The Entropy Effect

Then there was the matter of Sulu. True, Scott and Sulu were not particularly close, but he had known the helm officer for years and it was downright embarrassing to resurface after six hours fighting energy pods, to find not only that he had left, without so much as a good-to-know-you, but also that virtually everyone except Scott knew he had gone.

He passed the transporter room, then stopped. He thought he saw a flicker of light, as if someone were using the unit. Of course that was impossible: they were too far from anywhere to beam anyone on board. Nevertheless, Scott backtracked.

Mr. Spock stood in the middle of the room, as if he had just materialized on the platform, stepped down, and walked two or three steps before halting: his shoulders were slumped and he looked ready to fall.

“Mr. Spock?”

Spock froze for no more than a second, then straightened up and turned calmly toward the chief engineer.

“Mr. Scott. I should have ... expected you.”

“Did ye page me? Are ye all right? Is something wrong wi’ the transporter?” No doubt someone had neglected to ask him to fix it, though that was one of his responsibilities: it seemed as though no one thought Scott worth telling anything to, these days.

“I simply noticed some minor power fluctuations, Mr. Scott,” the science officer said. “They could become reason for complaint.”

“I can come back and help ye,” Scott said, “as soon as I’ve reported to Captain Kirk about the engines.” He frowned. Spock, who never showed any reaction to stress, looked drawn and tired—,far more tired even than Scott felt. So everyone—human, superhuman, Vulcan, and even Mr. Spock—had limits after all.

“That is unnecessary,” Spock said. “The work is almost complete.” He did not move. Scott remained in the doorway a moment longer, then turned on his heel and left Spock alone. After all these years, he should no longer be offended if Spock did not say thank you for an offer of help he had not asked for and did not need. But today Scott was of a mind to be offended by nearly anything.

As the chief engineer approached the turbo lift, a tall thin civilian hurried up: no doubt he was one of the people they had collected on Aleph. When Kirk had not taken Scott into his confidence about the reason for the change in plans, Scott had assumed some essential, vitally secret task had been assigned to them.

He had assumed they were working on a strictly need-to-know basis. The assumptions were false, the message was trivial, and Scott had been left in the dark simply because, as usual, no one had troubled to let him know what was going on.

Scott nodded to the civilian as they got into the lift; he wished he were alone because he felt more like being grumpy in private than churlish in public.

“Hold the lift!”

Scott pushed the doors open again and the captain came in. He looked rested; his uniform was fresh: Scott, on the other hand, had spent the six hours since leaving Aleph in the engine room, and he felt grubby.

“Hello, Scotty,” Captain Kirk said.

“Captain,” Scott replied shortly. It occurred to him suddenly that the civilian must be nearly the last one to have used the transporter, the person Spock implied had complained.

“Sir,” Scott said abruptly, “could ye describe to me how ye felt, when ye arrived on the transporter? It would help track down the difficulty.”

The civilian looked startled.

“Sorry, sir,” Scott said. “I’m the chief engineer, my name is Scott.”

“Good lord, Scotty,” Kirk said, “is the transporter on the blink too?”

“Your transporter worked fine as far as I could tell,” the civilian said. He grinned. “I thought it was supposed to shake you up a little.”

The doors opened and they all stepped out onto the bridge.

“I don’t know what’s wrong wi’ it, Captain,” Scott said. “Mr. Spock just this moment told me—”

Scott stopped short, and his voice failed him as he stared in astonishment at the science officer’s station. There, in his usual place, Spock bent over his computer terminal.

Captain Kirk and the civilian went down to the lower level of the bridge, where Commander Flynn leaned against the railing waiting for them. Scott followed, but he could not drag his gaze away from Spock, and he stumbled on the stairs. Flynn grabbed his arm to steady him.

“You okay?”

“Aye,” he said, irked; he pulled away from her.

Kirk took his seat and turned back toward Scott.

“What’s the bad news on the engines, Scotty?”

“The engines are no’ in very good shape, Captain. I got most of the parts we needed on Aleph, and I can keep things together to do what’s needed as long as the warp drive isna pushed, once i’ is on line

again. ‘Twould be better to stay at sublight, till we’ve had a thorough overhaul...”

His voice trailed off as Spock came down to listen.

“What’s wrong, Scotty?” Kirk asked.

“Well, nae a thing, really, Captain—but, Mr. Spock, how did ye beat me to the bridge? I came here direct from the transporter room.”