“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.”
“I thought you were asleep,” Kirk said.
“With you shooting things at me…?” McCoy replied.
There was a soft tap on the closed outer door. “It’s Ker Kaseme, honored friends,” a voice called. “May I enter?”
“In a moment,” Kirk said. “Scotty,” he said in a low voice, “get into the other room. Ker is doing a fine job of keeping his eyes closed to our comings and goings, but an officer in Fleet uniform might be too much.” He glanced at the water clock. “The next beam-up is due in a few minutes, anyway.”
Scott nodded and went into the back room. Kirk followed him to the door. “McCoy and I will be out with Kaseme for the next couple of hours getting things organized for this evening. Bring the landing party down around 17:30. You stand by with your men here. . Once the other group is in position in the plaza, Ensign George will notify me. McCoy and I will be in front of Vembe’s.”
“Aye, sir,” Scott acknowledged the orders. “An” I hope that little widget does the trick.”
“You haven’t let me down yet, Scotty,” Kirk said as he closed and barred the door. He crossed the room and opened the outer door. “Enter, honored friend,” he said, shifting effortlessly into Kyrosian. Kaseme entered and bobbed a greeting.
“Have you gotten enough men?” Kirk asked.
“Yes, but it wasn’t as easy as I thought it would be,” Kaseme replied. “I had to pay three times as much as I expected and promise to pay twice as much when the fracas is over.” He pulled out an almost empty purse and eyed it ruefully.
“There’s a lot more where that came from,” Kirk said. “Why was it hard to get the men?”
“The Messiah,” Kaseme answered. “Until he showed up, our city slum types, miserable as they were, had one thing going for them. Bad as their lot was, there was always one group they could look down on, the hill outcasts who had drifted into Andros because they had no place else to go. They’re the ones who have always done the dirty jobs no one else would touch, but now they’re walking tall. They’re carrying arms and no longer step into the gutter when they meet an Androsian on a narrow sidewalk. My veels aren’t too happy about picking on someone who might fight back.”