The Entropy Effect

“What about the warp engines?” McCoy asked quickly, before the other subject could go any farther. “Canna decelerate in normal space with the warp engines.”

“That isn’t what I asked. If I go up to the bridge and ask for warp factor four toward—toward Arcturus, would I get it?”

Scott opened his mouth, but no words came. Finally he managed a halfhearted murmur. “Aye,” he said. “Aye, ye would.”

“Thank you, Mr. Scott. That’s all I need to know.”

McCoy realized that Spock would be more than a little conspicuous on Aleph Prime in a Starfleet uniform with Enterprise insignia: he would arrive at the station before the ship was even ordered there. It would be inconvenient at best if Spock were taken into custody and charged with being absent without official leave.

McCoy felt uncomfortable, rooting around in Spock’s wardrobe, and the high temperature in Spock’s cabin made him perspire. But he took a moment to look for a garment of less military cut. Behind the uniform shirts, and the formal jacket, he found several tunics of a more casual style.

He returned to sick bay carrying the fresh shirt bundled up under one arm, hoping no one would ask him about it.

“Spock?”

Spock sat up smoothly in the dimness of the cubicle, wide awake and alert, looking not quite so haggard as when McCoy kept him from falling off the transporter platform. McCoy glanced at Spock’s temple: the skin synthetic was holding well.

“Here’s a fetching outfit for you,” McCoy said, handing him the dark brown tunic. “Less noticeable than starship-officer blue.”

Spock took the shirt, with a quizzical expression, but he did not object to McCoy’s choice.

“Are the warp engines in operating condition?”

“Mr. Scott says they are.”

The clean shirt was made of some silken material, gathered at the cuffs, with a restrained design of gold at wrists and collar. Spock put it on.

“Haven’t seen you wear that before,” McCoy said.

“Wearing it on the Enterprise would not be appropriate.”

“Very becoming. Matches your eyes.”

Spock picked up the time-changer and got to his feet.

“I would not want to frustrate your curiosity, Doctor. My mother gave me the tunic.” He walked past McCoy out of sick bay.

After a moment McCoy followed.

“It is not necessary for you to accompany me, Dr. McCoy,” Spock said when the doctor caught up to him. The science officer began setting the changer’s controls without checking his stride.

“How long will you be gone this time?”

Spock stopped. “I cannot say,” he said slowly. “I had not—It is impossible to estimate.”

“Paging Dr. McCoy,” the ship’s computer said. “Vessel approaching. Dr. McCoy to the bridge, please.”

“Oh, notnow,” McCoy said.

“Best that you reply, Doctor. There will be another blackout of the ship’s power, more serious than the last, and your presence will be required elsewhere. I do not need ... a going-away party.”

“All right,” McCoy said, realizing that his wish to accompany Spock to the transporter had no real logical reason. “But if I have to bring you back, how long should I wait this time?”

“At least twelve hours. But no longer than fourteen, or the time-changer will not provide enough power to return me through the distance the ship will have traveled.”

“Good lord—you mean you’ll materialize somewhere out in deep space?”

“Possibly. It is more likely, however, that the return beam would be spread out over a considerable volume of intervening space and time—”

“Never mind,” McCoy said quickly. “No longer than fourteen hours.”

“Dr. McCoy to the bridge,” the computer said again. “Dr. McCoy, please reply.”

“Is it my imagination, or do I detect a certain hysterical tone?”

“The integrity of the computer’s data-base has been severely compromised,” Spock said. “And unfortunately I have had no opportunity to repair the damage done by the sudden power failure.”

“Sluffing off on your duties, eh?” McCoy said, and then, before Spock could reply to him seriously, “I didn’t mean it, I’m sorry, I think I’m getting a little hysterical myself.”

“Report to the bridge, Doctor.” The Vulcan turned on his heel and walked away.

“Unidentified vessel approaching,” the computer said. “Phasers on ready.”

“Oh, good grief,” McCoy said, and hurried toward the lift.

Before he reached the transporter, Spock paused to think for a moment. He could go back to Aleph Prime and prevent the Enterprise ’s being diverted; or he could speak to Dr. Mordreaux once more and show him the proof that might persuade him to release Spock from his promise. That was without doubt the most logical action.

By the time Dr. McCoy cancelled the automatic aiming of the phasers, the unknown craft that had alerted the sensors had approached close enough to be seen on the viewscreen unmagnified. It was small and fast, a moving silver speck against the starfield.

“Who is it? Where is it from?” McCoy wondered if Braithewaite had managed to send a message to Aleph Prime to call in reinforcements for his troublemaking.