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.
