Kirk’s control wavered. “Damn it, Spock!” he burst out, “can’t you understand that—”
“I am not Spock, I am the Messiah,” the other interrupted coldly.
“I don’t care what you call yourself,” Kirk replied hotly. “Can’t you get it through your thick head that the crew will have to abandon the Enterprise in less than twelve hours? You may have extraordinary powers of persuasion, but your voice alone can’t conquer a planet for you. There will be a group from the Enterprise in every city you attack; and General Order One or no General Order One, they’ll use every scrap of the knowledge they’ll bring with them against you! You may have a brilliant mind, but it doesn’t stand a chance against four hundred and twenty-five of the Federation’s best. You can kill us, you can conquer Andros, but after that, your movement is doomed to certain defeat. Nobody denies that the gods have touched you and that you have great work ahead, but it obviously isn’t to be done here. Otherwise they wouldn’t have sent the radiation storm. Call the Enterprise—they have the coordinates of this spot—and have them beam all six of us up. The gods must have some other world in mind. Once our warp drive is operational again, we’ll take you there.”
The Messiah peered at Kirk through the night. The third moon had risen, and gleamed fitfully through the clouds that scudded overhead. The wind gusted higher, bringing with it bursts of cold, sleet-like rain.
“Perhaps the one who was known as Spock would have been convinced by your reasoning,” the black-robed figure said, “but his mind knew only a universe limited by cold, mechanical equations. I have been touched by powers beyond. When physical law and divine law conflict, there can be only one outcome. Since Afterbliss is important to my plans, the gods will not permit it to be destroyed. It would be illogical. And now if you’ll excuse me, gentlemen, Ensign George is waiting.” The Messiah turned and strode away into the night.
McCoy let out a long sigh. “Good try, Jim,” he said,
“but the input from Chag Gara has Speck’s mind so twisted that there’s no way you can make a dent in that crazy logic. A paranoid knows his beliefs are an accurate reflection of what really is.”
“I know,” Kirk said, “but I had to make the try. Are everybody’s hands tied as tightly as mine? If just one of us could get loose—”
“I don’t know about the rest of you,” McCoy said, “but I might as well be in a straightjacket.”
There was a long silence between the captives. The wind gusted around them. After a time, Chekov said somberly, “Poor Sara…”
“Poor Sara, my foot,” Scott grumbled. “She’ll still be alive come sunup, and that’s more than I can say for the rest of us. If we don’t freeze to death long before then,” he added, shaking with cold as another blast of frigid wind brought more drizzling rain. The guards who had been left behind cursed the downpour, turned their backs to the biting wind, and pulled their cloaks up over their heads.
“I wouldn’t bank too heavily on Sara’s lasting the night,” McCoy said. “Spock may kill her before morning.”
“Why?” Kirk asked.
“I’ve a hunch he’s not going to get the reception he’s expecting. Sara’s changed a lot in the last week, but she’s a far cry from the bitch in heat that Spock coupled with at the inn. Her dop’s no longer in control.”
“She might play along with him to save her own hide,” Scott said. “Anything’s better than burning.”
“Sara wouldn’t do that,” McCoy said. “Unless…” His voice trailed off.
“Unless what?” Kirk demanded.
“Unless the filter stage on her implant still isn’t working properly. When she was dancing, she seemed to really enjoy turning everybody on.”
“If that she-cat she’s linked to is still dominant,” Kirk said thoughtfully. “Maybe she’s been playing a game during the whole trip.”
“And maybe we’re both getting as paranoid as
Spock,” McCoy said. “If we keep it up, pretty soon we’ll be suspecting each other. Look, Jim, she tried to get to him with the nullifier. It’s not her fault the damn thing didn’t work. I can’t say I’m surprised it didn’t though,” he added gloomily. “Nothing’s been working right ever since we hit this planet. First the implants go haywire. Then we hit Spock with a dart that’s supposed to knock him out for a couple of hours, and he’s back on his feet in a matter of minutes. Then we take off on a crazy expedition whose only purpose is to get an electronic widget close enough to Spock’s implant to put it out of commission. And when we do—against odds so astronomical I don’t feel like trying to calculate them—nothing happens! But damn it, it should have. All the Vulcan variables were taken into account in its design.”
“There’s one thing you haven’t considered,” Kirk said.
“What’s that?”
“What if she turned the nullifier off before she started to dance?”
“Why should she?”
“If her dop is in control, she may have decided that being the mistress of the master of Kyros offers a way of life quite a bit superior to that led by an ensign on a starship.”
“I don’t know,” McCoy said, “I’m not sure of why anybody does what he does any longer.”
An irate mumbling came from Tram Bir, who was trussed to the post farthest from Kirk and McCoy.
“What’s he saying?” Kirk asked Chekov, who was bound to the stake nearest the hillman. “The wind is taking his words away.”
“He wants to know what the crazy gabble is that you’re talking. He says he never heard anything like it.”
“You wouldn’t believe it if I did tell you, chief,” Kirk called, switching to Tram Bir’s own tongue. Then he added, “I know an apology isn’t going to mean much, but we didn’t intend for things to end up this way.”
Tram Bir shouted something, but again the wind whipped his words away.
“What now?” Kirk asked.
“He says that he hopes they light your fires first so he has the pleasure of watching you burn.”
“You know, Jim,” McCoy said, “somehow I think we’ve lost a friend.”
The guards shivering in front of the black tent snapped to attention as they recognized the torch-bearing figure nearing them.
“It is as you ordered, Messiah.”
“Good. Go to your chief and tell him 1 said you are to have hot wine. I have no need for you; the gods guard me.”
The guards touched their hands to their hoods and hurried off into the chill darkness, cloaks flapping behind them in the gusting wind. The black-robed figure threw open the flap of the tent and stepped inside. A girl, trussed and nearly naked, lay on a raised pallet covered with soft furs. A tiny flame burned in a heavy stone lamp resting on a low table to one side. On a rug on the other side, barely discernable in the dim, flickering light, a blanket-draped figure lay, curled tightly in a fetal position, knees drawn against chest and forehead pressed against knees.
The girl looked up through sultry, half-closed eyes and smiled. A knife flashed and cut the cords that bound her feet and hands. A bending, a puff of breath, and the lamp flame died. There was a faint rustle in the darkness as a robe fell to the floor.
The rain had finally stopped, but the five tied to the stakes were so miserable and numb with cold that they hardly noticed the change. As the hours crawled by, the wind died and the sky began to clear. Stars appeared and then, as the tiny second moon rose, there was enough faint light for Kirk to make out the silhouettes of guards who stood like statues, leaning on their spears. There was a sound of something moving in the darkness, and then a barked challenge, as a long, dark shape appeared out of the night.