by 06(lit)
Kirk hit the intercom to the Transporter Room. "Mr. Scott, are you locked in on the mines of Ardana or its Cloud City?"
"The mines, Captain. That's what you ordered."
Then this mistake isn't ours, Kirk thought. The Ardanans understood the Transporter; they had it themselves. Turning to Uhura, he said tersely, 'Tell the High Advisor we request that the official welcom-ing courtesies be dispensed with. We are beaming down directly to the mines to ensure the fastest pos-sible transport of the zenite to Marak II. The need is desperate. Say we appreciate the honor and look forward to a visit to Cloud City in the future... Come with me, Mr. Spock."
But no miners were awaiting them at the mine-shaft entrance. The hill by which they'd arrived was deserted.
"I don't understand it," Kirk said. "The Troglyte miners were to make delivery when we beamed down."
"Perhaps there is another entrance," Spock sug-gested.
There was none. The other side of the hill was as abandoned, as bleak and forbidding as the rest of their arrival area. It was Spock who put the thought in both of their minds into words. "It would seem that the Troglytes have changed their minds about the delivery, sir."
Even as Kirk nodded there came a hiss in the air above their heads. Two heavy, noosed thongs were hurled from behind them with an accuracy that pinned their arms helplessly to their bodies. Jerks tightened the thongs, and the two Enterprise officers were pulled roughly around to confront four crea-tures, obvious Troglytes, their loose miners' overalls begrimed, their eyes begoggled, their features hidden by slitted masks. One of the Troglytes was slightly smaller than the others; but they all had long, sharp-edged mortae, the honed blades aimed in open threat.
"What is the reason for this attack?" Kirk de-manded.
"Interference breeds attack," the smallest Troglyte said coldly, in a female voice. "My name is Vanna, Captain. I have need of your... services. Move on." The overalled arm motioned to the mine-shaft en-trance.
"We are here by permission of your government Council," Kirk said. "On emergency mission."
"Move on, Captain." Ominous ice entered the voice.
Kirk felt the prod of her sharp blade in his back. Exchanging a swift glance with Spock, they burst into simultaneous action, lashing out with their feet at the two nearest Troglytes. Spock's kick caught his man in the chest. It felled him just as Kirk's foot, slamming into his captor's stomach, dropped him to the ground, knocking the wind out of him.
Vanna lunged at Kirk, but he had broken clear of his bonds and knocked her weapon out of her hand. Spock and the remaining Troglyte circled each other warily. Vanna, agile and swift, lunged at Kirk with her bare hands and they fell to the ground. In the struggle,, the strap securing her goggles snapped. They slipped from her face to reveal feminine features of such surprising beauty that Kirk, lost in amazement, had no eyes for what was materializing on the Transporter coordinates.
It was her wince at the sudden glare of sunlight that brought him out of his trance. A man of patrician bearing stood behind them. He wore a togalike gar-ment and the charismatic air of the born ruler. Two husky males, armed and uniformed in gleaming white, shimmered into sight beside him-guards.
The patrician spoke. "Troglytes! Halt!"
He was not obeyed. Vanna, unyielding, continued to writhe in Kirk's grasp. Spock was now trying to cope with two of the miners, as the third elbowed groggily from the ground where the Vulcan's first kick had landed him.
"Surrender-or we'll fire!"
Wrenching an arm free, Vanna tried to rake Kirk's face with her nails. He pulled back slightly, and seiz-ing her chance to break his hold, she leaped to her feet and ran to the mine entrance, shouting to her companions. They joined her, racing after her amid a shower of shining pellets. One of the missiles from the guards' guns struck. Zigzagging, hunkered low, the three unwounded Troglytes disappeared into the mine entrance.
Kirk, climbing slowly to his feet, was frowning in preoccupation, his eyes following Vanna and her van-ished companions. Spock stooped to retrieve the com-municator which had dropped from his belt, and straightened to meet the approach of their rescuers.
"Are you harmed, gentlemen?" asked the toga-clad man.
"Just a little shaken up," Kirk said.
"I am Plasus, High Advisor for the planet Council."
Kirk acknowledged the introduction briefly. "Cap-tain Kirk, Enterprise. My First Officer, Mr. Spock."
"My regrets for the unpleasantness of your welcome to Ardana, gentlemen."
"It was rather warm," Kirk said dryly.
"Unfortunately, violence is habitual with the Tro-glytes. I can assure you, Captain, this insult will not go unpunished."
It was Spock's turn to frown in thought as Kirk said, "I am more concerned with that zenite consign-ment. Why isn't it in its specified location?"
Urbane, unruffled, the High Advisor's face with its high-bridged nose assumed a look of sadness. "Appar-ently the Disruptors have confiscated it, as I feared they would. They're a small group of Troglyte mal-contents who hold the others under complete domina-tion. It is the Disruptors who are responsible for the others' refusal to continue mining zenite."
"But they agreed to this delivery," Kirk protested. "It was your Council which assured us of that."
Plasus nodded benignly. "Obviously," he said, "they agreed as a ruse to get valuable hostages."
"Hostages? For what purpose?'
"To force the Council to meet their demands." Plasus turned to his guards. "Pick up the injured Troglyte for later questioning... Then organize a search party for the zenite consignment." Once more the urbane host, he said to Kirk, "Meanwhile, Cap-tain, I suggest that you and First Officer Spock be our guests in Stratos City."
"I hope the search will be brief," Kirk said.
A shadow of grimness darkened the urbanity for a fleeting second. "I assure you we will do everything in our power to make it so. Now if you will just step this way, over here, our own Transporter will pick us all up."
They were led into a large, oddly designed cham-ber. Its floor and three of its walls glittered with a subdued iridescence. The fourth wall had been left open to the expanse of sky beyond, its border a waist-high balustrade of the same iridescent material. There was a careful carelessness about the manner in which luxuriously cushioned benches were scattered about the room, a calculated casualness that matched the surrealistic sculptural forms which decorated it. Central to it was a small dais, flanked by two straggly carved poles of almost ceiling height. They struck Kirk as purposeless even as decoration.
From the balustrade, Spock called, "Captain, here, sir, please!"
The whole planet was spread out beneath them. Its surface could be only half seen through drifting mists. What was visible was dwarfed by distance to the dimensions of a relief map, its hills anonymous mounds, its valleys vague shadows. There was both beauty and terror in such eminence. It evoked a feeling of uneasiness in Kirk.
"Remarkable," Spock said. "The finest example of sustained antigravity elevation I have ever seen."
The sound of a door opening behind them made them turn. A young woman had entered the room of antigravity triumph. She was tall, willow-slim, willow-graceful, her golden hair a mist of mystery around her perfect face. She didn't walk-she glided, her ap-proaching movement so.supple it lacked all sugges-tion of bone or skeletal muscle. Like the clouds which obscured the planet's contours, she drifted toward the two Enterprise officers.
"My father," she said to Plasus, "your sentinels in-formed me of our honored guests' arrival. I came to extend my greetings."
"Gentlemen, my daughter-one of our planet's incomparable works of art. Droxine, Captain James Kirk and his First Officer, Mr. Spock."
Her eyes lingered for a moment on the satyr ears of the First Officer. "I have never met a Vulcan before, sir," she said demurely.
Spock bowed. "Nor I a work of art, madame."
Kirk looked at Spock with quizzical amusement and surprise. Plasus beckoned his g
uests back into the room from the balcony. "Come, gentlemen, there is much to see in our city. This is our Council gallery. We have some of our finest art forms assembled here for the viewing of all our city dwellers. That piece there can boast of a special-"
He stopped abruptly. The piece he had turned to was a transparent solid of flowing serpentine lines curled like coiling flames. A miner's mortae had been driven into it, webbing it with cracks.
"Disruptors again!" Furiously, Plasus jerked the tool from the sculpture and dashed it to the floor.
"They are despoiling the whole city," Droxine said.
"For what purpose?" Spock asked.
"Again, to force the Council to accede to their demands." Plasus spoke with the impatience of an adult irritated by a half-witted child.
"Just what are these demands?" Kirk said.
"Nothing you need concern yourself about, Cap-tain."
Kirk's voice was very quiet. "I must concern myself with anything that interferes with the delivery of the zenite, Mr. Advisor."
"Mr. Advisor, plant life is the source of oxygen," Spock added. "If all plant life is destroyed on Marak II, all humanoid and animal life will end there with it."
Plasus had recovered his suavity. "I assure you, gentlemen, you will get what you came for."
"I hope so," Kirk said. He paused. "Ardana is a member of the Federation. It is your Council's re-sponsibility that nothing interferes with its obligation to another Federation member."
"And we accept the responsibility."
Spock touched the webbed cracks in the sculpture. "But why destroy art forms? They are a loss to every-body."
"Art means nothing to the Disruptors." Plasus stooped to pick up the mortae. "This is the only form they understand." Rage overpowered him again. Nobody spoke as he fought to regain control of himself. "But no doubt you would like to rest. A chamber has been prepared for you. Sentinels will conduct you to it, gentlemen."
It was dismissal. Droxine's eyes followed Spock as the two from the Enterprise left the room.
"The Disruptors must be mad," she said, "to have attacked two such charming strangers."
"They grow more daring every day," Plasus said.
"Do you think the Captain and his very attractive officer will feel we are responsible?"
Plasus smiled indulgently down on his daughter. "Responsible for injuries done to the charming strangers-or to our diplomatic ties?"
Droxine flushed. "Oh, I was concerned about both, father."
Plasus laughed outright. "I am sure they will not blame you."
She exhaled a breath of relief. "I'm glad. I like, them. They are not at all like our men of Ardana... Father, promise me not to find the zenite too soon?"
Before he could reply, two guards burst into the ; room. Between them was a powerful man, his muscu-lar shoulders tensed against their grip, but not strug-gling to free himself. That he had been doing so before was evident in the guards' panting.
"Apologies, Mr. Advisor," said one of them. "This Troglyte was apprehended leaving the city. As he lacks a transport card, we thought you would want to question him."
The man's aspect bore little resemblance to the stunted figures of other Troglytes. Despite the grime of his miner's overalls, the unkempt tangle of his shoulder-length hair, he was handsome. Proudly he drew himself to his full height, his eyes bright with scorn as they fixed on Plasus.
"What is your business in Stratos City, Troglyte?" demanded the High Advisor.
Though the flashing eyes burned with hate, the lips were silent.
"Speak! I command you!"
"My business is to repair," said the prisoner.
"Indeed. Then you must have a repair order. Where is it?"
"It was forgotten."
"Did you also forget your transport card?" The question was harsh with irony.
"It was lost when your sentinels attacked me."
"And where was your cavern mortae lost?" Plasus pointed to the empty sheath at the waist of the overalls. Then, striding to the mutilated sculpture, he plunged the mortae he still held in his hand into the hole it had made. "Here, perhaps."
"I came to make repairs," the prisoner said stub-bornly.
"You shall make them-by telling me the names of the Disruptors."
"I know nothing."
"I would advise you to increase your knowledge."
An open sneer distorted the handsome face. "That is not possible for a Troglyte. The Stratos City dwell-ers have said so."
"Secure him to the dais," Plasus told the guards.
They tried to. But as they pushed the miner toward the dais, he knocked one guard aside and raced for the iridescent balustrade. The guards moved for their guns, but Plasus shouted, "No! I want him alive!"
It was too late. The prisoner had flung himself over the balustrade.
After a moment, Plasus shrugged. "How unfortu-nate," he said philosophically. "How unfortunate." He went out.
Droxine, as composed as her father, had been busying herself with an arrangement of goblets on a cubical table. The gold metal of one rang as she set it down, and a moment later, Spock came through the still open doors of the Council chamber.
"Mr. Spock!" the girl cried. "I thought you had accompanied Captain Kirk to the rest chamber down the corridor."
"There was some disturbance," the First Officer. said. "It awakened me."
"I was but setting the table. I did not realize I would disturb you."
"Only Vulcan ears would find such a noise discerni-ble from such a distance," Spock said.
The perfect eyelids lifted. "It seems Vulcans are fascinatingly different," said their owner. "In many ways."
Their eyes met. "The same may be said of inhabitants of Stratos," Spock observed.
"Vulcan eyes seem to be very discerning, too." She drew him down on the bench beside her.
His attention was sufficiently on this Ardanan work of art for him to fail his reputation for discerning sight for once. Behind him, a small figure draped in the clothing of Stratos crept from behind a pillar and moved stealthily down the corridor.
In the rest chamber, Kirk, breathing evenly, lay apparently asleep on a wide, billowy-pillowed dais. Vanna, crossing to him silently, drew a mortae from under her gown and laid its blade against his throat.
Kirk opened his eyes and he seized Vanna's wrist. Twisting the mortae from her grasp, he fell back with her on the bed. She kicked and writhed, but shortly he got her arms pinned back above her head.
"Well, that's better," he said, breathing evenly. "You again!" The face beneath his chest was lovelier than he remembered; but its eyes were cold as death.
"You sleep lightly, Captain," Vanna said.
"And I see you've changed your dressmaker."
"Release me," she said tonelessly.
"So you can attack me again?"
"Then call the guards," she told him contemptuous-ly. "They will protect you."
"But I don't want protection. I find this very enjoy-able."
"I do not."
Kirk grinned down at her. "All right, I'll make a bargain with you. Answer some questions, and I'll let you up."
"What questions?"
Kirk shook his head. "First, your word."
Hesitation came and went in her face. "I will an-swer."
Kirk released her. Panther-swift, she leaped to her feet and stooped for the mortae beside the bed. As he gripped her wrist again, he became aware that Spock's bed was empty. Where was Spock in this place of sudden treacheries? With that gliding girl?
The gliding girl was leaning back against a down cushion, its cream less creamy than the skin of her face. Spock, sitting very erect, was saying, "Yes, we Vulcans pride ourselves on our logic."
"Also on complete control of your emotions?"
"Emotions interfere with logic," he said firmly.
"Is that why you take mates only once in seven years?"
"The seven-year cycle is biological. At that time the mating drive outweighs
all other motivation."
Droxine moved her head from the pillow and rested it against his shoulder. He looked down at the spindrift of golden hair, its fragrance in his nostrils, and their eyes locked. "Can nothing disturb the cycle, Mr. Spock?"
The Vulcan logician cleared his throat. "Exception-al feminine beauty is always disturbing, madame."
She had lifted her mouth toward his when a clang resounded from down the corridor. Spock sprang from the bench and ran for the door. Rushing into the rest chamber, he stopped dead at the sight of Vanna. Kirk had wrenched the mortae from her once more and dashed it to the floor.