by 10(lit)
McCoy was shocked. He turned to Tyree, crying, "I was told she had a cure!"
"Be silent," he said sternly.
Nona was breathing more of her breath into Kirk's open mouth. She lifted unseeing eyes, chanting more of her strange incantation. "Deeply... deeply... deeply... we must become as one... as one... as one...."
To McCoy's total amazement, Kirk had begun to breathe evenly in time with the woman's breathing. But the mystic element in the chant horrified him. He had started toward Kirk when Tyree's strong arm barred the way. He saw Nona bare the exact spot on Kirk's shoulder where the gumato fangs had struck, and slap the twisting root on the punctures. Then, turning the knife on her own hand, she slashed it deeply and pressed it, bleeding, on top of the ugly root. She groaned with pain. Kirk echoed the groan as though he, too, felt the agony of the slash. She shut her eyes. Swaying, she chanted, "Together.... your pain in mine... together... your soul in mine... together... together... together..."
Both of them were now inhaling in perfect unison. And to both, in unison, came easier breath, relaxation. Nona's eyes fluttered open. "Return... it is past... return... return... return...."
And Kirk's eyes, too, fluttered open. Against the ani-mal skins of his pallet, his face was at peace.
Nona remained close to him for a long moment. Then very slowly she withdrew her hand from his shoulder. She extended it, palm up, to McCoy. It held no sign of knife wound, only the small, withered thing that had been the writhing root. She got to her feet, making way for Mc-Coy. But he didn't need to examine Kirk's shoulder. He knew what he'd find-and he found it. The flesh was healthy, unmarked.
Kirk smiled up at him. "I've been having... a strange dream."
"How do you feel, Jim?"
"I'm tired-just tired. You've done a fine job, Bones."
He was already asleep. McCoy looked up to see Tyree supporting Nona.
"Thank you for saving him. I'd like to learn more of this..."
"She must sleep now," Tyree said.
"Is there any condition I should watch for in him? Any aftereffect or danger?"
Nona spoke weakly. "Our blood has passed... through the Mahko root together... our souls have been together. He is mine now."
Startled, McCoy spoke to Tyree. "What does she mean, 'he's hers'?"
"When a man and a woman are joined in this manner, he can refuse her no wish." He smiled faintly. "But only a legend. There is no danger."
Tyree was leading her from the cave when she passed close to McCoy. Though her eyes were heavy with exhaustion, there was a look on her face that troubled Mc-Coy. It suggested that she knew she had won some obscure victory. When he noted the same half-smile of satisfac-tion on Kirk's sleeping features, McCoy's sense of appre-hension became definite.
It grew so insistent it aroused him from his deep sleep of weariness. The cave was black with night. His first conscious thought was of Kirk. He reached for his medi-kit and groped his way past the rocks to the pallet. It was empty.
He stood still for a moment, fully awake now. The lay-out of the camp was still unfamiliar to him. He moved to the cave entrance, trying to get his bearings in the darkness. To his left there was the darker shadow of a structure of some kind. It turned out to be a lean-to. The still-glowing embers of its firepit showed two sleepers. A dim form was standing over one of them.
"Jim?" McCoy whispered.
One of the sleepers awoke, rolling instantly into a crouch. It was Tyree. He stared at McCoy. Then, bound-ing to his feet, he turned and saw Kirk, eyes closed like a sleepwalker's, beside the sleeping body of his wife.
"Jim!" McCoy shook Kirk's arm. The eyes opened to fill with surprise. "Quite... all right, Bones. I felt better and thought I'd stretch my legs." He recognized Ty-ree; his face alight with pleasure, cried, "Tyree! It is you, my old friend!" His hand went out to grip the man's shoulder in genuine affection.
Nona had awakened. Tyree gave her a quick glance. There was a pause before he said, "Yes, James. It is good to see you."
"But what am I doing here? How did... ? No, I remember now. A gumato bite. I was ill...." He ges-tured to McCoy. "I told the Doctor here, 'take me to Tyree's camp.' I knew you'd find a Kahn-ut-tu to cure me." He turned to McCoy. "The Kahn-ut-tus are a kind of local witch people... actually healers who have studied the herbs and roots here."
"And I am a Kahn-ut-tu woman, Captain." Nona smiled at Kirk. "I cured you."
Their eyes met; and Tyree said, "My woman. Nona."
In the light of the firepit's embers, the wild, disheveled black hair enhanced the savage beauty of her face. "Yes, of course," Kirk said. "Your woman."
McCoy spoke. "Tyree leads the Hillpeople here."
Kirk smiled at his friend. "Congratulations-on both counts."
"You need rest, Jim."
"Rest? I've never felt more alive!" Kirk's face sobered.
"Tyree, can we talk now? The villagers' new weapons. I want to hear all about that. We have plans to make."
Nona broke in. "Good. It is past time to plan."
Tyree nodded. "Yes, much has happened since you left. Come, we will speak of it-"
"And of things to be done!" said Nona.
Tyree looked at her. Then silently, he led the way out of the lean-to.
Spock lay as pale, as motionless as ever.
Doctor M'Benga, entering Sickbay, nodded to Chris-tine; and going to Spock, leaned close to a pointed ear. He spoke very slowly and distinctly. "This is Doctor M'Benga, Mr. Spock. There'll be someone with you con-stantly from now on. When the time comes, I'll be called." He straightened. "Nurse, stay with him."
Christine had her eyes on the body-functions panel. "The readings are beginning to fluctuate markedly, Doctor."
"So they should be," M'Benga said. "The moment he shows any sign of consciousness, call me immediately."
"Yes, Doctor."
He was making for the door when he turned. "After you have called me, if he speaks, do whatever he says."
"Whatever he says?"
"Yes, that's clear enough, isn't it?"
It was clear. It was also disconcerting. She looked at the pointed ears on the pillow. They suddenly struck her as extremely aristocratic.
Tyree was making good on his promise to bring Kirk up to date on the firearms question. "It's less than a year ago that their firesticks first came to the villagers. Since that time, my friend, almost one in three of us have died."
Kirk leaned forward over the rude table. "But you say they make the firesticks themselves? You can't be certain of that."
"We've looked into their village and saw it being done."
"Tyree," McCoy said, "have you seen strangers among the villagers?"
Tyree shook his head, "Never."
Behind them, unseen, Nona had slipped into the hut to immerse herself in the shadows of a corner. She watched McCoy turn to Kirk. "Meanwhile," he said, "you have made contact here. If it turns out that we are the ones who broke the 'hands off' treaty, it's your career, Jim."
"Perhaps, Bones. But it would hardly take a platoon of Klingons to teach them to make crude firearms."
"A single one would be too slow and inefficient if they really want this planet."
"But much more clever," Kirk said. "If they'd armed them with Klingon lasers or even repeating rifles, it would be obvious they'd interfered here." He spoke to Tyree. "Can you get us to their main village while it's still dark?"
Tyree hesitated. "The gumatos travel at night also. If you killed one, its mate will not leave."
Kirk laid his phaser on the table. "You've seen these work. So long as no one else sees them used-"
Nona stepped forward into the light of their pitch torch. "I also have seen them used."
Kirk swiftly replaced his phaser. Nona had turned to McCoy. "I saw you heat those stones with yours." Her eyes sought Kirk's. "And I know you have many ways to make Tyree a man of great importance."
McCoy eyed her. "Many ways?" He spoke to Tyree. "What else does she kn
ow about us?"
"Tyree has told me much of you." She smiled at Kirk. "Do not blame him. It was the price for saving your life."
McCoy slammed the table. "Demonstrating the wisdom of Starfleet orders!" he cried. "First, there's contact made... then a mistake, an accident. It has to be set right by a small intervention with natural evolution. The correction goes wrong-and more intervention is neces-sary...."
Kirk had reddened with anger. "Thank you, Doctor!" He spoke to Nona. "We are simply strangers from-"
"From one of the lights in the sky!" She nodded. "I know. And you have ways as far above firesticks as the sky is above our world!"
Tyree half-rose to his feet. "You will not speak of that to others!"
She ignored him to address Kirk. "I will not if I am made to understand. Teach me." She paused. "There's an old custom among my people. When a woman saves a man's life, he is grateful."
McCoy, eyes narrowed, watched Kirk. He waited-and Kirk said, "I am grateful."
"Highly commendable," McCoy said dryly. "If not carried to extremes."
But Kirk was waving Nona to a seat. It was clear that he was making a conscious effort to choose words cautiously. "We were once as you are, Nona. Spears and arrows. Then came the time when our weapons grew faster than our wisdom. We almost killed ourselves. So we made a rule. It said that we must never cause the same thing to happen to other worlds we visited. Do you understand?"
She didn't answer. Kirk laid a hand on Tyree's arm. "As a man must grow in his own way and in his own time, so must worlds. They-"
She interrupted. "Some men never grow."
"Perhaps not as fast or in the way another thinks he should. But we are now wise enough to know how unwise it is to interfere with the way of another man or another world."
"You will let the villagers destroy us? You will not help your friend and brother to kill them instead?"
Tyree sprang to his feet. "I have said I will not kill, woman! There are better ways!"
Her eyes flashed dark fire. "We must fight or die! Is dy-ing better?" She whirled to Kirk. "You would let him die when you have weapons to make him powerful and safe? Then he has the wrong friends-and I have the wrong man!" She rushed from the hut.
Tyree made no move to follow her. After an awk-ward pause, he said, "You will help in ways she does not understand. I have faith in our friendship, friend. Come -or we lose the darkness."
As he left, McCoy saw the pained look on Kirk's face. "What's bothering you? If we find the Klingons have armed the villagers, we can certainly do something about that."
Kirk rose. "That's what bothers me-the 'something' we may have to do."
They found Tyree waiting at the camp's edge. Despite the night, he was unhesitating as he led them along the trail winding downward to the village. The trees thinned -and he lifted a warning finger. A guard, flintlock at shoulder, was pacing his rounds on the village outskirts. The three came to a halt behind the bole of a massive tree.
"We'll wait for the guard to circle back." Kirk leaned back against the tree. "You have quite a wife, Tyree. Beautiful and intelligent."
Tyree gave him a quick look; and seeing the sincerity in his face, nodded. "A Kahn-ut-tu woman is always a prize. They have... ways of making a man happy."
"I remember the stories about them."
"But mine talks too much of killing."
"An ambitious woman is a treasure," McCoy said. "Or a time bomb."
Kirk spoke slowly. "Tyree, suppose... you had to fight? Suppose it were the only way?"
"Jim! This man believes the very thing we believe- killing is useless and stupid! What kind of question is that?"
Again Kirk was abruptly aware of loneliness-the lone-liness of the immense responsibility he had chosen to undertake. Well, he'd taken it. For better or worse, it had to be borne now. He was in this thing up to his neck. He straightened. The guard was returning. He slid away from the tree bole to slip through the night, weaving his way from shadow to shadow. When the guard was within a foot of him, he downed him with a karate chop. Then, seizing the gun, he passed it to Tyree, saying, "Keep this. Wait for us."
The village's buildings were more sophisticated than the simple constructions of Tyree's camp. Some were lighted. Kirk and McCoy, keeping to shadows, saw a man approaching one of the larger ones. What they could glimpse of his thinly bearded face seemed to be that of some scholarly ascetic; but in the light of the opening door, it showed up crafty, even malignant. Circling the house, they found a window; and huddled under it, watched him cross a room to a map-covered table. Sitting at it, a new flintlock beside him, was another man, his back turned to them. But Kirk didn't have to see the cruel, lipless Klingon face. He had recognized the tailored metallic Klingon dress. And a Klingon weapon hung at its belt.
"You are late, Apella," the Klingon said.
"A quarrel to be judged. The division of some skins and a woman taken this morning. It is hard to divide one woman, Krell."
"Give her to the man who killed the most Hillpeople. Then the others will see the profit in bravery." He passed the musket to Apella. "Your next improvement. Notice what we've done to the striker. See how it holds the priming powder more securely? Fewer misfires." Pushing his chair back, Krell got to his feet. "When I return, we'll give you other improvements. A rifled barrel-a means to shoot farther and straighter."
"They must have a workshop," Kirk whispered. "Let's go...."
It was McCoy who spotted the shed. It was a ram-shackle affair, set back from the street, but the black bulk heaped beside it was interesting. "Coal," McCoy said, "necessary for a forge. And those bags, they reek of sul-phur, an ingredient of gunpowder. Thus, logically, my dear Captain, their workshop."
"Thank you, Mr. Spock." Kirk's face suddenly sobered. "Sorry. I know you're worrying about him, too."
"About that walking computer? Yes, I am."
The lock on the shed's door was as dilapidated as the building. Embers had been left to flicker in the still-open forge. Scattered around it were wooden gunstocks, bullet molds, iron rods to be bored into weapon barrels. McCoy's tricorder hummed over the ingots; but Kirk had moved to a barrel-boring device. He tested its point with a piece of iron. To his surprise it clicked sharply. He un-screwed it. "People's exhibit number one," he said. "A chrome-steel drill point."
McCoy looked up. "This pig iron is almost carbon-free. No village furnace produced this." His tricorder passed over a barrel rod. "People's exhibit number two. Cold rolled barrel rods, fashioned to look handmade." He turned. "My apologies, Jim. You were right about the Klingons."
"Make recorder and scanner tapes on everything."
"Pity we can't include a Klingon. That would about wrap it-" He stopped. Footsteps and voices were near-ing the shed door. They scrambled for concealment be-hind a dusty pile of cinders.
Krell entered, followed by Apella. He hung the village lantern he carried high on a hook. Behind the protective cinders, Kirk motioned to McCoy. Understanding, McCoy unlimbered his tricorder; and as Apella broke into speech, recorded the words. "I thought my people would grow tired of killing. But you were right, Krell. They see it is easier than trading. And it has pleasures. I feel them myself. Like the hunt, but with richer rewards."
The Klingon had lifted a rifle from the work bench. "You'll be rich beyond your dreams one day, Apella. A governor in our Klingon Empire. Unimaginable delights -" He paused, hearing the tiny hum of McCoy's scanner. He turned to look around him-and Kirk grabbed at a wooden gunstock. He flung it hard at the lantern. Sparks showered as its light went out. In the dimness Kirk leaped at Krell but the Klingon pivoted, catching Kirk on the shoulder with the rifle. McCoy, rushing forward, used the "exhibit" barrel to drop Apella and whirled to help Kirk. But Krell had tripped over an iron rod. His rifle went off -and he shouted, "Guards! Intruders! The work shed, intrud-"
Kirk's fist got him straight on the chin. He fell-but already the Enterprise men could hear running footsteps, yells, alarm shots. They made for the
door. An armed villager, gun aimed, stood in it. Kirk, diving for his legs, tumbled him over the sill. Behind him Apella was up again; and again McCoy smashed down with the "exhibit" gunbarrel. They raced for the open door. Then they veered, making for the shadow behind the heaped coal. Armed villagers, converging on the shed, pelted past them. They waited. Then they broke from their shelter and fled. When the first bullet whined past them, they had rejoined Tyree.
Spock was no longer motionless. He had begun to writhe, his face distorted-and the body-functions panel's readings fluctuated madly. When a groan burst from his laboring chest, Christine Chapel rushed to the wall inter-com.