Sondra Marshak: The Price of the Phoenix

But Omne absorbed the sickening crunch of James’s feet and caught James out of the air.

Jim was flying from the couch, but a swipe of Omne’s other arm tossed Jim against her—not with such force.

The Vulcan was diving past her, propelled by murder.

Omne caught him with a knee in the ribs, which exploded in the link. Still his hands went for Omne’s throat, but a smash of the giant’s arm felled him to his knees, and a kick toppled him.

McCoy was there from somewhere, with less muscle, but with desperate courage.

Omne felled him with a cuff.

She was putting Jim aside and going in again, but he moved with her.

Then Omne said, “Cease!” and they saw that he had an arm locked around a struggling James from behind, and a phaser leveled at her. Not the revolver, which the giant still wore in his holster, but an advanced design of phaser. Impossible to tell whether it was set to stun or kill.

She kept going, knowing that the first moment of explosive action was all they had, all they would ever have.

Omne could transport out in the next moment with James.

But if they all kept coming-Jim was at her shoulder.

She went for the eyes, the nerve center under the great jaw—trying to be careful of the Human between.

Omne caught her with a backhand of the fist holding the phaser.

She had not dreamed of being hit with such power. She went down, fighting with every Vulcanoid skill for consciousness, trying to scissor her legs to cut Omne’s legs from under him.

But he was planted like a two-legged tree.

He caught Jim with a gentler swipe, brushing him off like a sand gnat, and dropping him almost solicitously on Spock as the Vulcan tried to rise. Spock rolled Kirk off and kept coming. Omne caught him with a boot to the jaw.

Then Omne stepped back a pace with the lightness of a dancer, and he had his arm locked around James’s throat in a chancery strangle, slowly subduing the Human who had still been aiming blows and kicks against the great body and legs. Omne put the phaser to James’s temple.

James’s consciousness faded to a pounding blackness, and the Commander rapped out again, ‘James, stop!’

And this time she was obeyed—possibly because he could do nothing else.

Nor could any of them. She or Spock might still have made a move, but a phaser stun effect at point-blank range might easily kill James—or Omne might break his neck.

It was not as if she or Spock could fight with a clear field. There were the Humans. The link and resonance reverberated with their pain, and it had to be admitted that there was a Vulcan and Romulan contribution too.

She tasted the bitterness of defeat, and it was not as strong as the metallic taste of panic.

Omne had not eased the strangle.

She came to her knees. “Stop! she said, and it had the tone of a plea.

“How do you ask?” Omne rumbled.

“I—beg,” she said.

She saw the wolf smile appear on Omne’s face. “I believe it is for yourself.”

“Yes,” she said proudly.

“And you, Spock?”

“Yes, Spock said.

Omne felt James sagging against him and finally eased the strangle. James wilted and would have dropped like a sack, but the giant held him.

“Murderer—you’ve killed him!” McCoy said, coming off the floor. “Let me—” His hands reached for James and his voice had almost the tone of hysteria. She was thinking with a trace of pity that the poor Human was entitled: only the link told her that James was not dead.

And then she saw the palmed spray-hypo going for Omne’s shoulder.

She didn’t let a flicker of reaction reach her face.

But Omne moved with that omniscient sense he seemed to have—or with the reflex of pulling James away—perhaps both, and he saw the hypo.

He chopped the phaser down on McCoy’s wrist, and the Doctor choked on a scream as the hypo clattered

Then the phaser was back at James’s ear, and he was stirring slowly.

Omne laughed.

“So even the good Doctor is full of surprises. I trust you appreciate mine.”

He looked fresh as a new-minted coin, shockingly alive, vital, magnetic, his presence filling the room, as if he had truly been reborn.

The Phoenix from the flames.

Black Omne.

He was truly the first, she thought, the first immortal—back from the other side of death.

Of course he would have to come to celebrate.

“We’ve been expecting you,” she said, coming to her feet, banishing pain.

He laughed again. “I hardly think so, my dear. But you should have. When will you learn that you will never know my capabilities until they are used against you?”

Spock was on his feet, but slow, the half-healed ribs gone again, the hands, the knees—the pain blinding in the link until he tuned it down. Jim was steadying the Vulcan, the Human less hurt himself this time, but reeling from the choking of James and from the cumulative shocks and injuries of the day, from the brute shock of Omne’s overwhelming presence. McCoy was sagging against a couch and nursing a wrist as if it were broken.

They were a sorry crew to face this mint-condition monster.

Of them all, only she had been remotely fit to fight after this day, and there was a point where plain brute muscle and heft told, and that incarnate, undying will which was Omne.

But her will was no less certain. Mind and will would have to serve now. Hers. Get him talking; keep him talking. Where was Mr. Scott with his intruder alert? Would he have sense enough to know that there could be only one intruder? Yes. And what would he do?

The Empire would pay high for a transporter of that range,” she said.

Omne dismissed it. “Let us not waste time talking of hardware, my dear. There is only one piece of hardware in the galaxy which has any real price, from this day forward—and I own that, as well.”

She bowed her head in acknowledgement. “True. It is a complete success. A triumph. Let us negotiate that price.”

He laughed the wolf laugh. “My dear, do not attempt flattery. I am not in need or it. I will boast of the process myself, if I wish.”

“And I will acknowledge, if I wish, that you took the very last chance, and won the final victory.”

She had to deliver the acknowledgement in the tone of a battering ram, but she saw it reach the black eyes.

“Yes,” Omne said simply. “I did.”

Jim drew up close beside her, but he did not touch the moment, nor did the Vulcan, and James stayed quiet, trying to still even his mind, not to joggle her elbow.

The confusion of links and resonance was a distraction, full of pain and James’s sub-voice thoughts, in which the only hopeful theme was: Scotty. But she would not have given up one gossamer thread of the link for all the princelings in the Empire; the link might have to lead her to hers.

“You are the first,” she said to Omne. “The Phoenix. The Fire-Dragon.”

“Yes,” he said, accepting the acknowledgement, and then he swept it away with a slight ironic smile. “You discount James?”

“James did not die.”

“No.” The great dark eyes brooded for a moment over the memory; they were more unfathomable than ever, layer upon layer of depth, like obsidian gone transparent. Was there something new in the eyes, now—as if death had burned something to great clarity? “You were almost right, Commander. Of all men I would not die—and of all men, I was the only one who would, but I was not beaten. I was the man who would die first—and did.”

“So,” she said slowly, “you found a recording of our discussion in the control room?”

“Certainly, my dear. All of the monitor screens record automatically. This whole day is safe on storage cubes.”

She felt Jim stir uncomfortably beside her.