“No,” Spock said.
Omne laughed and dropped the gun into his holster. “Then you will not chance it in a thousand years.”
The Commander considered. From a standing draw she could needle-beam a target considerably smaller than the part of the massive head showing above and beside her Kirk’s. And her right-hand gun had fired true. Omne’s argument went for Spock. Did it go for her? Her Kirk was here. She had not pledged “friends” with the other, only acted the friend. And wouldn’t a true friend kill Omne for Kirk now? Wouldn’t he a thousand times rather be alone? Truth or lie, this Omne dead would buy a little time to look. And when she thought the time was up, she could make these two go—if necessary at the point of a gun. Kirk might even want that. He deserved better. But there were her needs, too. And there was reality.
“No, Commander!”
She stopped her hand before it moved. Her Kirk had spoken in the voice of the Starship Captain. Her thought had crystallized almost faster than words. She had not thought that she had telegraphed it by the flicker of a muscle. Omne had not read it but her Kirk had.
Spock looked at her.
Omne said, “Well, well, my dear,” and pulled his gun again. “Mr. Spock, you will relieve Calamity Jane of the hardware. That is a disposal chute directly to your left.”
Spock moved behind her to take her two guns, looking not at her but at James Kirk.
She was certain that for a long moment Spock contemplated some such decision as she had. He must regard her action as a kind of betrayal. And what was he to make of the Human’s action in stopping her? Defense of the real Kirk—or betrayal of them all? Some game of his own? This Kirk was up to something, and the Vulcan didn’t like it.
But Omne’s argument still went for the Vulcan.
Spock dropped three guns in the chute.
“Excellent, Mr. Spock,” Omne said. “So much for Romulan honor—and possibly Human. However, you should thank the Human for your life, my dear. I would have outdrawn you.”
“Conceivably,” she said, “but you would still have been dead, and Spock and this Human alive.”
Omne raised an eyebrow. “This one? You do not mention the other?”
“He, too,” she said with effort
“He is the point,” the Human cut in. There is a logic to this situation which you have all missed.”
Indeed?” Omne said. “Have you learned logic from Spock, Human?”
The Human shook his head and smiled fractionally at Spock. “Poker,” he said. “I just dealt myself a hand.” He twisted a little to look up at Omne. “Release me and let me face you.”
“No, James,” Spock said with quiet urgency, as if he knew this man and that tone too well.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Spock,” the Human said firmly, in the tone of command.
Omne raised an interested eyebrow and smiled, then released the human, giving him a little whirl out to form the third point of a triangle. “Place your bet.”
The Human caught himself and straightened. “A two-handed game,” he said, jerking his head to indicate drawing Omne aside to talk privately.
Omne smiled indulgently. If you have some thought of throwing yourself on my gun, so that they can try to take me with muscle, I assure you that you overestimate Mr. Spock, and the Commander is not in the picture.”
“I would not count on that, if I were you,” the Human said. “However, that is not my thought.”
The Commander moved forward, not willing to count on that.
Spock moved with her. “Have the grace to make your offer in front of us, James,” he said in a sudden tone of vast weariness. “It concerns us.”
The Human’s eyes softened with compassion and with the look of being known too well. “Of course it does,” he said softly, “but you do not have to hear it.”
“You should not make it,” Spock said, “but if you must, we must hear.”
The Human nodded.
Omne grinned. “Ah, you are all so noble, and so vastly entertaining. I think I am going to enjoy this.” He raised an eyebrow at the Human. I trust you will make me your best offer.”
“Certainly,” the Human said. “It is not a question of nobility. It is a question of logic. Logic is the recognition of reality, even when it hurts, even when it conflicts with feelings, hopes. But reality also includes feelings, hopes, needs, purposes, rights. And—differences. Prices to be paid. He looked at Spock. “Jim Kirk offered to buy your freedom and mine. He has already—paid. Can—James—do less?”
“More,” Spock said instantly. “Fight for both of you. Double or nothing. He would. He—did.”
James Kirk spread his hands. “I am not he. There is—the difference. I have less to lose and nowhere to go. But I have—my price. And a stack of chips.” He turned to Omne. “Their freedom. Spock’s. Jim’s. Hers. Full and complete. No strings. No scripts. Spock would see you in hell before he would do his script if you accept my offer. And probably even if you don’t. And I buy only the real thing for Kirk—the life which should have been his. The Enterprise. Spock at his side. It will be easy enough to write a cover story for the death. It was an impersonator who died. Plastic surgery. Unidentifiable charred remains. Regrettable error. Dastardly plot. The kidnapped Kirk was recovered by the astute Omne. Whatever.”
“Your price seems a bit steep,” Omne said, “especially since I have all four of you and have no need to let any of you go.”
“You cannot, in fact, murder the Commander and Spock. It would reek to high heaven—and to the high command of Federation and Empire. You can be had, eventually. The same goes if you let either or both go —but in spades. Unless you have a hostage for both. You have just learned that Jim Kirk is not—necessarily—hostage for the Commander.”
“But you are?” Omne said with amusement
“I think so.” The level eyes met hers.
She did not answer. But she had given her answer.
“And for Spock?” Omne asked.
“Yes.”
Omne smiled. You do not underestimate yourself. You may overestimate my interest in avoiding trouble. Is that your whole stack of chips?”
“No.”
“What then, that I cannot have by keeping Jim Kirk—or both of you?”
The white shoulders leveled. “Ownership.”
Omne laughed, startled. “That is your offer—the offer of the man who won’t be owned?”
“Of that man.” The shoulders and voice were steady. “That is why you have spoken of ownership, claimed it, wanted it—and wanted it only from a man who would not be owned.”
“I own—the other.”
“No. And you never will. You have taken what you wanted. You can never make him give it. Obedience. Acknowledgement. Consent. You have no threat left to make and no value to offer him.”
“And you? Even if I accepted, would that not make you the man who can be owned?”
James Kirk shook his head. “In that, there is no difference. You would always know it. You would own the unownable.”
Omne smiled thinly. “I grant that it would be a delicious paradox. I grant, even, that no threat would move you, either. But I do not think that I care to buy you only with the value of other lives.”
“That is the difference.” The white shoulders stretched. “You have also another value which you can offer only to me. Yourself. You are—my creator. You have created me—and my unique metaphysical problem. You are my Pygmalion, my Frankenstein. And I am your own particular monster. It is a kind of bond. I can stay here for a thousand years—or until we settle with it.”’
Omne stood silent, and the Commander knew suddenly that he was buying it. James Kirk had found Black Omne’s price.
Omne gathered himself with the look of making one more effort. “I could create another.”
“He would not be me. He would not be the first. Not the first ever to have to face the issue—and you. If I stay, you will never create another. He would be missing—too much. From the mome
nt of creation, there is—a difference. So—that also is a value, for me. It ends with me—and you. A private universe here, for two, and the universe goes on undisturbed.”
“While we two settle with the problems of life and death and immortality,” Omne mused. “The solution has a certain elegance, a certain grandeur. My compliments.”
“Your acceptance will do. Do you call my—raise?”
“The original—against my original,” Omne laughed. “I could not have chosen either better. Both worth a galaxy’s ransom. Both with an understanding of—elemental needs. Both with a gambler’s nerve. The black eyes narrowed. “But—you are both masters of bluff. The price is steep, James, for both of us. I have the chips to call. Do you? You’ve shoved an I. O. U. into the pot. It requires—a down payment. An earnest show of good faith. Of honor. Omne glanced at Spock and the Commander. “And—it requires cosigners. Will they stand tied for it?”
James Kirk looked at Omne unflinchingly, then at Spock and the Commander. “I will—beg—them to, by their love, by my right—and the right of Jim Kirk. It is the only way.” He grinned at them fractionally. “A crooked game—but the only game in town. You are not to worry. I have the chips.
She found that she could not even shake her head for watching. So this was how the man of command would—beg.
“Prove it,” Omne said, his eyes on the man in white, his gun on the motionless Vulcan.
James Kirk stepped forward slowly, lightly, no limp in his walk, stressing ease, stressing ownership of the chips, stressing the wealth of the willingness to pay the price.
“I can afford the luxury,” he said and sank to his knees in front of Omne.
Not a line of the kneeling body betrayed fear or horror. But she saw the fine hair standing in the frozen chill of gooseflesh on the back of the bowed neck.
“So can I,” Omne said. And looked down.
She moved. But Spock was already a blur of motion.
His boot caught the gun and sent it flying.
And in the same split moment he had lifted the Human and flung him into her arms.
She caught him as Spock took a stand before them to shield them with his body. “I am changing the name of the game,” he said.
She saw Omne set to go through Spock that instant, then saw the black eyes calculate chances and speculate on what she would do with the stunned Human.
Omne straightened. “Name it,” he said to Spock.
The Human gained his feet slowly in her arms, started to lunge forward, was held. “Let me go!” he gasped. “Spock, no!”
“New script,” Spock said. “I will not have this double die.”
“I wasn’t going to die, Spock,” the Human said, but his breath had caught in something very like a sob.
“It would have been death for you, and worse. I told you. You are not expendable.”
“And—” the Human’s voice caught—”your Kirk is?”
“You are both ‘my’ Kirk,” Spock said.
“It is his life you are throwing away. Or worse that you are condemning him to,” the Human answered.
“Possibly, James, Spock said. “It remains to be seen.” He did not look back, but he seemed to see them. “Commander, will you take him away?”
She said instantly, “James. Come.”
She quickly brought her arm up under the Human’s thighs and carried him away and out, as Omne roared and lunged for Spock.
CHAPTER XV
Spock leaped aside with a slash of his bladed hand to Omne’s shoulder, and a smash of a boot at a knee to bring the big man down.
Omne fell heavily, rolled up.
Spock twisted in air to land on his feet and saw the Commander carrying James.
Keep the trust, Spock thought, wishing that he could reach her mind to think it to her. Please be able to keep the trust.
He smashed a boot into Omne’s kneecap and vaulted away.
He must adopt Kirk’s tactics. The giant had all the advantages—the weight, the size, the fury.
Only Spock’s fury matched the giant’s—and that the Vulcan in him must master.
As an officer he had fought to kill, and killed when duty demanded. But he had never fought in the lust to kill, not even fully as a Vulcan when any Vulcan would have—in the arena of challenge, against Kirk.
But he was fighting in the lust to kill now. For Kirk. For both of him.
And for both of him Spock must not kill.
He couldn’t risk it in a thousand years. He would never find Kirk. Never know whether the dead giant was alive and with Kirk… or coming after James…
The giant’s bull charge swerved with deceptive speed, anticipating the direction of Spock’s evasion. Massive hands smashed into the Vulcan’s neck and low over his heart, and a knee caught him in the groin.
He rolled end over end and crawled to get away, fighting blind agony, scuttling around a corner as the giant dived, sparing no thought for dignity.
There is no pain, he told himself, clamping down with all of the Vulcan training and all his will. It was not enough, but it would have to do.
He gained his feet.
His calculator could estimate the giant’s exact power now, and did so, unbidden, dispassionately reporting minute odds that Spock would leave the room alive, even if he fought to kill. And still more microscopic odds if he did not try to kill but tried to take the giant hulk apart until a forced mind-probe would rip out by the roots the knowledge of Kirk’s location.
It was against the deepest custom of privacy. The forced probe was forbidden. But it could be done, and would.
And Spock knew that his calculator was right. But it was also wrong.
He would win.
He had to win.
He slugged a fist into Omne’s stomach.
CHAPTER XVI
The Commander ducked in through the door with the Human, steadying him on his feet and stepping back to put her back against the door.
A quick sweep of his eyes determined that there was no other door in the small office, as she had remembered from their searches. Then his eyes met hers and said that he would go through her, one way or another.
When low, urgent words had not worked as she carried him out and down the corridor, he had tried plain effort. He could not quite bring himself to hit her, but he had arched and twisted and strained, skillfully, with all his muscle and quickness.
He could not believe hers.
And then he had hit her. A double chop to the shoulder nerves.
That was not to be taken lightly. He was powerful for a Human. But she had not let it loosen her grip.
But she had been holding him too tightly, hurting him too much. And if guards had stumbled across them…
“I cannot move you through the corridors like this,” she said.
“No,” he answered. “Commander, you know that we have to get back to Spock. It’s not true. I won’t throw my life away—and we can’t let him do it. Please. It’s Spock.”
“It is—Spock—for me, too,” she said heavily, feeling that fact pounding in every nerve. It was Spock—and he had no real chance at all without her. He was covering their retreat with his life, whatever he said, and their retreat was not possible unless this one yielded. Even if she knocked him out, not even her strength was equal to forty-odd floors of ladder tubes under his weight.
“I know it is Spock to you, too,” he said softly. “Don’t you see, we can’t leave him. You can’t take me and leave him. Double or nothing. He said it himself.”
She nodded. “But he gave me—a trust.”
But he said, “I’ll be careful. My word on it.”
Somewhere she found a smile. “I would take your word—for anything else.”
He found the grace to grin, but his eyes crackled with anger and burned with desperation. “Damn it, I am not fragile. I’m a Starship Captain. I’ve fought the Gorn. I’ve fought Spock. I’ve fought Omne.”
She nodded. “And you lost.”
S
he saw him swallow, and knew that his body still burned with the memory of that loss.
“So, I lost,” he said firmly. “There would be three of us now. But if I lost again, that would still be better than leaving Spock.”
“Not for Spock. And not for me.”
His brows furrowed, half following the thought, half dismissing the notion that he could mean more to her than Spock. He caught his lip between his teeth. “Then you go. Leave me. Lock me in if you don’t trust me. But go to him now.”
She reached out and put her hand on his shoulder, in silent token of how much that must have cost him. This one—first among men wherever he roamed—to let her do his fighting for him? There was depth beyond depth to this one. It might even give him some slim chance to survive when—”Not even that,” she said, shaking her head regretfully. “Locks might not hold you—or might hold you too well. Guards could find you. Omne would find you if I lost with Spock. Spock would not forgive me. Nor I, myself. Spock has made his choice.” She drew a deep breath and put her other hand lightly on his other shoulder. “And—I have made mine, James.”
He took her face in his hands, promising the fullness of the kind of choice he could make, too. Then—for me. Please.”
He could melt stone, she thought, looking into the expressive face. Melt stone hearts. Vulcan. Romulan. The galaxy could not stand against him. How many hearts had he melted, how many faces warmed with those gentle, demanding hands? And yet she would have his innocence, this one who knew—and had never been touched. She would have him, if she let him have his way now. And if not, she could lose him forever. But she would lose him forever if she melted now.
“No,” she said, not trusting herself to say more.
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