by James Blish
"—and you must seek revenge—"
"Daiken!" Kirk said. There was no help for it; he had to call across the stage. The dialogues intercut.
"I am thy father's spirit, doomed for a certain term to walk the night—"
"He murdered my father," Daiken said. "And my mother."
"—And for the day confined to fast in fires, Till the foul crimes done in my days—"
"Get back to sick bay!"
"I know. I saw. He murdered them."
"—are burnt and purged away."
The audience had begun to murmur; they could hear every word. So could Karidian. He looked off toward Daiken, but the light was too bad for him to see anything. In a shaken voice, he tried to go on.
"I . . . I could a tale unfold whose lightest word—"
"You could be wrong. Don't throw your life away on a mistake."
"—would t-tear up thy soul, freeze thy young blood—"
"Daiken, give me that weapon."
"No."
Several people in the audience were standing now, and Kirk could see a few security guards moving cautiously down the sidelines. They would be too late; Daiken had a dead bead on Karidian.
Then the scenery at the back tore, and Lenore came out. Her eyes were bright and feverish, and in her hand she carried an absurdly long dagger.
"It's over!" she said in a great, theatrical voice. "Never mind, father, I'm strong! Come, ye spirits of the air, unsex me now! Hie thee hither, that in the porches of thine ear—"
"Child, child!"
She could not hear him. She was the mad Ophelia; but the lines were Lady Macbeth's.
"All the ghosts are dead. Who would have thought they had so much blood in 'em? I've freed you, father. I've taken the blood away from you. Had he not so much resembled my father as he slept, I'd have done it—"
"No!" Karidian said, his voice choked with horror. "You've left me nothing! You were untouched by what I did, you weren't even born! I wanted to leave you something clean—"
"Balsam! I've given you everything! You're safe, no one can touch you! See Banquo there, the Caesar, even he can't touch you! This castle hath a pleasant seat."
Kirk went out onto the stage, watching the security guards out of the corner of his eyes. Daiken seemed to be frozen by the action under the lights, but his gun still had not wavered.
"That's enough," Kirk said. "Come with me, both of you."
Karidian turned to him, spreading his hands wide. "Captain," he said. "Try to understand. I was a soldier in a great cause. There were things that had to be done—hard things, terrible things. You know the price of that; you too are a captain."
"Stop it, father," Lenore said, in a spuriously rational voice. "There is nothing to explain."
"There is. Murder. Flight. Suicide. Madness. And still the price is not enough; my daughter has killed too."
"For you! For you! I saved you!"
"For the price of seven innocent men," Kirk said.
"Innocent?" Lenore gave a great theatrical laugh, like a coloratura playing Medea. "Innocent! They saw! They were guilty!"
"That's enough, Lenore," Kirk said. "The play is over. It was over twenty years ago. Are you coming with me, or do I have to drag you?"
"Better go," Daiken's voice said from the wings. He stood up and came forward into the light, the gun still leveled. "I wasn't going to be so merciful, but we've had enough madness. Thanks, Captain."
Lenore spun on him. With a movement like a flash of lightning, she snatched the gun away from him.
"Stand back!" she screamed. "Stand back, everyone! The play goes on!"
"No!" Karidian cried out hoarsely. "In the name of God, child—"
"Captain Caesar! You could have had Egypt! Beware the Ides of March!"
She pointed the gun at Kirk and pulled the trigger. But fast as she was in her madness, Karidian was even quicker. The beam struck him squarely on the chest. He fell silently.
Lenore wailed like a lost kitten and dropped to her knees beside him. The security guards stampeded onto the stage, but Kirk waved them back.
"Father!" Lenore crooned. "Father! Oh proud death, what feast is toward in thine eternal cell, that thou such a prince at a shot so bloodily has struck!" She began to laugh again. "The cue, father, the cue! No time to sleep! The play! The play's the thing, wherein we'll catch the conscience of the king . . ."
Gentle hands drew her away. In Kirk's ear, McCoy's voice said: "And in the long run, she didn't even get the lines right."
"Take care of her," Kirk said tonelessly. "Kodos is dead . . . but I think she may walk in her sleep."
