Sondra Marshak: The Price of the Phoenix

“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”

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