Garstang's eyes widened. "I won't come right out and say you're crazy."
"I was here once before," said Kirk. "When old Volland was commander and I was an ensign. These people are poor but proud. They have traditions of long-ago splendor, claim their kings ruled the whole cluster and so on. They dislike strangers, and won't let many in."
"But if Solleremos' men are already here—"
"That's the reason for the porto." Kirk frowned, trying to plan ahead. "Exactly twenty minutes after I enter the town I'll contact you, and I'll continue to do so at twenty-minute intervals. If I'm so much as a minute late, take off and buzz hell out of the place. It'll give me a bargaining point, anyway."
Garstang said dourly, "A lot can happen in twenty minutes. Suppose you're not able to bargain?"
"Then you're on your own."
In the airlock, open now and filled with a dry, stinging wind, Kirk paused, looking toward the distant town, a lonely blot of darkness between the star-blazing sky and the gleaming sand. Here and there in it lights burned, but they were few and somehow not welcoming.
"She's all yours," he said to Garstang. "If anything looks wrong to you, don't wait for me. Take her away."
"Yes, sir," said Garstang.
Kirk smiled. He climbed down into the sand and began to walk.