“Oh, never mind. Deliver me from people who’ve never walked on the surface of a planet. Braithewaite, what the devil do you mean harassing the crew? We’ve all gone through a hell of a lot in the last day, thanks to you and your damned prisoner. We’ve lost someone we admired very much and I won’t have you putting anyone under any more strain.”
“I don’t see that you have anything to say about it. The crime occurred in my jurisdiction and I’m investigating it.”
“You don’t have any jurisdiction over a Starfleet vessel.”
“Oh, you’re an expert in system law as well as a doctor, are you? I’m impressed.”
“Mr. Braithewaite, what’s with you? Everyone saw your prisoner murder the captain, and unless you’ve let Mordreaux loose yourself he’s safely in custody.”
“I don’t intend to discuss what I know with you.”
“Oh, you don’t, don’t you?” You young twerp, McCoy added, coming within a hairsbreadth of saying it aloud.
“Where’s Mr. Spock—or should I say, ‘Captain’ Spock?”
“I think he’d object in the strongest possible terms if you called him that to his face. He and Jim were real close for a long time, and while he’d rather have his nails pulled out than admit it, Jim’s death hit him hard.”
“Really? I suppose he’s off somewhere prostrate with grief.”
“Look here, I don’t understand your belligerence at all. What’s the matter with you? If you have something to say, say it—don’t keep flying off the handle at everything I say to you.”
“I want to talk to the commanding officer.”
“I’ll have to do, then.”
“Spock has turned over command to you?”
“For the moment.”
“Where is he?”
“He’s—asleep,” McCoy said. The lie was badly prepared. He tried to explain about the singularity observations and the Vulcan ability to put off sleep, until he realized Braithewaite doubted every word.
“Even though the formal hierarchy calls for Montgomery Scott to assume command, you’ve been given the position.”
“The choice between us is up to the commanding officer,” McCoy said. Then he tried a more conciliatory tone. “Besides, Scotty’s working on the engines—he hasn’t got time to be in command, he’s too important right where he is.”
At Braithewaite’s expression, McCoy was immediately sorry he had tried to jolly the prosecutor along.
“I’ve got better things to do than trade clever lines with you,” Braithewaite said, and turned to leave.
“Ian,” McCoy said, in the softest southern drawl, the tone he found himself using only in times of deepest fury.
Braithewaite stopped, but did not turn around again.
“Ian,” McCoy said, “whether you like it or not, I’m in command here till Mr. Spock comes back on duty. And if you keep harassing the crew—if you keep harassing my people I’ll have you confined to quarters.”
Now Braithewaite did swing around, fists clenched. “You think you can do that, do you?”
McCoy smiled his kindliest old country doctor smile, but his voice was still very soft, very low.
“Try me,” he said.
Spock looked over Dr. Mordreaux’s shoulder at the schematics the professor had been re-creating for the past several hours. They flicked past, one after another, glowing on the video screen. The device possessed the simplicity of an elegant mathematical proof; it was as streamlined and deadly as a crystal knife.
“With both of us working on it we ought to be able to finish it in a couple of hours,” Dr. Mordreaux said. “How powerful is the unit, Professor?”
“You mean how far back can you go? That doesn’t depend on the changer itself, it depends on how much current you can draw. The Enterprise could probably deliver enough power to send you back about a week if you diverted the warp drive. Much farther and you’d begin stressing the systems beyond their inherent resiliency.”
“I see,” Spock said.
Dr. Mordreaux glanced up at him. “That’s farther than you need to go. Unless you lied to me about what you intend to do.”
“Vulcans do not lie, Professor. I will keep my word to you, however illogical I believe your position to be, unless you release me from my promise.”
“Good,” Dr. Mordreaux said. “Go back and save your captain, and be satisfied with that.”
Spock had no new arguments to offer Dr. Mordreaux to make him change his mind, so the science officer kept his silence.
“It’s a happy coincidence you picked up those bioelectronics on Aleph,” Dr. Mordreaux said. “Without them the changer would be about the size of a shuttlecraft and twice the mass.”
“I do not believe in coincidence,” Spock said absently, making a mental list of the other tools and materials they would need. “Any coincidence observed carefully and logically enough will prove explicable.”
“You be sure and let me know what the explanation is, when you figure it out,” the professor said.
For a concept Spock did not believe in, coincidence certainly had occurred to him frequently in the last few days. But he did not have time for careful and logical observation of the various phenomena right now. He bent over the video screen again.
The door to Dr. Mordreaux’s cabin opened behind them. Spock turned.
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:
