Mudd's Angels Read online

  "And a criminal," added McCoy.

  "Is he?" asked the android. "He has been so careful to stay within the limits of the law. We know of none he has broken."

  "So we couldn't even arrest him," said Kirk bitterly. "Even if we could find him, we have no recourse but to pay him for his tricks. And how are we to locate an unknown vessel without coordinates, sensor readings, not even a sector?"

  Uhura said, "We could try the collar-button game."

  "The what?"

  "You know—if I were a collar button, where would I be?"

  "What's a collar button?" said Weinberg. McCoy whispered something to him. He nodded thoughtfully.

  As Spock and Mudd II turned and froze Uhura with identical stares, McCoy said aloud, "I remember that. But it's not really very helpful. Lieutenant."

  "Sir?" said Weinberg. "It isn't logical, it's all a matter of imagination, if I understand what the Doctor just explained. What else can we try? If we tried to pretend we were in Mudd's shoes, follow his train of thought, it might lead us somewhere…" He trailed off.

  Doubtful, Kirk said tentatively. "The only one among us who could be familiar with his trains of thought would be Mudd II. Could you—"

  The android who so resembled Harry glared. "I must remind this young human that I am not Harry Mudd, and that we regard such irrational proceedings as wholly meaningless."

  Spock rose from his chair and sat down near the android. He did not speak, but it was clear that he aligned himself with the forces of reason.

  "But the rational approach hasn't got us anywhere," said Weinberg. "All that work with calculations and computers, and we're stymied. Isn't there anyone here with something in common with the real Harry Mudd, who could try?"

  "Yeoman Weinberg, I find your remarks entirely out of order. Harry Mudd is an aging delinquent, a criminal—"

  "Not proven," said the android.

  "—and a liar, and no member of this ship's company answers in any way to that description."

  "Of course not, sir. But he has other characteristics as well—he's devoted to pretty women, he loves luxury, he's clever and spirited and optimistic. Doesn't anyone share these with Mudd?

  Several pairs of eyes glanced at the navigator's console.

  "What are you all looking at me for?" said Chekov, startled.

  "Mister Chekov," said Kirk, smiling, "If you were Harry Mudd, where would you be?"

  "Please, Captain, I hardly know the man. I can't imagine."

  "Mister Chekov," said Weinberg, leaning forward earnestly, "think of Mudd's Planet, as you first saw it. There were all those temptations, remember?"

  Chekov's tongue ran round dry lips. "I remember."

  "You were tempted, Mister Chekov," said the captain.

  "Yes, sir. But so was everybody else, sir."

  Kirk sighed, acknowledging the truth of this. "Yes, Even Mudd liked it, until the androids wouldn't let him leave. You don't like coercion either, Mister Chekov?" he added hopefully.

  "No, Captain. But who does?"

  "I don't think Mister Chekov feels any sympathy with Mudd whatsoever," said Spock. "I am not at all sure that it is proper to press him."

  "That's not quite true," said Chekov. "About some things—girls, for instance." He hesitated. "I wouldn't ever go Mudd's way, not ever, but sometimes I have daydreamed a little about the life on that planet—the one we couldn't have… I…" said Chekov, uncomfortably. "I'd never have said so, 'but you seemed to think I could help in some way, and so…"

  "Mister Chekov, I think I speak for us all. You have remarkable courage," said McCoy reassuringly. "None of us were so above temptation as all that. I remember that laboratory…"

  "But Bones, the laboratory did not interest Harry Mudd, except as a means to an end," said Kirk. "And yes, Mister Chekov, I do indeed agree with the doctor. Are you now volunteering to try to imagine you are Harry Mudd, and what you would do in his position?"

  "All right, sir. Yes, sir."

  "Well, try."

  Chekov shut his eyes and frowned in concentration.

  "You have a ship full of supplies everybody in the Galaxy wants… They're all after you, Harry … If you can just find a place to hide. Think of it, Harry, where will you go to be safe?" said Weinberg helpfully.

  "May I point out," remarked Spock, "that this repellent effort could include the fact that Mudd is now in a position to control the galaxy?"

  "Power, Harry… the power to ask anything— luxury, women, all the wealth of the galaxy— if you can only find a place to hide…"

  Chekov's brow was knotted. "I am having leetle trouble imagining all that. It's not possible, not conceivable. Not for me. I wouldn't want so much power—I couldn't handle it."

  Kirk was not displeased; Chekov could not even imagine being irresponsible.

  "Oh, he's too inhibited!" said Weinberg with impatience. "Doctor, can't you give him something to loosen him up a little? Hypnosis, a drug— anything?"

  "I could not," said McCoy. "It would be most unethical."

  "Please?" said Chekov. "Eef I can do anything to help, and we cannot afford not to try—I am willing."

  "I don't like it," said McCoy. "It can be dangerous messing about with the inhibitions of a trained officer. They can be vital to his or his ship's survival."

  "But sir, the question is now the survival of all the ships in the Galaxy. Isn't there something you could do—a tranquillizer, a light trance, nothing drastic or dangerous…" urged Weinberg. "As long as Mister Chekov is willing, it wouldn't need much."

  Chekov looked at McCoy and nodded. "I am not afraid of anything you would do, Doctor McCoy. You would never do me harm, nor harm the Enterprise."

  "Doctor." Kirk's voice was utterly neutral— neither a request nor a command—something uncertainly between the two.

  "All right," said McCoy reluctantly. "But if it doesn't work with a very light trance, we'll have to find some other line of investigation."

  "Like what?" said Kirk, meeting his eye. "Do you think I would agree to anything so farfetched as this if we could think of something else?"

  McCoy, resigned, pressed a hypospray to Chekov's arm, and sat down facing him.

  "Relax, Pavel. Everything is all right now. Just relax, and let your body feel easy…"

  "Yes, Doctor." Chekov's eyes dropped shut His breathing grew slow and regular.

  "Your name is Mudd," said Doctor McCoy. Someone suppressed a giggle. Spock winced. "Harcourt Fenton Mudd… You long for riches, and soft women. You can never get enough…"

  "Mmmmmm," murmured Chekov, smiling.

  McCoy went on, under the fascinated eyes of the bridge. He described Mudd's face "in a mirror"; his ambitions, his quest for riches and power. "… And now you are on board your powerful new ship, the Superstella, laden with your loot…"

  "Horse," said Chekov, firmly. "No ships."

  "On the Superstella, filled with rich cargo…"

  "Khabardar!" shouted Chekov, slicing his right arm through the air. Puzzled, the group exchanged glances.

  "Where are you headed, Harry?" continued the doctor gently.

  "To Kuban we fly, in the steps of Iskander and the Khan…"

  "Kuban? Check that, Spock," whispered Kirk.

  Spock, shaking his head, bent to his console.

  "… Tana and Sarai will never rise again. Timur has conquered!… I am sore, bring rugs…" Chekov's voice fell to a whisper and he lolled in his chair.

  "Wake him, Bones," said Kirk sharply.

  One leg stretched out before him as though stiff, Chekov was rolling back and forth, and muttering.

  "Pavel Andrevich, you are relaxing into sleep. Sweet, dreamless sleep… All is well. You will waken slowly, very slowly, and when I call your name you will awaken — Pavel!"

  Chekov sat up and rubbed his eyes. "What happened? Did we find him? Did it work?"

  McCoy sighed with relief. That trance had been rather deeper than he had intended.

  "We don't know yet. Spock
?"

  "There is a planet called Kuban in Sector 27-F, and another called Sarai in Sector 29-G. No registered planet called Tana. Neither of the two planets have any dilithium crystal trade or production."

  "That didn't sound much like Harry Mudd," said Scotty doubtfully. "What was that about a horse?"

  "We should have asked him more questions," said Kirk, drumming his fingers on the arm of his chair.

  Chekov looked disappointed.

  "I disagree, Jim," said the doctor, uneasily, "He didn't sound like Mudd to me either. But hypnosis is a delicate business—he was either going further under, or coming out. He gave you two planets—what more do you want?"

  "I suppose we could hardly expect more. But it's so vague… However, Mister Chekov, we do thank you."

  "What did I say?" asked Chekov. The recording, played back to him, merely baffled him. "I don't get it," he said. "What was that foreign word? It wasn't Russian—I don't even know it. And I've never seen a horse. It didn't mean anything."

  "Not to your conscious mind," said McCoy.

  "And I don't think that was anything like Mudd," said Chekov finally. "Are we going to— what was it—Kuban, Captain?"

  "Have we any choice?" said Kirk wearily. "It's about as reliable a clue as a feather in the wind, but it's all we have."

  The android Mudd II, expressing himself as thoroughly shorted out in his logic circuits, took his leave. Spock watched his departure wistfully.

  "You don't approve of this, Spock."

  "Captain, I am virtually beyond comment. My logic circuits are also shorted out."

  "I'll confess something, Spock. So are mine. But at least we have a direction in which to start, rather than sitting here going around in mental circles."

  "I will acknowledge that, Captain. For whatever it may be worth. You could as well have stuck a pin in a star map, however."

  CHAPTER FIVE

  THE PLANET KUBAN was rocky, barren and uninhabited. There was no sign of a living being upon it.

  Across in Sector Twenty-nine-G, the planet Sarai was a hive of activity—a transit station for goods entering and leaving the sector.

  "It might be just the place to hide—the purloined letter principle," said Weinberg. "Who'd notice one more ship among this crowd?"

  "I don't think you understand the principles of planetary traffic control, Yeoman," said Spock drily. "Every parking orbit is assigned and known. We could inquire if the vessel has been here; they will know."

  But the Superstella had not been admitted to orbit at Sarai, and was most definitely not among the ships presently loading or offloading.

  "That's that," said Kirk. "It was a pretty fragile clue." He sat in his command chair, looking at the floor.

  "I let you down. I didn't find him," said Chekov, sadly.

  "Not your fault, Mister Chekov. Your subconscious is not Harry Mudd, for which we must all be very thankful."

  Sarai courteously requested that the Enterprise, if their business was concluded, kindly make way for incoming traffic. And no, their facilities had never been used for transshipping dilithium crystals. The great starship headed for interstellar space.

  They lingered, hopelessly, aware of time running out. When Uhura reported an incoming message, Kirk cringed inwardly. It would be Star Fleet, transmitting its urgent orders once again. And he had nothing to report.

  "That's funny." Uhura nudged her controls. "It's—Captain! It's Mudd!"

  Everyone crowded to Uhura's console. "He's broadcasting on a general band—a blanket message. It must be reaching clear across the Galaxy! He says—he wants bids for two hundred kilotons of crystals, Captain!"

  "What's he done with the rest? Where is he?"

  "He's building up his price, Captain. He can afford to feed the supply back into the system slowly and expensively. And when it's exhausted —he still has those contracts," said Spock.

  "Uhura, can you locate him? The coordinates?"

  "That's very difficult, Captain."

  "Trace the radio direction, Lieutenant."

  "Sub-space radio doesn't work like real-time radio, sir. Once the message is coded into sub-space transmission, it becomes a part of the Dirac beep. Unless the message itself contains coordinates, you can't possibly trace a single message to its source."

  "The Dirac beep?" said Weinberg.

  "Sub-space contains all messages ever sent, or to be sent, simultaneously. Our receivers tune in only to messages especially coded, Yeoman." [For details, see "The Quincunx of Time," James Blish.]

  "I see—I guess."

  "But you can tell if he is near this sector?"

  "Yes sir. By the wave-decoding factor. He is in this quadrant."

  "Hell and damnation!" said Kirk.

  "Captain, he'll have to give directions for receiving his bids. Just wait a little longer," said Spock.

  "You're right, Mister Spock. Here it comes," said Uhura. "Minus 72 Mark zero range 59 kpc, sir."

  "An area of 38,792.473 cubic parsecs, Captain. Rather a lot to search. He seems to be in the globular cluster NGC 104 in the constellation Tucana—close to the Romulan borders. It's not going to be easy to find one ship in a cluster, Captain," Spock said from his station.

  "Aye, Captain. The electromagnetic radiations alone are likely to foul our instruments," added Scott.

  "Are the stars so close together as to make it impossible to negotiate a course, Spock?"

  "No, Captain. This cluster is Concentration III —the closest are about half a light-year apart. The odds are much in our favor. But a search pattern is going to be exceedingly complex."

  "Considering the odds against us an hour ago, Spock, it seems to me that they are much improved. Set the course for Tucana, Mister Chekov!"

  The viewscreens, adjusted for real-scale image, showed a startling sky. The light from the Galaxy was drowned in the glow of the thousand suns of the cluster. Too dense to be seen as constellations, the stars of its core merged into a blue-white brilliance, casting the shadow of the main hull sharply over the propulsion nacelles. Suddenly the shipboard lights seemed weak and dim. The officers and crew of the Enterprise gazed at the dazzling sky.

  "Any sign of Mudd, Spock?" said Kirk at last.

  "The sensor interference is very heavy, Captain. If he's hiding in there"—Spock indicated the blazing heart of the cluster—"it may not be possible to locate him. He's chosen the best possible refuge."

  "Hmph," said Kirk. "Lieutenant Uhura, send a message to Harry Mudd. 'Space Fleet regards your actions as highly irregular and a violation of commercial ethics. No bid will be forthcoming. The Enterprise is closing in on you. You are advised to surrender and return in the custody of the Enterprise."

  The viewscreens wavered, and the visual displays at Uhura's console burst into whirling colors. "The Space-noise Blanking Control can't cope with all this interference, Captain. There's a message coming in, but I can't get it clear."

  "… clkgl… brmmm… first quality lot… thirty thousand cred… Klingon representative… Code eight-three-two—do I hear—." The voice faded, and returned.

  "To… Enterprise, greeting… to hear from you again… dropped out of my little auction… forty, Regulan Group Four… pity, isn't it… Federation… immobilized… forty-five? Going at forty-fi—"

  "He's really holding an auction!" said Kirk, amazed. "How can anybody be bidding? Klingons, Romulans—he must be mad."

  "I don't think so, Jim," said McCoy. "He's bluffing. We know that the Klingons and Romulans can't be bidding, but he doesn't."

  "Do we, Doctor?" said Spock darkly. "I am still unsatisfied that all is well at Headquarters."

  "Captain!" said Sulu. "There's a cold body among that group at 35 degrees 7 minutes— look!" The viewscreen focused in on a cluster within the cluster, eight spectacular double stars. "I've screened out the background light. Somewhere in there is either a small dead star—or a ship!"

  Kirk gritted his teeth, and growled, "After him!"

  The Enterpris
e surged forward, passing so close to the stars that one could reach out and pluck them like grapes, Kirk thought. So close and so bright…

  "There he is!" The scanners showed the unmistakable pattern of a ship.

  The communications panel exploded into loud life. "Will you be good enough to get out of my sky, air?" Mudd's face appeared, apoplectic with rage, on the screen. "This is not Federation Territory and you have no business here trespassing. You intrude!"

  "I am authorized to deal with you, Harry, wherever you are. Are you coming quietly?" Kirk hoped his voice did not reflect the uncertainties that he felt—the matter of the bidding, the doubt about Star Fleet's saboteur—

  "Dear me, James Kirk. Will you never learn? Why do you hound me across the universe, ruining my business enterprises, destroying my honest efforts at rehabilitation—you have no grounds to arrest or detain me, and well you know it!" boomed the crackling image. "I have broken no law—and anyway, we're outside the range of the law. Go away, Kirk, go away. Or I shall have to take steps."

  "Don't threaten me, you—oversized hooligan!"

  "You'd be better advised to place a bid, Kirk, than to waste your breath abusing me," said Mudd unperturbed. "For you, a discount, because we are old friends. Only forty thousand—a once in a lifetime offer!"

  "Why, you—what makes you think you can steal property and sell it back at double prices to the rightful owners? You have damned funny ideas about the law, Mudd."

  "I am the rightful owner, Captain. I bought and paid for these crystals. And haven't you heard of inflation, laddie? What with the cost of labor nowadays, all over the Galaxy the same story. What can a poor businessman do in times like these? Am I supposed to take a loss? Am I in business for my health?"

  "Is he in range of the tractor beam, Scotty?" hissed Kirk on the intercom.

  "I canno' be certain, Captain. But one wee jump, and we've got him."

  "One more chance, Mudd, before we haul you in. Do you come voluntarily?"

  "Not on your fuzzy yellow jerkin!" said Mudd, and vanished.

  "Lock on!" shouted Kirk.

  "We can't, sir. He's gone. Dodged us."