Star Trek 13: Mudd's Angels by J.A. Lawrence

Author:J.A. Lawrence
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Science Fiction, Star Trek, Fiction
ISBN: 9781852865108
Publisher: Bantam Books
Published: 1978-01-02T08:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER THREE

To THE BRIDGE’S collective amazement, permission to land was immediately forthcoming. Kirk summoned Doctor McCoy, Mr. Spock and Yeoman Weinberg to assemble in the Transporter Room.

Mr. Chekov also presented himself.

“Yes, Mister Chekov?” inquired Kirk.

“Nothing, sir. I—remember Mudd’s Planet, I wondered if—”

“No, Mister Chekov.” The Navigator’s memories were all too pleasant; that was evident from his expression.

“Yes, sir.”

Wistfully, Chekov watched the four men shattered into sparkling nothingness as the voice of the doctor faded…”… and I never will approve of it. I was attached to my atoms, had them for years…”

“Well, well, well! If it isn’t a veritable reunion! Hello, Captain James T. Kirk. I have found it in my heart to forgive you.” Fatter than ever and bulging out of a rather grubby pink tunic, Harry Mudd opened his arms in welcome. “How very delightful of you to drop in. No, do not speak.” He held up a meaty hand. “Do not tremble, friends. I hold no grudges. Indeed, our encounters ever leave me with a challenging new situation. You always relieve my ennui.”

He gestured toward a lane of tall trees. “Refreshments, gentlemen. This way.” Long tresses of scented flowers wound through the branches. The road was paved with marble and curved toward a pale, glimmering building in the middle distance.

“My house,” said Mudd modestly. “I rather took to the design. Saw it in a book somewhere.”

“It’s the Taj Mahal, Captain!” whispered Weinberg. “An ancient tomb, I think.”

Crystalline waters of a pool reflected the towers, cool and still. “A bijou residence, isn’t it, laddie?” Mudd flung a solid arm across Kirk’s shoulder.

At the door, a tall figure salaamed, its plumed turban brushing the paving. The door swung silently open; and a phalanx of decorative black-haired beauties, all alike and clad in diaphanous trousers, beckoned them in.

“Uh—as you know, I have a taste for the more agreeable things in life,” said Mudd, with a sidelong glance at the Enterprise party. ” ‘Amid pleasures and palaces though you may roam, be it ever so humble, there’s no place like home.’ Well, it’s best to combine them, in my view.”

“Home,” said McCoy sententiously, “is where the heart is.”

“Exactly so, my boy, exactly so. Whose heart could fail to be won by such a home?”

The rooms within were varied. A marble hall of perfect proportions led into a cosy salon, and then into a drawing room draped with velvet.

Yeoman Weinberg was silent. More and more harem beauties emerged, until the very walls seemed to undulate.

McCoy whispered, “They’re all androids, Ensign. Don’t let it get to you. He’s a very persuasive character, this Mudd.”

There seemed to be acres of feminine bounty before the dazzled eyes of Yeoman Weinberg.

“Fully programmed, of course,” added McCoy.

“Of course,” Weinberg gulped. A voluptuous dark-eyed temptress glided past, and smiled.

“Yeoman! You are on duty!” said McCoy sternly.

“Yes, sir. On duty, sir.” The Yeoman hastily fumbled with his tricorders. This seemed to steady him slightly. He looked up. “Sir? Mister Mudd is the only one here besides ourselves who’s real?”

“That’s it.”

“Wow, sir,” breathed Weinberg.

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