The Price of the Phoenix sttos(n-4

by Sondra Marshak

  “Uniform of the day, Mr. Spock,” Kirk murmured deciding that it was just as well that the Vulcan couldn’t hear—or see his friend’s face. The bruises-Kirk thought even that the tip of a hipbone was shattered. How had the Vulcan lived, or moved?

  Kirk did what was needed. He was well down the thighs, starting on shattered kneecaps, with the jeans slipped down around the boots, when Spock said, “That will be enough, Captain.”

  Kirk whirled, caught the shoulders, didn’t try to still his laugh or stop the tears that threatened to spill. “Spock! He let a long, slow grin develop, thought that a tear or two did spill—his choice, now—finally added, “You old horse thief.”

  “Why should I abduct such an equine, Captain?” Spock said in the manner of the old jokes, and Kirk knew that he had never been so glad to play straight man to a Vulcan.

  “Well, we might even use one to ride out of this horse opera,” he said, and then put a hand on Spock’s face. “Welcome back, Mr. Spock.”

  “Yes—” The pause was very long and the Vulcan eyes searched his face, seemed to drink it in, reached long fingers to brush dampness from his cheeks. “—Jim.” The voice was utter satisfaction, undisguised and uncovered, the face calm, but not wearing its mask.

  Kirk bowed his head in acknowledgement. “Spock,” he answered in the same voice.

  But he thought that perhaps neither one of them could hold the moment much longer, nor did they need to. “Now, about those knees—”

  Spock raised his head, a shoulder, tried to sit up. “I am functional—”

  “Lie still, Mr. Spock!” Kirk touched the shoulder back down, and Spock resisted for an instant, then settled back as if obedience were a luxury.

  “Yes, Captain.”

  Kirk grinned and turned and finished with the knees, went to the boot line, while Spock stared rather fixedly at some point on the ceiling.

  “That really is enough, Jim. The internal healing is also sufficiently under way. In a few moments I shall be able to move—and we must.”

  “You’ll stay right here for a few minutes, at least,” Kirk said. “I think it might take Omne as much as an hour, maybe more. It did with—James.”

  Spock raised an eyebrow. “You seem remarkably well informed. I am also at something of a loss to know how you found me. That was supposed to be my act.”

  Kirk grinned. “I steal all the best lines.” He sobered. “Viewscreens. I saw the last of the fight. Tried to figure the angles. But I don’t know. Something funny going on with James, me, you. Maybe that led me.”

  Spock sighed. “Possibly.” He met Kirk’s eyes. “I am—linked to James.”

  Kirk felt his jaw harden a trifle, but he nodded. “I know.”

  “It is directional,” Spock said, “but I could not reach you. He could. And I, through him.”

  “It’s-all right, Spock. Later for that.”

  “You do not understand,” Spock said. “We were—with you—feeling with you—until you lost—the pain.”

  “With me—?” Kirk said and felt himself sinking down to sit on his heels. “Dear God.” Spock’s hand found his shoulder. Finally he lifted his eyes to meet the Vulcan’s. “I’m sorry, Spock. Hell for you.”

  “For you.”

  Kirk found a small smile somewhere. “All right. But I am all right.”

  He straightened his shoulders and reached a hand to Spock. T think we had better go mind the store, if you’re ready.”

  The Vulcan took the hand. “Ready, Captain.”

  Kirk steadied the Vulcan on his feet, tried to offer support and draw an arm around his shoulders. But the Vulcan gained balance and indicated firmly that he was all right

  He looked Kirk over critically. “It is I who should be going over you,” he said.

  Kirk laughed. “Hell, I thought you knew. Omne fixed me up.” His hands indicated the state of his undress.

  Spock flickered an eyebrow. “Uniform of the day, Captain.” He frowned. “However, the spray conceals even more pain than it heals. You could have serious injuries still. Human bones. I can hardly credit that you survived Omne.”

  Kirk smiled bitterly. “He was going easy on me, obviously. Anyway, I’m not hurting, Spock. Not to speak of.”

  “It is not speaking of it which worries me,” Spock said.

  Kirk grinned. Back to normal. “Well, come to think of it, I am hurting, some, but it’s not—me.” He scooped up the spray can. “Can you contact James? Tell the Commander to stop tearing up the walls. Well get to them. They were—coming for me.”

  “They know. I could not keep my improvement from James. They have reached the study.”

  “Have them wait,” Kirk said. “Let’s go.” He led the way into the labyrinth tunnel, through the baffles he had left open, closed another one behind them. After a while he looked back to grin. “And let’s hope that I can carry off the September Morn act as well as—James.”

  The Commander was standing with her hand on James’s shoulder, with the air of having, firmly, made him sit down on the couch.

  James flashed a tiny, quick look to Kirk acknowledging that fact—and a kind of astonished wonder at it.

  But his eyes were for Spock and so were the Commander’s. They were drinking in the Vulcan, the living sight of him, and Kirk did not blame them. Kirk handed the spray can to James. “Try this on your hands and legs. It looks like we’re in this together.”

  James’s grin answered his. “Sorry, Captain. I’ll see what I can do. Thank you, Jim.”

  So it was to be as simple as that—name and rank. “My thanks, James,” Kirk said. “For everything.” He looked up to meet the woman’s eyes. “And—to you also, Commander.”

  “My pleasure, Captain,” she said gravely, just a faint crinkle around her eyes acknowledging his nakedness and her appreciation. And then she did smile. “The original—to the life.”

  He laughed softly. “I should have a word or two to say about that.” He bowed fractionally. “It would have been—my pleasure.”

  She smiled a little archly. “Come now, Captain, you wouldn’t want to spoil the value of a good secret. Would you defend a lady’s honor by calling her a liar?”

  “I’d call her-skillful at bluff.”

  She laughed silently. “Oh, well, precious few secrets around here today.” She turned to James. “And time for still fewer. Give me that can and join the Captain.”

  “What—I” James said as she appropriated the can.

  “Well, it will hardly work through clothing,” she said. “As the Captain found out. Even, I’ll warrant, Mr. Spock. What makes you different?”

  James contrived to look indignant. “Well, for openers, I don’t have much clothing in the first place. Most of me is pretty—accessible. Give me the can and I’ll—”

  “One does not slide down a pole only on—the accessible.” She tweaked the opening of the tunic aside, revealing less severe friction burns on the chest, abdomen, disappearing down into the briefs.

  Abruptly Kirk became aware of all of that, too. Damn.

  “In the second place,” James said, coloring, “the agreement about—command—was only for the duration.”

  The duration endures,” she said. “I trust it will endure for a long time. Come now, you have no secrets from me. Let’s go.”

  Kirk looked at them speculatively as their eyes locked in silent contest.

  And Spock suddenly appeared from somewhere and dropped a robe around Kirk’s shoulders, dropped another into James’s lap.

  It broke up the contest and the two looked up in astonishment.

  Kirk slipped into the robe—and practically disappeared into it. It looked like Omne—something in Black and softness, a sensuous velvet.

  Kirk slashed the tie tight around his waist and found Spock turning up six inches of sleeve for him and looking at him oddly.

  Kirk shrugged. “The bigger they come—” He gentled his voice. “I didn’t break into little pieces, Spock. Thank you.”

&n
bsp; “Captain,” Spock said grimly. “I was in his mind—at the last. You have no idea. The malevolent intention. For you, for James. For the galaxy. And—the scope of the mind, the size. And he still lives—in the same galaxy with the two of you.” Spock looked down, somehow managing to stress Kirk’s smallness even against himself.

  “All right, Spock,” Kirk said with more calm than he felt. “And—on the same planet. We’ll get moving. And it may have to be the hard way. All I found was a monitor screen room.” He looked down at James. “I suggest—one way or another—within the next couple of minutes.”

  James grinned wryly and nodded.

  Kirk drew Spock aside with the manner of a briefing and turned both their backs on the other two. He could hear little noises in the background. And he could feel—well, damn near feel—slender, strong hands—

  “You might,” he said firmly to Spock, “be able to coax those screens to find us a control room, even a transporter room.”

  “Not necessary, Captain,” Spock said. “When I was looking for the way to you, I also found the way out. The control room. Very near to where you were. I can find it-Kirk remembered not to pound him on the back, put it into a grin. “And Omne’s lab?”

  “No, that I did not get, even at the last. He guarded it. Do you know, he never believed I could beat him? Couldn’t believe that I had. Wouldn’t give up—purposes—elemental needs. Wouldn’t believe that he could die—even knowing that he would live again. Didn’t believe it even as he died—”

  Spock reeled against him, and Kirk caught his shoulders and held him until the moment passed.

  “You almost liked him, didn’t you?” Kirk said.

  “No,” Spock said. “But I saw him.”

  Kirk nodded. “I did, too, a little.”

  “And did not forgive.”

  “No.”

  “Nor I.”

  “We’re talking about him as if he were dead.” Spock nodded. “He is. We have to kill him.” Kirk kept his back to the bed, but permitted himself to check on the progress of James and the Commander—at least permitted his attention to shift to it; he really couldn’t help being aware.

  The two weren’t really embarrassed with each other, he realized. The touch was medical, but not impersonal, and not resented. As if a bond had formed very quickly and included even the fact of her strength.

  Well, he was capable of that, Kirk thought. Why not James? But it was a little disconcerting to feel the same kind of half-playful, half-serious challenge he would have put up. And her silent, laughing, teasing response-Kirk drew Spock a couple of steps further from the bed, but it didn’t seem to help. This—between James and me,” he asked quietly. “What is it? It seems to be getting stronger. It’s not—through you?”

  “No, ” Spock said. “Nature unknown, Captain. I hypothesize a kind of resonance. The too-similar structure, similar minds. Possibly fading with different experience, renewing itself again with closeness or increased knowledge. Disturbing for you. Possibly dangerous.”

  Kirk grinned faintly. “Disturbing, at least. Dangerous?”

  “If it persisted, you would always be too aware of each other. Feeling each other’s pain, other sensations. Distracting. In a fight, possibly deadly.”

  “I see what you mean,” Kirk said. “Well, later for that, too.”

  He felt that the clothes situation was practically in hand, and after a moment turned. James was just pulling the robe tight and the thin silk showed that he had repossessed the briefs. Kirk rather envied him that, but not the flamboyant silk of his robe. He supposed that it was a fair contest for who looked or felt most ridiculous. The Commander finished with the sleeves and Kirk said, “Let’s go. Lead on, Mr. Spock.”

  Spock nodded and led through the tunnel to the viewscreen room. Kirk followed, then took the lead to press the studs as Spock picked another tunnel, guided Kirk with a touch on his shoulder.

  They broke through presently into a large control center, and Kirk followed Spock to what looked like the main console. Spock scanned the controls and translated quickly. “A transporter. Override controls for most systems. Everything we should need—except that I do not expect Omne’s secret lab to show on any map, plot, or viewscreen.” He turned to face Kirk. “However, we have control of the main planetary defense shields.”

  ‘Then we must beam to the ships,” the Commander said immediately, “and destroy the planet.”

  “Planet?” Kirk said, feeling a little slow.

  “No option,” the Commander said. “Omne—and Omne’s process—must not be loosed on the galaxy, nor on the two of you. It really will buy the galaxy, and he knows how to use it. Empire, Federation, your species and mine, Klingons—any species capable of personal loyalties and loves. Perhaps even others. Altered duplicates, impostors, one mind in another body. The evil is unlimited—and only we can limit it”

  “Find Omne,” Kirk said. “He is the evil.”

  “Not possible,” the Commander said, meeting his eyes. “While we looked, he could be moving, blocking our escape, working from an auxiliary control system. He could be anywhere within thousands of miles. It would fit his psychology. No half-measures, and we can take none. No, Captain, the planet has to go.”

  “There are innocent lives here, too,” Kirk said.

  She nodded. “I am not without feeling for them, Captain. But I am a soldier. There are innocent lives in any war. These, at least, made the choice of an outlaw planet. And they are a few thousand. But this is, in any case, war—the most important ever fought in the galaxy. One blow now—or a long, terrible agony.” She drew herself up very tall and did not flinch from his eyes. “If you cannot do it,” she said simply, “I will.

  “If I want it done,” Kirk said, “I will do it”

  “Captain,” Spock said. “There is no question of the Prime Directive here. It is an artificial culture, an assembly of legends and license, outcasts and outlaws. And—those here have—chosen. There are others who have not—in their billions and hundreds of billions. I do not say that we have the right, but it is possible that we have the duty.”

  Kirk turned to him slowly. “It is you who are my—balance, sometimes my conscience. Do you say war, Spock?”

  “I say there can be a time when there is no way to choose the right, because there is no right left to choose.” He looked down steadily at Kirk. “It is why one makes rules not to be broken, and chooses a man able to break them.” His eyebrow bowed in what was almost a smile. “I have never needed to be your conscience, but I suspect that this is your time to be mine. I think I know your choice—and how long we may live to regret it.”

  Kirk had to smile. He nodded. “Possibly for the next thousand years.” He turned to the Commander and shook his head. “For once it is I who have to plead the Prime Directive, or perhaps even an older rule than that. I can’t murder the innocent to get to the guilty. I can’t count numbers. The right of a single innocent life has to stand against the “greater good” of billions—or we have made no gain in the last thousand years, and won’t in the next.”

  The Commander raised an eyebrow in admiration, but there was something in her eyes which was still more solid. “So this is the man half a galaxy damns for trampling ‘rights’ and taking morality into his own hands?” She shook her head. I admire your conscience, Captain, and Mr. Spock’s. I will take this upon my own. I will transport to my ship. What I do will not be your responsibility.”

  “It will be, if I don’t stop you,” Kirk said.

  “How would you propose to stop me?” she said mildly.

  He had a small feeling that his mouth was hanging open. “I thought we were in this together,” he said. “But as far as that goes, there’s the equipment—” He gestured to Spock.

  “I can handle the equipment,” she said.

  Slow, he thought. Hadn’t really occurred to him. But why not? His eyebrows conceded the point. Well, then, cut through to the essence. “I suppose, if it comes to that, there are t
hree of us.”

  She arched an eyebrow. “Are there? Are you sure? You see, it does sometimes come down to numbers. But—if there are, Mr. Spock is badly injured and the two of you are only Human.”

  “You wouldn’t—” Kirk began.

  “Wouldn’t I?” she said. “To leave all three of you free of the guilt of this? I know that I am able to bear it I don’t know that about you, or James. Mr. Spock could, but I doubt that he would bear your condemnation, Captain.”

  “I suppose you don’t have to worry about my condemnation.” Kirk said evenly. “But what about Spock’s? What about—James’s?”

  “James has not spoken. You have assumed that you have the right to decide. Possibly he has, too. By what right? He is not under your command He was pledged to be under mine. How is your honor on that point, James?”

  James shook his head. “My honor is not pledged to accept your command about this. I don’t play games with lives. If I have assumed anything about rights, it is that someone must command, and we don’t fight under Omne’s gun. However, I agree with Jim. I would not, in any case, let you take this on yourself. If we must fight you, we must, and you will nave to go through me to get to them.”

  She nodded. That can be arranged.”

  “And—you don’t have to worry about my condemnation?” James asked.

  She lifted her head. “I am prepared to worry.”

  Spock finished some setting and turned to her. “And—mine?”

  “Your condemnation, among other things, I would like to avoid, Mr. Spock The other two I could deal with without undue damage to myself or them. Pack them off to my ship and resume discussions under more propitious circumstances, after the fact. You, in your present condition, I might very possibly kill, and it is conceivable that you could still kill me, and would have to. That is illogical, Mr. Spock. Wasteful.”

  Spock bowed an eyebrow. “It is all of that”

  “The logic is that it should not be Jim’s decision, or James’s. They are being noble about it. I told you how tired I am of nobility. It is lovely, but it has cost us a great deal before, and this price is too high. A single innocent life? Yes! Two. Theirs. And—more than life.