Not long after, the job was done. The long wagon tongue, hinged where it was connected to the front of the wagon, now stood erect, a sturdy mast. A timber had been attached about a third of the way up the tongue to serve as a boom, and the canvas-like covering that protected the trade goods in the wagon was ready to be rigged as a sail.
“Sara,” Kirk called to the woman, who was happily cavorting in the water a hundred meters out, “we’re ready to launch. Come in and keep an eye on the neelots, while we take the van and the cargo across.”
As she came flashing toward them, like a graceful mermaid, the four men put their shoulders to the back of the van and rolled it down the slope into the water. Then, as it bobbed gently like a great floating box, they went back and rolled down the wagon.
“Can I help?” called Sara, as she pulled herself onto a sun-warmed rock, as unconcerned about her nudity as a child.
“Now you can,” Kirk replied. He removed his neelot-hide boots and waded out to where the van and the wagon floated a few meters apart. “You can give me a hand getting these two hooked together.” She dove back into the water and surfaced at his side. He reached under the front of the van and took hold of the protruding end of the telescoping pole. He pulled it out a few meters and-then slid the tip into a socket at the rear of the floating wagon, locking it into place with a metal pin.
“Push the wagon on out until this thing’s fully extended,” he said. “I’ll set the locking pins at each of the joints.”
Sara dug her feet into the sand of the gently shelving bottom, and pushed the van out into the lake until the rod was fully extended.
“That’s it,” Kirk said as he moved toward her, reaching under water at each junction of the sections to lock it in place. “We’re ready to go.”
“I guess it’s a boat now,” Sara said. “But why break it into two parts?”
“The van’s so high,” Kirk answered, “it would cut off most of the wind. It’s a stubby mast. Why don’t you untether the neelots and water them? They’re probably as thirsty as we.”
The girl nodded, swam back to the rock, and slipped into her clothes. McCoy and the rest waded out and climbed up on the wagon. Scott broke into an off-key rendition of “Anchors Aweigh,” as Kirk hoisted the sail and let the boom swing out until it was almost at right angles to the wagon. Slowly, as the wind bellied out the one-piece canvas-like covering, the strange craft began to gather momentum. The van rode decorously behind, kept in position by the long, flexible connecting pole.
“Ready on the brake, Bones,” Kirk said as the front wheels made contact with the shelving bottom of the opposite shore, and the wagon began to roll up out of the water. When it was far enough inland so the van also was beached, McCoy brought the vehicle to a halt
Chekov jumped down and released the connecting rod from its socket, telescoping each section until all of it had slid back into its protective tunnel under the van. In the meantime, Kirk and the other two dropped the tailgate of the wagon and were busily unloading bundles of trade goods.
When the wagon was finally empty, McCoy released the brake and it went sailing down the beach, entering the water at an angle as Kirk tacked into the northerly wind. Once across the small lake, they loaded the neelots into the now empty wagon and again set sail for the opposite shore.
It took an hour of arduous brush-hacking before they finally got back onto the main road. Before it had seemed like only a rutted cart trail, but compared to what they had been over on their detour, it was more like a broad highway.
When they were almost at the top of a long slope, Kirk turned the reins over to McCoy and unrolled the map.
“We should reach the Androsian mining settlement in a couple of hours,” he said. “Once over the crest, the road doglegs into a narrow canyon. The mines and the workers’ huts are located where it widens out The smelter is up a side canyon near a stream that supplies water for its operation.” He raised his eyes from the map and rolled it closed. “Beshwa have been here before, so this will be the first test of how well we’ll be able to pass.”
“That will be no problem, Captain,” said a confident voice from the rear. Kirk turned. Chekov had made a comfortable nest with carefully arranged bundles and a soft fur blanket. He sprawled indolently. “As long as we have our dops to cue us, nobody will be able to tell us from the real thing”
“Except for Sara,” Scott said. “She isnae linked to a Beshwa.”
Chekov chortled. “Sara doesn’t need a Beshwa dop. As long as there are males around, our little belly dancer will be able to handle the situation. Right, little vabushka?” he said, reaching over as if to pat her firmly rounded rump.
“Ensign George to you, if you please,” she said. “And keep your hands to yourself. My dop doesn’t engage in erotic play with children.”
Chekov’s retort was cut off by a sudden roll of thunder. Dark storm clouds were piling up over the mountains to the west and rapidly moving toward them.
“Looks like another soaker coming up,” Kirk said. “That radiation front is really screwing up Kyros’s weather. Better get in the van; no point in all of us getting wet.”
For the next hour the caravan crawled through the beating rain, climbing steadily up the road that snaked along the bottom of the winding canyon that led through the hills to the mining settlement. Finally the rain tapered off; and when Kirk stopped to rest the neelots, the others came out of the van and climbed back into the wagon.
“Dismal territory,” Kirk remarked.
The surrounding foothills were even more tumbled, rough, and rock-and-bush-strewn than they had appeared in the photos taken by the automatic survey cameras aboard the Enterprise. The sky was sullen gray, pregnant with dark, swollen thunderheads. Shivering, Kirk slapped the reins and urged the neelots into motion.
When another hour had passed, they seemed to have almost reached the crest of the range of hills. The cloud cover had lightened considerably, parting occasionally to let a watery sun appear.
Suddenly McCoy gripped Kirk’s arm.
“Look, Jim,” he said, pointing. “Over there, a little to the left. Isn’t that smoke?”
“It’s probably just mist.”
McCoy sniffed the air. “Mist never smelled like that,” he said. “There’s something burning ahead.”
Kirk took a whip from its socket beside the seat and cracked it over the neelots’ heads. They broke into a loose-jointed canter. When the caravan finally topped the crest of the hill and Kirk saw what lay ahead, he jerked back sharply on the reins, bringing the caravan to a sudden halt.
“What’s going on?” Sara’s voice called from the rear.
“Stand up and see,” Kirk replied grimly. “Spock must be already on the march.”
A gusting wind, moaning dirge-like from the mountains, carried smoke and the smell of slaughter to the stunned travelers. Kirk sat, staring down at the scene of carnage. McCoy rose partway from his seat, his mouth open, and Chekov stared, shock scrawled across his boyish face. Only Scott spoke.
“Great Lord of Space…”
CHAPTER TWELVE
From the point where the caravan stood, the road ran in switchbacks down a steep hill. At the bottom stretched the smoking ruins of a small village. Kirk sat unmoving for a long minute. Nothing stirred below. Finally, he released the brake and guided the caravan down the twisting road, stopping at last at a half-open gate in the stockade that surrounded the village.
It creaked slightly on its hinges, swinging slowly forward and then back as it was caught by gusts of wind. Hanging from it, pinioned grotesquely, was the spear-skewered body of a young Androsian in military dress. Several more bodies stood in military array against the palisade walls on each side of the gate, held erect by swords, their own swords, which had been pounded through their chests into the wood behind like giant nails.
Kirk tapped the reins and the caravan moved slowly through the gate. As the wind blew it almost shut again,
