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.
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.
