A curved eyebrow lifted. "I just did, Doctor."
McCoy rolled his eyes toward the heavens—which currently could be in any direction—in mock supplication, before resuming his conversation with the feline communications officer.
The Enterprise operated with quiet efficiency for the next several moments. No questioning beam rose from the surface to greet them, which was fine with Kirk. The Arcadians left visitors to fend for themselves. They weren't antagonistic, but neither was hospitality one of the noteworthy features of their world.
"We are approaching parking orbit, Captain."
"Very well, Mr. Arex." And still no beam from the planet—fine. At the moment, anonymity was the thing Kirk desired most. "Okay, Spock, let's see how accurate your percentages are." He slipped out of the command chair, and both officers headed for the bridge elevator.
"Mr. Sulu, you're in charge. We don't plan to be gone very long. Tell Chief Kyle to expect three to beam up . . . and it might have to be fast."
"Aye, sir," acknowledged Sulu, moving to relay the instructions over the intercom.
"And you might remind him, Mr. Sulu, that he need waste no time computing Mudd's transporter pattern," Kirk added grimly. "We've got sufficient ones of our own already on record."
"Doubtless that is one reason why Starfleet chose us to attempt to locate him, Captain," Spock suggested.
"Yes. Aren't we lucky, Mr. Spock?"
"On the contrary, Captain, I would have thought that your sentiments in this would tend to—" he hesitated, noting Kirk's expression. "Oh, I see, Captain, you are being sarcastic."
"That's a mild enough term for it, Spock." He sighed. "In any case, if he is down there, Kyle will find him for us quickly enough"
"I do not doubt that Harry Mudd's transporter pattern is as distinctive as its owner," Spock agreed, as the elevator doors slid open.
The ship was small, battered, and—well, rather than go so far so to label it decrepit, it was kinder to call it an interesting hybrid of the antique and the baroque.
It lay now a couple of kilometers outside the small, semipermanent town that sidled up against the base of rugged dark mountains. An engineer given a fast glance at the ship's silhouette would have admitted that here was a vessel capable of interstellar travel—though barely, just barely.
A really first-class warp-drive would have torn the aged metal to pieces. Why, it even had fore and aft rockets for free-landing, and narrow atmospheric fins! It bore no substitute identification, and all normal serial numbers had been battered out of shape . . . or possibly erased.
At the moment the curved landing ramp was extended, and the small crowd that had come from town was assembled about its base. They were listening to the ship's owner, pilot, and principal spokesman, who was now pontificating from a point halfway up the aforementioned ramp.
The single human was Harcourt Fenton Mudd, and he was well into his spiel:
"Now, all of you here are involved in heavy metals mining, am I right?" No answering shout of agreement resounded from the stony knot of beings. Mudd continued on as if his question had been answered loudly by all present
"You're no dummies or you wouldn't be here. Most of you are by nature endowed with a certain rustic shrewdness and intelligence, right?" There, that generated a muffled, slightly confused chorus of "yeas."
"Therefore you can appreciate the special value I'm offering." Mudd's audience stirred restlessly, wishing that he would get to his point and leave them to go about their business. The group had grown from a couple of curious onlookers to about a dozen of the local inhabitants.
Seven of them were normal humans, two were vaguely humanoid—ursinoids, a male and his mate.
There was also one heavy-planet humanoid—an almost squarely built, thickly muscled, short man. And a monopedal, its crown of tentacles fluttering gently above triple eyes. Behind him a tall avian, a pink, thin creature with a brilliant crest of feathers running from the center of its forehead down its back. It clutched tridigited hands at a stout walking stick.
The avian not only looked out of place compared to even the normal humans, it was. Without the special walking stick, the slightly above G gravity would pull it shivering to the ground.
But greed has a way of transcending interspecies differences. The avian was willing to endure the back-breaking gravity and the hellish toil of mining in it for the chance to feather its own nest some day.
One of the humans took a challenging step forward and spoke aggressively.
"You sure you ain't just dry-holin' us with all this chatter, Harry?"
"I, sir?" Mudd drew himself up with vast dignity. "On my honor, ladies and gentlemen . . ."
"To perdition with your honor!" snorted another of the humans. "Let's see this marvelous watchamacallit, already. I got important things to do."
"Sure, Rafe," came a voice in the crowd, "but I seen what you're minin', and it ain't quartzine!" There was a guffaw from the crowd while the furious Rafe searched angrily for the jokester.
"Very well," said Harry hastily, deciding he had better make his pitch before his audience either melted away or degenerated into a fight ring. He reached into a jacket pocket and held up the object of his talk, further stimulating the audience's mildly whetted curiosity.
The object was a small crystal—multispined and milky colored. But the creamy color came not from the material of the crystal, which was actually clear as ice, but from the viscous fluid that nearly filled the hollow interior.
Mudd shook his hand a little, and as the liquid shifted inside the specimen, internal prisms threw a shower of different colors out over the crowd. All the miners had seen more spectacular stones, but this liquid-within gem was something new. Indeed it seemed far too fragile to be cut and faceted.
Those in the front pushed near for a better look, while those in the back of the group strained to see over them. They were no longer openly skeptical, but instead they were intent on the crystal. Almost as intent as Mudd was on them.
Since everyone present had eyes only for the crystal, and Mudd had eyes only for potential customers, no one noticed the quiet arrival of Kirk and Spock when the two starship officers materialized on the other side of the crowd, at the far end of Mudd's ship.
"Probability confirmed, Spock," whispered Kirk in satisfaction, recognizing their old nemesis immediately. The voice alone was enough. "I'd like to take him right now, but—"
"Naturally, Captain. I confess that I share your impatience. Yet it would be best to have all possible real evidence to return with, and a cursory examination of the situation indicates that such is being offered us."
He slipped the tricorder off his shoulder, aimed it at Mudd, and turned up the power on the directional mike.
"It's true," Mudd was saying. "With this magical liquid, no person of the opposite sex can resist you. For those interested in . . . diversions . . . even members of another race are not immune. None can resist it! It matters not whether you're young, old, fat, ugly, pregnant, hirsute—"
There was a snarl from the back of the crowd, and the male ursinoid, his thick fur bristling, lifted one paw with claws extended and took a step forward. His companions restrained him.
"Nothing personal, gentlebeing," Mudd apologized hastily. "Excuse me if in my enthusiasm for my product I refer only to human standards of beauty." The ursinoid snarled louder—to him, he was the human here. Three men had to hold him back from attacking Mudd. Not that they cared particularly if Shu-luft made small Mudd's from the original, but they were getting interested in that crystal.
Mudd took a nervous step back up the platform. "I didn't mean . . . that is—"
Someone in the front laughed. Soon the laughter spread throughout the crowd. The male ursinoid looked around at the amused faces, and the incongruity of his anger finally hit home. He relaxed, smiling sheepishly. So did Harry.
"Proof, man," Shu-luft finally growled.
" 'Tis proof you wish, my furry friend, then 'tis proof
you shall have." He turned and made a grandiose gesture toward the ship. "Behold!"
A girl no one would have taken for ursinoid stepped from inside the central cabin. Walking—no, floating—she moved to stand next to Mudd. She entwined herself around his left arm and gazed up at him with an expression of rapturous adoration, the kind classical painters usually reserved for angels adoring the Magi.
Her voice was low and throaty, exactly the sort one would expect would accompany such a stunning vision.
"Harry, darling," she sighed, loud enough for even those at the back to hear, "I was lonely for you."
It's doubtful that any of the human miners heard her anyway. There were too busy staring at her with rapturous expressions, the kind that miners usually reserved for drooling over a thousand-kilo deposit of durallium wire-ore.
Such delicate yet voluptuous types as this girl were understandably rare on a rough and tumble world like Motherlode. Those few who did put up with its crude attractions were not inclined to do so in the company of men like these.
"Yes, behold," repeated Mudd, fully conscious of the effect the girl was having on his audience. Mudd knew that they were, in the aged and venerable terran expression of his predecessors, hooked. "I placed but a single drop of this miracle substance on myself and then simply touched this young lady . . . made the briefest of physical contact, and—"
"Please, darling," the girl interrupted, cooing. "Can't you come back into the ship with me now?" She pressed herself tight against him, slid her left arm around his neck and began caressing an ear.
"How . . . how much?" one of the miners finally managed to gurgle. His companions could only nod.
"How much?" echoed Mudd easily. "Sir, do I mean to interpret your inquiry correctly when I say that you are asking the—and I blush to say it—price of this item?"
"That's what I said," the miner mumbled, still gawking at the girl as she clung to Mudd.
"A mere pittance, sir. A pitiful sum, miniscule, since I believe one should not profit overmuch from the sale of love." He paused. "Three hundred credits, or the equivalent in refined ship fuels."
Anyone observing the audience would have bet that nothing in the galaxy could have torn the attention of the men present away from the slender shape now running her fingers through Mudd's hair. But Harry's pronouncement had done it.
"Three hundred credits!" the miner stammered.
"Well, perhaps it is more than a pittance," Mudd conceded, aware of the sudden murmuring in the crowd. "But still a bargain, a bargain. How can one set a price on true love?" He coughed slightly.
"You can, of course, shop elsewhere for this little bauble . . . if you can find an elsewhere."
The girl hugged him tighter and turned to bestow a smile on the audience, a smile the likes of which those men present had seen only in dreams. A low moan seemed to come from every male present—except from the two most recent arrivals.
Had Mudd seen them he would probably have generated a different kind of moan; but for the moment they still escaped his notice, so absorbed was he in his presentation.
Soon he made motions of retreat. "Of course, if you gentlemen—and ladies—feel the price beyond reason, or your ability to pay, I shall have to try my poor crystals elsewhere."
At that moment Kirk and Spock chose to move forward. Mudd noticed the motion and spared a quick glance in their direction. He recognized the two officers immediately, and his jaw suffered the effects of suddenly augmented gravity. But Mudd recovered quickly and managed a wide smile; it was quite as phoney as everything about him, although if you didn't know it, you would have guessed from his beaming display of choppers that he was overjoyed at the sight of the two men approaching.
"Captain Kirk. And the ineluctable Mr. Spock. What a delightful surprise! Welcome to Motherlode, gentlemen. I do detect a certain interest in the goings-on, do I not? Are you interested perhaps in purchasing a little love? Everyone needs love."
"You'll pardon me if I don't seem especially affectionate just now, Harry," Kirk replied. "But at the moment my interest in you is stimulated by somewhat different emotions. Let's see." He grew thoughtful. "Fraud, illegal drug manufacturing, swindling—those for openers.
"Complaints have been filed on Sirius IX and Ilyria VI. These complaints are filed under provisions of the Federation Pharmaceutical Code, sections sixty-three through eighty-three, commensurate with—, rest assured you'll have lots of time to read the whole list, Harry." He looked hard at Mudd.
"Well, as I said," repeated Mudd a little less cheerfully, "welcome to Motherlode. A charming, delightful world with many unique attractions—not the least of which is that it has no connection with the Federation and therefore does not recognize Federation law." He smiled at the miners and this time the smile was genuine.
Kirk and Spock suddenly found themselves victims of a dozen or so hostile glares, not all of them human. "Keep this channel open, Uhura," Kirk murmured into his communicator. It was operating, but still strapped to his belt. He wanted both hands free.
"Aye, sir," came the reply. "Chief Kyle standing by."
One of the human miners moved toward the two Starfleet officers. He nodded in Mudd's direction as he spoke to the new arrivals. "That's right. So you two can keep out of this. Motherlode's an open planet. We do what we like here, according to our own laws, and no outsider tells us different."
"I should warn you," Kirk began, "that this unprincipled swindler has been picked up before for—"
The miner shook his head. "Not interested. When a Federation officer talks about somebody bein' a con-man, he's usually talking about somebody who hasn't paid his taxes." He grinned widely. "We don't mind that, here," he told them, and looked reassuringly up at Harry.
"I'll take one, Mudd. Three hundred credits it is."
Kirk tried a last time. "I'm telling you, this man is a swagman on a galactic scale."
"Caveat emptor's all our business law rolled into one, here, Cap'n," the miner replied. "Lynching's our remedy for swindlers. The way we see it, it's Mudd who's taking the chances here, not us. We'll thank ye not to interfere."
Kirk wanted to tell him that Harcourt Fenton Mudd had run graver risks than hanging for far bigger stakes, but Spock broke in, speaking in a calm, quiet voice.
"Are you aware that Harry Mudd is tricking you via an accomplished illusion?"
"Huh?" The miner gaped at him and there was a muttering in the crowd. The idea that somebody might be playing around with their minds was not comforting.
"What are you talking about, Vulcan?" someone else shouted.
Before anyone could object or question his action, Spock stepped forward and smoothly brought up his hand phaser. Without a word, he fired directly at the head of the beautiful girl clinging to Mudd's side.
Mudd yelped and jerked away from the heat of the blast. The horrified miners were shocked in place. The result of the phaser blast at this range should have been one very dead girl.
Instead, the girl vanished a second after the beam made contact. In its place now squatted a small reptilian creature, about a meter high, that stared out at the crowd with nervous eyes. It sat thus for a short moment before whirling to scuttle rapidly back into the ship.
"Your 'girl,' " Spock told them pleasantly, "is a tamed Rigellian hypnoid, projecting a simple illusion programmed for it by Mudd. As you can see," he continued, indicating a scorched spot on the ship's plates beyond the girl's former position, "the beam from my phaser went directly through it."
There was a long, quiet pause. Then it was broken by a series of long, whistling whoops from the tall avian. Even those unfamiliar with his kind could easily interpret those halting whistles as laughter.
The rest of the miners, however, reacted with something less than amusement. One of the humans produced an oddly shaped gun that actually threw a small projectile. It must have been handed down from father to son through generations. To his left, the thickly muscled, heavy-planet prospector was starting to lift a
boulder half his size.
Like water in a rocking bucket, the angry group started to surge forward.
"Now friends," began Mudd desperately, "I can explain. Leave us not panic."
"You're right about one thing, Harry," Kirk observed, pleased at the way the situation was progressing. "We can't arrest you—but you can give yourself up."
"No, Captain. Why, I've nothing to give myself up for. To do so would amount to a confess—"
The heavy-planeteer chose that moment to toss his rock, which Mudd ducked. It soared through the passageway and into the ship. Sounds of protesting metal and the tinkle of broken glass responded from somewhere within.
"THIEF! ROBBER! SWINDLER!"
Another, small rock shot toward him, and he barely slipped out of its way. As it bounced off the doorway, Mudd abruptly broke from the platform before he could be pinned in, showing unexpected speed as he raced toward the two watching starship officers. A hail of missiles pursued him.
"I surrender myself! I turn myself in!" He turned and waggled a warning finger at the advancing crowd as he dashed toward Kirk.
"Free will—mercy—I'm in protective custody now!"
"You forget, Harry!" yelled someone in the pursuing crowd, "Motherlode doesn't observe Federation law." This observation was punctuated by a fist-sized rock, which bounced off Mudd's lower back. He howled.
Kirk adjusted his communicator. At the same time, Spock took a couple of steps forward. Setting his phaser on high, he pointed it at the siliceous soil just behind Harry. The high-powered beam dug into the ground and threw up a blockading ridge of fused soil and glass in front of the oncoming miners.
Another stone sailed over the new blockade and hit Mudd in the back of his right leg. He yelped and continued on, half-running, half-limping, until he reached Kirk and Spock. He promptly took up a firm position facing his tormentors—from behind Kirk.
One of the humans had gained the top of the slick ridge and was reaching back to give the male ursinoid a hand over. The man with the projectile weapon was right behind, struggling to get a line on Mudd with the clumsy device.
But by then, Mudd, Kirk, and Spock were only half there, already fading from view as the transporter locked in and commenced dematerialization.