by Jerry Oltion
"The truth?" asked the man. "The truth is, we don't need your kind here, nor his. We were doing fine before he arrived, and the Prastorian army is merely setting things back to the way they should be. Without his assistance."
"The words of an assassin and a coward." The Grand General slapped the arms of his throne for emphasis.
"History will judge me a hero," the soldier said defiantly.
"Perhaps, but what will the Gods of Fate judge you? That's the more immediate question. Execution following capture during a sneak attack is hardly a ticket to Arnhall. You'll be cycling through this life for generations at this rate."
"I would have fought to the death had not this—this alien—knocked me unconscious." The Prastorian soldier glared at the red-haired woman.
Apparently these people believed very strongly in reincarnation and an eventual afterlife as a reward for the righteous, thought Lebrun. Strongly enough to die willingly to get there. Not a good sign.
"Stella saved you?" McCoy asked incredulously of Mudd.
His nod was nearly imperceptible. "There appear to be advantages to having a…determined companion," he said.
She shook her forefinger at him. "As I've told you all along, you worthless, womanizing, sorry excuse for a husband. But do you listen? Oh no, you're too high and mighty to listen to your wife. Well, let me tell you—"
"Oh, do be quiet," Mudd said in a soft voice. "My ears hurt enough as it is."
Surprisingly, the woman shut up. Lebrun looked at her with disbelief. This shrew was that poor man's wife? How could he tolerate such a creature? She must have some redeeming quality that Harry found desirable—or had when he proposed to her—but what that could be Lebrun was hard put to guess. She shuddered at the thought that she and Simon could ever become like them; then she reddened with the realization that they had already taken the first step. When the yellow alert had sounded and she had received the call to return to duty, she had put on her uniform again and opened the bedroom door to find Simon working on his third Cetian laliska. She had left without a word of explanation, and he had offered no apology in parting.
When I get back, she vowed, I'll apologize for both of us.
The Grand General apparently liked this woman. Laughing, he said, "Such spirit. You'd make a good Nevisian, Stella! You should consider it."
"I have my duty to Harry," she said simply.
"And you have my permission to abrogate at any time," Mudd muttered.
Now Kirk laughed, which Lebrun thought was very insensitive of him, even under the circumstances. He said, "I think we've established that the Prastorians attacked on their own. And whatever Harry was doing in the cellar had no effect on you—except possibly to warn you of the invasion. So it looks to me as if you owe him a favor."
"We owe him nothing," insisted the Grand General. "He is a meddlesome alien who has disturbed our way of life beyond measure. And he lulled me into dropping my guard."
"Then let us take him away from here and get him out of your hair completely."
Lebrun thought that was an unfortunate choice of words, given the Nevisians' electric-shock coiffure, but if the Grand General took offense he showed no sign of it. "We could teach him a few things about honor if he stayed among us," he said.
"Do you really want his influence to spread?" Kirk asked.
The Grand General thought that over for a moment, then laughed uproariously. "Well argued! Indeed, we do not. Take him then. Take him away." He looked over at Stella. "But you, my dear, must do us the courtesy of remaining at least through the day. Give me that much time to convince you to stay."
"I cannot leave Harry," said Stella.
Mudd had perked up considerably in the last few minutes. "Give him his day, Stella," he told his wife. "I'll hardly be going anywhere aboard the Enterprise, and I could use the rest from your endless… advice."
She considered his statement, then nodded slowly. "Very well," she said, "but I will not be swayed from my duty."
Duty, thought Lebrun. She apparently wouldn't rest until she'd reformed the man to her own image. Was that what marriage was all about? She certainly hoped not. Yet wasn't that what she had been trying to do with Simon this evening? When she got home, they would definitely have to talk.
Chapter Eight
MUDD COULD HARDLY believe his luck. Finally separated from the last of these infernal androids! Not by nearly enough distance, but the Enterprise was the best shot at a permanent escape he was likely to get. Maybe he could convince Kirk to warp out of the system before she could catch up again. It would mean leaving behind the secret of the interstellar transporter, but that was a small price to pay for freedom. There were plenty of other opportunities in the galaxy for a man of sufficient ambition.
"Thank you, Kirk," he said, meaning it. "Consider your debt to me paid in full." He held out his manacled hands to one of the guards flanking the Grand General, and after receiving a silent nod from his leader the guard produced a key and unlocked them.
"The feet, too, please," said Mudd. "We don't want to make Kirk carry me to the beam-out point, now, do we? I'd owe him a favor if we did that."
He might have to be carried even so—his left knee still hurt where he had twisted it in falling on the stairs, but it held his weight now, although shooting pain ran all the way down to his foot when he stood on it. He would try, at least, to walk out of here on his own.
He shook the circulation back into his extremities, then tucked his ripped shirt back into his belt as best he could. His side hurt where he had hit the stone floor when the Stella android had shoved him out of the way during the heat of battle, but it wasn't bad enough to require immediate attention. He wanted nothing to slow down their departure from this place.
"Shall we be off?" he asked Kirk. "I know you're a busy man, worlds to save and all that; I'd hate to cause you any unnecessary delay."
Shaking his head in his sardonic, holier-than-thou fashion, Kirk said, "Harry, you really take the cake."
Mudd replied as he always did to a snide remark. "Why, thank you, Captain." And then, purely for the sake of playing with Kirk's head, he turned to the android, took its right hand in his own, and said, "My dear, I shall count the hours." And the days, and the weeks, and the months, he thought, but he prudently left that unsaid.
He considered a parting remark to the Grand General, but decided that discretion was the better part of valor in this instance as well. You don't insult a man in his own castle, and Mudd could think of nothing to say that couldn't be taken as an insult if the General chose to take it that way. So he merely led the way out of the throne room and began the long trek down the hallway to the outer wall and the fortified transporter points, trying not to limp. The others followed, and the two palace guards who had brought them in accompanied them back out.
Dr. McCoy walked alongside Mudd, waving a diagnostic scanner at his side. Its irritating whistle cut straight to the inner ear. And no telling how deep its scanning beam penetrated.
"So what's your verdict, Doctor?" Mudd asked him. "Will I live to see another sunset?"
"Probably," McCoy said. "But I'd suggest staying clear of white Palko fruit for at least a month. You've got enough of the purple toxin in your system to trigger a deadly reaction just breathing the fumes from a white slice. What were you doing, living on the stuff?"
The news was slightly alarming, but a man of Mudd's girth grows used to the notion that food can be as harmful as it is pleasant. He laughed and said, "I make it a point not to turn down a delicacy, Doctor. You never know when the next opportunity will arise."
"Well, Harry," said Kirk, "You'll be dining on simpler fare where you're go—" His communicator bleeped for attention, and he immediately snatched it from his belt and flipped it open. "Kirk here."
Lieutenant Uhura said, "Captain, we're picking up increased transporter activity outside the palace. It looks like Prastor is beaming another attack force just beyond the walls."
"Understood. Get a
lock on us. As soon as we're past the shield, or if the shield goes down, beam us away immediately. Kirk out." He closed his communicator and returned it to his belt. "You heard her," he said. "Let's get to the beam-out point before all hell breaks loose."
Mudd wholeheartedly agreed, but they had hardly made half the distance to the outer wall before they heard a tremendous explosion and the entire palace shook with the blast. A bright flash lit up the far end of the corridor, and another explosion sent dust and smoke rolling toward them.
"I believe they have breached the walls," Spock said with his characteristic understatement.
All of the Enterprise crew, and the two Distrellian guards who accompanied them, had drawn their weapons. The Enterprise crew stood their ground, but the Distrellians rushed off toward the source of the explosion without a backward glance. Typical, thought Mudd. Headlong into glory. It was hard to comprehend how an otherwise sane people could embrace violence so completely.
"Harry," Kirk said, "do you know another way out of here?"
"Indeed I do," said Mudd, thinking furiously. There were dozens of transporter stations around the perimeter of the palace, but all of them would be guarded. And if Mudd and the others showed up without their Distrellian escorts, they would probably be denied access beyond the shields.
But what if they went to an outbound transporter station? Those were less heavily guarded, because they were normally shielded except when the transporter was in use to beam someone away from the palace.
And Mudd knew one of the operators. He had bought the schematics to the transporter from him. Even if his post was guarded now, he would vouch for Mudd—he would have to, for fear that Mudd would betray him if he didn't. Yes, that would work, and it proved once again what Mudd had always maintained: It definitely paid to have contacts in as many places as possible.
Now, which way was that transporter station? Mudd turned once around, looking for clues. The palace was laid out like a wheel with corridors radiating outward like spokes from the center, so it was easy to navigate from the Grand General's residence in the hub, but the farther out you got along one spoke the harder it was to go anywhere else. They'd been going north, and the station he wanted was in the library wing on the west side, so they needed to turn left. Mudd had picked the transporter operator in the library to approach, figuring that in a military society his station would be seldom used, and that he would be bored and glad to have someone to converse with. His reasoning had paid off at the time, but now it meant circling a quarter of the way around the palace.
The zip-crack of disruptor fire echoed up the hallway, and a few bright blue energy beams lanced past the T-intersection at the end where the two guards had taken up positions to shoot from cover.
"Harry, do you know another way out or not?" Kirk demanded.
"I said I did, Captain, and I do. I was just getting my bearings. This way." Mudd led off through an archway into a curving side corridor. It wasn't one of the main routes around the center, but right now that might be just as well. And if Mudd remembered correctly, a northward jog a little ways ahead would take them past the one room he hadn't been able to search before: the vault where they stored the palace jewels. Though no doubt considerable wealth was stored there, Mudd had considered it a low priority compared with the interstellar transporter, but now under the confusion of the Prastorian attack he might as well at least see if he could pick up a memento of his stay here.
And maybe, just maybe, he could use it to pay for one final favor from the transporter operator. If Mudd could get him to activate just one segment of the outgoing beam a moment before the Enterprise activated their transporter, he could make his escape right here and now. He would still have to beam aboard the Enterprise, since it was the only interstellar ship besides the android's available, but he could aim for a cargo bay somewhere and hide out until the ship was safely out of the Nevis system. Mudd hadn't liked the tone of Kirk's voice when he'd made that crack about "simpler fare"; it would be better to take his chances as a stowaway than accept whatever Kirk had planned for him. Kirk wouldn't think to look for him on board; he would assume Mudd had escaped to somewhere else on Distrel, so Mudd could bide his time until the Enterprise called at some more desirable port.
Spock would probably calculate his chance of success at about 1.63 percent, but Mudd could think of no better option at the moment. Sometimes you just had to trust in your own ingenuity.
The hallway they were in ended at a wide meeting room. The walls were covered with paintings of former Grand Generals, and shelves and pedestals around the perimeter held busts and medals and other bric-a-brac. Mudd led the way across it, aiming for the rightmost of the triple doors on the opposite side, but a gleaming silver dagger with a jeweled hilt hanging on the wall just to the left of the doors caught his attention and he steered closer to it. It was impossible to tell at a glance if the jewels were real, but they were certainly impressive. A dagger like that could fetch a fine price with some collectors Mudd knew. So he stumbled just as he reached the doorway, reached out as if to catch himself against the wall, and smoothly lifted the dagger from its support as he passed on through the doorway.
An alarm instantly began clanging overhead. Well, that answered the question of its value.
"Drat the luck," Mudd said quickly, not even breaking stride. "The door must have been wired."
"The knife you were attempting to steal was more probably the cause of the alarm," said Spock dryly.
Confound the Vulcan; he would notice. Putting a wounded tone in his voice, Mudd said, "Certainly you don't expect me to proceed into a conflict unarmed when there are weapons to be had? A dagger is a poor substitute for a phaser, I admit, but it's better than nothing. Unless of course you'd like to trade me."
"That would be illogical," said Spock. "Though we have not tested your skills as a marksman, there is a high probability that I am a better shot than you; therefore the phaser would be more valuable in my hands."
"There you go," said Mudd, as if that closed the argument.
Another loud bang echoed down the main corridor they had left only moments before. Shouts of alarm and the zip-crack of more disruptor fire followed close behind. It sounded as if the fighting was closer now; the Prastorians had evidently made it through the gap they'd blown in the wall. At least nobody was likely to come investigate an alarm with that going on so near.
Kirk apparently thought otherwise. "Hurry it up, Harry," he urged.
"I'm limping as fast as I can," Mudd snapped back at him. "It's not much farther." They came to another cross-corridor, and Mudd paused to peer around the corner. Yes, he had guessed right; two soldiers stood outside a heavy door about twenty feet away, both looking anxiously down the hallway in the other direction, from which even more battle noise sounded.
Mudd backed up and held out a hand to stop the others and whispered, "Wait here. I'm going to have to talk our way past these guards."
"Are you sure that's smart?" Kirk asked him. "What if they've already heard about you?"
"They haven't," Mudd told him, earnestly hoping that was true. If it wasn't, well, Kirk and the others had phasers; they could probably get him out of trouble if he couldn't talk himself out of it. And nothing ventured, nothing gained, Mudd had always believed, so before Kirk could protest any further, he stepped out into the hallway and walked toward the guards.
"What's your status here?" he asked as he drew closer, tucking his dagger prominently into his belt. "Do you need reinforcements?" It was always best to take the initiative in situations like this.
"No, sir," one of the guards said.
"Good," said Mudd. "As you can no doubt hear for yourselves, things aren't going as well elsewhere in the palace. The Grand General has sent me to ensure that the most valuable items here don't fall into enemy hands."
The guards exchanged a puzzled glance, then one of them asked, "In what way?"
"I have been instructed to prepare what I can for relocation if tha
t should become necessary."
"Relocation!" the other guard said. "Is it that bad?"
"An attack force came up through the catacombs before we got the shields up," Mudd replied, neglecting to mention that they had been nullified already. "The Prastorians are already inside the walls." That much was true; he could hear them uncomfortably well.
Even so, the first guard said, "We'd have to have word directly from the Grand General before we could let you remove anything, sir."
Mudd nodded. "Of course, of course. But you understand why he couldn't speak to you himself; he's a bit busy at the moment." Another barrage of disruptor fire echoed down the long corridor, lending credibility to his remark. Mudd said, "He told me to leave it to your discretion when to move; I am merely supposed to prepare the…ah…items for transport. You may accompany me inside and assist if you wish." That should mollify them, and if he couldn't palm a few precious trinkets under the noses of two soldiers, his name wasn't Harry Mudd.
They were nervous about the situation, he could tell, but the increasing clamor of battle helped them make up their minds. "All right," the first guard said to the second, "you go give him a hand, and I'll keep watch. But we're not moving anything until we're absolutely sure we have to."
"Oh, you'll know when the time comes," Harry told him. "Don't worry about that." That was true enough as well. As he waited for them to open the door for him, Mudd told himself that he was probably doing them a favor. The way things sounded near the outer wall, they very probably would have to flee with whatever they could carry before this battle was over. Of course Harry planned to be long gone with the best of the treasure by that point, but he could certainly fill a sack with his leavings for them, and the Grand General would probably be grateful to have that much rescued from the invaders.
Provided he survived the attack, that is.
Mudd knew it probably only took a few seconds, but the combination lock seemed to take forever to open. At last the guard spun the lock wheel and pulled the massive steel door outward, and as the interior lights flickered on, Mudd nearly gasped with delight. Oh, yes, this was a vault. No piddly little collection of insignificant sentimental artifacts; this place held real wealth. He stepped inside and turned once around, taking it all in. Shelves along all four walls held silver and gold artifacts of all description: figurines, chalices, jewelry boxes, and more. Cloth sacks and wooden chests on the floor spilled over with coins and jewels. One corner of the vault was stacked high with bars of what appeared to be platinum, and atop the pile, as if tossed there casually by the last person to need them, rested a gold crown, a jeweled scepter, and a richly brocaded mantle fit for a king. Distrellian blue, of course.
