"And my dear friend Scotty, too," McCoy continued blithely. "And that pretty little Lieutenant Uhura. Why, I guess I've saved just about everybody on this ship, one time or another." He looked around the room, saw nothing unusual in the highly unmedical activity.
"If the Enterprise had a heart, I'd save her, too." He found himself sniffing away a tear, smiled down at his companion. "Let's talk about your heart, my dear Lyra—"
Kirk walked over to Mudd, backed the trader up against one wall. "How long does the effect of the potion last, Harry?"
"I . . . I don't know." Kirk reflected that he was still probably in shock. Not from the sudden appearance of the monsters, but from the revelation that he had probably been involved in an honest deal. "I didn't know it was going to have any lasting effects at all, so I didn't ask."
"Well how long," pressed an exasperated Kirk, "did the 'crazy old medicine man' say it was supposed to last?"
"Not long."
"What do you mean, 'not long'? He must have told you something about its effects—whether you thought they were foolish or not."
"Actually—you're hurting my arm, Captain—he was starting to, but I wanted to complete the transaction as smoothly as possible before he discovered the credit slips I paid him with were counterfeit."
"Then how—" but Kirk was interrupted by a startled shout from Chapel. He turned from Mudd, saw her pointing toward the entrance of the cleft.
Both monsters lumbered into view, blocking out much of the light as they moved between the setting suns and the crevice. Their heads, black icebergs, swayed slowly from side to side in searching motions. Then they stopped. The head of the nearest one stared into the cleft, three great glassy eyes pinning the humans under an overpowering, unthinking gaze.
Kirk handed his communicator to Chapel. "Keep trying to contact the Enterprise, Nurse." He looked from Mudd to Spock.
"Maybe we can divert them, somehow."
"That is an outstandingly stupid idea, Captain," Spock commented. He stopped, flustered. "I'm sorry, Captain, it's the drug. I simply doubt that we can successfully appeal to their better nature—if they have one. Nor do I think they would respond to having their backs scratched—it would take a landing craft to make an impression. And phaser fire only seems to make them madder."
"I wasn't thinking of anything like that, Spock. There's a terran expression that dates from ancient times, 'make love, not war.' Harry, do you have any of those crystals left?"
"Check his shoes, Captain. They're like his head," Chapel suggested. But it wasn't necessary. Mudd was voluntarily going through his pockets—and he found something. One hand came out, started to open, and then clamped tight. He started to slide away, along the wall.
"No, they're worth a fortune. My friends, dear Christine—" He was appealing to all of them. "I'll share it with you, I'll—"
Kirk reached out easily and clamped a hand around Mudd's wrist, smiling tightly.
"Ah, Captain, you're hurting me again. This archaic resort to crude physical force isn't like you, Captain." Mudd was trying very hard to keep smiling.
"Another second, Harry, and I'll crudely break it. Don't worry. When you're unconscious, you don't feel any pain."
"Since you put it that way, Captain—" His palm opened reluctantly, and Kirk took the three crystals thus revealed. Mudd bit his lower lip as he watched them go. "Perhaps just one, Captain? To encourage my continuing an honest career?"
But Kirk was already moving toward the entrance of the now blocked crevice.
IX
On the bridge, the air was empty of all music. Not having effected actual contact with the love potion, but only inhaled a diluted vapor from it, the rest of the crew was rapidly reverting to normal.
M'ress started to stretch, stopped, and snarled. One paw went to her head, and she rubbed it tiredly. It seemed she'd been at some kind of party.
Scott walked over to her, exhibiting similar signs of an inner pain. "I've got a hangover to rank with the finest," he mumbled loudly. His voice rose to a near shout as he further declared, "And I dinna touch a dram o' that scotch!"
"Not so loud, you idiot!" M'ress pleaded, now putting both hands to her ringing head.
"Idiot, is it? Well, all of a sudden I'm not so crazy about you, either, Lieutenant." Scott glared at her.
The ground-to-ship channel crackled for attention. "Surface party to Enterprise—surface to Enterprise," came a weary voice barely recognizable as belonging to Head Nurse Christine Chapel. "Emergency beam up . . . repeat, request emergency beam up."
Both officers reacted simultaneously, looking at each other in surprise.
M'ress broke free of it, slapped over a switch, and snarled into the mike. "Enterprise here . . . is that you, Nurse Chapel? What's going on?"
Chapel nearly stumbled in her excitement "Captain, I made contact!"
"Marvelous," a grim-faced Kirk replied, from up ahead. "I hope we last long enough to be beamed up."
The first leviathan was nearing the cleft. Any moment now a massive paw might rise up, descend on the rim of their refuge. The rock overhead seemed strong enough to keep even that heavy blow from them, but they were sure to be buried under an avalanche of loosened stone.
"It's seen me," Kirk yelled back to the others, hugging to the side of the cleft. "I need something to draw its attention. Phasers, Spock."
Spock moved to stand in the open, and a trembling Mudd forced himself to follow.
Holding the crystals in his right hand, phaser ready in his left, Kirk dashed out of the crevice.
He ran directly toward the first creature. Eyes the size of shuttle-bay doors inclined slowly to follow him.
Kirk ran to his right now, staying close against the base of the plug. As soon as the great head had turned to the side to follow him, Spock and Mudd fired.
Once again two beams of concentrated energy made contact with the skull. Once more the monster bucked, shrieking. The cavernous mouth opened.
Running down from the shielding stone and toward the living mountain, Kirk arched his arm, throwing the crystals with all his strength. They flew up and disappeared somewhere down that endless dark tunnel.
The mouth shut tight. The head swung back down toward Kirk and stopped. He watched it, paralyzed by those pondlike eyes. It hadn't made anything as recognizable as a swallowing motion—but then they had no idea what the monster's digestive system was like. In any case, there was no point in hesitating. All bets were placed; it was time to declare their hand.
Kirk ran toward the nearest enormous limb and slapped it firmly with both hands, twice. If this failed to work he was likely to die any minute. At least it might give Spock, Chapel, and Mudd a chance to beam up.
"Kyle!" M'ress was shouting into the intership communicator, "Transporter Chief Kyle, acknowledge!"
In the transporter room, Kyle searched frantically for the suddenly elusive intercom controls, finally located them. "Kyle here . . . I think. What's wrong, Lieutenant?"
"Are you utterly incompetent?" M'ress howled, ignoring her own recent lapse in efficiency. "Didn't you hear—the Captain's requesting emergency beam up!"
"Emergency—I've been," a hand went to his forehead. "I've been ill."
"We've all been ill. For Amara's sake, Chief, beam them up!"
"Yes . . . yes," groaned Kyle, his head ringing with M'ress's command. "I'll do anything . . . only please stop shouting." He broke off and began working frantically at the transporter controls.
Kirk stumbled backward. The massive leg he had just touched was lifting skyward, seemingly propelled by a hidden crane. It hung poised there for a moment, then started to descend. He looked in all directions, but there was no place to run, and he was too far out to get back to the cleft.
The cliff side near him now was a solid wall, without even a cubbyhole to squirm into. The paw came down slowly, slowly. He closed his eyes and waited for death.
There was a deep, muffled thump—then nothing. He blinked.
> The nearest talon, one of three massive hooks sprouting from the paw, had slammed down just next to him. It moved sideways, knocking him on his back gently.
Kirk looked upward, above the claw, to the looming face. It stared down at him blankly, expressionless and alien. Rolling over carefully, he caught his breath and then threw a handful of sand into the air, letting out a joyful whoop.
Spock, Mudd, and Chapel had moved to the edge of the crevice to watch the drama play itself out. They started to cheer, and Kirk ran jubilantly to join them.
"It worked, by God, it worked!" Mudd seemed to be sniffling and mumbling something about his lost riches, but the others were sharing Kirk's excitement.
They were stunned to silence by a screaming whistle.
They had forgotten about the second monster.
Cilia fluttering around the inside of its mouth, the other monster had turned toward the cleft entrance and was heading for them. Kirk scrambled backward with the others, drawing his phaser. Spock and Mudd lifted theirs a moment later.
Another whistling shriek shattered the dry air. The second beast halted its ponderous attack as a gigantic paw swung past barely missing it. The first monster had spun around and now blocked the path of the second.
The wave of sand thrown up by the first creature inundated Kirk and the others, knocking them off their feet and burying Spock up to his waist. Mudd lost his phaser and Kirk his. They scrambled to free themselves.
A reverberating tremor followed as the two beast-mountains slammed into each other, multiple legs clawing at sides and face, circular mouths straining for a vacuuming grip on uneven body surfaces.
Kirk nearly fell again as they retreated back into the cleft. A rear leg swung wildly and tore away meters of cliff-face near the top of the crevice. A shower of rock came down, barricading the humans inside the cleft.
The earth shook as the two titans threw blow after blow at one another. Every time one of the multiple-ton paws connected, there was a clap like thunder.
The second beast struck a powerful blow, knocking the first aside, and was battered off its feet in turn. As it tumbled, the gigantic skull crashed against the front of the sheltering cleft and jammed there, cracking free more rock. A monstrous evil eye glared directly at them.
One huge front leg shoved the creature to its feet again. The other lifted and reached inward, straining for the four trapped figures, descending toward four sparkling pillars of rainbow-hued light, finally landing to scoop out a deep pit in the sand where Kirk, Spock, Mudd, and Chapel had stood helplessly only seconds before.
"And then, on Ophiucus VI," Mudd continued, his cheerful form wavering from behind the vision-distorting force-field, "I conned two miners out of a year's supply of dilithium crystals with fake Federation credit vouchers." He grinned in remembrance.
"They weren't too hysterical about that, though, miners are very philosophical types. We might have settled the misunderstanding amicably, if only they hadn't discovered so soon that the Andalusian pleasure slave I'd given them in exchange for the fake vouchers was a pneumatic automaton. That's when they became rather nonplussed—though that wasn't the exact term they used—and I was forced to bid a hasty adieu to their charming frontier world."
"May I be of help in recording the confession, Nurse Chapel?" Spock inquired helpfully. He had just exited from the elevator, curious to find out how the recording was going. Chapel put a temporary hold on the recorder and looked up at him bitterly.
"You? You'd be the last person I'd choose." Her gaze traveled from the first officer's foot to his head, then turned sharply away. Spock merely raised his eyebrows, then turned his attention over to Mudd.
"A few minutes of love, now to be paid-for with many hours of hatred—the usual way of human emotions, it seems. I do not think your potion would be a very good buy even at half the price, Harry Mudd."
"Ah well, Spock, you know how it is," Mudd replied easily. "So few things in this universe live up to their reputations."
"Except you, Harry. I should say that you live up to yours in a style few other sentients can boast of—or would want to."
"As neat a backhanded compliment as ever I've had, Spock," Mudd applauded. His head cocked questioningly to one side. "Think I'll get rehabilitation therapy again?"
"I would almost guarantee it, Harry Mudd, though I fail to observe any beneficial effects in you of such past treatment."
"No, it doesn't seem to work too well on me, does it?" Mudd agreed. "It's not easy, you know, Spock, when you're born with a name like Mudd. At least I do have, as you say, the virtue of consistency."
"In your case, Harry, it's hardly a virtue."
"Rehabilitation therapy," murmured Chapel, her eyes gleaming. One hand opened and closed rhythmically. She stared through the force-field.
"I think maybe it would do Harry more good if he had a dose of good old-fashioned cruel and unusual punishment instead."
"Now, now, my dear Christine," Mudd said, "is that a proper attitude for a dispenser of healing to have? Besides, I'm an official Federation prisoner, and as such I'm entitled to a little—"
"Maybe you'd better finish this for me, after all, Mr. Spock," she said, staring at Mudd with a look Florence Nightingale would have found appalling. She handed him the tricorder, clenching both hands nervously behind her back.
"I should think you would be getting used to rehabilitation therapy by now," Spock mused conversationally, his scientific curiosity aroused.
"You never get used to it, Spock, but that doesn't matter. That's not what's really bothering me."
"There is something troubling you more than the prospect of renewed therapy?" Spock noted. "Most interesting."
"You see," Mudd continued, "it's only that I hate to leave you all." He smiled dangerously. "All my loved ones . . ."
Despite the fact that Mudd was declared absolutely off limits to all members of the crew, that his meals were always served up by automatons, and that no one visited him for whatever reason except in twos, Kirk didn't relax until they had entered orbit around Star-fleet sector headquarters at Darius.
They gave him back his own clothes, then—minus the astonishing assortment of miniature devices concealed within the material—turned him over to an escort party made up of Kirk's best security people.
Cheerful to the last, Mudd waved friendly good-byes to them all as he was turned over to ground-based Peaceforcer personnel. He was still waving as they led him through the sliding doors of the Legal Building.
Watching him depart, Kirk couldn't help but wonder if Mudd were not already at work trying to convince his escorts into not only letting him go, but into turning over their identification cards and weapons as well.
If he got a single ranking official into a card game, the planet was lost.
Kirk hoped for at least a moderate layover. But as it developed there was no time to rest and enjoy the pleasures Darius had to offer. Orders were waiting for him as soon as he and the security party beamed back aboard.
"Communication from Starfleet Science Headquarters, Captain," said Sulu as Kirk reentered the bridge. "Confidential. Mr. Spock is waiting for you in your quarters."
"Thank you, Mr. Sulu."
Well, that was fast. Something especially interesting must be up if Spock felt the need of discussing the orders in private.
The first officer of the Enterprise was seated at the large central desk in Kirk's rooms. He swiveled to face the Captain as he entered.
"I trust, Captain, that Harry Mudd is safe in custody?"
"I'd feel better if they would give his tongue rehabilitation therapy instead of his mind. One appears to operate independently of the other. But I think we've seen the last of Harcourt Fenton Mudd—I hope.
"I understand from Mr. Sulu that you've kept the new orders secret. By their urgency I gather that they don't allow us time for a rest orbit."
"It would appear not, Captain, though I have only played the first portion of them." He hefted a small
microtape cassette. "Here is the communication from Science Center. I think you will find it interesting." He slipped the cassette into the desk play-back slot. Kirk sat down.
A young science officer appeared on the screen in front of them. He was standing alone in a chamber that gave signs of extending above and behind him to considerable distances. The camera pulled back and showed that this was indeed the case. It also identified the particular chamber to Kirk and Spock.
Rising from floor almost to ceiling was a full-scale reproduction of the Megasphere—the gigantic artificial construct which was an exact model of the Milky Way. Distances between the stars, nebulae, black holes, neutron stars, and other objects were to scale—though the stars and other intragalactic objects were not. If so represented, they would have had to have been built so small as to be visible only under a microscope.
All galactic coordinates for starship navigational computers and all scientific referents to galactic structure were drawn from the Megasphere. Only two originals existed—one on Earth, the other on Vulcan.
New stellar discoveries were constantly being added, a titanic task in itself, as the proper insertion of a newly charted star into the Megasphere was work for specially designed computer controlled microhandlers. As it was, maintaining accuracy within the colossal model was a job involving weeks of preparation merely to design new microhandlers to perform the actual insertion.
Banks of special lights flooded the Megasphere from every angle. The light was picked up, amplified, and thrown back into near darkness by special photosensitive material. Bulbs or any kind of powered light source were too clumsy and too difficult to use. The photosensitive material used would never wear out, never need replacement.
Half a dozen special gravity field generators held the stellar model intact, any one of which could maintain the Megasphere. If for some unforeseeable reason all six failed simultaneously, the work of years would fall to the chamber floor in a shower of tiny glowing pebbles.