“I can write you one in which you never will” James said with some heat. “Not if you mean that literally.”
“Can you?” she said. “And how literal would that have to be? What if I, too, have some need to own the unownable? It is not your custom, and in truth I am not much of a believer in customs, including my own, but in this case I might make an exception. And in truth we cannot settle this now. Whatever script we choose must be chosen with care, for a lifetime—the public one and the private one. What if the public one is the princeling script? Or the private one different than you can imagine? Would you still come with me? The only real question is whether you can let me walk out that door—without you.”
James turned her to face him. There is another,” he said. “Could you walk out without me?”
She lifted her head. “No,” she said, “but then I could just pack you off.”
McCoy stiffened, but Jim caught his arm with a touch, and James saw the Vulcan straighten almost imperceptibly behind her. She wouldn’t, James thought, and was not altogether too damned sure. All her knowledge of Human language and customs which made it too easy to think of her as if she were Human did not, in fact, make her Human. She was an alien from an alien culture, as Spock was, even with his half-Human heritage, but without even that—and possibly without the Vulcan’s fundamental civility.
She was a Romulan warrior. And she was herself—one of a kind. Outside the phalanx.
And putting it to James straight that he would have to be outside, too.
James laughed. He looked over her head to the Vulcan, caught Kirk and McCoy with a quick glance. “If it comes to that, I wouldn’t count on it,” he said. “Or on finding all that too easy even if you had one mere Human in your clutches.” He took her face in his hands. “Even when you do have. Poor dear. I’m afraid that you’re stuck with me—and I’ll have a word or two to say about those scripts. That should make it interesting.”
Her eyebrows lifted. “There we agree.”
“There will do, for now, will it not?”
“It will,” she said, but her back was rather stiff.
James slipped his fingers back into her hair, traced the upswept ears, pulled one of them close to his mouth. “And what,” he whispered perfectly audibly, “—what if I need to own you? “
The stiffness melted. She leaned back and looked up at him with a silent laugh. “Can you afford the luxury?”
“My I ask the price?”
She looked suddenly stricken, and James knew with perfect certainty that she—that all four of them—suddenly heard Omne’s heavy voice saying: “The usual. Your soul. Your honor. Your home. Your flag.” And all four, even five, knew that that was exactly the price James would now have to offer.
She didn’t say it, and James had been caught in the exchange and had not quite seen it coming.
He caught a breath and found a smile. “Done,” he said firmly. “But you had better wrap me up and take me with you.”
CHAPTER XXIII
The Commander said, “Indeed.”
James was bending to kiss her, but she caught his face firmly between her hands, her paired fingers touching his temples and the tips of his upswept ears.
The customless kiss from between the stars had been right for the man who had been Captain Kirk.
But this was her innocent princeling, whatever the script, who would come to her on her own ground, where the way of the beginning prevailed, and he would come in her way.
She held him with her strength and touched him with the most ancient kind of mind-link, and not with the restraint of the Vulcan.
The Vulcan was still there with his restrained link. That would not do, not for much longer, but it would do for now, and it did not deter her. James caught his breath under the new touch, and she could even feel, through the resonance, Jim catching his. That did not deter her, either. There were precious few secrets around here today.
But she kept the touch light. There were still things which would be private.
But for this she would not wait.
It was more than a kiss, and he trembled under it, but she felt his own bedrock strength and it was sufficient to meet her.
She was not quite breathing, either.
There was not a breath in the room, not even from the Doctor.
And into that silence came—no sound, but a sudden sense of presence.
It raised hackles down her spine, and she turned to see the silent shimmer of a transporter forming the massive, behemoth outline which could only be one man out of a galaxy.
Omne.
It was not possible that he could be here, beyond all transporter range.
But she did not consider the impossibility.
She launched herself in a flat leap to close with him in the instant when he would still be helpless in the transporter beam. The Vulcan wore a phaser. He could stun her with Omne while she blocked Omne’s weapon. Spock would see the necessity.
She crashed into the great bulk with a body block and chop to the throat, while her other hand smashed down the gun arm.
Except that the corded arm barely moved—and for a long split instant she could feel the heat of Omne’s body, as if time had stopped. She knew that the Vulcan was drawing, James and Jim trying to move—
And in the same split instant Omne caught her with a roar and slammed her against the Vulcan, crashing them both to the floor.
She knew dimly through white pain that the slam had been hard enough to kill them both if they had been Human.
James was charging Omne.
“No, James!’ she shot through the link, and came up off the floor.
But it was already too late. He had launched a savage kick at Omne, possibly the only kind of blow the Human could give, which had a chance.
But Omne absorbed the sickening crunch of James’s feet and caught James out of the air.
Jim was flying from the couch, but a swipe of Omne’s other arm tossed Jim against her—not with such force.
The Vulcan was diving past her, propelled by murder.
Omne caught him with a knee in the ribs, which exploded in the link. Still his hands went for Omne’s throat, but a smash of the giant’s arm felled him to his knees, and a kick toppled him.
McCoy was there from somewhere, with less muscle, but with desperate courage.
Omne felled him with a cuff.
She was putting Jim aside and going in again, but he moved with her.
Then Omne said, “Cease!” and they saw that he had an arm locked around a struggling James from behind, and a phaser leveled at her. Not the revolver, which the giant still wore in his holster, but an advanced design of phaser. Impossible to tell whether it was set to stun or kill.
She kept going, knowing that the first moment of explosive action was all they had, all they would ever have.
Omne could transport out in the next moment with James.
But if they all kept coming-Jim was at her shoulder.
She went for the eyes, the nerve center under the great jaw—trying to be careful of the Human between.
Omne caught her with a backhand of the fist holding the phaser.
She had not dreamed of being hit with such power. She went down, fighting with every Vulcanoid skill for consciousness, trying to scissor her legs to cut Omne’s legs from under him.
But he was planted like a two-legged tree.
He caught Jim with a gentler swipe, brushing him off like a sand gnat, and dropping him almost solicitously on Spock as the Vulcan tried to rise. Spock rolled Kirk off and kept coming. Omne caught him with a boot to the jaw.
Then Omne stepped back a pace with the lightness of a dancer, and he had his arm locked around James’s throat in a chancery strangle, slowly subduing the Human who had still been aiming blows and kicks against the great body and legs. Omne put the phaser to James’s temple.
James’s consciousness faded to a pounding blackness, and the Commander rapped out again, ‘James, stop!’
And
this time she was obeyed—possibly because he could do nothing else.
Nor could any of them. She or Spock might still have made a move, but a phaser stun effect at point-blank range might easily kill James—or Omne might break his neck.
It was not as if she or Spock could fight with a clear field. There were the Humans. The link and resonance reverberated with their pain, and it had to be admitted that there was a Vulcan and Romulan contribution too.
She tasted the bitterness of defeat, and it was not as strong as the metallic taste of panic.
Omne had not eased the strangle.
She came to her knees. “Stop! she said, and it had the tone of a plea.
“How do you ask?” Omne rumbled.
“I—beg,” she said.
She saw the wolf smile appear on Omne’s face. “I believe it is for yourself.”
“Yes,” she said proudly.
“And you, Spock?”
“Yes, Spock said.
Omne felt James sagging against him and finally eased the strangle. James wilted and would have dropped like a sack, but the giant held him.
“Murderer—you’ve killed him!” McCoy said, coming off the floor. “Let me—” His hands reached for James and his voice had almost the tone of hysteria. She was thinking with a trace of pity that the poor Human was entitled: only the link told her that James was not dead.
And then she saw the palmed spray-hypo going for Omne’s shoulder.
She didn’t let a flicker of reaction reach her face.
But Omne moved with that omniscient sense he seemed to have—or with the reflex of pulling James away—perhaps both, and he saw the hypo.
He chopped the phaser down on McCoy’s wrist, and the Doctor choked on a scream as the hypo clattered
Then the phaser was back at James’s ear, and he was stirring slowly.
Omne laughed.
“So even the good Doctor is full of surprises. I trust you appreciate mine.”
He looked fresh as a new-minted coin, shockingly alive, vital, magnetic, his presence filling the room, as if he had truly been reborn.
The Phoenix from the flames.
Black Omne.
He was truly the first, she thought, the first immortal—back from the other side of death.
Of course he would have to come to celebrate.
“We’ve been expecting you,” she said, coming to her feet, banishing pain.
He laughed again. “I hardly think so, my dear. But you should have. When will you learn that you will never know my capabilities until they are used against you?”
Spock was on his feet, but slow, the half-healed ribs gone again, the hands, the knees—the pain blinding in the link until he tuned it down. Jim was steadying the Vulcan, the Human less hurt himself this time, but reeling from the choking of James and from the cumulative shocks and injuries of the day, from the brute shock of Omne’s overwhelming presence. McCoy was sagging against a couch and nursing a wrist as if it were broken.
They were a sorry crew to face this mint-condition monster.
Of them all, only she had been remotely fit to fight after this day, and there was a point where plain brute muscle and heft told, and that incarnate, undying will which was Omne.
But her will was no less certain. Mind and will would have to serve now. Hers. Get him talking; keep him talking. Where was Mr. Scott with his intruder alert? Would he have sense enough to know that there could be only one intruder? Yes. And what would he do?
The Empire would pay high for a transporter of that range,” she said.
Omne dismissed it. “Let us not waste time talking of hardware, my dear. There is only one piece of hardware in the galaxy which has any real price, from this day forward—and I own that, as well.”
She bowed her head in acknowledgement. “True. It is a complete success. A triumph. Let us negotiate that price.”
He laughed the wolf laugh. “My dear, do not attempt flattery. I am not in need or it. I will boast of the process myself, if I wish.”
“And I will acknowledge, if I wish, that you took the very last chance, and won the final victory.”
She had to deliver the acknowledgement in the tone of a battering ram, but she saw it reach the black eyes.
“Yes,” Omne said simply. “I did.”
Jim drew up close beside her, but he did not touch the moment, nor did the Vulcan, and James stayed quiet, trying to still even his mind, not to joggle her elbow.
The confusion of links and resonance was a distraction, full of pain and James’s sub-voice thoughts, in which the only hopeful theme was: Scotty. But she would not have given up one gossamer thread of the link for all the princelings in the Empire; the link might have to lead her to hers.
“You are the first,” she said to Omne. “The Phoenix. The Fire-Dragon.”
“Yes,” he said, accepting the acknowledgement, and then he swept it away with a slight ironic smile. “You discount James?”
“James did not die.”
“No.” The great dark eyes brooded for a moment over the memory; they were more unfathomable than ever, layer upon layer of depth, like obsidian gone transparent. Was there something new in the eyes, now—as if death had burned something to great clarity? “You were almost right, Commander. Of all men I would not die—and of all men, I was the only one who would, but I was not beaten. I was the man who would die first—and did.”
“So,” she said slowly, “you found a recording of our discussion in the control room?”
“Certainly, my dear. All of the monitor screens record automatically. This whole day is safe on storage cubes.”
She felt Jim stir uncomfortably beside her.
Well, it could not be helped. “I trust I did not omit too many possibilities?” she said with a trace of challenge.
“Dozens,” Omne said. “Hundreds.”
She smiled fractionally. “You will doubtless fill me in.”
Omne smiled, as if indulging her, as if he knew all about what she was up to, and could afford the luxury. And beneath the smile she saw suddenly the savage hate which had exploded in the fight and not been dissipated. It was leashed now. Omne had not forgiven them their victory, or his death.
You are seeing only the test of the process against love,” Omne said. “Consider the tests against hate, evil, weakness, power-lust, Human frailties. Consider even the test against strength and decency. You have had advantages, you know. Jim and James are quite extraordinary men—and they had quite extraordinary help.” Omne looked at her, at Spock. “But picture two kings, emperors, presidents waking up on any one day to find—two of them. One could not count on our two originals’ nobility. Even they barely made it. But consider: what if such a pair did not even know which was the original? Each would have to fight for his rightful place. The other would be an imposter—who was certain that he was real. What if there were no Vulcan friend, no telepath who knew them to establish identity? And what if there were such a friend? Which would he choose—and how? How would one of them choose to leave him? Suppose even today, my dear, that you had not been here to offer another path to James?”
“The thought has occurred,” she said with effort.
“It is only one possibility,” Omne said. “There are countless permutations, combinations, surprises, elemental uses. Possession. Exploration of metaphysical problems. There is simple personal survival.”
“At a price,” she said grimly. “Doubtless also surprising.” Where was Mr. Scott? How long could she stall?
“Certainly,” Omne said. “I am full of surprises. Are you trying to conceal from me one of your own? For example, that it is long past time for the Captain’s Mr. Scott to have sounded intruder alert, if he detected my transporter? Therefore he is either trying to take silent action, in the hope of which you are stalling, or I have yet another capability which will come as a surprise to you.”
She shrugged microscopically, not betraying the sinking sense that Omne was ahead of them on all point
s. Did Scott even know? “If you have named my game,” she said, “it is still the only game in town. Although we might still arrange one or two other surprises. But you have come. You wanted to say to us: I live. You might thank us for that—at least, thank the Captain. We did not destroy you when we could. You owe a debt.”
Omne shook his head. “I am not responsible for missed opportunities or misguided nobility—or, especially, for rationalizations of elemental needs.” He turned to Jim. “One innocent life, Captain? Shall I tell you the real reason why you did not destroy the planet?”
Kirk nodded. “I named it. But tell me what you think.”
“Because it is immortality, Captain. You could not bear to close the door on the defeat of death. You will find that you have sold your soul for it—and the galaxy.”
Kirk straightened, and she saw that it was true—on some deepest level, true. She could feel it in James’s mind, too. Kirk’s head lifted. ? “It is immortality,” he said. “You could have been honored for it forever. But it is you who have sold your soul. Yes, I want the defeat of death.” He gestured toward the stars. “What else are we out here for? To learn, to know, to push back the limits, to—love. Who would see love die? No, I didn’t close the door. I would be willing to live with Pandora’s box—and Hope. But not with immortality as a weapon in your hands. I have not sold the galaxy. We will fight you.”
“You have tried that, Captain,” Omne said, indicating their defeat.
“We are not finished. Who are you that we should quit against you?”
“Omne,” the giant said simply.
Kirk nodded. “You are that—and we have not quit. You have lost today. You met love, and you couldn’t break it.”
“It will break you,” Omne said. “Captain, you wanted the process, and you did not want it for the galaxy, but for yourself.”
Kirk stood very still. She could feel the effort in his body. “I wanted it,” he said. “But I have lived without it before.”
He stood as if waiting for a blow to fall; she saw the hate flare again in the obsidian eyes and the great arm tighten across James’s chest.
James gasped and Kirk set his teeth, and for a moment she thought that the giant would break from the pose of studied calm and come to smash—which was perhaps what Kirk had intended.
The Price of the Phoenix sttos(n-4 Page 15
