Nothing in the equations shows it.”
“You have erred,” Spock repeated. “Your plans distort reality to such an extent that the increase of entropy accelerates. The effect is not large at first, of course—but within twenty years larger stars have begun to nova. Precarious ecosystems have begun to fail.”
“Prove it,” said Perim.
Spock glanced toward the computer terminal in the corner of the room. “I will show you the derivation,” he said.
He worked at the keyboard for half an hour. The children played games in another corner. After a few minutes most of the other adults drew back, unable to follow the progression of a proof far out of any of their specialties, but the middle-aged woman, Mree, and Dr. Mordreaux watched carefully. Perim, the young girl’s father, loomed, arms crossed over his chest, at Spock’s left shoulder.
Spock gave himself some clear space in the middle of the screen and typed in a new equation.
“What the bleeding hell is that?” Mree said.
“Profanity is not necessary,” Spock said. “I will explain anything you find beyond your comprehension.”
“It isn’t beyond my comprehension,” she said angrily. “It’s a correction factor, that’s obvious enough. You can prove any damned thing you please if you throw in correction factors.”
“Mree,” Dr. Mordreaux said, “please let him finish before you get angry. And Mr. Spock, Mree built the time- changer in the first place. If you could hold down the sarcasm a bit I think we’d all be happier.”
“I intended no sarcasm,” Spock said.
“All right. But it’s safe to assume that both Mree and I can follow whatever you put on the screen, as long as you don’t pull anything out of thin air, which as far as I can tell is exactly where you got that.”
Spock sat back, resting his hands on his knees and gazing at the video screen. “That is the equation I derived from observations I am, in this time-stream, preparing to begin. As you can see, the current numerical value is extremely small, but as you can also see, it is dependent on the value of t minus t1, squared. In short, its value not only increases, its increase accelerates.” He bent over the keyboard again and showed how the correction factor fit into the original equations.
Dr. Mordreaux whistled softly.
“Georges,” Mree said, “there isn’t a shred of evidence for that factor!”
“That’s quite true,” Mordreaux said. “What about it, Mr. Spock?”
‘There is no evidence for its existence because it does not yet exist. The value of t is dependent upon the moment at which you begin to distort the temporal continuum by sending people back in time, and leaving them there.”
Mree muttered something profane and disbelieving. “That’s the stupidest argument I ever heard. It’s completely circular.”
“Dr. Mordreaux has created the circle,” Spock said.
“You’re trying to save James Kirk’s life, aren’t you?” Mordreaux glared at Spock, his mood changing from calmness for the first time. “Of course, it’s obvious. He must be an exceptional person. I admire your loyalty, Mr. Spock, but it isn’t any reason to ruin the plans of all my friends. You’ve warned me and that’s sufficient—I won’t allow myself to be arrested after I’ve sent Mree and the others back. I’ll go back myself if necessary.”
“Been trying to persuade you to do that all along,” Mree said.
Spock stood and faced his old teacher. “Dr. Mordreaux, Vulcans do not lie. The entropy effect caused me considerable ... distress—” It took a great deal of effort for him to admit that, true as it was—“when I discovered it. I believed I had made a mistake. But you—a future version of you, who has been trying to repair the continuum even as I have tried—assured me I had not. He comes from the time when the effects are having serious consequences.”
Mordreaux scowled at him. “Vulcans say they don’t lie, but for one thing the statement isn’t necessarily true and for another you aren’t a Vulcan. Not entirely. And human beings are the best liars in the universe.”
“I... I have endeavored to enhance the Vulcan elements of my background, and suppress the human characteristics.”
“Why won’t you just accept my compromise? You won’t be involved in what I’m doing, your ship will never be called to Aleph Prime, and your captain will be safe.”
“The fate of James Kirk is not involved with what I have told you. Whether he lives or dies has nothing
to do with what will occur if you go through with your plans.”
“Where’s this fabled version of me, then? Why doesn’t he come back and tell me all this himself?”
Spock started to answer. But behind him, Perim suddenly grabbed him, catching him in a headlock and dragging him off-balance.
“We can’t let him stop us! Help me tie him up and let’s go—”
Spock let himself be pulled back until Perim himself was off-balance, then the Vulcan ducked down and around and threw the larger man over his shoulder, to the floor. Perim lay stunned, no longer a danger, and Spock turned back toward Dr. Mordreaux, satisfied that he had discovered which of the professor’s friends had a quick temper.
“You tried,” Spock said. “You tried at least twice. The second time—”
An instant too late, he felt the hand grip his shoulder.
The fingers dug in, seeking and finding the vulnerable nerve before he could react. All feeling left him. He stayed on his feet another moment, swaying, then collapsed.
Through a haze of paralysis, Spock saw Mree bend over him. “He’ll be okay, Georges,” she said. “But Perim’s right—Let’s get out of here before it’s too late.”
Spock struggled to regain control of his body, but Mree’s understanding of the aggressive move was thorough, and she had incapacitated him just short of unconsciousness. He could not help but admire her for mastering the technique: humans who tried it usually either failed to produce any effect at all, or used it so aggressively that it proved fatal. Only an unusually proficient student could produce immobility with consciousness.
Dr. Mordreaux hesitated. Spock could see him at the edge of his vision, but he could neither turn his head nor speak.
“All right,” Mordreaux said abruptly.
They filed into the laboratory. Spock struggled unsuccessfully to regain some feeling, some power of movement.
A wash of rainbow light, a dazzle of ultraviolet energy, told him he had failed again. They were fleeing, to some place he would never find, and he could come back again and again and again, earlier and earlier, further fragmenting the very substance of the universe as he attempted futilely to repair the damage being done. But he would always fail, he knew it now, something would always happen to cause him to fail. Entropy would always win.
As it must.
He cried out in despair.
Fighting the hopelessness that washed over him, somehow he flung himself over onto his chest. Every nerve and muscle in his body shrieked as he reached to drag himself along the floor like the crippled creature he was, like the first primordial amphibian struggling for breath on the shores of a vanishing lake, knowing instinctively in the most primitive interconnections of his brain that he would probably die, if he continued, that he would surely die, if he stayed, that his only chance was to keep going, to try.
Hunter wandered into sick bay, wishing she were almost anywhere else in the universe. She stopped in the doorway of McCoy’s office.
“Leonard,” she said, “Mr. Spock’s twelve hours are nearly up.”
“I know,” McCoy said miserably. “Hunter, he told me he had an outer limit of fourteen hours—”
“Oh, gods,” Hunter said, exasperated. “Leonard—”
“Wait—” McCoy looked up. “Did you hear—it’s the sensors!” He jumped up and ran past her into the main sick bay.
In the critical care unit the signals had fallen to zero, but not because the toxin had finally overwhelmed Ian Braithewaite’s life. Hunter took one look at the empty bed and ran out into the corridor. She caught a glimpse of Ian disappearing around the corner.
