The Price of the Phoenix sttos(n-4

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The Price of the Phoenix sttos(n-4 Page 12

by Sondra Marshak


  The worst threat is to them. Men have faced death before and will again. But they are the first to face this. You know better than any man Omne’s intention—and his power.”

  “I do,” Spock said.

  “Do you? And have you turned your imagination loose on it? He will be after them. He will make another copy, but he will still want these. The original, and his particular first creation. The experiences they have had today. The great adversary relationship. The contest with Jim. The offer James made—would have to make again on threat to you. The contest with you—knowing what each and both mean to you. Even, with me. You can try to protect and defend them. How will you defend both? How would they defend you, if you were captured—except with—offers?”

  “Stop it!” Kirk said, seeing Spock’s face. “Whatever this leaves us with, we just have to live with it. We don’t have to dwell on it.

  “We do,” she said. “We have to tell ourselves exactly what we face. We will fight Omne—I too, whatever you do. And we can lose. We will lose things we may not be able to stand, if we do not cut this at the root.” She turned to Spock again. “Either one of them or both, to death or a thousand years, uncounted thousands of years, of—slavery. Omne can prepare another retreat where we can never find him. Probably has one already. Several. Needing only to get out to get to them. He will fight us across the galaxy—for the galaxy—take it over, if for no other reason than to defeat us. He will try to set us at each other’s throats, Federation against Empire, a war of all against all, for his vengeance—because we beat him, and he will not be beaten. We made him die—and of all men he would not die.”

  “That is true,” Spock said, his eyes looking into some darkness.

  “It is not all,” she said inexorably. “He will do the same to others, wherever he finds love. Of all men, he hates love-and wants it. But he will begin and end with us. We showed him what love meant. Jim? James? There will be James II, James III. Omne will make copies. Some to keep. Some to—sell. We will see Kirks sold by Orion slave traders—along with green dancing girls. And each one will be Jim and James. Each as brave, as real, as valuable. Are we to spend our lives rescuing Kirks—and if we do, what will we do with them—or they with themselves?”

  “Dangerous for him,” Kirk said, knowing that he had to stop her somehow. Try logic. “Copies to keep, possibly. The other would reveal his process. Have everybody in the galaxy hunting him.”

  “Yes, she said, “and would he care—when he can go to ground as thoroughly as this on a single planet? When he cannot die? And—it does not help us. If the mere existence of the process becomes known, others will invent it. A question of time. Not much time. Then every miscellaneous dictator in the galaxy will have it. My Empire. Do you trust even your Federation? What about Klingons? Who is to be trusted with immortality as a weapon? Would you trust yourself not to sell your soul for a recreation of Spock on some day when he is killed?”

  Kirk took a deep breath. “No,” he said.

  “Nor I,” she said, answering him but looking at Spock. “And—why should he not live again? If it is possible—why should he not? Why should you not? Men of great value, to themselves and others. Women. TPau of Vulcan will die soon. Why not she? Why not Ambassador Sarek? Why not Spock’s mother, Amanda? Why not your mother, Jim? Or mine? But then—why not anyone’s mother, father, child, love? Why not the unloved? But it is bound to be an expensive process. Who pays? And who decides who is to live again?”

  “I grant the difficulty,” Kirk said, “even-the impossibility. But men have faced some such problems, on a smaller scale, with many medical advances.”

  “And never fully solved them,” she said. “But this is a final solution. And the fight over it could be the war to end the world—to end civilized, stargoing life in the galaxy. To reduce planets to rubble—or stack them fourteen deep in people.”

  Kirk sighed and nodded. “I know. Of course, I know. But that kind of problem has been faced before, too, and sometimes the only solution is to fight it through and come out the other side—even if it means that you have to claw your way up out of the rubble again. What you see is true. What you don’t see is that Pandora’s box can’t be closed again. The Pandora’s box of technology never can. The atomic bomb couldn’t be uninvented. If one country hadn’t invented it, hadn’t used it, another would. There is a state of the art in these things. Think of all the simultaneous discoveries just on Earth, on your planet. If we destroyed this planet today, somebody would have the process within years, at most decades. No, I say that we cannot buy that at the price of lives—or why can we not buy it at the cost of one planet after another? And what would that make us? No. But there has been Hope in every Pandora’s box—and it’s been enough. It will have to be enough for us. Well fight, but it will have to be the right fight.”

  She shook her head. “I agree—but I cannot agree. The process does not have to be in the hands of Black Omne. Nor loosed just yet. If I were Pandora, I would have clamped the lid back down—and blown up the castle. And I will. I’ll buy those years or decades. I can afford the luxury.” She turned to Spock. “And you, Spock? It is not only immortality. It is a personal contest, where we—and ours—stand to lose the most. Think of Omne’s black-devil imagination. Think of another mind in Kirk’s body, rung in on you on any day. Omne’s mind, even. You or I might detect it with the link. But think of the opposite. Omne will have body scans of you and me. We went through his transporter. Do you care for the thought of Jim or James up against Omne in the body of Spock.

  “No,” Spock said hollowly.

  “And will you stand for it? I will not. And I will do this for you, too. But I do not wish to have to go through you. Nor him, them. Choose now. Does he command you in this?”

  Spock looked down into her face, and Kirk saw that the Vulcan looked into the pits of hell. The fire of their ancient, savage ancestry was in both faces, and Kirk knew suddenly that he did not command Spock in this. Never had. Never would. There was a point where strength ruled and elemental needs commanded.

  And the Vulcan was the power in this room.

  “No,” Spock said, “but you will have to go through him to get out, and through me to get to him. Both of him.”

  She stood as if she would, and Kirk set himself to dive before she could get to those broken ribs, saw from the corner of his eye James doing the same.

  But she looked only at Spock.

  “That was what I wanted to know,” she said, and stepped back a fraction. “You keep a trust, too, Mr. Spock. And I—” She lifted her head. “Even if I could go through that—I would not”

  “Bluff ?” Spock asked

  “Called,” she said.

  Spock nodded. “A no-limit game.” He turned to Kirk. “I suggest that we depart.”

  Kirk settled his shoulders. “When you’re ready, Spock,” he said, not even testing the tenuous fiction of command.

  But Spock said, “Ready now, Captain. I have taken the liberty of setting a destruct in the shield circuits. It will take some time to repair and give us some. I do not entirely reject the Commander’s logic. Or yours. But I recommend we adjourn to the Enterprise. I have set the transporter for McCoy’s office and for the four of us.”

  Kirk nodded. ‘Thank you, Mr. Spock.” He turned to the Commander. “We will need—your word.”

  She arched an eyebrow. “My parole as a prisoner?”

  “Only if that is necessary,” Kirk said. “But I will not have you challenge Spock again.”

  “Or you?” she asked.

  “Or me on my ship.”

  “I would not respect less, Captain,” she said. “And I perceive that it is your ship, in spite of all. That, also, I wanted to know.

  “Mr. Spock has just said that I do not command him,” Kirk said with great clarity.

  “And proved that you command him more than you ever knew.”

  That, too, Kirk thought. Of course, that, too. “Do I have your word, Commander?” he sa
id heavily.

  “For the duration, Captain.”

  The duration—endures, he thought. God, forever. It was catching up with him. He waved her and James toward what passed for transporter positions here and followed silently, feeling his legs go suddenly heavy. He started to pause behind Spock at the console, couldn’t think of anything to say. It had been in his defense, after all. He put his hand on the Vulcan’s shoulder in some kind of acceptance, apology, comfort—something.

  And the Vulcan’s eyes said about the same, said-hell of a universe.

  Kirk smiled thinly and made it to the transporter platform, saw Spock set a delay and come to join them.

  Bones, Kirk thought. No, no way not to spring this on him if he was there. Spock would have known they would need the privacy of his office, and Sickbay, and Bones.

  Spock seemed to read the thought. “It is the kind of shock one can take,” he said in the tone of a confession.

  Kirk grinned and felt a little better, saw sparks start to spill from the console as Omne’s transporter effect took them. It was silent, he realized.

  CHAPTER XIX

  McCoy thought that he would raise his head from the desk in just a moment, just another minute, maybe.

  Get on the horn and check with Scotty for the umpteenth time. Any word from Spock? Any progress on breaking through on the lock on the transporter, penetrating the damn shields? But he already knew what the answers would be. Same answers, hour after hour.

  He had tried drinking and given it up when he stayed altogether too sober. And Scotty, of course, had not even tried and was even soberer, feeling the weight of command settle on his shoulders, beginning to fear that it might stay there this time.

  Yes, have to do something for Scotty, even if it was only the umpteenth question for the umpteenth time. In Just a second-Bones-“

  The soft voice—God damn it, he was not going to start hallucinating!

  The hand touched his shoulder and he flung himself to his feet, stumbling.

  Jim caught him.

  He couldn’t speak. He pried himself away to look. Not possible! But the face—could not be another face like that in the universe. The eyes. The body under his hands, in his arms. No android body, surely, no illusion—Oh, God, it could be any of those things, but somehow he knew that it wasn’t

  “Jim! Oh God, Jim-“

  “It’s true, Bones. It’s all right now. It’s me.”

  Stop blubbering, McCoy told himself. You’re a doctor, not a—

  He couldn’t think of anything. He lifted his head and started to seize the broad shoulders, swing him around, look at him—

  And met resistance. “A moment, before you turn,” Kirk said. It was an order and McCoy blinked and stood quiet, trying to come to attention and reorganize his mind.

  “Spock?” he asked.

  “He’s all right,” Kirk said. I am, too. However, there are two of me. It’s complicated, but that’s all right, too. Also, we have a guest, and—she’s all right Sorry to spring it on you, but we’ll explain.”

  The arms let him turn—caught him when he sank down on the desk, not sure whether he was feigning the sagging of his knees.

  “I don’t think I want to know,” he said in his best manner of long-suffering.

  Spock raised an eyebrow. “Would you call that an emotional display to end all emotional displays, Doctor?”

  “In a pig’s eye,” McCoy murmured happily.

  Kirk caught Spock’s nod. “Captain, Mr. Scott.”

  “Of course.” Kirk settled his shoulders and nodded toward the intercom. Tell him to sit tight. We’ll—”

  But the intercom burst into life, together with alert signals. “Intruder alert,” Scott’s voice said, “intruder alert Planet shields down. Trace of planet transporter signal indicates target within this ship. Security, institute Class Two search. All personnel, yellow alert Scott out.”

  Spock traded glances with Kirk, and Kirk waved him to the intercom. “Spock here,” the Vulcan said. “Cancel intruder alert, Mr. Scott. I am responsible.”

  “Spock! Where in the name—? Yes, sir. You’re aboard? Hell’s breakin’ loose. Gabble of communications. Planet says Omne’s been murdered, guards shot up. Romulan ships in an uproar. Their Commander is overdue. Sub-Commander S’Tal’s makin’ noises like we might have somethin’ to do with it. Told me to produce her or else. Planet’s looking for her, says she shot up guards, maybe Omne. One report says she was seen with—Captain Kirk. Hysterical down there. Stark ravin’.” Scott sighed audibly. “Welcome aboard, Mr. Spock.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Scott,” Spock said. “On my way—”

  Kirk put a hand on his arm. “Scotty,” he said into the intercom. “Tell the crew I’m alive.”

  “Captain! Jim? Jim!” Deep breath. “Aye, sir.”

  “That’s the spirit, Scotty. Tell ‘em I’ll take-complaints—later.

  “Aye, sir. I’ll tell ‘em—what suits me.” Sudden break in the grinning voice. “Queen to King’s Level Four, Captain.”

  Kirk glanced at James, thinking how well that code had served them before, how little it would serve them against this. “Knight takes Queen, Mate,” Kirk answered.

  “Aye,” Scott said with satisfaction.

  “Hold the fort, Scotty. Five minutes. On my way. Kirk out.” He turned to the others, tuning Scott’s voice out in the background, and nearly bumped into McCoy, who had repossessed his wits and his medical scanner, had been running it over his back.

  “You’re not going anywhere,” McCoy said flatly.

  “Later, Bones. Prescribe some clothes out of your famous medical stores. Then see to Spock.” He saw protests rising from McCoy and the Vulcan. “Don’t argue,” he said in a voice that didn’t permit it. McCoy considered it anyway, shook his head, finally headed for the cabinet where he rather sheepishly kept clothes for Kirk and Spock in his private office, always complaining that he couldn’t keep Kirk in shirts. Commander, a script,” Kirk said, shifting his attention to her, thinking as he went. “I was kidnapped by Omne and company. You rescued me. The Empire is not bought with cheap tricks. Truce between honorable enemies against cowardly deception and effort to make you prisoner, too. Self-defense. Mr. Spock also discovered plot, challenged Omne to single combat by customs of this planet. Omne committed suicide when beaten. Now we could both shoot up the joint in retaliation and to stamp out future conspiracies, but we won’t. Virtues of Empire and Federation. We’ll ram the Prime Directive down their throats. No objection if they want to set up shop here as a refuge, but peaceful purposes only, or we’ll quarantine and cut off trade. Joint announcement, you and me. We’ll quibble over who gets the best lines. How about it?”

  “Script?” she said with a slow smile. “It is the simple truth.”

  “That’s the best kind,” he grinned.

  “It is not, however, the complex truth,” Spock said. “There is still Omne. It leaves him armed and dangerous, his organization set up to function as a trust on death or disappearance. Perhaps we should require evacuation, at least dismantling of weapons and shields.”

  McCoy put a pair of pants in Kirk’s hands and Kirk bent to pull them on under the robe. “That’s never been very effective,” he said, “and we’d have to shoot ‘em up to some extent to do it. They have a right to defend what they’ve built here. A lot of it is of value. Research. Trade. Refuge—political criminals, even other criminals, perhaps. Remember Australia. No. But we may drive Omne out of this nest. I have a feeling that he was a loner in most of his evil purposes. Hard for him to function if he’s dead. And hard to show up alive without revealing his process. Whereas we can’t do a foot-by-foot search, even if they’d let us, for the same reason.”

  McCoy handed him a shirt and took the robe, and he felt the doctor’s hand tracing the injuries under the spray film as he pulled the shirt over his head.

  “Jim—”

  Kirk turned to answer the pain in the eyes. “It’s all right, Bones. I was—fixe
d—by an expert. Enough painkiller to hold a horse. It’ll hold me till there’s time for the real expert.”

  “News for you, Jim. Any painkiller you had is wearing off fast.”

  Kirk’s eyes admitted to McCoy that it was not news, but hid it from the Vulcan. “Not bad yet,” he said firmly and turned back. “Commander, you and I had better get going before your ‘Tal develops a nervous trigger finger.”

  He has been known to be impetuous,” she said and moved toward the door.

  Spock started for it, too. Kirk stopped him with a look. “You’re out of uniform, Mr. Spock.”

  The Vulcan raised an eyebrow. “I hardly think that matters. However, I might point out that so are you.” He looked pointedly at Kirk’s bare feet.

  “Well—I’ll keep ‘em off the viewscreen,” he grinned. “No, Spock,” he said firmly. “Sickbay for you. You’re to let McCoy do his stuff, and do your Vulcan act. We still have problems to settle after we call off the war.” He looked at James. “Will you see that he does it? And I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to explain to the Doctor, too.”

  I’ll take care of it,” James said. “And—stay out of sight.”

  Kirk nodded to him soberly. “Thank you.” He met Spock’s eyes, saw reluctant acceptance, turned to the door. “Commander?”

  She let him guide her through the door.

  CHAPTER XX

  Spock sat up. James slapped his face.

  Again,” Spock commanded, “harder.”

  James set his jaw and put muscle into it. Again. Again.

  Spock caught his wrist, remembering to be gentle. “Enough. Thank you. I am revived.”

  McCoy swept the scanner over him. “But not recovered. “You didn’t stay under long enough, Spock. Those ribs and knees and hands are just beginning to knit. And the internal injuries—I hate to complain about a miracle. Anybody else’d be dead, but—”

 

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