“I’ll do my best, sir,” she said. “What’s the procedure if we do find him? Do we try to use me again?
Kirk thought for a moment then shook his head. “No, that’s too uncertain. Chag might agree, but put the rendezvous with you off until later in the day, which might give Spock time to get to him, if he isn’t there already. Bones, can you adjust that hypo to give Gara a dose to put him under control without knocking him out?”
“Yes,” McCoy replied as he withdrew the hypo from his pouch and made an adjustment. “If I can get close enough to hit him with this, he’ll still be able to navigate, but won’t know what’s going on. We can pass him off as a friend who’s had one too many.”
“Good,” Kirk said, unbarring the door. “Let’s move. Sara, even though you didn’t intend to, you got us into this mess. Now, it’s up to you to help get us out.”
CHAPTER SIX
“Follow me, Captain, Doctor,” Sara said, turning right as they left the room. “We’ll go down the back way.”
She led the way through a narrow, gloomy corridor. A few lamps guttered along the walls, throwing a dim, yellowish light. They came to a down-sloping ramp and took it. At the bottom, they exited through swinging doors and found themselves under a portico roof which shielded a patio paved with multicolored, triangularly-cut stones. Cages holding small, hissing, lizard-like birds hung from brackets attached to the columns which supported the roof.
“This way,” the female officer said, and turned to her left. They walked alongside the inn until they came to the end of the building.
Kirk and McCoy at her heels, Sara stepped out into a narrow alley, again turning left. It was like walking along the bottom of an air shaft. Tall buildings on the left, and the high city wall on the right, cut off most of the light and air. A stench rose from the containers of garbage stacked beside rear exits.
When they finally emerged into the square, it was like leaving a dark tunnel. They found themselves squinting and blinking as their eyes adjusted to the bright sunlight
The woman hesitated for a moment, scanning the crowded square; then she started for the opposite side.
More Kyrosians had begun to congregate in the plaza as Kyr mounted higher in the sky. City women with market baskets were jostled by hooded hillmen stooped under great bundles of hides and bales of a wool-like material brought to the city for barter. Bareheaded farmers in sun-faded smocks carried trays of exotically colored fruits and vegetables. There was a creaking of ungreased wheels as several wagons came through the open, triangular main gate. The tailless, hairless, reptile-like draft animals that were pulling them squealed in protest at the weight of the piles of iron ingots the wagons carried. Behind them came another wagon, a long, eight-wheeled hybrid that was articulated in the middle and had an open wagon in front and a closed van behind.
“Beshwa,” Sara said in answer to Kirk’s question. “They must have come in to load up with trade goods before they make their summer sweep through the hills.”
When they reached the far side of the square, Sara tugged at Kirk’s vest-like jacket and gestured toward a stooped, wizened old man standing in front of a shop staring apathetically at a table covered with pottery.
“What about him?” Kirk asked.
“That’s the dop I was supposed to link Mr. Spock to,” she said bitterly, her voice heavy with self-recrimination. “If I—”
“Right,” McCoy interrupted before she could finish, “but there’s nothing that can be done about it now. We’ve got to get to Chag-whatever-his-name-is before Spock does. Now, let’s move it, Ensign.”
Sara grinned wryly at him and nodded. “I think we should try Vembe’s place first. The hillmen don’t like city food and a lot of those who have businesses in the-plaza eat at his place.”
She led them through an archway into a long arcade that stretched along the entire width of the far side of the square. It was lined with many small shops and eating houses. As Sara paused about a third of the way along, McCoy gave an appreciative sniff.
“Something smells good,” he said. “I was in such a hurry this morning that I didn’t have time for any breakfast.” He was turning into the doorway from which came the mouth-watering aroma of roasting meat simmering in some spicy sauce when the girl grabbed his hand.
“Next door,” she said, and led the way into a dark opening that was so low that, small as she was, she had to stoop to enter.
“Good lord!” muttered McCoy as his nostrils were assaulted by a charnel stench. “What’s that?”
Sara giggled. “Vris. It’s a hill delicacy. First you take a haunch of neelot and hang it in a dark room until it’s good and moldy. Then—”
“Neelot?” interrupted McCoy.
‘They’re those big, hairless, lizard-like animals you saw pulling carts. They remind me of a skinned manx cat. The hillmen use them for food, leather, and as draft animals. There’s also a special breed for riding.”
“They sound like the old Mongol hordes of Earth and their horses,” Kirk said.
“Never saw a horse—or a cat—with a head like an alligator,” McCoy murmured.
Sara continued to speak to Kirk. “The hill culture is similar: nomadic people, sparse grazing lands, and a horse-like animal.”
She advanced into the dimly lit interior of Vembe’s eating house and approached a gnarled little man squatting in front of a fire pit. His leather mask was black, but with orange stripes under the eye slits. Several hillmen glanced at the three, then turned back to their bowls of vris and jugs of wine.
“Vembe,” Sara said and made an odd little bow of greeting.
The Kyrosian hunched his shoulders in acknowledgment of her salute and, picking up a small pitcher, dribbled a slimy-looking sauce over the chunks of greenish-yellow meat that were slowly turning on a spit. As drops of sauce dripped onto the hot coals, little puffs of oily smoke arose, and the stench intensified. Vembe leaned forward, took a long sniff, nodded, and said something to Sara.
“The vris is ready,” she translated. “He says he would be honored if you’d have some.”
Kirk’s gorge heaved at the thought.
“You can tell him… tell him we appreciate the offer but we both had a very large breakfast before leaving our ship…” Kirk paused, and glanced at McCoy. “Though perhaps I shouldn’t speak for the doctor. He was just telling us how hungry he was.”
McCoy rolled his eyes and said hastily, “I’ve a better idea. Tell him our religion won’t let us eat meat on whatever day this is.”
Sara spoke rapidly to the little man in guttural Kyrosian. Then, gesturing toward her companions, she made what was obviously an introduction. Vembe rose, touched a finger to the middle of his forehead, and bowed. Kirk and McCoy responded with like movements.
“Ask him if he can tell us where to find Chag Gara,” Kirk said.
There was a rapid exchange.
“He wants to know what you want with that zreel. That’s a local insect, a blood-sucker similar to the terrestrial louse,” Sara said.
The little man added something in a hostile voice and spat into the fire pit.
“He says that Chag Gara used to be just crazy, but that all of a sudden he’s become dangerous. Now, people listen to his ravings and become converted. And that’s bad for business,” Sara translated.
“Ask him why.”
Vembe responded at length, pointing indignantly to the turning joints of neelot.
“He says that if the Messiah goes marching off on a holy war, most of his customers will go along. And that would mean that the best vris house in Andros would have to close its doors.”