a table across the room ... and Jim held the remains of the time-changer in his hands.
“You were in the observatory,” Jim said. “Snarl heard you fall. Jenniver Aristeides brought you to sick bay. Do you remember?”
What Spock remembered, he recalled all too well. He glanced from Jim to Dr. McCoy. As they were now, neitheir had existed in the alternate time-stream. And Spock had quite clear memories of a time-stream in which his observations proceeded smoothly: the singularity indeed did appear, and though he could not deduce its cause, it was clear from the beginning that it would soon self-destruct and cease to be a danger. The Enterprise had never been called to Aleph Prime. Dr. Mordreaux had never come on board, and Spock had detected no acceleration in the increase of entropy.
And then he had reappeared in his observatory, dragged back to the Enterprise through space and time, to the place he belonged, and, simultaneously, it seemed, the miscalculation of his stamina caught up with him. Journey, or exhaustion, or both, caused him to lose consciousness.
“Spock?” Jim asked gently. “Do you remember?”
“No, Captain,” Spock said quite truthfully. “I cannot understand what happened.” He had not expected to remember the events in the time-loop he had turned back on itself and wiped out of existence. But he did.
He had learned how fragile the continuum was. He had not restored it to its original form. He had only managed to-stitch it back together where it had torn most seriously; he had put patches over the worst of the rents, and hoped they would hold: perhaps he should not be so startled that the seams were not quite straight and the grain not quite smooth. If the inconsistencies were no worse than an inexplicable astronomical phenomenon that would have to remain a mystery, and conflicting sets of memories in his own mind, then perhaps he should accept them gracefully, and gratefully.
“I apologize, Captain. I cannot explain what happened.”
“You’ve got a bit of a concussion,” McCoy said. “Your memory may return when you’ve recovered from that.”
Spock sincerely hoped it would not, but he did not say so.
Kirk hefted the broken section of the time-changer. “Maybe you can at least explain what this is.”
“Of course, Captain. It is an instrument which helped me to complete my assignment.” Though that was technically accurate, it was close enough to a lie for Spock to feel ashamed of himself for it.
“Where did you get it?”
“I made it, Captain.”
“There aren’t any bioelectronic components on this ship!”
“Hey, Jim,” McCoy said, “lay off, will you?”
“Sure, Bones, as soon as Mr. Spock answers my question.”
“That was not a question, Captain,” Spock said. “It was a statement. However, it is quite true that the Enterprise carries no bioelectronics. If I may point it out, though, one of the most interesting properties of bioelectronic crystals is that they can be grown.” He reached for the time-changer.
Kirk glared at him, then, quite suddenly, grinned. “Well, Mr. Spock,” he said. “I never thought of you as having a green thumb.”
Inexplicably, McCoy groaned. “That’s it! Out!”
Spock glanced down at his hands. He did not understand Captain Kirk’s remark, for if the captain were, for whatever peculiar reason, to think of Spock’s thumbs, he must surely note that they were, in fact, slightly green.
“Spock,” Kirk said, serious again, “you’re not telling me everything, and I don’t much like that.”
“Captain ...in the vicinity of a singularity, the only thing one can predict is that events will occur that one could not predict.”
“I take it you don’t care to elaborate on the nature of these unpredictable events.”
“I would prefer not to, Captain.”
Kirk scowled, and Spock thought he was going to refuse to give him the remains of the time-changer. Abruptly, Kirk grinned again and held the device out to the science officer.
Spock accepted it.
“All right, Mr. Spock. I trust you, and I trust in your judgment that whatever you can’t explain won’t affect the safety of this ship or anybody on it.”
“Your trust will not be betrayed,” Spock said.
McCoy folded his arms across his chest. “Now that you two have exchanged expressions of undying confidence, I want you—” he glared at Kirk—”to get out of here, and I want you—” he transferred his irritated gaze to Mr. Spock—“to go back to sleep. Right now. That’s an order.”
Jim laughed. “Okay, Bones. Mr. Spock, can we get out of here?”
“Yes, Captain. My observations are complete.”
“Good.” Kirk stood up and turned to leave. Spock pushed himself up on one elbow. “Captain—Jim—” Kirk glanced back.
“Thank you,” Spock said.
As he rounded a corner, Jim Kirk saw Mr. Sulu ahead of him, walking toward the turbo lift.
“Mr. Sulu!” he called. The helm officer did not turn around; Kirk called to him again.
Sulu stopped short, and faced him. “I’m sorry, Captain. I was .. . thinking about something.”
They continued down the hall side by side.
“Are you going up to the bridge?”
“Yes, sir. I go on duty in ten minutes.”
“I’m glad it’s your watch,” Jim said. “Mr. Spock’s work is finished and we can get out of here. I’d rather have you at the helm than any of the other helm officers, when we’re maneuvering near a singularity.”
“Why—thank you, Captain,” Sulu said, obviously astonished by the spontaneous compliment.
Sulu’s been looking preoccupied lately, Kirk thought. And he needs a haircut very badly. He’s starting a mustache, too—what’s this all about? He’s beginning to look like he belongs in the border patrol, not on a ship of the line. Of course, he has been under a lot of stress ...
He almost made a joke about Sulu’s hair, a joke that Sulu would of course take as a suggestion to get at least a trim.
Why do you want him to cut his hair? Jim Kirk asked himself. It doesn’t make any difference to his work; it isn’t as if he’s going to get it caught in the rigging.
He thought, again, Grow up, Jim.
“Are you happy on the Enterprise , Mr. Sulu?” he asked.
Sulu hesitated. His tone, when he answered, was as serious as if he had been thinking the question over very hard for a very long time. “Yes, Captain. It’s a better assignment than I ever hoped for, and the best I’m ever likely to have.”
Kirk started to demur, to shrug off the implied compliment, but he saw an alternate interpretation for what Sulu had said. Kirk knew Sulu’s record well; he knew how a desk-bound bureaucrat would look at it. “Insufficient variety of experience” would be the most likely analysis, despite the fact that no one could ask for more variety of experience than serving on the Enterprise provided. Unfortunately, the record
was what counted, and Sulu knew that as well as anybody.
Kirk realized abruptly: If he wants to advance, it’s almost inevitable that he’ll transfer off the Enterprise . You’re going to lose the best helm officer this ship has ever had, if you don’t do something, and do it fast.
“I’ve been thinking,” Kirk said. “And what I think is that it’s about time we talked about making sure your record reflects all the responsibilities you have, not just the formal ones. It would be a damned shame if somewhere down the line you wanted a position and it went to some semi-competent instead just because they went up the ladder in the usual way and you didn’t.”
Sulu’s expression gave Jim considerable excuse for self-congratulation.
“The solution isn’t to normalize your record,” he said. “It’s to make it unique, so you have to be judged on your own terms. I think a good first step would be a field promotion to lieutenant commander. There’s no question but what you’d get the promotion anyway in a few years, but a field promotion is unusual enough to stand out even to a red-tape shuffler.”
“Captain ...” Sulu sounded rather stunned.
