This time they didn't come apart as easily or as neatly as he'd wanted them to. But there was enough of the top layer left intact to serve their purpose. Wan and Garcia teamed up to carry it.
Only one more laminate was required. With great care, he went to work again, and this cut was the cleanest of all. Allowing the beam to lapse and activating the safety mechanism, he placed the disruptor back in his shoulder pouch.
And none too soon. The sun was dropping quickly in the west; soon it would be too dark to use the weapon without drawing a great deal of attention to themselves.
David looked up at him. Everyone else was at the bottom of the hill.
"Want a hand?" the boy offered, though not quite with the eagerness of the others.
"Please," Spock answered.
Together, they lifted the sheet of rock and brought it down to where the others were waiting for them. As the children watched, still hardly believing one could take apart a rock as if it were a sandwich, they set the laminate down near the others.
The Vulcan scanned the uneven terrain in all directions, to make sure there were no Klingons approaching. Then he turned his attention to the pit. It was a man's height in diameter and twice as deep, excavated only minutes earlier by the force of the borrowed disruptor. Using his eye to judge the proper measurement, Spock took the Klingon weapon out again and cut a slot in the hole.
"What's that for?" asked Garcia.
"The idea," the first officer told him, "is to take one of these leaves we've carried here and place the bottom edge of it in the slot, then lean the other edge up against the side of the pit. The second leaf will rest on the first at a more or less perpendicular angle, and the third will rest on the second in much the same way."
Like a house of cards," observed Medford. Spock was familiar with the analogy. "Yes. We will subsequently cover the topmost sheet with loose dirt and pack it. With a little care, it will look like part of the path and nothing more."
"I get it," said Wan. "When someone steps on it, he falls in."
The Vulcan nodded. "If all goes according to plan, the brittle top sheet of rock will give way, followed by the one below it and the one below that, until our passerby finds himself at the bottom of the hole."
"Just like the animal you were talking about," said Pfeffer. "The … le-matya?"
"Correct. Just like a le-matya that comes hunting too close to a Vulcan family estate."
"Mr. Spock?" asked Wan.
"Yes, Ms. Wan?"
"Why couldn't you just shoot the Klingons with your disruptor? I mean, you're so good at sneaking up on them and everything …"
Spock shook his head. "I may be able to do that to one Klingon, or two," he said. "But such tactics have limited utility. Eventually, I would be detected in the act, surrounded, and destroyed. This way, we may accomplish the same purpose with a much more limited exposure to danger."
"I knew that," claimed Pfeffer. "What a stupid question."
The Vulcan regarded him. "There is no such thing as a stupid question, Mister Pfeffer. Particularly when one is as young as Ms. Wan—or yourself."
Pfeffer looked cowed. "Sorry," he muttered.
"No apology is necessary, at least not to me." He turned back to the girl. "In any case, Ms. Wan, we may change our tactics if we can obtain additional disruptors. But for the time being, we must resort to more circumspect methods."
Wan nodded. "I understand," she told him.
It was gratifying to know that, especially in view of what he had in mind for her when the sun came up again. "Now," said Spock, taking in the rest of the children at a glance, "I would appreciate some help from all of you. We must cover this hole while we still have the light."
For a long time, there was darkness, peaceful and unbroken. Then a harsh whisper: "Captain, wake up."
Even before he threw off the last heavy tatters of his dreamless stupor, he recognized the voice. It was Scotty's. Good old Scotty. Always reliable, always there when you needed him.
As Kirk opened his eyes and turned to follow the voice to its source, he had already begun to put together the features that went with it: the round, light-complected face, the dark brows, the warm, brown eyes full of intelligence and good cheer. He wasn't prepared for the deep-set, silver orbs that peered at him out of a leathery visage as black as any void he'd ever seen.
In fact, he would have jumped to his feet if he'd been able to. Unfortunately, that wasn't an option because of the thick, coarse ropes binding his hands and feet.
"Damn," he breathed out loud, trying desperately to figure out how a Malurian had managed to steal his friend's voice. Then he remembered.
He knew where he was, and how Scotty's words could be coming from a Malurian mouth, and why they were tied up. And though it calmed him to think he hadn't lost his mind, it was hardly pleasant to realize they were in the hands of a rebel faction that had already demonstrated a penchant for violence.
Scotty's pale, almost luminous eyes narrowed in their prosthetic-sockets. "Sir, are ye all right? For a minute, I thought they'd brained ye altogether."
The captain managed a smile. "No. I've still got my wits. Or most of them, anyway."
"They've taken our communicators," Scotty said.
Kirk nodded. Their captors had been thorough.
He turned from Scotty to survey their surroundings.
They were in a small chamber with a single window, which let in a gray shaft of light not far from where they were sitting. The door was set into the far wall. Kirk was reasonably certain it was locked and probably well guarded into the bargain. In fact, he thought he heard voices on the other side of it.
He tested his bonds. They'd been tied by an expert. And there was nothing in the room sharp enough to cut them with.
Not that these were obstacles he couldn't get past. There was always a way out, if one thought about it.
In this case, for instance, the window offered two advantages. If they smashed it, they'd have all the sharp edges they needed to sever their bonds. And the opening looked big enough for them to wriggle through.
Of course, with their ankles bound the way they were, they'd have no choice but to hop over there. An awkward process, to be sure, but one they could have put up with. That is, if escape had been their top priority, which it wasn't. They hadn't come all this way to go home empty-handed. Their purpose was to establish a dialogue with the Obirrhat. And the best way to do that was to stay put.
"With all that paraphernalia on yer face, it's hard fer me t' tell what ye're thinkin'," Scotty observed.
"What I'm thinking," the captain told him, "is that, contrary to appearances, we may be in a pretty good position. If we can convince our—"
He was interrupted by the creaking of the door as it pushed open. A moment later, a trio of Obirrhat entered the room.
None of them looked particularly well disposed toward their prisoners. And two of the three carried phasers in a way that suggested they had no qualms about using them.
"I see you're awake," noted the unarmed Obirrhat. And then, to his companions: "Get them on their feet."
The phaser bearers did as they were told. Each of them took an arm and hauled a prisoner up off the floor.
It was rough treatment, but Kirk offered no resistance. This was one of those times when his mouth would help him more than his muscles.
"Damned Manteil spies," the unarmed Obirrhat spat. "Did you really think you would fool us with your story about coming from Torril?" He took a step forward. "Now, I want to know two things. Who sent you? And for what purpose?"
The captain grunted. "Before we get into all that, I should tell you we're not what we seem to be."
Their captor's eyes narrowed. "What is that supposed to mean?"
"We're aliens," Scotty explained. "Members of the Federation diplomatic team assigned to help end your conflict with the Manteil."
"Aliens?" the Obirrhat echoed. "How can that be?"
"I know," Kirk said. "It's hard to b
elieve. But it's the truth." He raised his hands to his face and touched his cheek. "This is all the product of prosthetics and subdermal dyes. Underneath it all, we're human."
"I see," the Obirrhat remarked, though he sounded skeptical, to say the least. "And I suppose there's a way to prove what you say?"
The captain nodded. "You could open my shirt. The disguise only covers our faces and hands."
Still looking suspicious, the man gestured to one of his companions. "Do as he says, Zaabit."
The one called Zaabit tucked his phaser into his belt—behind him, so that the prisoner couldn't grab it while they were at close quarters—and began unfastening the front of Kirk's tunic. After a moment, he gasped.
"What is it?" asked the Obirrhat in charge.
"He wasn't lying," Zaabit replied, turning to face his comrade. In his surprise, he'd presented his back to the captain, giving him a golden opportunity to grab the phaser. But under the circumstances, Kirk refrained.
The leader seemed to look at the prisoners in a new light. "So you really are the offworlders," he said. "We really are," the captain confirmed. "And we didn't come to the sacred precinct to spy on you. We came to find your leaders, Menikki and Omalas. The former ministers. We wanted to talk with them."
Their captor's face twitched. "What about?"
"We need to hear their side of the story," Kirk explained. "If there's a way out of this conflict, we're not going to find it dealing with the Manteil alone."
The Obirrhat digested the information. "I am sorry to disappoint you," he said at last, "but Menikki and Omalas are not here. And even if they were, they would not waste their time speaking with you."
"Waste their time!" Scotty blurted, his indignation rising to the surface. Even with a Malurian cast to them, his eyes seemed to blaze.
"That is correct," the Obirrhat told him, cutting him off. "For that is what it would be—a complete and utter waste of time. There is no possibility of reconciliation with the Manteil. They are obsessed with those damned cubaya."
"Perhaps," the captain suggested, "we should let Menikki and Omalas make that decision for themselves. After all, we represent an objective third party in the—"
"Enough," their captor announced. "I do not need an offworlder to tell me what is best for my people."
There was something about the way he said the last phrase—"my people"—that gave Kirk pause.
"You're one of the ministers," he said.
The Obirrhat nodded. "I am Menikki. So you see, I am an expert on the Manteil, particularly those on the council. And when I say I do not believe your intervention will accomplish anything, I know whereof I speak."
"'With all due respect," Scotty said, "ye've nae even tried it. If ye'd only come back to the negotiation table—"
"Why?" the minister asked him. "So I can be told yet again that our sacred places are meaningless, that they are somehow less important than a herd of dirty beasts? So I can be humiliated by men who can't see beyond their own absurd beliefs?"
"All right then," the captain interjected. "Stay here and do what you have to. But give us a better idea of what your needs are so we can try to formulate a solution on our own."
Menikki snorted. "You mean provide an education for you? And then send you back to the Manteil?"
Kirk nodded. "Something like that. We just need more to go on. All the information we've heard so far has been supplied by the council. And as you know, that's a pretty one-sided situation these days."
The minister shook his head. He looked incredubous. "Is it possible you really believe we will let you go?"
The captain frowned. This was definitely not a positive development.
"What do you mean?" he asked.
Menikki's face twitched—a sign of regret? "I mean we cannot let you live. Not after you have seen our hiding place."
Kirk's mouth went dry. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Scotty turn to look at him.
"That wouldn't be very intelligent," the captain argued. "You may have taken our communicators, but my people know we're in the precinct. If we're gone too long, they'll tell Traphid."
"We do not fear Traphid," the minister told him.
"That's foolish," Kirk said. "The Manteil could come in here and crush you anytime they want to. You know that. And our deaths will only make them want to do so that much sooner."
Menikki shrugged. He turned to the armed Obirrhat standing on either side of the captain and Scotty.
"Dispose of them," the minister instructed.
His comrades raised their phasers. And Kirk had no doubt about the level of destruction the weapons were set for.
So much for my mouth, he thought. It's time to try the alternative.
Before the Obirrhat beside him could, press the trigger, the captain lashed out with his bound-together hands and knocked the weapon aside. Then, allowing the surprised Obirrhat no time to recover, he reversed directions and belted him across the mouth.
The Obirrhat staggered backward, his weapon clattering to the floor. Kirk lunged for it, but bound as he was, he didn't quite make it. As he hit the deck, bruising his ribs in the process, he found the device just inches beyond his outstretched hands.
By then, however, the Obirrhat had taken in the situation and was reaching for the weapon as well. Desperately, the captain gathered his knees underneath him and propelled himself forward again.
This time, he made it. His fingers closed on the device just in time for him to whirl and point it at his antagonist.
Finding himself on the wrong end of the weapon, the Obirrhat withdrew his hands and backed off.
Only then did Kirk dare to glance in Scotty's direction. As it turned out, the engineer hadn't fared quite as well as his captain. He'd trapped his captor's head in a vicious-looking leglock and, though the Obirrhat didn't have possession of his weapon, neither did Scotty. It was lying on the floor, just beyond their awkward attempts to reach it.
As Kirk watched, Menikki started for the unclaimed device. The captain fired a bright red warning shot, which scarred the floor between the minister and his objective. Menikki looked up at him, eyes wide.
"If I were you," the captain said, "I'd back off." He turned again to his own adversary, before the man could get any ideas. "I mean all of you."
With a sigh of relief, Scotty relaxed his legs and let his opponent's head slip out. "Damn," he said, "I'm glad I didnae have t' keep that up much longer."
As the Obirrhat retreated, giving the remaining weapon a wide berth, Scotty wriggled over and took charge of it. Then he pushed himself up to a kneeling position and glanced back at Kirk.
"I can cover them, sir, while ye make yerself a wee bit more comfortable."
Indeed, the Obirrhat looked stunned. Obviously, they hadn't had much experience at this sort of thing.
The captain nodded. "Thank you," he told Scotty. Creeping over to the wall, he sat up and rested his back against it. Then, digging in with his heels, he shimmied up the vertical surface into a standing position.
"All right," he said, training his weapon on their captors. "Your turn, Mr. Scott."
A few moments later, the engineer had pushed himself to his feet as well. He turned to Kirk, probably trying to smile beneath his prosthesis. "Nice work, sir."
"Likewise." Turning to the Obirrhat, he said: "And now, I'd like to try a somewhat different approach."
"So would I," said a voice from beyond the open doorway. And barely an instant later, a hunched and elderly figure came through.
Menikki cursed, then interposed himself between the newcomer and the humans. "Do not hurt him," he pleaded. "He presents no danger to you."
"We're not going to hurt anybody," Kirk assured them. "Not if we can help it."
"It is all right, Menikki," said his fellow minister. "I believe him."
Menikki frowned. "You are too trusting, Omalas."
The older Obirrhat shrugged. "Perhaps. Or maybe you are not trusting enough."
Taking adva
ntage of the distraction, Scotty aimed his phaser at the ropes that bound his ankles. It took the dark red beam only a moment to slice through.
Not a bad idea, Kirk mused, and did the same for his own bonds.
"That was unnecessary," Omalas said. "We could have untied your ropes."
The captain grunted. "It didn't seem the matter was entirely up to you."
The Obirrhat looked amused; the corners of his eyes crinkled as he regarded his fellow minister. "Menikki is hotheaded sometimes," he replied. "But he usually follows my lead."
The younger man shook his head. "Not this time, Omalas. There is too much at stake here—not only our lives and those of our people but the success of the whole revolt. Without you and me, who will lead it?"
Omalas pointed to the Starfleet officers. "This man has offered us a way to settle our dispute without further bloodshed. Is that not worth taking a few chances for?"
Menikki harrumphed. "It is a false hope they offer us, even if they themselves believe otherwise. The Manteil are as stubborn as bedrock. You know that as well as I do."
"It may be," Omalas countered, "that the Manteil say the same thing about us." He looked at Kirk for confirmation. "True?"
The captain tried to smile, but the prosthetics wouldn't allow him. "I'm afraid so," he said, nodding.
The older Obirrhat eyed him. "And even with two such intransigent combatants, you believe you can forge a lasting peace?"
Kirk nodded. "We've done it before."
Omalas seemed satisfied. "Very well, then. I will not come out of hiding to meet with Traphid and the others; we may not meet with the kind of welcome you anticipate. But I will see to it that you have whatever information you need to do your job."
Menikki made a hissing sound. Apparently, he still had some reservations about letting the offworlders live.
"Thank you," the captain told Omalas, ignoring the younger minister's reaction.
"In the meantime, though, you must return our phasers. I fear that the rest of our comrades, who await me just down the hall, would misunderstand if they saw you with a weapon in your hands."
Kirk hesitated. Could the Obirrhat be trusted?
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