TO THE CAPTAIN'S EYE, the sacred precincts of the Obirrhat looked as old as civilization itself. The streets were narrow and winding—paths, really, between two and three-story buildings that leaned together like drunken conspirators. Underfoot, there were cobblestones that the years had worn down and cracked; in a number of places, the stones were missing altogether, leaving nothing but dirt in the gaps.
Statuary, most of it in an advanced state of ruin, appeared at nearly every intersection. The most common subjects were young women and children with their arms full of stony flowers.
The place even smelled ancient, Kirk thought, as they filed through the labyrinthine space between two especially precarious-looking edifices. It had that musty odor one associated with antique books, or the kind of old stone bridges one could still find back in Iowa.
It was the kind of place he might have liked to linger in, to get to know better. That is, if it weren't for the deadly stares and muttered curses that dogged his group's every step.
"Feeling a little unwanted?" McCoy asked.
The captain nodded. "More than a little, Bones. Then again, we should have expected a few funny looks. They must wonder what we're up to."
"That's fer certain," Scotty chimed in. "Especially since we've got a couple of armed Manteil watchin' over us. Nothin' like seein' the enemy paradin' through yer streets t' make ye feel a wee bit insecure."
"Frankly," Farquhar said, "I don't see the point in commenting on it. The first minister made it clear he wouldn't allow us to tour the area without an escort. And now that I've had a chance to see what it's like down here, I'm glad he insisted."
Kirk glanced at the pair of Manteil security guards Traphid had assigned to them. It was true there had been bloodshed in these streets, and there might be more before this conflict was resolved.
But Scotty had a point. Their tour could only look like an attempt to underline the Manteil's authority, and that might make a bad situation worse.
As they emerged from the street and passed a relatively wide, perpendicular thoroughfare, the captain noticed a square full of people a block away. It was the first large, open area they'd seen.
He pointed to it. "What's that?"
The nearer of the two guards said: "The market. It's where the Obirrhat in this area buy their food and clothing."
It looked interesting. Nor did there seem to be much point in merely continuing to walk the streets.
On the other hand, it might irritate the Obirrhat if the offworlders and their guards invaded the marketplace. And they'd done enough invading for one day.
"May we see it?" Farquhar asked.
Inwardly, the captain cursed himself for bringing the subject up in the first place. Fortunately, the guards had their wits about them.
"It is not advisable," one of them told the ambassador. "In such a crowd, it would be nearly impossible to guarantee your safety."
"Good point," Kirk said. "In fact, I think I've seen enough of this place altogether."
The ambassador shook his head. "I disagree."
"What a surprise," McCoy whispered in his captain's ear.
"I think it's important to get all the information we can," Farquhar went on. He smiled, the picture of a reasonable man. "We don't have to go into the crowd. We can stand at the fringe of it."
The guards looked at one another. They frowned.
"I'll take full responsibility with First Minister Traphid," the ambassador assured them. "You have my word on it."
The guards continued to look at one another. Their frowns deepened.
Oh, Lord, Kirk thought. They're going to give in.
But he was wrong. One of the guards turned to Farquhar and shook his head. "I do not believe your taking responsibility would make any difference to the first minister. I am afraid I must—"
He was cut off by a banshee yell. Without thinking, the captain took hold of the ambassador and drove him to the ground behind a wooden pushcart.
A moment later, he was glad his reflexes had been so sharp. As he peered over his shoulder, he saw a couple of Obirrhat youths spraying gouts of red phaser fire in their direction.
Across the way, Scotty and Bones had managed to find cover behind a piece of statuary. Unfortunately, the captain thought, the council had prohibited the offworlders from carrying arms, or the battle might have ended as soon as it began.
As it was, their Manteil guards held their ground and returned fire. Tactically, Kirk knew, it was a mistake.
One of the Manteil paid the price for it, taking a direct shot. The impact sent him flying back into a wall, where he slumped to the cobblestones, a charred, smoking hole in the center of his chest.
His partner remained steadfast, however. Without flinching, he aimed, fired, and took down one of their assailants.
Before the Obirrhat youth could hit the ground, Kirk saw the blackened ruin that had been his midsection and realized the guards had their weapons set to kill as well.
When the other Obirrhat saw his friend fall, he started to back away, squeezing off a couple of blasts to cover his retreat. They didn't help. Coolly, the surviving Manteil skewered him on a bloodred beam.
The youth fell in a fuming heap at a woman's feet. Stricken with horror, she opened her eyes wide and her fingers climbed into her mouth.
For a second or two, there was silence as the import of what had happened began to sink in. Then the Obirrhat around them started to get ugly.
"We've got to get out of here," the ambassador muttered, recognizing the danger immediately. He was doing his best to maintain his composure, but his eyes were a window on his fear.
"Damned right," Kirk replied. Making sure that Bones and Scotty saw him; he jerked a thumb down the street, in the direction from which they'd come. Then, half lifting Farquhar off the cobblestones, he headed that way. Calmly. Or at least, as calmly as possible under the circumstances.
The ambassador began to accelerate, to break into a run, but the captain held him back. "No," he said. "If you run, it's an admission of guilt. And they'll run after us." He looked about them—saw the eyes, angrier than ever, and the mouths twisted with hatred—and kept his balance despite it all. "Trust me," he told Farquhar. "This is our best shot at getting out of here alive."
A wail went up from the woman at whose feet the youth had fallen—a thin, undulating whine of mourning. Before long, others had joined in. The surviving guard bent and pulled his comrade's body over his shoulder, leaving a bloody stain on the cobblestones. He still had his phaser in his hand, though he had the presence of mind not to make it obvious.
"Captain," Scotty rasped, as his path and McCoy's converged with Kirk's. "Are ye all right, sir?"
The Obirrhat in the intersection had begun to move with them, to track them like a huge, deadly predator with a hundred accusing faces.
The captain nodded, keeping a firm grasp on the ambassador's arm. He still had the feeling that Farquhar might bolt at any moment. And for his plan to work, he needed them all together. If they got separated, there was no telling what might happen.
"We're fine, Mr. Scott. Now let's direct our eyes straight ahead and see if we can keep it that way."
Abruptly, a different kind of cry went up, a more guttural sound, bristling with violence. Kirk ignored it, glancing behind them only once to make sure their guard was with them. Once he saw the Manteil, he trained his gaze on their target—the end of the street—and headed for it.
After that, of course, there would be another street, and maybe another. And then maybe they'd be out of the sacred precinct, and the crowd would be inclined to stop following them. Maybe.
The captain wasn't putting all his eggs in that basket, however. Now that his back was to the Obirrhat and they couldn't see his hands, he reached for his communicator and opened it waist-high.
Certainly, he could have done that before. But the Obirrhat might have thought the communicator was another weapon being trained on them, and then the situation might have escalated.
"Kirk to Enterprise."
"This is Enterprise," Sulu responded. "Something wrong, Captain?"
That was the value of serving with a man for a number of years. He could tell you were in trouble even before you had a chance to say so.
"Affirmative, Lieutenant. Have Chief Kyle lock onto my coordinates and beam up five—including two Malurians, one dead and one alive."
He could have asked for security personnel to be beamed down, but that would have been an act of desperation. The potential for a major incident was already there without their throwing more fuel on the fire.
Sulu paused on the other end. "Captain, Kyle says there are a great many Malurians within close proximity. It may take some time to isolate the ones who are with you."
"Tell Kyle to move as quickly as he can, Lieutenant. We may not have all that much time." Closing his communicator, he put it away.
Nor was he a moment too soon. Obirrhat heads were starting to poke out from warped window openings, demanding to know what was going on. They were answered by the crowd, which seemed to grow larger with each pursuing step.
Kirk turned to the Manteil, who was breathing hard now with the strain of bearing his comrade's corpse. "Put your weapon on stun," he told the man.
The guard looked at him, uncomprehending.
Kirk said it again. "Put your weapon on stun, damn it. Do it now."
"But if they charge us, and they see it won't kill them—"
"Then it'll be to our disadvantage."
The Manteil shook his head. "I don't—"
"What he's saying," McCoy rasped, "is any more killing could make this city a bloodbath, and that's more important than whether the four of us live or die. Now put the blasted thing on stun or I will."
Reluctantly, the guard altered the setting.
Out of the corner of his eye, the captain saw something thrown at him. He ducked. As it passed by, he saw what it was a piece of ancient masonry. Great, he thought. Just great.
Another chunk came whizzing at Scotty. Unable to avoid, it entirely, he took a glancing blow off his shoulder.
They were getting closer to the intersection. Hell, they were almost on top of it. A little farther now, a little farther, and the cross street opened up on either side of them.
God help us, the captain mused, if we actually have to get out of here on foot. Before long, it'll be a blasted gauntlet.
As if to give force to his fears, Kirk felt something strike him in the back, hard. He winced but kept going, mindful of the numbers against them. McCoy was hit, too; he uttered a curse, though it was too low for their pursuers to pick up.
After the next intersection, Kirk noticed, the character of the buildings began to change. His earlier assessment was correct—they were within a couple of blocks of the precinct limits.
And still no help from the Enterprise. Come on, Kyle, he breathed.
Yet another projectile came slanting down at them, catching the ambassador on the side of the head. When he turned to the captain, fright and indignation fighting for control of him, there was blood trickling down from his temple.
The man was going to run. Kirk could see it in his face.
He tightened his grip on Farquhar's arm. "Don't do it," he told him. "Don't even think about it."
Thrusting his chin out, the ambassador endeavored to do as he was told. But his lower lip was trembling; clearly, he was barely able to contain his outrage.
The stoning continued. At one point, a small child even ran up in front of them and hurled a pebble at Scotty, then jeered before running away again. But they endured it, were even grateful for it, because as long as the Obirrhat only used stones, they had a chance. And all the while, they were buying time for the transporter chief.
Finally, however, someone hurled a piece of rock too big to dismiss. McCoy must have been looking back at their antagonists, because it struck him in the forehead, hard enough to make his knees buckle and oblige Scotty to catch him. For an instant, the doctor appeared to be unconscious. Then, with the engineer's help, he managed to gather his feet beneath him and stagger on, blood streaming down his face on both sides of his left eye.
Still, the captain thought, McCoy was lucky. Thrown with a little more enthusiasm, that rock could have killed him.
Looking skyward, Kirk made another silent appeal to Kyle: Beam us up. Chief! What's taking so long?
The stoning got worse—heavier and harder. The captain took a shot in the back of the head that made him bite down on his lip. He tasted blood; before he could spit it out, another missile smashed him in the side of the knee.
They weren't going to last much longer. The Obirrhat were getting more vicious with each barrage. Soon, one or more of them would fall to the ground, and that would be the beginning of the end.
The second intersection loomed in front of them. But before they could reach it, it filled up with rock-wielding Obirrhat who blocked their path.
There was nowhere to go. They were trapped.
Suddenly, without warning, their Manteil guard whipped out his phaser and played it over the crowd in back of them. Not knowing that he'd adjusted it to a nonlethal setting, they fell back immediately, as some of the Obirrhat in the front rank collapsed to their knees.
That's when all hell broke loose. The Obirrhat in the intersection hurled their stones and screamed a vow of vengeance for their brothers' deaths.
The Manteil turned to fire his weapon at them as well, but a well-aimed hunk of rock caught him in the jaw and ruined his aim. Off-balance, burdened by his comrade's body, he went down.
Nor was there time to go scrambling for the phaser. There was barely time enough for Kirk to set himself as the Obirrhat in the intersection rushed them, bellowing as they came.
He wasn't going to give up, the captain told himself. He'd faced worse than this a hundred times and gotten through it somehow. That's what he told himself. But in his heart, he had to concede that this might be the exception that proved the rule.
And what a way to go—at the hands of a mob, probably more scared than he was—fighting over a bunch of dumb beasts who didn't have a clue they were being fought over. He could almost have laughed.
Then he saw the Obirrhat closing with them, and he decided against it. As the leader of the charge brought a piece of rock back, preparing to bludgeon him with it, Kirk shuffled his feet to avoid the blow. The rock shot forward and missed, but the Obirrhat behind it wasn't going to be so easy to elude. As the captain braced for the impact of bone against bone…
Nothing happened.
And then he realized why. He was no longer standing in a narrow street in the Obirrhats' sacred precinct, he was on a platform in the Enterprise's transporter room. What's more, Scotty and Bones were with him, though both of them had seen better days. And so was the Manteil guard, along with his tragic burden.
Dr. M'Benga, Nurse Chapel, and a trauma team had been waiting alongside Kyle for the landing party's arrival. As Kirk and the others came staggering off the platform, each of them found a pair of arms to lend support.
"I'm all right," the captain told the two burly nurses who'd come to his aid. "Really, I'm fine."
"I'll be the judge of that," said M'Benga. He turned to the nurses. "See him to sickbay. And don't let him pull rank on you."
"That's right," McCoy muttered, as another pair of sickbay personnel ushered him off. "Be careful with him; he's a slippery devil." And he winked, bloody face and all.
Kirk was glad to see the doctor still had enough of his wits to poke fun at him. Sighing, he allowed himself to be escorted to sickbay with the others.