“You have betrayed it at the first opportunity,” the Commander said savagely. “Secrets. By what right did you risk James’s life without my knowledge or consent?”
Kirk turned to her wearily but solidly. “Commander, you are absolutely right. We had not that right, nor the right to act without James’s consent. I undertook to answer for his, and I—usurped, if you like—the right to answer for yours, temporarily. To set the trap, we had to stay within reach. It was always possible that he would grab one of us and go—or grab one of us and hold him, as he did James. If we could not stop him or stun him in the first moment, as we hoped, we had to be able to keep the secret from him, keep him talking, until Scotty had time. Spock recognized the possibility that Omne had acquired some of his knowledge and powers. If he had read one of us too soon—However, it was our intention to tell you, as soon as the trap was fully set and Spock had a chance to link with you without arousing suspicion.”
“Sometime next year?” she said unforgivingly.
Kirk smiled ruefully. “In fact, we might already have done it if you hadn’t mixed up my head with that business about the princeling. Now, was that anything to drop on a poor dear Human male?”
McCoy watched Kirk smile the smile that charmed birds out of the trees, but the Commander remained stony. Finally Kirk sobered again. “I do apologize, Commander. Most seriously and in dead earnest. Will you forgive me?”
Finally she nodded. “Let us not use metaphors like “dead earnest” We have had quite enough of death.”
“Yes,” Kirk said. “Friends?”
She nodded and offered him the Romulan gesture of crossed wrists. “And allies. But should you ever do anything of the sort again, I will make you wish that you only had to worry about being a princeling—poor dear.”
Finally Kirk laughed, but it was a little shaky. “Understood,” he said—and swayed a little.
James went Romulan pale and was suddenly at Tim’s elbow, moving him to a bed, the Vulcan joining him on the other elbow, and McCoy was across the distance practically in a standing jump with his scanner. But as far as he could tell it was just cumulative shock—God, Jim was entitled, and he wouldn’t rest—and a couple of new crunches from the fight. That—and it took a lot out of him to kill. Let alone to kill Omne.
“Get out of here and let me get to my patient,” McCoy said flatly, and looked at the Vulcan. “Patients. Later for the galaxy.”
James nodded. “Exactly,” he said in the command tone. “Bones, take over. Sit on ‘em if you have to. Jim, Spock, in bed. Long rest. That’s an order.” He moved to the intercom. “Scotty?”
“Aye, Captain!”
James raised a Romulan eyebrow which said: close enough. Thanks, Scotty. Beautiful job.”
“Mr. Spock’s idea. He said you wanted a way to shoot a gun out of a man’s hand. Just a wee tuning up of the antibiological circuit we use to rid cargo of rats and other vermin. Sort of the opposite problem.”
“Not so opposite,” James said thoughtfully. “It got rid of a—wolf.
Did it? McCoy thought, working over Kirk.
“Aye, sir,” Scott said, a little doubtfully.
“Mr. Scott, prepare to head out, warp factor seven-Lay in a course to resume our interrupted mission. Prepare for intra-ship beaming. The Commander will give you the coordinates. Take the con until further notice. Kirk out.” There was just the faintest hesitation on the name.
“Aye, sir.”
James turned to the couches and came to stand beside the Commander. He took her hand—it looked for a moment rather more like she took his. He looked down at Kirk and across at Spock, who had made it as far as sitting on a couch.
“It won’t get any easier,” James said, glancing at the door. “And it can’t get much harder. But—it won’t be good-bye.”
It finally came home to McCoy that they were really going to go—that he was: James. But dear God, it was still James T. Kirk.
How could they let him go?
And then it came back to McCoy in what way he and the Vulcan had had to be prepared to let James T. Kirk go, only a few hours ago.
Dear God, that had been the nightmare.
He looked at Spock and caught the same thought in the Vulcan’s eyes. For a moment they shared a silent exchange which spoke of what they two alone had been through and shared, and of such comfort as McCoy could offer against the loss they would have to share now. But this loss they could bear. It would not be good-bye.
McCoy tried to send that certainty to the Vulcan.
“Thank you, Leonard,” the Vulcan said without apology or explanation. He turned to James. “Gates of Hell, James.”
McCoy completed the quotation in his mind. Yes.
James stood solemnly. Then his mouth flickered in the smile which had not changed. “We’ve broken out of worse places, Spock. Today.”
The valley of the shadow of death…” Spock said, looking at James as if he were a triumph. “That is what we broke out of today—if it takes years to recapture the victory and make it final.”
Spock looked at Jim Kirk, too, and Kirk nodded. “We have years. And we have—James. New friends—” He looked at the Commander. If you don’t get him out of here this minute, I’m going to start to worry about the princeling again.”
“I’ll worry about the princeling,” James said.
The Commander shook her head. “I will.”
McCoy sighed. “So say we all,” he said.
And he saw that he had done it again as the Commander and James made it out the door.
