The Entropy Effect

Both Chekov and Uhura were off duty and McCoy could not remember the names of the younger ensigns who sat in their places.

“We’re receiving a transmission, Dr. McCoy,” the second shift communications officer said.

“Put it on the screen.”

Hunter flickered into being before him. At the edge of the image, McCoy could see Mr. Sulu, silent and grim, a glazed expression of grief in his eyes. Hunter did not look much better. McCoy knew exactly how she and Sulu must feel: the way he had felt the night Jim died. He had a sudden impulse to say to them, to everyone, It’s going to be all right, we’re going to make it all right again. Somehow.

But nothing had happened, nothing had changed. The power had not even gone out again. Where was Spock?

Perhaps nothing ever would change. Perhaps this time track would continue unaltered, with Jim Kirk and Mandala Flynn dead, and if Spock succeeded in doing anything it would be no more than beginning some alternate version of reality. McCoy’s eyes stung with sudden tears, with a suspicion of hopelessness brought on by uncertainty.

“Captain Hunter,” he said sadly. “Hello, Mr. Sulu.”

“Hello, Dr. McCoy,” Hunter said. Mr. Sulu nodded, as if he could not trust himself to speak.

“I’m sorry to have to see you again under such circumstances.”

“It isn’t what I’d hoped for. Permission to beam aboard?”

“Of course,” McCoy said—then realized his mistake. Aside from Spock’s not having left yet, McCoy had no idea whether the transporter was still suited for normal use.

“Captain,” he said quickly, “on second thought you’d better dock with the Enterprise . We just had a massive power failure, and I’d rather not use the transporter till we get things sorted out.”

“As you prefer,” Hunter said.

Hunter rotated her stocky little courier, bringing it in back-to-back with the Enterprise , to join the docking ports smoothly. McCoy was waiting for her when she climbed from her ship into the larger craft’s gravity field. She jumped to the deck.

Sulu followed, more slowly.

“Captain,” McCoy said. “Mr. Sulu.”

“Oh, gods, Doctor,” Hunter said, “I can’t stand that military crap right now. Can we be a little more informal? Hunter. Do people call you Leonard?”

“Sometimes. That’s fine.”

‘Thank you. What happened?”

McCoy sighed. “That will take some explaining, Hunter. Let’s go in and sit down to talk.”

“All right.”

Neither noticed when Sulu left them, long before they reached the officers’ lounge.

Sulu did not think he could stand to listen to explanations. All he knew, all he needed to know, was that Mandala was dead. He stopped at the door of the stasis room, gathering up enough nerve to go inside.

Finally he stepped close enough for the door to sense him, and it opened.

Inside, two of the stasis units glowed softly, their energy fields stabilizing the bodies within them. They were marked, coldly, officially, KIRK, JAMES T., CAPTAIN, and FLYNN, MANDALA, LIEUTENANT COMMANDER. Sulu paid his respects to his former captain silently, brushing his fingertips across the name. Finally, with great reluctance, he opened the unit where Mandala’s body lay.

A shroud of blue light glowed around her.

Spiderweb gave no easy death, and no easy memories to the people left behind. Sulu could see the struggle she had gone through, even in her blank-eyed face. She had fought: to the end of her life she had never given up.

Her hair had come down; it curled in a tangled mass around her face and shoulders.

Sulu pushed his hand through the protective energy field to touch her cheek, to brush back a lock of her hair. Her ruby ring, on his finger, glowed black through the blue light, and its gold highlights flashed.

He wished he could close her eyes. He knew he could not.

Sinking to the floor, pulling his knees to his chest, with his arms wrapped around them, Sulu hid his face.

A long time later, immersed in dreams and memories, he felt a touch on his shoulder. Startled, he looked ^up.

Barry al Auriga crouched down beside him, gazing at him in silence.

“I should have been there,” Sulu said. “On the bridge.”

“To die with her? She would not want that.”

“What do you know about it?” The vehemence of his reaction startled him, and he tried to turn away. Barry’s hand tightened on his shoulder.

“I grieve, too,” he said.

Sulu faced him again.

“It is not proper to fall in love with the commander of one’s section,” Barry said. “And I could see that you ... I could see she wanted you. I could say nothing. But I grieve with you.”

Sulu grasped Barry al Auriga’s forearm. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know ...”

al Auriga shook his head. “Nor did she. It does not matter now.” He got to his feet, drawing Sulu up with him. “Come away. This is not the place to remember her.”

Sulu pushed the stasis unit back into place. It was the one last thing too much for him. He stood with his back to al Auriga, both hands pressed hard against the wall, trying to control his silent tears.

“Come away,” Barry said again. He put his arm around Sulu, like a brother: he was crying, too.

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