The Price of the Phoenix sttos(n-4 Read online

  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”

  CHAPTER VII

  Kirk grinned quick, rueful thanks at the Commander and turned back to face Omne.

  He felt his mouth go dry and the knot in his stomach tighten, and knew that he was moving on the balls of his feet, circling, finding clear space, not having to think about the body signals which made it a giving of ground that was not a retreat, but thinking about them anyway. Alpha-male stuff, he had said. He was pretty good at that. Usually he was content to let it operate mostly at the level of instinct, this would take more than that. It was tough as hell when that kind of dominance had to cross the gulf between species with different strengths. You wouldn’t think it would operate at all, but it did.

  Omne did not have to have Vulcan strength to scare him; there was a power in the man which was only too apparent, whatever world he came from, and an indomitable fighting will which would see the body it drove broken apart before it would yield.

  That was a quality of mind, not of muscle.

  Omne recognized it in him as well as he in Omne. Somewhere each of them had learned to use it, not only on the level of instinct. Omne could play games with it, and play for keeps.

  But also Omne had Vulcan muscle to back it up.

  And Kirk had learned too well what that could mean.

  “So,” he said with the deceptive mildness which let the deception show through, “that makes it interesting.”

  Not all strong men in the galaxy are Vulcan, Captain.” The bow of a black eyebrow made it an acknowledgement.

  Kirk inclined his head. “No. Only some of the best.”

  “And the best plays beta to your alpha.” Omne smiled. “I will say it for you, Captain. That makes you good, very good. You sail the stars and take on all comers. Somehow that is even more attractive in one so vulnerable.”

  Damn, that was a dangerous package. Kirk laughed. “By the same token, it makes me not so vulnerable. I’ve been up against two, three, five times my strength, maybe more. Vulcans, mutants, androids. It is not a question of muscle.”

  Omne shook hi
s head, his smile indulgent. “Other things being equal, it is, Captain.” He moved closer to Kirk, the panther stride emphasizing quickness, the towering width underlining difference.

  Kirk stood his ground, looking up without apology to meet the black eyes, his muscles set for a kick and roll if this was to be it.

  Omne laughed and stopped, towering over him. “But you would meet few to equal you in other things, Captain. Mind, will, decision. The all-out streak which yields to no man. Death before dishonor. The stiff neck and the straight spine. Backbone. Bluff. The alpha male is half bluff and all guts.” He gestured toward the screen; he must have been monitoring. “I, too, am a student of the jungle, Captain.”

  “Then let’s knock this off? Kirk said, shifting with a posture of dismissal “Who is bluffing whom? At what game? There are more serious matters between us.”

  Omne shook his head, not responding to the change of posture. “This is the serious matter, Captain. Games are always the serious matter. The game of gunsmoke on Front Street. The game of galactic confrontation.”

  “You are playing games with fives.”

  “Certainly. Those are always the stakes.”

  “Murder is not a game to me,” Kirk said, “and I am not playing.”

  “But you are,” Omne said, gesturing over his shoulder toward the screen, “You—both of you—just declared intent to murder me—in violation of every law you own, by the way. And I have not even done murder.”

  Kirk brushed it aside with a hand. “Self-defense. No cop-outs, Omne. You have. And you have done worse. You’ve caused all the grief of murder. I don’t know how to name the other grief. But the woman died.”

  “Suicide,” Omne said. “It was her right and her custom. I did not arrange that, merely used it. I have created a haven here for custom and free choice, even the wrong choice. The first principle of freedom is the right to go to hell in your own handbasket.”

  Kirk shook his head. “Provided that it is your own hell, your own handbasket—and you don’t take passengers who have no choice. Such as a baby.”

  Omne spread his hands. “It’s not possible to have it both ways, Captain. Custom is custom, or it is not. Noninterference is noninterference, or it is not. Anything else is moral judgment on the basis of feeling—and the self-indulgence of imposing your gut reaction on the universe.”

  Kirk straightened gravely and stood quiet. “No,” he said solemnly. “It can be—which is the reason for having a Prime Directive. But there is a logic to moral judgments, and there are judgments which have to be made. That is the reason for having men who will make them on the tough ones. Right or wrong, but make them and stand responsible. There is no sanctity to custom. The many can be as wrong as the one, and antiquity as wrong as tomorrow. The sanctity is in life—and in the freedom needed to preserve and enjoy it. Custom is the frozen form of men’s choices, not to be shattered lightly, but it does not abolish the need to choose.”

  Omne was looking at him thoughtfully, one eyebrow rising. “So—you are the true antitheses,” he said.

  “No mere thoughtless bundle of reactions, and no apologist, but the true son of moral certainty.” He nodded as if pleased. “It was what I had wanted to learn.”

  “To what purpose?” Kirk said. You are no champion of justice. That is a pose. Your real character stands revealed today: killer, kidnapper, plotter, buyer and seller of bodies and souls.”

  Omne shrugged.

  Kirk stood silent for a moment, some part of him impressed. Omne’s black eyes were opaque pools of a pain not to be sounded.

  The man who owned those eyes was a giant. And a monster.

  “No,” Kirk said steadily. “I do not grant you the name of a real man.

  The giant’s black-gloved hand impacted flatly against Kirk’s jaw and he went down. It had been only a slap—and it was all but a knockout blow, all but broke his neck.

  “Elemental needs,” Omne said, standing over him. “Spock can have the copy. I will keep the original.”

  Kirk rolled away and came, too slowly, to his feet, fighting down blackness and fear. It was not possible to stand against that strength for long.

  “Go to hell,” he said softly.

  Omne nodded. “You will make a delightful handbasket, my proud Captain.”

  “You don’t own the merchandise.” Kirk launched a feint and leap which would carry him past the big man’s bolstered gun. He had nothing to prove about muscle. Take no chances. Kill.

  Omne picked him out of the air.

  Steel arms crushed him against the corded and molten steel of the big body, his chest against the spring-steel barrel chest, the other’s gloved hands digging into his back and thigh. His left arm was pinned too far from the gun at Omne’s right, but he chopped with the other hand, reached with the left for the gun.

  Omne bent him back with a wrench that threatened his spine. The black eyes looked down into his and a hand moved to twist his left arm up behind his back. The fingers digging into the top of his thigh supported his whole weight, and felt as if they would part muscle, snap bone.

  “Learn about muscle, vulnerable one,” Omne whispered. He pulled Kirk back against his chest, twisted the arm up into a slow agony, clamped an arm around ribs which strained in protest

  Kirk felt the blackness rising again and a scream clawing at his throat, choking him with the effort to hold it back. God, the man was like Spock unleashed, Spock… If he were here… there would be Vulcan steel fingers clamping into the massive black shoulder…

  Suddenly Kirk realized that his chin was above that shoulder, not far from Spock’s neck pinch spot—from a good spot for any chop.

  He brought his chin down with all his strength and his knee up between the muscled legs.

  The knee didn’t connect fully, but the chin did, and it was enough. He jackknifed out and away as the hold loosened and the big man swayed, half-doubling and shaking the massive head.

  Kirk landed off balance, out on his feet, but tried to come back in to follow the advantage. There would be no second chance. But the bone-bruised thigh gave suddenly under his weight and he fell He turned the fall into a scissors chop of his legs which cut Omne’s feet from under him. The giant fell hard, but caught himself like a cat, rolling up to a crouch.

  Kirk came up on one knee and a hand, dazed. Watching warily and trying to rub feeling back into the nearly paralyzed thigh.

  The big man straightened only too easily, not really much hurt, and started toward Kirk.

  Kirk waited, deciding that he regretted only that the knee had not done its full work.

  He doubted that he could stand, but he braced to move. He’d get in a shoulder block, try to bring the giant down.

  But Omne stopped. “That, too, is what I wanted to learn.”

  “To what purpose?” Kirk asked. “To prove the obvious? That big is big?”

  Omne smiled and shook his head. “To prove that you will not quit, even against me.”

  Kirk straightened onto both knees and shrugged fractionally. Who are you that I should quit against you?”

  “The man who will make you quit.” Omne moved closer, towering.

  Kirk looked up and sat back onto his heels. “I am everything which you are not.”

  “No, Captain. You are everything I might have been.”

  “And for that, you want to destroy me?”

  “No, Captain. I want to own you, to own—the other half of my soul.”

  “You will not own mine.”

  Omne raised an eyebrow. “But—surely you know that it is for sale? There is the question of letting Spock leave here alive.”

  Kirk was silent, feeling his stomach crawl, his legs tremble. Finally he said, “You would lose everything. Star Fleet would take you apart from one side, and the Empire from the other. There’s no such thing as impregnability, given time. My Mr. Scott also doesn’t quit. Nor—the Commander.”

  Omne shook his head. “Mr. Spock will make his speech, or he will not. In
either case, in an excess of grief and despondency, he will fall upon his sword—or the Vulcan equivalent. The Commander might even be persuaded to do the Romulan version. Star-crossed lovers, this time, seeing the failure of all their hopes. That would be a lovely script. Or—I’ll write you three others. I can produce bodies. We might, if you are very good, keep a recording. Take it out and—play it—on special occasions. And—put it away.”

  “You understand that I will kill you,” Kirk said as flat fact.

  “Oh, yes,” Omne said. “The automatic machinery is programmed for that contingency. It will scarcely inconvenience me.”

  “Or kill myself,” Kirk said, knowing the answer already in his bones.

  “The programming covers that, too,” Omne confirmed. “There’s no exit.”

  “There is always a way out of a box,” Kirk said, seeing none.

  “I can keep you for a thousand years. The Phoenix from the flames.”

  “If it takes me a thousand years, I will find the way to destroy your evil.”

  “Is it evil to offer eternal life?” Omne smiled distantly. “There was a time when I would have offered it to the galaxy. The time may come again. But I have seen in myself how it would be used.”

  “You are not the universe. You are a dark mirror. A bottomless pit. A black hole.”

  Omne drew himself up. “So are we all, Captain. That is what I can teach you. The other side of innocence. Your other half, which you imprison in a cage of virtue. Can’t you feel it crying and raging to get out? Whimpering for the pleasure of being petted? Poor wolf. What gives it less right than virtue?’

  “It is possible to be kind to—the wolf,” Kirk said, with an effort, “without unleashing it at other throats.” He put his hands on his thighs and straightened his shoulders. “Don’t give me cop-outs, Omne, or excuses for evil. State your details. Name your price. I’ll name mine. Spock—and his price. The Commander into the bargain.”