Spock Messiah sttos(n-3 Page 17

  Slowly, gracefully, she lowered her arms from above her head and reached out and ran her hands over his neck and shoulders. Then she sank to the floor at his feet.

  Clan chiefs burst into wild applause. “More!” they screamed. “More!”

  The Messiah held up his hand for silence and then motioned to Kirk and the others to rise. They stood, bowing from the hips.

  “Beautifully done,” the Messiah said. “You will find that I am not ungenerous. Observe.”

  He made a sudden, commanding gesture. Guards pounced. There was a fierce, futile struggle. Their masks were torn from their heads; then the four men were dragged forward.

  “Holy one, how have we displeased you?” Kirk said humbly.

  “Displeased, Captain Kirk? To the contrary, I’m delighted. I have fond memories of my last encounter with Ensign George. It was most kind of you to bring me such a lovely gift. Bind her!” he snapped to the guards, his voice suddenly ugly. “Take her to my tent!” He watched as Sara’s wrists were lashed together and she was dragged from the pavilion. Then he beckoned to Tram Bir to step forward. The chief sidled forward and stood before the Messiah like a small boy expecting punishment.

  “It was at your suggestion that I allowed these ‘Beshwa’ to enter my presence, was it not?”

  “I thought they would please you, Messiah.”

  “What was my directive concerning strangers?”

  “To kill them, Messiah. But these saved the life of my son. He joined them to us in blood. Also, they are great healers. The force I brought here is stronger because of them.”

  “So your son Greth told me earlier, especially of the dead man who was walking around whole an hour later.” He shifted from Kyrosian to English. “Your healing was too ostentatious, Dr. McCoy. Coming as a Beshwa was a most ingenious disguise, but to come equipped with a medikit? As soon as Greth told me of yesterday’s events, especially those involving En sign Chekov, for whom he seems to have a pronounced dislike, the identity of the party was obvious.”

  He reverted to hill dialect and spoke to the murmuring, confused hill chiefs. “This one,” he said, pointing to a cringing Tram Bir, “betrayed me. As is the custom, his oldest son will succeed him as chief. He and the demons who came in Beshwa guise will be given as a burnt offering to the gods before the rising of Kyr. Remove them!”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  As the Messiah watched, five long, sturdy poles, butt ends set deep in the ground, were readied in the center of the circle once occupied by the clan dead. Then Tram Sir and the four Enterprise officers were stripped and lashed securely to the poles with leather thongs. A cutting wind brought the first stinging drops of cold rain.

  “Don’t you wish you’d stayed aboard the Enterprise, Captain?” the Messiah said. “Your bridge is a much cozier place. But you’ll be warmer, come morning. There’s enough wood and oil left to take the chill from your bones when we greet Afterbliss just before dawn. I think a burnt offering to the gods of a chief who disobeyed my orders, and spies who sought my life, will have a salutary effect on my followers. I’U see you in a few hours.” He turned to go.

  “Hold it,” Kirk snapped in an authoritative voice.

  “Yes, Captain?”

  “Killing us is pointless. Something has happened you don’t know about.”

  “Yes?”

  “Your clans may take Andros for you, but when you march against new cities, you are going to have to have other miraculous raisings of the dead to convince them you are what you say you are and sweep them up in your crusade.”

  “A logical assumption, Captain. That’s why the gods have provided me with Afterbliss.”

  Kirk studied the black-robed figure for a moment. So cool, so logical, and yet so crazy. There had to be a way of getting under that paranoid overlay to the original, clear-thinking mind. Emotional appeals were useless since, Kirk thought, they would drive the Messiah further into paranoia. But cold logic might yet somehow get through to the original mind and stir it to revolt against the madness that enchained it. With a tremendous effort, he forced himself to appear as cold and dispassionate as if he were discussing an intriguing new concept in theoretical astrophysics.

  “Your mistake is in believing the Enterprise will continue to follow your orders,” he said quietly.

  “Indeed? I’ve been careful to make only reasonable requests of Mr. Sulu. He complies because he thinks he’s buying the time necessary for you to recover the warp-drive modulators. I certainly wouldn’t be stupid enough to give him an order he’d have to refuse—such as using phasers against Andros.” He tapped the tricorder he was wearing under his robes. “As long as I have this, it is illogical to think the Enterprise will be uncooperative.”

  “You can’t expect help from an abandoned, radioactive hulk,” Kirk replied. “And that’s what the Enterprise will be by this time tomorrow. Since you disabled our warp-drive and beamed down here eight days ago, something catastrophic has happened.” As precisely as if he were feeding data into a computer, Kirk described the rapidly peaking radiation storm and its inevitable effects on the helpless starship.

  “Indeed,” the Messiah said when Kirk finished. “What you’ve told me correlates directly with the change in weather patterns and the auroral displays of the past several nights. As soon as I finish my mission down here, I’m looking forward to calculating the origin of the storm from the data in the ship’s computer. The sub-space manifestation is most intriguing. In fact,” he added, “once my campaign gathers enough momentum so that it no longer needs my personal supervision, I’m thinking of moving permanently to the Enterprise. I have no one to play chess with down here. What’s more,” he said with a sudden change in voice and manner, “Ensign George doesn’t have exclusive rights. I’m looking forward to brightening the nights of Nurse Chapel and a few of the others.”

  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.�
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  “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.

  “You guard well,” said a familiar voice.

  “Messiah!” Hands went to hoods in salute as a figure climbed down from the driver’s seat of the Beshwa caravan.

  “Minds are being twisted,” he said in a strange, distant voice. “Sub-chiefs slip from tent to tent, whispering. These Beshwa demons send mind tendrils out to snare my clans, just as they did with this traitor here.”

  A muffled appeal came from Tram Bir, but was roughly cut off as a guard clubbed him.

  The figure motioned one of the guards to approach him, and there was a quiet exchange. Then the hillman led some of his fellows off into the darkness. Moments later they returned, some with arms full of wood, and others carrying oil sacks. The van door was opened and the burdens placed inside. More wood was brought and more oil, until the vehicle was full. Then the thick fabric cover of the cargo wagon that made up the front half of the caravan was thrown back part way, and the men were cut down, bound again, gagged, and dumped inside. When Tram Bir was dragged forward, his masked head hanging, the black-robed figure raised a hand.

  “Not him. Take him to his tent. I have other plans.”

  As Kirk and the rest lay helpless on the hard floor of the wagon, the cover was drawn forward and they were left in total darkness. The wagon rocked slightly as someone climbed into the driver’s seat.

  “Wait, Messiah. We will get our neelots.”

  “For what?”

  “We’ll ride as guard.”

  There was a contemptuous laugh. “Against what? Who would dare to harm the Messiah?”

  “These did.”

  “These tried, but demons in Beshwa bodies are not impervious to fire. They must burn now before they touch more minds. Thank you for your concern, but

  I must be alone when I make an offering of their enemies to the gods.”

  The caravan moved off. After a while it stopped. Somebody climbed up to join the driver, and there was a brief exchange of whispers. The caravan began to move again at a slow walk. Minutes passed.

  Then suddenly, from behind, came the sound of shouts, first fault, and then louder as more and more voices seemed to join in. There was the cracking of a whip, and the wagon began to jounce violently as the neelots burst into a gallop.

  There were grunts of pain as the bound men were slammed from side to side, unable to brace themselves as wagon wheels slammed into rocks and bounced high into the air. Suddenly, the caravan jolted to a stop.

  “Slash the oil bags. Well do it now
,” said an urgent voice.

  From the back of the van came the sound of the doors being opened. At the same time, a sound of hammering and prying came from underneath the wagon at the point where it was joined to the van.

  “Now!”

  A moment later, there was an explosive whoosh and then the fierce crackle of burning wood.

  “Beautiful!”

  Kirk twisted, startled at the sound of Sara’s voice.

  The crackling grew to a roar, and thick smoke began to seep under the canvas-like covering. A whip cracked again and the wagon moved forward. There was a sudden, slamming jolt, and then it picked up speed. Choking, Kirk squirmed into a sitting position and pushed up with his shoulders until he was able to force the heavy covering back and get his head over the wagon’s edge.

  He blinked, eyes watering, momentarily blinded by the sudden glare. Jouncing along behind them at the end of a long wooden boom came the van, spouting flame high into the air like a blast furnace, and lighting up the plains like a giant searchlight

  The shouting from behind grew louder, and then screaming clansmen came pounding out of the darkness, lashing their neelots to even greater efforts as they emerged into the fiery light.

  A black-robed figure was out in front, spear couched low.

  He shouted a command, waving first to the left, then to the right. The riders split, spreading out on either side in an encircling movement. The leader veered in as he passed the front of the wagon. His arm went back and his spear hurtled forward. The lead neelot screamed, reared, and crashed to the ground, dragging the others down with it. The wagon jackknifed and ponderously overturned.

  The last thing Kirk saw was the van rushing toward him like a flaming juggernaut