by James Blish
"Why not?" Kirk turned to Bela and fingered his suit lapel. "That's nice material."
"It ought to be. It cost a bundle."
"Get out of it. You, too."
"Hey, now, wait a minute . . ."
"Take it off—pally! This time nobody's going to bag me."
Seeing that he meant it, Kalo and Bela got out of their clothes; Kirk and Spock donned them. Scooping up the required submachine guns as passports, they went out, leaving McCoy in charge.
In front of the office sat the large black car that Bela used. Fishing in the pockets of his borrowed suit, Kirk found the keys. They got in.
"Any idea how to run this thing, Spock?"
"No, Captain. But it should not be too difficult."
"Let's see," Kirk said, studying the controls. "A keyhole. For the—ignition process, I think. Insert and turn. Right."
He felt around with his foot and touched a button. The car stuttered and the engine was running.
"Interesting," Spock said.
"As long as it runs. Now, let's see. I think—gears . . ."
He pulled the lever down, which produced nothing but an alarming grinding sound which he could feel in his hand as well as hear.
"As I recall," Spock said, "there was a device called the clutch. Perhaps one of those foot pedals . . ."
The right-hand pedal didn't seem to work, but the left-hand one allowed the gear lever to go down. Kirk let the pedal up cautiously, and the car started with a lurch.
Kirk remembered the way to Krako's offices well enough, but the trip was a wild one; there seemed to be some trick to working the clutch which Kirk hadn't mastered. Luckily, pedestrians gave the big black vehicle a wide berth. Spock just hung on. When it was over, he observed, "Captain, you are a splendid starship commander, but as a taxi driver you leave much to be desired."
"Haven't had time to practice. Leave these clumsy guns under the seat; we'll use phasers."
They made their way to Krako, leaving a trail of stunned guards behind. The Boss did not seem a bit taken aback when they burst in on him; he had four hoods behind him, guns aimed at the door.
"You don't shoot, we don't shoot," he said rapidly.
"This would appear to be an impasse," Spock said.
"Who's your friend with the ears?" Krako asked. "Never mind. Ain't this nice? I was wondering how I was going to get you back, and you delivered yourself! You don't think you'll get out of it this time, do you?"
"We didn't come here for games," Kirk said. "This is bigger than you or Okmyx or any of the others."
The phaser which Krako had previously taken from Kirk was on the desk, still on safety lock. Krako nudged it. "Don't talk fancy. All you gotta do is tell me how to work these things."
"Krako," Kirk said, "can you trust all your men?"
"Yeah, sure. I either trust 'em or they're dead."
"Maybe. But when it comes to weapons like these—well, one of them could make a man a pretty big boss around here."
Krako thought about it. At last he said, "Zabo and Karf, stay put. You other guys vanish . . . All right, these two is okay. Now that we got no busy little eyes around, how do you work this thing?"
Kirk moved in on Krako hard and fast, spitting his words out like bullets. "Knock it off, Krako. We don't have time to show you how to play with toys."
"Toys?"
"What do you think we're here for, Krako? To get a cut of your deal? Forget it. That's peanuts to an outfit like the Federation."
"It is?" Krako said, a little dazed by the sudden switch.
"Unquestionably," Spock said.
"We came here to take over, Krako. The whole ball of wax. Maybe, if you cooperate, we'll cut you in for a piece of the action."
"A minute piece," Spock added.
"How much is that?" Krako asked.
"We'll figure it out later."
"But—I thought you guys "had some kind of law about no interference . . ."
"Who'd interfering? We're just taking over."
Spock seemed slightly alarmed. "Uh—Captain . . ."
"Cool it, Spocko. Later."
"What's your deal?" Krako asked.
Kirk motioned him to his feet and, when the bewildered gangster stood, Kirk sat down in his chair and swung his feet up onto the desk. He appropriated one of Krako's cigars.
"The Federation wants this planet, but we don't want to have to come in and use our muscle. That ain't subtle. So what we do is help one guy take over. He pulls the planet's strings—and we pull his. Follow?"
"But what's your cut?"
Kirk eyed the unlit cigar judiciously. "What do you care, so long as you're in charge? Right, Spocko?"
"Right on the button, Boss," Spock said, falling into his role a little belatedly but with a certain relish. "Of course, there's always Bela Okmyx . . ."
Krako thought only a moment. "You got a deal. Call your ship and bring down your boys and whatever you need."
Kirk got to his feet and snapped open his communicator. "Kirk to Enterprise."
"Enterprise. Scott here, sir."
"Scotty, we made the deal with Krako."
"Uh—we did, sir?"
"We're ready to make the hit. We're taking over the whole planet as soon as you can get ready."
"Is that wise, sir?"
"Sure, we can trust Krako—he doesn't have any choice. He's standing here right now, about three feet to my left, all ready to be our pal. I'd like to show him the ship, just so he's sure I'm giving him the straight dope. But you know how it is."
"Oh aye, sir," Scott said. "I know indeed."
"We'll be needing enough phasers to equip all of Krako's men, plus advisers—troops to back them up on the hit. You moving, Scotty?"
"Aye, Uhura's on to the Transporter Room and two of the boys are on their way. Ready when you say the word."
"Very well, Scotty, begin."
Krako looked curiously at Kirk. "You mean you're gonna start bringing all those guys down now?"
"No—not exactly." As he spoke, the hum of the Transporter effect filled the room, and Krako shimmered out of existence. Zabo and Karf stared, stunned—and a second later were stunned more thoroughly.
"Well played—Spocko."
Spock winced. "So we have—put the bag on Krako. What is our next maneuver, Captain?"
"Back to Bela's place."
"In the car, Captain?"
"It's faster than walking. Don't tell me you're afraid of cars, Spock."
"Not at all. It is your driving which alarms me."
Through the door of Bela's office, they heard McCoy saying worriedly, "Where are they?"
And then Bela's, "Knowing Krako, well be lucky if he sends 'em back on a blotter."
Kirk walked in. "Wrong again, Okmyx." He brushed past the relieved McCoy. "Outta my way, Sawbones. I want to talk to this guy. I'm getting tired of playing patty-cake with you penny ante operators."
"Who you calling penny ante?" Bela said, bristling.
"Nobody but you, baby. Now listen. The Federation's moving in here. We're taking over, and if you play ball, we'll leave a piece of the pie for you. If you don't, you're out. All the way out. Got that?" He shoved the phaser under Bela's nose to make the point.
"Yeah—yeah, sure, Kirk. Why didn't you say so in the first place? I mean—all you hadda do was explain."
The communicator came out. "Scotty, you got Krako on ice up there?"
"Aye, Captain."
"Keep him till I ask for him. We're going to be making some old-style phone calls from these coordinates. Lock on at the receiving end and transport the party here to us. Okay, Okmyx. Start calling the other bosses."
Shrugging, Bela went to the phone and dialed four times. "Hello, Tepo? Guess who? . . . Yeah, I got a lot of nerve. What're you going to do about it?"
With a hum, Tepo materialized, holding a non-existent phone in his hand. McCoy moved in to disarm him.
". . . coming over there with a couple of my boys; and . . . Mother!"
Bela grinned at Kirk. "Hey, this ain't bad."
"Keep dialing."
Half an hour later, the office was crowded with dazed gang leaders, Krako among them. Kirk climbed up on the desk, now cradling a local gun to add weight to his argument.
"All right, pipe down, everybody. I'll tell you what you're going to do. The Federation just took over around here, whether you like it or not. You guys have been running this planet like a piecework factory. From here on, it's all under one roof. You're going to form a syndicate and run this planet like a business. That means you make a profit."
"Yeah?" Tepo called. "And what's your percentage?"
"I'm cutting the Federation in for forty per cent." He leveled the gun. "You got objections?"
Tepo had obviously had guns pointed at him too many times to be cowed. "Yeah. I hear a lot of talk, but all I see here is you and a couple of your boys. I don't see no Federation."
"Listen, they got a ship," Krako said. "I know—I been there."
"Yeah, but Tepo's got a point," Bela said. "All we ever see is them."
"I only saw three other guys and a broad while I was in the ship," Krako said. "Maybe there ain't any more?"
"There are four hundred . . ."
Kirk was interrupted by an explosion outside, followed by a fusillade of shots. Krako, who was nearest the window, peered around the edge of it.
"It's my boys," he reported. "Must think I'm still in the ship. They're making a hit on this place."
"My boys'll put 'em down," Bela said.
"Wanna bet?"
Kirk's communicator was already out. "Scotty, put ship's phasers on stun and fire a burst in a one-block radius around these coordinates, excluding this building."
"Right away, sir."
Kirk looked at the confused gangsters. "Gentlemen, you are about to see the Federation at work."
The noise roared on a moment more, and then the window was lit up with the phaser effect. Dead silence fell promptly.
Krako smiled weakly and swallowed. "Some trick."
"They're not dead, just knocked out for a while," Kirk said. "We could just as easily have killed them."
"Okay," Bela said. "We get the message. You were saying something about a syndicate."
"No, he was saying something about a percentage," Tepo said. "You sure forty percent is enough?"
"I think it will be just fine. We'll send someone around to collect it every year—and give you advice if you need it."
"That's reasonable," Bela said. He glared at the others. "Ain't that reasonable?"
There was a murmur of assent. Kirk smiled cheerfully. "Well, in that case, pull out some of that drinking stuff of yours, Okmyx, and let's get down to the talking."
The bridge of the Enterprise was routinely busy. Kirk was in the command chair, feeling considerably better to be back in uniform.
"I must say," Spock said, "your solution to the problem on Iotia is unconventional, Captain. But it does seem to be the only workable one."
"What troubles you is that it isn't logical to leave a criminal organization in charge. Is that it?"
"I do have some reservations. And how do you propose to explain to Starfleet Command that a starship will be sent around each year to collect 'our cut,' as you put it?"
" 'Our cut' will be put back into the planet's treasury—and the advisers and collectors can help steer the Iotians back into a more conventional moral and ethical system. In the meantime, the syndicate forms a central government that can effectively administer to the needs of the people. That's a step in the right direction. Our group of 'governors' is already learning to take on conventional responsibilities. Guiding them is—our piece of the action."
Spock pondered. "Yes, it seems to make sense. Tell me, Captain. Whatever gave you so outlandish an idea—and where did you pick up all that jargon so quickly?"
Kirk grinned. "Courtesy of Krako. A radio wasn't all he left in my cell. He also left me some reading matter."
"Ah, of course. The Book."
"Spocko, now you're talkin'."