The Entropy Effect

However, Spock was not looking at him with disapproval, or even with his eyebrows quizzically raised.

“I have no way of knowing Captain Hunter’s plans, Mr. Sulu,” he said. “However, the possibility is not beyond the bounds of reason. If she does pay the Enterprise the compliment of visiting it, I hope she will receive the reception due an officer with such an exceptional record. Spock out.”

Sulu watched the science officer’s expressionless, ascetic face fade from the screen. Sulu hoped his own astonishment had not shown too plainly: at least his mouth had not fallen open in surprise.

After all these years I should know better than to make assumptions about Mr. Spock, Sulu thought.

Spock never failed to amaze him—in quite logical and predictable ways, if one happened to look at them from exactly the right perspective—just at the point where Sulu thought he knew most precisely how the Vulcan would behave.

“Hey,” Mandala said from behind him, “you better get going, Hikaru—you promised him ten minutes.” She pulled off her fencing mask and they formally shook ungauntleted hands: she was left-handed so her right hand was ungloved.

“Do you think she’ll come on board?”

Mandala smiled. “I hope so, it would be great to see her again.” She wiped her sweaty face on her sleeve. “You know, if you do transfer, you couldn’t do any better than Hunter’s squadron.” They headed toward the locker room.

“Hunter’s squadron!” The possibility of serving with Hunter was so dreamlike that he could not make it sound real. “I wouldn’t have a chance!”

Mandala glanced over at him, with an unreadable expression. She quickened her pace and moved ahead of him. Surprised, Hikaru stopped, and, a few steps later, so did Mandala.

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

“Where, where in the freezing hell did you pick up such a load of doubt about yourself?”

“If I applied and she turned me down—”

“You have the background,” Mandala said. “You have the right specialties. And you have that Academy star.”

Hikaru grinned ruefully. “You never saw my grades.”

She spun back toward him, a quick fierce fury in her flame-green eyes. “Damn your grades! You got in and you got through, that’s all that counts! No low-level know-nothing bureaucrat can weed you off a transfer list on the grounds that you couldn’t possibly be qualified for anything you really want.”

Hikaru knew her well enough by now to hear the pain in her voice, underneath the anger.

“Did that happen to you?” he asked gently. But he already knew it must have; Mandala had never had the chance to attend the Academy. Both literally and figuratively, she had fought her way up from the ranks.

“It’s happened ... several times,” she said finally. “And every time it happens, it hurts more. You’re the only person I’ve ever admitted that to. I would not like it said to anyone else.”

He shook his head. “It won’t be.”

“This is the only first-class assignment I’ve ever had, Hikaru, and I know Kirk didn’t ask for me. He demanded the first person available who could replace my predecessor. He would have taken anybody.” She smiled grimly. “Sometimes I think that’s what he thinks he got. I have the job by pure chance. But you can bet I’m not going to waste it. I won’t let them stop me, Academy star or not—” She cut off her words, as if she had already revealed far more of herself than she ever meant to. She grasped his shoulders. “Hikaru, let me give you some advice. Nobody will believe in you for you.”

But do I dare believe in me enough to try to transfer to Hunter’s command? Hikaru wondered. Do I dare take the risk of being turned down?

Mr. Spock beamed back down to Aleph Prime. The city jail was in a short corridor near the government section; it showed evidence of hard use and neglect. The plastic walls were scarred and scratched; in places graffiti cut so deep that the asteroidal stone of the original station showed through from behind. The walls had been refinished again and again, in slightly different colors, leaving intricately layered patterns of chipped and worn and partially replaced surfaces.

A security guard lounged at the front desk. Spock made no comment when she quickly put aside her pocket computer; he had no interest in her activities on duty, whether it was to read some fictional nonsense of the sort humans spent so much time with, or to game with the machine.

“Can I help you?”

“I am Spock, first officer of the U.S.S. Enterprise . I have come to interview Dr. Georges Mordreaux before we take him on board.”

She frowned. “Mordreaux ...? The name sounds familiar but I don’t think we’ve got him here.” She glanced at the reception sensor and directed her voice toward it. “Is Georges Mordreaux in detention?”

“No such inmate,” the sensor said.

“Sorry,” the guard said. “I didn’t think we had anybody scheduled to go offstation. Just the usual collection of rowdies. Payday was yesterday.”