The Price of the Phoenix

CHAPTER XVIII

Kirk snapped himself out of it, berating himself for standing and watching, knowing that he could not have torn his eyes away.

But, damn it, he was letting himself get used to the idea that he was a prisoner, locked in, lost, unable to act.

To hell with that. He probably was locked in, but maybe not. And—not permanently. There was a way out of any box. This seemed to be only a monitor center. But there had to be a control center somewhere. A way out. Something he could use to get to Spock.

Just blunder his way out, maybe. He had seen how Omne released the baffle walls that blocked the passages of the inner labyrinth,

No. He had already seen that there were several exits. Which way?

His hands flew over the monitor controls, punching up new views. He wished that he had Spock’s gift for reading alien machines. Or for calculating angles, correlating information. The Vulcan could probably back-figure from the multiple view angles to determine exactly where everybody and everything was—and draw a map.

Well, it was all done with the subconscious mind.

Kirk tried to relax and let his operate.

He punched up several angles of the big lab where Spock had fought Omne—where both lay still as death. Don’t think about that. He scanned the outer corridors. He found a place with three panels ripped off, one showing an entrance to the inner labyrinth. The screens offered miscellaneous angles of assorted inner labyrinth passages, branches, baffle walls.

And in a tiny corridor near one half-torn-down baffle wall, Kirk saw the Commander—and the other Kirk.

She was bending over the other Kirk, and he was half-sagging against the wall, his eyes withdrawn.

“James!” she said, shaking his shoulders gently.

The other—James, Kirk adopted immediately—tried to focus on the Commander. “It’s Spock—” he said weakly. “Alive, I think, but so badly hurt. He couldn’t keep me out at the last.”

The Commander’s hands were gentle on James’s face, but her voice asked for a report. “And Omne?”

“Dead.” James reported. “Killed himself.”

She set her jaw. “Therefore—alive.”

James’s eyes widened. “Again—My God.” He shook his head. “We have to go back, get to Spock.”

“No. We have to get to Kirk. We don’t know how long it will take Omne to live again. Spock’s strength will serve him.”

James swallowed. “Let me go to Spock.”

She shook her head. “You’re my guide to Jim. Are you still picking him up?”

“I—don’t know. Can’t feel anything but—Spock.”

“Try.” She took his shoulders again. “That’s an order, James. Let’s go.”

James pried himself off the wall and turned with her. She ripped at the baffle wall.

Kirk shook himself. Damn.

On reflection, damn, and other words for when there were no words. And to hell with standing here.

He turned toward a door almost at random.

Let the subconscious do its stuff. Or whatever he had felt from James, whatever James felt from Spock. Whatever. Plain dumb luck. Whatever. Move.

As a matter of fact he did have some feeling that he could walk unerringly to Spock, like a somnambulist.

He tried not to think about the feeling or touch it. Let him walk in his sleep, but let him walk.

He pressed the catches to release the baffle walls and just moved.

Omne alive. Dear God, the “automatic machinery.” But what a chance for Omne to take. Omne of all men.

And where was he—and how long would it take?

Would the next baffle wall reveal him standing, big as life, laughing?

Not yet, Kirk told himself firmly. Not yet

He found himself in the study.

Good. The subconscious had its points. He scooped up the spray can from the couch.

He started to go through the door Omne had carried him through. Presumably he would find the Commander and James somewhere if they were on the right route.

Something seemed to draw him toward another door. He hesitated. It was only the vaguest of hunches. Probably a better chance with the passage he half-knew, and with the Commander.

But he turned to follow the hunch. He had bet on less before, and this one was calling him to Spock.

He passed an open closet and had some thought of clothes. But to hell with that, too. Later for that. He plunged in and broke into a lope.

Baffle walls and branches here, too, but he chose without hesitation, found the hidden studs to release the blocking panels. Still, he would have played hell even getting out without whatever was guiding him. Or without the secret of the control studs. Omne must have supposed that he wasn’t in any condition to have noticed that.

Kirk came to a place where the maze widened into an alcove; then he burst through into the big lab, spotted the two still figures near the end of one aisle, and broke into a run.

He dropped down beside Spock, meaning to feel for a pulse, finding himself just kneeling to take the limp shoulders in his hands, press his face and ear against the back. Yes, the Vulcan heart was still beating, lower down, wrong place-Hell, right place! Lovely, ridiculously fast beat.

“Spock!

He rolled the Vulcan off Omne’s body and into his own arms. Careful of broken bones, he told himself; but he wanted to carry the Vulcan away from the smell and sight of death, the blasted skull, the blood. And guards might be searching for the source of the shot.

Kirk rose carefully to his feet, cradling the living weight, heavier than a Human would have been, but seeming light to him now.

He found a low bench in the alcove inside the labyrinth entrance, nudged the panel closed with his shoulder, and decided against trying for the study. He knelt and settled his burden gently, extracting the spray can from the hand cradling the shoulders.

He started on the face. The soft spray seemed to foam up, absorbing blood, clearing it chemically, smoothing down to a skinlike film. But he had to ease cuts and splits together, almost remolding the face to its familiar shape.

That done, he could think about the body.

Internal injuries he could do nothing about. Spock’s Vulcan healing would have to take care of that, until and unless they could get him to Sickbay. Kirk didn’t know whether to hope that the Vulcan healing trance would set in fully, healing quickly, but keeping the Vulcan catatonic, requiring slaps to bring him out of it. They needed to move, if Spock could. But Kirk knew how the sickbay in the can eased pain as if it soaked in along the nerves. That, at least, he could do.

Spock’s shirt was in shreds. Kirk tore it off, worked over the chest, felt broken ribs. Damn. If they hadn’t punctured lungs, or worse… Kirk didn’t try to turn or lift him to work on the back, but filled his hands with spray foam and slipped them under to spread it. Then the arms and the battered hands.

The jeans were heavier, and they and the gunbelt might have protected the lower body a little. He unfastened both, thinking how Spock would raise an eyebrow—or possibly hell.

“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.”

“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 three 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.

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 said 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.