Chapter Two: Shake A Bone

Captain's Log: Stardate 215.642. We are en route to Sanctima 6, a small planet in the Genuflex System. The Enterprise has a prisoner to drop off, and important diplomatic duties to perform.

Captain James T. Kirk handed his little black logbook to a smiling female yeoman, and turned to his Science Officer on the bridge. "How much longer, Mister Spock?"

The Vulcan peered into his glowing monitor. "We will achieve orbit around the planet in approximately 27 minutes."

Kirk pressed a button on his command chair, alerting the Security Section. "All right, let's bring the prisoner up onto the bridge. I'm sure the Fathers of Sanctima 6 will want a good look at the man who's been impersonating them for the past six months."

"Is Sanctima 6 really a theocracy, Captain?" Lieutenant Uhura asked softly. The communications officer crossed her long legs, concern written clearly on her delicate sepia-toned features.

Spock fielded the question, tilting a thoughtful Vulcan eyebrow. "Not only is it a theocracy, Lieutenant, it is one of the few all-male governments still active in this sector. The Fathers of Sanctima 6 were among the last to abolish both slavery and physical torture."

"But lately they've begun a program of reforms," Kirk pointed out. "They've even invited a woman to give the annual graduation speech at Notsodum Academy."

"Peggy O'Houlihan," Spock confirmed. "Though her human body is old, her mind remains active and very sharp. On earth she is still an influential political and social commentator. Undoubtedly her speech will encourage the Holy Fathers to continue their modernization program. As a strong, intelligent woman, she must see the logic behind continued change."

"Humans are often loyal to outworn ideas, Spock," Kirk pointed out. "But until we hear her speech and see her in action, we'll give the lady the benefit of the doubt."

"What about me, Jamie boy? Do I get the benefit of the doubt?" Harry Mudd swaggered onto the bridge, flanked by two red-shirted security guards. The tall, mustachioed man seemed jauntily unconcerned about his legal jeopardy, in spite of the titanium handcuffs securing his hands behind his back.

"Harry Mudd, you old scoundrel," Kirk replied, his harsh words somewhat at odds with the appreciation in the captain's eyes. Mudd was crooked through and through, but he was also daring and imaginative. He had a vivid talent for outrageous acts of make-believe and a wicked sense of humor. There were times when Kirk couldn't hide his amusement, or stifle a knowing grin.

"Delighted to see you again, Captain. I trust you'll be releasing me as soon as we reach our destination?" Mudd looked very hopeful. He was always optimistic, even under the worst circumstances. Nothing got Harry Mudd down for long. He was incorrigibly crooked and endlessly resourceful. Jim Kirk despised the man, yet he couldn't quite dislike him.

"We're taking you back to the planet of the Holy Fathers to face charges of fraud and grand larceny. You broke jail, forged identity papers and passed yourself off as Zachary Mudd, a Holy Father of the Jebusite Order. For six months you traveled from planet to planet in a stolen spaceship, selling holy relics you made yourself out of space junk and waste material. Yet you claimed they were from the sacred crypts of Sanctima Six."

Mudd drew himself up to his full height, an impressive scowl on his florid features. "Those were human relics, Kirk. I was selling the bones of a great Jebusite father, martyred in his attempt to bring holiness to the original, savage inhabitants of Sanctima Six."

"You were selling bones to raise money for the church?" Spock's eyebrow tilted upwards. "That hardly seems logical."

"I was selling bones to raise money for me." Harry Mudd confided. His hands were cuffed, so he was unable to twirl his impressive black mustache. Sensing Kirk's eyes on him, he grew defensive. "Well, it's a respectable church practice. I mean, for centuries the Holy Fathers encouraged the simple souls on other worlds to believe that they could buy salvation, simply by touching a holy relic or two. Shake a bone and save your soul. Mine were of the highest quality and, um . . . very reasonably priced."

"They weren't human bones at all, were they?" Kirk was catching on to Mudd's latest racket. Yet it was really a church racket, centuries old! What other secrets lay buried in the church's past?

"Well . . . they came straight from Wood's Chapel." Mudd blushed.

"Wood's Chapel is a barbecue pit in Atlanta," Lieutenant Uhura murmured. "I went there often as a child. Great ribs."

"Well," Kirk said, getting tired of the whole distasteful subject. "We'll let the Holy Fathers of Sanctima Six decide whether your actions were in keeping with church teachings or not. They still have a few detention cells down in the holy catacombs, Harry. Just right for torturing the truth out of old-time heretics."

Mudd was scared, but he tried to laugh it off. "I'm sure they'll understand, Kirk. Reasonable chaps, the Holy Fathers, especially when it comes to making money. Boys will be boys, you know."

"They're not all boys any more, Harry." Kirk had a twinkle in his eye. "They've got Peggy O'Houlihan coming to give the commencement address at their big academy. Maybe she can give the Holy Fathers some advice on what to do with you."

"Peggy O'Houlihan?" This time daredevil conman Harry Mudd didn't even try to hide his fear. "But . . . but the woman is dead, Kirk. She's been dead for centuries!"