Read Online Star Trek: The Original Series: Seasons of Light and Darkness by Michael A. Martin - Free Book Online Page B

the heavy sword to fall, point first, to the ground. The science officer instantly collapsed against the pommel, inadvertently forcing the blade far enough into the ground to give King Arthur second thoughts about trying to yank it free.
    Terrific , McCoy thought. Best not to count on any help from the rear.
    â€œMak-Koy,” Huuk said as he continued his approach, his tone vaguely chiding. “Why have you interrupted the urgent business I have with your fellow Earthman, Plaat?” In typical Capellan fashion, the warrior’s pronunciation introduced a glottal stop that bisected Lieutenant Plait’s surname, splitting its single syllable into two.
    â€œBecause,” McCoy said, “you also have the same business with me .”
    Huuk stopped less than two meters from McCoy, his wide brow crumpling in a convincing display of bewilderment. “I do not understand.”
    McCoy held up the dripping, pulpy morsels he’d taken from Jeen’s basket, turning them this way and that to make them glisten in the firelight. “Then I’ll explain. But first, I really ought to thank your sister for the fruit.”
    With that he popped a chunk of fruit into his mouth and ate it.
    Huuk’s confusion abruptly vanished, replaced by that weird death’s-head smile. He started to close the small gap that separated him from the doctor, clearly delighted to have found an additional recipient for his “gift.”
    McCoy shook his left arm to loosen the metaphorical ace he’d just hidden there, literally up his sleeve. Nothing happened. Damn these Starfleet uniforms! he thought just as Huuk caught him in a bear hug, hoisting him off his feet as though he weighed no more than a rag doll.
    Fortunately, the Capellan had neglected to pin the doctor’s arms below the elbows. That gave McCoy the split second he needed to use his right hand to tear his left sleeve open from wrist to elbow. A small gray cylinder tumbled out, and he batted at it in clumsy desperation.
    After twice bouncing out of his grasp, the object fell into McCoy’s right hand—just as the doctor came to the near-panicked realization that Huuk was about to turn him into a missile.
    Huuk lofted him over his head, giving McCoy almost a bird’s-eye view of at least half a dozen burning braziers and red-hot fire pits—along with Lieutenant Plait’s astonished, upward stare and the countless Capellans who stood by watching this weirdly lopsided wrestling contest.
    McCoy shut his eyes tightly and slapped his right hand against the Capellan’s neck with as much force as he could muster. He felt as though he’d just punched a boulder.
    Ignoring the lightning bolts of pain that coursed up and down his arm, he held his improvised weapon in place until he heard its reassuring hiss, which Huuk’s exuberant battle cry drowned out half a heartbeat later.
    Easing his grip on Huuk’s neck, McCoy let the spent ampule tumble away. The ethereal fingers of a night breeze combed his hair, and a strangely tranquil sensation of weightlessness engulfed him.

Interlude
    STARFLEET HEADQUARTERS, SAN FRANCISCO
    Stardate 8130.5 (March 22, 2285)
    â€œFascinating,” Spock said, his right eyebrow rising as he walked through the spartan near-emptiness of his living room. McCoy thought the usually unflappable Vulcan looked almost impressed. “You incapacitated a fully grown Capellan male by means of a concealed hypospray.”
    â€œSometimes you just have to make use of whatever’s handy,” McCoy said. “Improvising under difficult circumstances is written into my family’s DNA, going back to the days when Captain William Frederick McCoy made his living smuggling Bahamian whiskey.” He grinned at Spock and raised his bottle of Romulan ale for emphasis.
    The Vulcan responded by downshifting into a mildly scolding tone. “Laudable though your actions may have been, Doctor, they could be