The Entropy Effect

Ian Braithewaite glared at him from the doorway. “Asleep indeed,” he said. “I hope you’re having sweet dreams, Mr. Spock.”

“My sleeping habits are none of your affair, Mr. Braithewaite.”

“They are when they form the basis of a fabrication meant to mislead me.”

“Did you wish to speak to me, Mr. Braithewaite, or are you merely checking on Dr. Mordreaux? As you can see, he is confined.”

Braithewaite came closer, squinting to see the screen better. “Locking Dr. Mordreaux up with access to the computer is like giving anyone else the front door key. What are you—”

Mordreaux hit CLEAR on the terminal’s board.

“What was that?”

“Nothing you’d be interested in,” Mordreaux said, but his bravado faltered with his voice.

“Dr. Mordreaux has offered invaluable help with the interpretation of the observations that your orders interrupted,” Spock said. “This could be his last opportunity to contribute to scientific knowledge, a fact even you should be able to appreciate.”

Braithewaite glared at him with unrelenting hostility. “I find it very difficult to be impressed with his contribution to the universal pool of knowledge.” He reached toward the terminal.

“Do not tamper with the computer on the Enterprise , Mr. Braithewaite,” Spock said.

“What!”

Spock did not acknowledge any need to repeat himself.

Braithewaite stopped, fists clenched at his sides. Then, slowly, he relaxed. He nodded, thoughtfully, and without another word he left the cabin.

Spock turned back to Dr. Mordreaux.

“He knows you lied, Mr. Spock. He doesn’t threaten—he waits till he had enough evidence, and then he goes in for the kill.” Dr. Mordreaux returned their calculations from the computer’s memory to the screen.

“I did not lie, sir.” Spock gazed at the convoluted equations twisting across the screen. “Working on the changer has given me valuable insight into the design of my observational apparatus. You have given me the aid I hoped for.”

“A technicality. If I have it was purely inadvertent. Or—another coincidence?”

“Most unusual,” Spock said, and went back to work.

Dr. McCoy started at the sound of his name, jerking upright with the sudden moment of wild alertness that prepared him for emergencies. After all these years he had not ever really got used to it.

“What is it? I’m awake!”

He looked around and realized he was still on the bridge. Everyone was looking at him, with odd expressions: he could not blame them. His face reddening, he settled back in the command seat, not quite pretending he had not fallen asleep but not inviting anyone to comment on the subject, either.

It was Chekov who had spoken to him, to bring his attention to the fact that Mr. Scott was calling the bridge.

“Yes, Scotty?” McCoy said. “Is everything all right?”

There was a short pause. “Dr. McCoy ... is that you?”

“None other.”

“I need to report to Mr. Spock on the state o’ the warp drive. Can ye tell me where he is?”

“He’s probably sound asleep by now,” McCoy said, regretting the untruth that came more easily the second time he spoke it. “I guess you’d better report to me, for the time being.”

Another pause. McCoy began to wonder if the intercom were on the fritz, too, like the engines and half the other equipment seemed to be these days.

“T’ye, Dr. McCoy?” Scott said.

“Well, yes, I’m more or less in charge till Spock comes back on duty.”

“He ha’ made ye his second in command, then.” The hurt in Scott’s voice came through very clearly. His feelings were injured: he had been bypassed, no way around that. The chief engineer had no way of knowing it was for his own protection, and McCoy could not tell him.

“Not exactly, Scotty,” McCoy said lamely, hoping to salve the bruised ego. “It’s just till everything gets sorted out. I suppose he feels you’re essential where you are.”

“Aye,” Scott said, then, coldly, “ ‘sir.’ I dinna doubt he knows what he’s doing.”

The intercom clicked off. McCoy sighed. He had managed Scott no better than he had managed Braithewaite earlier.

As Montgomery Scott turned off the intercom in his office, he slowly met Ian Braithewaite’s gaze. Scott felt stunned and betrayed.

“I’m very sorry,” Braithewaite said, quite sincerely.

“Dr. McCoy is right,” Scotty said. “I dinna have time for administration. The work’s only half done on the engines—”

“Dammit, man!” Braithewaite cried, leaping to his feet. “Either McCoy is working under duress, or he and Spock together have betrayed you and everyone else on this ship! How can you keep making excuses for them?”

“I’ve known them both for a verra long time and I’ve never had reason to distrust either of them,” Scott said. His feeling of betrayal was mixed with anger; he was not sure if the anger was directed at McCoy and Spock or at Braithewaite. Perhaps it was at all of them; perhaps it did not matter.