”
“Good,” Kirk said. “When you get back up to the ship, notify Security Chief Pulaski that there’s been a slight change of plans. Ker brought me word an hour ago that the time of Spock’s mass meeting has been moved up from early dusk to late dusk. I don’t know why, but Spock never does anything without a reason. There’s been a whispering campaign going on about the powers of the new Messiah. He’s promised to perform a spectacular public miracle tonight. I imagine half the town will be there.”
“The more, the better,” McCoy said, rising from the bunk. “There’ll be just that much more confusion when Kaseme’s boys go into action.”
