The Price of the Phoenix

CHAPTER XIV

The Commander was not accustomed to feeling helpless.

Her Kirk pressed the stained white velvet, the bloodstained hands, his face, against the blank wall “I—can’t—” he murmured, “I’m losing—I’ve lost—the signal.”

His shoulders shuddered under Spock’s hands, and the Vulcan’s stoned-carved face set harder, but his voice was gentle, saying, “It’s all right. It will be better for you now. For him.”

The shaking figure pried itself away from the wall, twisted; the raw hands seized Spocks arms. “Better! The—pain—the feeling—gone. I’ve lost him. Don’t you understand? We can’t get to him, even now. And now Omne could take him anywhere.”

“I know,” Spock said very quietly, looking down into the tormented eyes as if to give support.

They were locked away from her in some world she could not reach, had been, since Spock had led her to the one he called James. She could not quite bring herself to adopt the name. How, really, had they exchanged it? And what had it meant to them? Spock had not spoken it but once, minutes ago, when they found—the other—trying to get through a blank wall. There was evidently some kind of link still persisting. She did not think, somehow, that she liked that, although it had undoubtedly saved such sanity as remained to any of them by leading Spock to him. She did not fully understand it, did not understand at all the mechanism by which they both seemed to be feeling what Kirk felt. Spock controlled it better, but she could see it in his rock-steady face, too. Yet the—connection—did not seem to be through Spock.

They had checked the adjoining rooms, her Kirk persistently indicating that he—felt—Kirk in a direction where it did not seem that he could be, and which Spock could evidently not sense. They had tried to check for secret panels, secret passageways, with the helpless feeling that a secret hidden by Omne could elude them for hours.

They had ducked guards.

And finally her Kirk had fetched up against the blank wall again, going rigid, then whispering, “Some land of—medical—attention,” but not relaxing. And Spock had supported the rigid shoulders, also looking like grim death.

Now he said, “James…”

But her Kirk’s chin line was already firming, the eyes steadying as if to return support, the hands squeezing and releasing the Vulcan’s arms. “Thank you, Spock. Of course, we just have to get to him.” He turned to the wall appraisingly. “We know the direction right now. Omne presumably will be getting reorganized in a moment—move him—rally the troops, whatever. Perhaps a time for direct action. Do you think that a couple of Vulcanoids could start taking that paneling apart?” He flashed a look at the Commander, including her in.

She stepped forward, casting a pointed look at his raw hands, scalded on an ordinary slide-pole. “So long as the Humanoid doesn’t try to.”

Spock touched the Human’s shoulder aside with the delicacy of moving a child, and slammed his fist through the wall.

He stood frozen for a moment looking as if he had been needing to do that for a long time. Then he put his forearm in through the cleanly fractured hole in the heavy composition paneling, hauled back on it, and pulled it free with a sound of fasteners snapping like the rattle of ancient weapons.

But there was only solid stone a few inches behind it. She started on the edge of the next sheet with not much less delicacy.

“That will do, Omne said, and they looked up to see him with a sudden arm around James Kirk’s neck and a gun leveled at them past his waist.

He nodded pleasantly. It is as simple as that,” he said. “And it is just as well that I took a look at the monitor screens. Good afternoon, Mr. Spock. I observe the meaning of your word.”

Spock freed his hand from the paneling and let it fall against the wall. There could be no question of trying to draw. “I have observed the meaning of yours.”

“As a matter of fact,” Omne said, I gave you no word not to do anything which I have done—not even about ‘damaged merchandise.’ You made assumptions.” He shrugged. “But then, I never claimed to be a man of honor.

“I—owe—no—honor—to—” Spock’s voice caught further and then he spat it out with naked loathing, “—to what you are.”

Omne raised an eyebrow. “Behold Vulcan control.” He eased his forearm hold on James Kirk’s throat a little, and slipped the arm down across the front of his shoulders. “However, I cannot say that I blame you. Interesting problem, Spock, which of us would have broken a word first, and to whom—and for whom. Did you have any intention of keeping yours to me—for this one?”

James Kirk’s eyes suppressed any flicker of motion.

‘I will keep it now, for both of them,” Spock said.

Omne shook his head. “That was not the question, Mr. Spock—nor the bargain. The galactic script for—one copy. Would you have made good on that—and will you?”

Spock met James Kirk’s eyes. “My intention was to play out the script.”

Omne must have felt a faint movement which the Commander’s eyes could not detect. He looked down at the man he held. “That pleases you?”

“Spock plays them as he sees them,” James Kirk said, his words for Omne, his eyes only for Spock. “He has never played me false.”

“He has had precious little time,” Omne said rather harshly. “You have no ‘never’ with him.”

James Kirk straightened the tightly held shoulders further. “I have all that it is possible for me to have.”

“Then let us find out what that is,” Omne said grimly. He started to draw the Human closer against him and back down the hall toward an open door which led into a big lab. Omne wanted to be out of the way of stray guards, she thought, and followed helplessly, as did the Vulcan, while Omne continued with complete control. “The bets are still down, Spock. Mine stands. I will ignore the fact that the three of you have caused me certain inconveniences and doubtless damaged some guards. It is what they get paid for. You and the Commander may take this one, as agreed. The Commander can stay with him and supervise the—alterations—while you give your performance. In an hour I will beam the three of you to her ship—if you have any intention of honor.”

“My intention,” Spock said carefully, watching for any chance and seeing none, “was based on the slim chance that you would honor your word, and the greater chance that you would break it at some point, releasing me from mine. The damage done by a speech can be repaired. A life is irreplaceable—even now.”

Omne chuckled, shepherding them into an open space in the big lab. “You do feel that about this one-even now? But that is the complete success of my process. The copy is so perfect that he is irreplaceable to you—even though I could make another. And do you speak of honoring your word, Spock? For him?”

‘In fact, one owes no honor to force,” Spock said. “You forfeited all rights in this matter from the beginning. But it is impossible for men to deal with each other, even under duress, especially under duress, if there is no word. Speech becomes noise. Yours is. Yours was always a crooked game, and now you have broken letter and spirit of any agreement—and every law of decency. All bets are off.”

“Irrelevant, Mr. Spock, whether true or not. No bets are off. The question is, Do you want this one?”

“Both of them,” Spock said.

“That you cannot have,” Omne answered. “Apart from anything else, can you conceive of turning up with both of them—in the Romulan Empire?”

“I will undertake to solve that problem,” the Commander said flatly.

Omne raised an eyebrow to her. “My dear, do you not think that that might be an embarrassment of riches, even for you?”

“I’ll manage,” she said.

Omne laughed. “Perhaps you could, at that. However—” He looked back to Spock. “The Commander can verify part of this. The—damages—to the—other merchandise—have been repaired. There is no pain now and no threat to his fife, now or ever. He has accommodated to his situation. He is hostage for your dubious word for the next two hundred years. He chooses to live even in those circumstances. He is quite beyond your reach or finding, beyond anyone’s but mine. Wherever you thought he was a moment ago, he is not now. However you found him here, you seem to have lost him now. Were you to kill me now where I stand, you would never reach the surface, and no one would ever reach him. There is food, water, air. He might last a hundred years. Alone.”

“What of your boast that death would not inconvenience you?’ the Commander said, filling it in for Spock. “The automatic machinery—set for you—and him?”

Spock did not look surprised.

Omne shrugged. “I might have lied. I am not a man of honor. If I didn’t, then my death here or elsewhere, now or later, would only start the game again. If I did or didn’t, you would never know it. Unless I so chose. My estate here is set up in trust in capable hands. It will run for a thousand years, perhaps forever, if I die or disappear.” He raised the gun to his temple. “It may be that I could go now by still another exit, to join Kirk—or leave him alone. Would you care to chance it?”

“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 moment 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.