The Price of the Phoenix

CHAPTER VI

The Commander had watched the Vulcan out, and known how close he had come to making his stand there across the gold-heaped table—with the lone six-shooter against Omne and a dozen guards.

And she knew that part of what stopped him was his doubt of her.

If he could have counted on her even to be neutral… But she could not explain her position in front of Omne.

And it would not have helped, neither the explanation nor the position.

There was not even a legend that Romulans could not lie.

It was necessary for Omne to believe Spock was not her price, but she suspected that it was Spock who had believed her. He had half-believed her about Kirk. “The original-to the life.”

She caught herself smiling. The Vulcan deserved that. And the Human, too. He would have been in there pitching if he had not regarded her as staked out as private property by Spock.

They would learn something about property. Perhaps too much.

She did not look at the burial bier as Omne ushered her silently through the candled room. The flowers meant nothing to her.

At the inner door she raised her hand to tap.

Omne picked the hand out of the air and drew it down to her side, held it against her lunge for her sidearm. She had killed men for less.

He saw it in her eyes and laughed silently.

She controlled herself. His strength was more than equal to holding her, certainly, unless she used advanced all-in-combat techniques.

It was not yet a time for war.

He touched the opening stud and led her in by the hand, unannounced.

Kirk sat up suddenly on the bed, startled, indignant, embarrassed now as he had had the will not to be when he was naked. He wore a short robe which was some kind of cross between an all-in-combat jacket and a hospital gown, and she suspected that he wore it backwards. The edges did not quite meet across chest and hips, and the string ties were of no assistance. Moreover, it was done in some fabric which looked like thin white velvet and clung like a live animal. There was some kind of brief in the same fabric which was supported by a low band around his hips, and provided, possibly, moral support.

He swung soft white boots to the floor and stood up. The edges of the robe fell a trifle further apart and soft folds of fabric shifted, but he had regained the control not to tug at anything. He brought his hands together in the Human military posture of parade-rest, and his manner announced again that he was clothed in dignity.

“Where I come from,” he said, “and in the civilized world, the custom is to ask permission to enter.”

“One does not ask permission of property,” Omne said.

“We have had that argument before.”

Omne smiled. “You lost.”

“Force is not an answer to argument”

“It is the last answer.”

Kirk shook his head, not deigning to answer.

The original, she thought, to the life. She found that she was holding her breath. Yes, she could understand well enough why he was the Vulcan’s price.

Omne turned to her as if reading the thought. “And what price would you pay for this one, my dear—if I were not practically throwing him into the bargain?”

“Irrelevant, since you are.”

“Not quite,” he said. “If Spock convinces me—and the delegates—presumably you will have this one, too, but as a refugee, not property. And if he does not—I am singularly hard to convince—then you would have this one as property, presumably with Spock trying to buy him. But in either case, there could be some question of the condition of the merchandise. For example, his appearance would have to be altered. Romulan ears and eyebrows you presumably would not mind. I believe you have seen them on him before. But there could be other changes. And other damages.”

“I would not take Spock’s threat lightly, if I were you,” she said, seeing Kirk’s face working at remaining set, the fine, slanting muscle in the jaw betraying him fractionally.

Omne saw it too, but kept an eye on her. He shrugged “The planet is impregnable. This compound is a fortress. The underground is a maze, with chambers which even I have not seen for twenty years.”

“Spock has a life span of perhaps two hundred years left to breach the impregnable,” she said. “He would use all of it.”

“He has perhaps two hours to storm the fortress and thread the maze. Two hours which we could better employ.” Omne’s eyes raked over Kirk slowly, and his massive arm twisted hers and drew her against his side. She could feel the heat of his body through his black silk and her tunic. “There is really no need to wait. Spock will be glad enough to accept damaged goods. If it comes to that, he will have no choice. Moreover, this one would never tell. Your old enemy, Commander, who made a fool of you in front of the Empire and the galaxy! Wouldn’t you like to see the Starship Captain beg?’

“What I like is that he would not beg.”

She saw Kirk’s eyebrows rise in astonishment

Omne jerked her to face him. “I think he would, ally. Would you care to make a small wager?”

“I will wager that I can kill you where you stand unless you unhand me and leave this room.”

Omne chuckled. “Lady, I admire your notion of odds,” he drawled. “You are nearly as interesting as the priceless price. But what’s your game? Don’t you know that you’ll never have the Vulcan while this one lives?”

I’ll never have him if this one dies. And you will never have ally or Empire if you harm him. Your bet was called, Omne. If you have no honor, I have. Spock has his two hours and his chance to pay his price. Hell get what he pays for—undamaged—or one of us will die in this room.’

Omne twisted her arm up behind her back. She set her teeth and saw Kirk gather himself. She needed the one break against an opponent of Omne’s strength and size. It was comforting to realize how certain she was of getting it. If she could have this game Human willingly, at her back or at her side, and the Vulcan at her right hand, the universe could not stand against them.

But that was a dream.

Omne laughed, whirled her, and tossed her into Kirk’s arms. The black glove blurred and the ancient Colt was in his hand, looking like the deadly weapon it was. “I can’t tell you how you terrify me, my dear,” he grinned. “Perhaps I should say, my dears. However, your point is well taken, Commander. I am not a man of honor. Our alliance does not depend upon my honor, since you know my motives and my power. It does depend upon yours, and I shall hold you to it. You also called the bet. I’ll permit you to keep this one safe for your Spock while we determine whether your Spock is a man of honor where this one is concerned. I have never allowed my satisfaction to depend upon a particular piece of property.”

He bowed, and there was some expression in his eyes which she wished she had not seen.

“And with that thought, I will leave you,” Omne said, and backed through the door.

Her hand fell to her sidearm, but she abandoned the impulse. Omne was quick and cautious and on his own territory. He might only wish to draw her out away from Kirk.

Kirk turned her slowly in his arms, and she did not resist. “Thank you,” he said simply. And after a moment, “Somehow I don’t think Spock would mind if I thanked you properly.”

She pulled his head down into the kiss, suddenly grateful that there was neither Romulan nor Vulcan need for ritual gesture and slow propriety. She lived between the stars and so did this one. So, really, did the Vulcan, but there was much he could learn about the joys of abandoning custom. She would teach him, but there might not be much that she could teach this one.

He was not used to the strength which had pulled his head down, but he had resisted it for only a heart-beat, then relaxed and trusted himself into it, concentrating a certain power of his own on taking her breath away.

On that contest, they were about even, she thought. But presently he lifted his head and she let him, let him gather her head to draw her face against his temple and cheek. He held her for a long moment. “I think he would mind more,” he said softly into her ear and brushed it with his lips, then slowly drew back from her, still holding her at a little distance.

“You are welcome,” she said with a straight face, and saw his eyes light with a glint of mischief.

“You’d have to take that up with Spock first,” he said with a little smile which was nevertheless serious.

“I intend to.”

He raised an almost Spockian eyebrow, undeterred by the fact that the other one got into the act. “A—custom of your people?”

“No. A custom of my own. I call it ‘thinking beyond the phalanx.’ Phalanx is not the word. But there are certain military problems which cannot be solved inside the standard military formations.” She smiled, also seriously. “Other problems, too. And other-formations.”

He nodded. “I know the concept. Get out of the box. Change the name of the game. He shook his head thoughtfully. “You might find that Spock and I are further outside of the phalanx than you know. In fact, I seem to be out of all boxes whatsoever.” He looked at the door. “Except this one.” He took her shoulders in his hands. “Commander, I can’t see the future, and I can’t wipe out the past—even if I never lived in it. I know you are supposed to be the enemy, and have cause to be mine. But you just acted as a friend, to Spock and to me.” He slipped his hands down to hers and lifted them. “Friends? And—allies? Where honor permits and purposes do not cross?”

She took his hands. “That will do for a beginning.” She let her eyes laugh and disengaged her hands, guided his right one into a fist until their right wrists crossed in the Romulan warrior gesture, which could mean in its degrees from first comradeship to the blood-bond of brothers of the sword. It was she, and a few like her, who had made it include sisters.

He looked a little startled, but seemed to regard it as self-explanatory, and returned the pressure gravely and at attention.

She nodded and stepped back. “Now,” she said, glancing over her shoulder at the door, “about this box …”

“The lock is efficient,” he said in the tone of a briefing. “No exit. Your weapon might do for the lock. Omne is another question.” He took a deep breath. “I didn’t like the look of him.”

No.

“Going to take hell out on somebody.” A thought hit him as if it had struck him in the stomach. “Damn! ‘One particular piece of property.’ Spock thinks there could be other—copies.”

She turned to the door, tried it, aimed the beam of her sidearm. The metal was tough. Only a pinpoint beam would even touch it. “This will take too long,” she said, continuing the cutting. “I am the one who should have thought of it. I got Omne to slip a bit on a confirmation. He as good as admitted that a—matrix—can be used to make more copies.”

He stood at her shoulder and was silent. After a moment, he said quietly, “In front of Spock?”

“Everything was in front of Spock,” she said. “Omne practically drew him a picture, then had him marched out. He’ll never get back through those gates.”

“The gates of Hell,” he said, and one fist impacted into the other.

Then she thought that the sound had been repeated. No. The sharp snap of a remote switch tripping. She cut off the beam and turned to her right to find him watching a large wall mirror dissolve into a viewscreen…

They saw the back of another man watching another viewscreen, and his was split-screened into fourths. She recognized the main hall, the candled room, this room…

And she recognized the man’s back. Unmistakably, it was Kirk. Some Kirk. There was shimmer dissolve to another camera angle showing that Kirk’s face. Then came a meeting as if of both Kirks’ eyes as the two back-figured from the angles and spotted the hidden cameras.

She located the one in this room herself. There was a tiny prism-lens in the jeweled goldwork of the mirror-screen frame.

But she could hardly take her eyes from the other Kirk, and she found her hands on this one’s shoulders.

The two looked at each other.

The other wore a Star Fleet uniform, the tough gold fabric of his command shirt more than faintly scorched. That would be easy enough to fake, she thought. But the hands and face looked slightly seared, too, as by sunburn, and the left hand had a darker streak of red bordering a blister. That was possible to fake too, she supposed.

But the Kirk under her hands knew. And she felt the shoulders sag—and straighten. “Have you been watching from the beginning he asked the other.

The other’s eyes leveled. She hoped never to see such a look in a man’s eyes again, and knew that she would have given all she owned for the privilege of seeing it this once: support, comfort, a searing rage devoid of pity, the respect of a straight answer, I never lost consciousness, Kirk said.

Her Kirk nodded. She alone could feel what it cost in his shoulder muscles. “How?” he asked.

“He used some new variation of the transporter. It was silent. Half a wall fell in front of me and most of the roof on top of me and a body beside me. My guess would be that it was an incomplete duplicate. But I was already on my way.”

“Spock couldn’t have seen…”

“The wall that fell between us didn’t fall by chance. Nor the body—probably stashed in the rafters. I got—just a glimpse.”

“The perfect murder,” her Kirk said slowly. “And—nobody died.”

Kirk nodded. “Except—You wouldn’t know about the woman.”

Her Kirk tensed. Impossible not to believe that Kirk, but—”How would you?”

Kirk wiped it away with a gesture of his hand. “He had viewscreens set up here from the moment I picked myself up off the platform. I saw the collapsed house. Spock. Bones. Bodies. You surrounded by equipment, then Omne moving you…”

“My God.” She knew that the original Kirk now saw much the same searing look in this one’s eyes. “Omne wanted you to see that. For that there is no excuse even in madness. For that, or for what he did to Spock.”

Kirk nodded. “Nor for what he has done to you.”

Her Kirk caught his lip between his teeth, his brows drawing together. “We will think about what he has done to me if we both live. Right now—is there any way out for you? Any weapon?”

Kirk shook his head, smiled grimly. “The gun he gave me was useless.” The big room he was in was bare except for a few heavy pieces of furniture, too solid to take apart

Her Kirk turned to her. “Get back to work on that door.” She obeyed, but couldn’t help glancing at them from the corner of her eye. “You understood what Omne said here,” her Kirk continued. “He must have switched the screens on because he wants us to see it happen to you.”

I know,” Kirk said quietly. I’ve had more time to think about it.”

“Don’t take any chances. Do whatever you have to do. Kill him.”

Kirk grinned soberly. “That doesn’t look so easy from here.”

“Do you have any idea of your location?”

“I got a guard to open a door. The number was U-27-E-14.”

Her Kirk laughed. “That’s one break. Made, not born. That’s as good as a road map. Hold on.”

Kirk grinned. “We’ll play a couple of ‘macho’ games. Domination. Alpha-male stuff. Lords of the jungle. Baboons and breast-beating. Will the Starship Captain bow his stiff neck? That ought to hold him for a while. I do recommend, in all logic, that you hurry.” There was a sound off to his right, a door opening, and he turned. Turned back for an instant. Thank you, Commander. Friends?” But he had to turn to face Omne as the big man moved into the field of view.

“Captain,” she warned quickly. “He is not Human. The strength is Vulcanoid. Think of Spock—at nearly twice his weight”