The Entropy Effect

Later that night, Sulu sat in the dark in his small cabin, absently chewing on his thumbnail. He liked the Enterprise . His friends were here; his crewmates respected him and his superiors occasionally appreciated him; he admired his captain. And if he decided to stay, he could admit even to himself that he was desperately in love with Mandala Flynn.

Still, he thought, still—what about all those ambitions I used to have? Nothing I’ve been thinking about for the last six months has changed. My record so far isn’t good enough to give me a chance at a real command. I’m going to have to take more risks than I have so far in my life.

What about Mandala?

He knew that if he gave up his ambitions for her she would not understand, and she would begin to despise him. If they were friends, or lovers, it could not be on a basis of guilt or self-denial, not from either side.

If he followed through, he would be taking risks. Aside from the sheer physical danger he would be volunteering for, if he applied for a transfer to a fighter squadron—ideally, to Aerfen —Captain Kirk would not stand in his way. He was fairly sure of that. But he had no reason to believe Hunter would accept his application. If she did not, and if ultimately no squadron commander accepted him, and he stayed on the Enterprise , things would never be quite the same for him here again.

Jim and Hunter walked together to the transporter room.

“I enjoyed today, Jim,” she said. “It’s been good to see you again.”

“I’m sorry we have to leave so soon,” he said. “But there’s no reason we can’t swing past Aleph on the way back.”

“I’ll be gone by then,” she said. “The border’s unstable and my squadron is at low strength—I can’t afford to keep the flagship off the line any longer than I absolutely have to. As it is I’ll probably have to take Aerfen out shorthanded.” She shook her head, staring down at the floor. “I don’t see how I’ll replace those two people, Jim,” she said.

There was nothing he could say. He knew how it felt to lose crew members, friends, and there was nothing anyone could say.

They reached the transporter room, and Jim fed in the coordinates for Hunter’s ship.

“Well.”

The only real awkwardness came now, when they did not want to say goodbye. They hugged tightly. Jim had left too long the things he wanted to say. He was afraid it was far too late, not only by today, but by years, to say them. He buried his face against the curve of her neck and shoulder; the scent of her hair brought back memories so strong that he was afraid to look at her again, afraid to try to speak.

“Jim,” Hunter said, “don’t, please don’t.” She pulled gently away.

“Hunter—”

“Goodbye, Jim.” She stepped up onto the platform.

“Goodbye,” he whispered.

She nodded that she was ready. He touched the controls, and she flickered out of existence.

It took Jim Kirk some time to regain his composure. When he succeeded, he headed straight for his cabin, hoping he would not see anyone else. He felt both physically and emotionally drained. For the first time he felt resigned to the Enterprise’s carrier mission: nearly grateful for it.

Hunter was right, he thought. This will be a milk run. And maybe that’s what we all need right now.

He entered his dark, silent cabin. It was the only place on the ship where he could even begin to relax, and he had not been anywhere near it in over twenty-four hours. Exhaustion began to take him over. He stripped off his shirt and flung it inaccurately at the recycler.

The message light was glowing green on his communications terminal. He cursed softly. A green-coded message was never urgent, but he knew he would not be able to sleep till he had found out what it was. He pushed the accept key.

Mr. Sulu’s recorded voice requested a formal meeting.

That was strange. Kirk’s last formal meeting with anyone in the crew was so long ago that he could not recall when it had been. He had never had one with Sulu. He prided himself on being so accessible that formal meetings were unnecessary.

Out of curiosity he returned ’s call: if the helm officer were sleeping, Kirk would not override a privacy request. But, not entirely to the captain’s surprise, Sulu appeared on the screen immediately, wide awake, though looking tired and stressed. Now that Kirk thought of it, Sulu had not had any opportunity to take advantage of liberty on Aleph Prime. Through one circumstance or another he had been more or less on duty ever since they arrived, and he had stood an extra watch to maneuver the Enterprise away from the singularity.

I push him too hard, Kirk thought. His competence is so low-key, so overlaid with his sense of humor, that I don’t really acknowledge how hard he works or what a good job he does. Oh, lord—I wonder if he had other plans for tonight, but thought my invitation was an order?

“Yes, Mr. Sulu,” he said. “I got your message. Is everything all right? I think maybe I owe you an apology.”

Sulu’s expression turned to blank astonishment. “An apology, Captain? What for?”