“Mr. Sulu,” she said. “I’m pleased to meet you. Jim spoke of you with a great deal of regard.”
Sulu could not think of anything to answer to that; he was too surprised and flattered. “Thank you,” he said, finally, lamely. “Captain Kirk hasn’t returned from Aleph Prime yet, Captain Hunter. May I show you to the officers’ lounge?”
“That would be fine, Mr. Sulu.”
They got into the lift, descended, and walked down a long corridor. The Enterprise seemed deserted, haunted, surreal, with its crew on liberty and its lights dimmed.
“It isn’t shown off at its best right now,” Sulu said apologetically.
“Never mind,” Hunter said. “A ship like this doesn’t need much showing off.”
They chatted about Aerfen and the Enterprise until they reached the lounge. Sulu offered her a drink, or a glass of wine, which she declined; they ended up both with coffee, sitting over a port with a view of deep space, still talking ships.
“That’s a nasty gash on Aerfen’s side,” Sulu said. “I hope there wasn’t too much damage.”
Hunter looked away. “Not to the ship,” she said. “I lost two good people in that fight.”
“Captain—I’m sorry, I didn’t know ...”
“How could you? Mr. Sulu, no one volunteers for this particular assignment without knowing the risks.”
She appeared, suddenly, very human and very tired, and Sulu’s regard for her increased. To fill the silence, because he did not know what to say, he got up and refilled their cups.
“Where are you from, Mr. Sulu?” she asked when he returned. Only a hint of tightness in her voice betrayed her. “I feel like I should be able to place your accent, but it’s so faint I can’t.”
“It isn’t so much faint as a complete muddle. I lived in a lot of different places when I was a kid, but longest on Shinpai.” He used the colloquial name without even thinking.
“Shinpai!” Hunter said. “Ganjitsu? I’ve been there.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Sulu said. “I know. I remember. No one there will forget for a long time.” It was his turn to look away; he had not meant to tell her anything about himself or the debt he and a lot of other people owed her, and now he realized why.
I’m afraid she’ll say it was nothing, he thought. I’m afraid she’ll shrug it all off and laugh at me.
“Thank you, Mr. Sulu.”
He looked slowly back at her. Shadows across her face obscured her gray eyes.
“In this career—you must know—you sometimes come to feel like everything you do, the conflict, the friends you lose, it’s all for the glory of some faceless, meaningless set of rules and regulations. And that doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter a damn. It only matters when you know it makes a difference to a person.”
“It made a difference,” Sulu said. “Never think it didn’t make a difference.”
Jim Kirk had to put down the awkward boxes of bioelectronic crystals before he could get out his communicator.
“Couldn’t you at least have had this stuff delivered, Mr. Spock?” he asked.
“Of course, Captain, but I thought you would not wish to stay at Aleph Prime for several more days.”
Kirk grumbled something inarticulate and flipped open his communicator. “Kirk to Enterprise.”
“Enterprise. Sulu here, Captain.”
“Mr. Spock and I are ready to beam up, Mr. Sulu.”
A few minutes later, Kirk, Spock, and the assorted boxes materialized on the transporter platform. Kirk stepped down to greet Hunter, who had accompanied Sulu to the transporter room.
“You’ve met Mr. Sulu, I see,” Jim said. “This is Mr. Spock, my first officer.”
“Mr. Spock,” she said, nodding to him. “It’s good to meet you after hearing about you for so many years.”
“I am honored,” Spock said.
Kirk noticed Sulu moving slowly, and, he thought, rather reluctantly, toward the door.
“Mr. Sulu,” he said on impulse, “have you had dinner?”
“Dinner?” Sulu asked, surprised by the unusual question. “Captain, I’m afraid my system lost track of time about when we went into the sixth week around the singularity. I wouldn’t know what to call the last meal I had.”
Kirk chuckled. “I know how you feel. I’m going to show Captain Hunter around the ship, and then she and I and Mr. Spock are going to dine on the observation deck. Hunter, I want you to meet my officers. Mr. Sulu, would you see who else is on board? And would you join us yourself?”
“I’d love to,” Sulu said. “Thank you, Captain.”
When Kirk and Hunter and Spock had taken the new equipment and left the transporter room, Sulu hurried to the console and opened a channel to Aleph Prime.
“Sulu to Flynn, come in, Commander.”
The pause dragged on so long he began to worry; he was about to try calling again when Mandala’s voice came through.
“Flynn here.”
“Mandala—”
“Hikaru, is anybody else with you?” she said before he could tell her about the invitation.
“No. I’m alone.”
“Good. Beam us up, I’ve got two of my people with me.”
He heard the urgency in her voice: he tracked them quickly and energized.
He watched in astonishment as three disheveled figures appeared on the platforms. Mandala was accompanied by two of the more startling members of the Enterprise’s security force. Snnanagfashtalli looked rather like a bipedal leopard with a pelt of maroon, scarlet, and cream. Everyone called her Snarl, but never to her face. She appeared, crouching down on all fours, her ruby fangs exposed, maroon eyes dilated and reflecting the light like a search beam. Her ears lay flat back against her skull and she had raised her hackles from the back of her neck to the tip of her long spotted tail, now bristling out like a brush. She growled.
“We should go back. I had my eyes on a tender throat!”
Mandala laughed. Her hair had fallen down in a tangled mane. Her red hair, her brilliant green eyes, and her light brown skin made her look as much a lithe, wild, fierce animal as Snarl.
“That tender throat had the bad manners to call for Aleph security, and that’s why we got out of there.” Mandala looked happier than Hikaru had ever seen her since she had come on board the Enterprise.
The third member of the party, Jenniver Aristeides, stood staring down at the floor, her shoulders slumped. She was two hundred fifty centimeters tall, her bones were thick and dense, and she seemed to have more layers of muscle than humans possess. That was quite possible. She was human, but she had been genetically engineered to live on a high-gravity planet.
Mandala went to her, and Snarl rubbed against her on the other side.
“Come on, Jenniver,” Mandala said gently. She reached up to take the massive woman’s hand; she led her from the platform. Jenniver looked up, and against her steel-gray skin her silver eyes glistened with unshed tears.
“I did not want to fight,” Jenniver said.
“I know. It wasn’t your fault. They’d’ve deserved it if you’d smashed their heads or if Snnanagfashtalli had ripped away a couple of their faces.”
“I have no right to get angry if someone says I am ugly.”
“I do,” Snarl said.
“But I don’t want you to get in trouble.”
“I am friendly with trouble.” Snarl’s voice was a purr.
“She won’t, will she? You won’t, Commander? Will the captain be mad? It was my fault.”
“Jenniver, stop it! It’s all right. I was there, I saw what happened.
Go get some sleep and don’t worry. Particularly don’t worry about Kirk.”
Snarl took Jenniver’s hand. “Come, my friend.” They left the transporter room.
Mandala stretched and shook back her hair.
“What happened?” Hikaru asked.
“Some creeps decided it would be a lot of fun to humiliate Jenniver, Snarl took exception to what they said, and ab
out that time I came along,” Mandala said. “Thanks for beaming us up.”
“You got in a fight.”
“Hikaru,” Mandala said, laughing, “do I look like I’ve been out for a quiet stroll?”
“Are you hurt?”
“No, and we didn’t damage the other parties too much, either. That takes skill, I want you to know.”
He looked after the two security officers. “I wouldn’t want to be them when Captain Kirk hears about this, he’s going to blow his stack.”
Mandala looked at him sharply, narrowing her violent green eyes. “If Kirk has any problems with the way I act, he can take that up with me.” Fury came so close to the surface in her that Hikaru hardly recognized her. “But if there’s any discipline to be handed out in Security, that’s my job.” Abruptly, her anger vanished and she laughed again. She bunched her loose hair up at the back of her neck, and let it fall again. Hikaru shut his eyes for a moment, at the brink of calling himself a fool for refusing her, however short a time they might have had.
“Oh, gods,” Mandala said. “I did need that.” She looked after Snarl and Jenniver, with a thoughtful expression. “You know, despite what she looks like Jenniver is very sweet-tempered. I think she’s even a little timid. I wonder if she’s happy in security?”
“Are you sure you’re all right?”
“Yeah. Why did you call me, anyway? Are you finally off duty? Do you want to go back down to Aleph?”
“Have you had dinner?”
“No, I took my people out but I was waiting for you.”
“Good,” he said. “I have an even better offer.”
Jim Kirk would have preferred to welcome Hunter on board the Enterprise with a full officers’ reception; his own sense of fairness fought with his wish to show his ship and his people off at their best. Fairness finally won; he did not have any of the other Enterprise officers called back from Aleph. But when he and Hunter walked into the wide, deserted observation deck, darkened so the brilliant star-field glowed across the entire hundred eighty degrees of the port, he could not maintain his disappointment. He and his old friend stood together looking out into the depths of stars, not talking, not needing to talk; but again, Jim thought of the things he wanted to say to Hunter, all the things he should say. He almost turned to her and spoke her name, her dream-name that only her family and he knew, the name he had not spoken since the last time they made love.
The door opened; Jim drew in a long breath and let it out slowly, feeling mixed regret and relief, as Spock came out onto the observation deck, followed by Mr. Sulu and Lieutenant Commander Flynn. The moment vanished.
“Mandala!” Hunter said. “I didn’t know you were on the Enterprise!”
“Hi, Hunter. Being here is kind of a surprise to me, too.”
“She says she wants my job,” Jim said, without thinking.
Color rose in Flynn’s face, but Hunter laughed, delighted.
“Then you’ll have to recommend her for a better one, if you want to keep this ship yourself.”
That was the first time Jim understood what Mandala Flynn had said to him, when he asked her about her career plans at the reception when she first came on board. She really had looked him straight in the eye and said, “I want your job.” She had been telling him she expected him to take her very seriously, however doubtful he might be that she had adequate background and education for the job. But he had misunderstood her completely.
Flynn smiled at Hunter.
That’s the first time I’ve seen her smile, Jim thought. A real smile, not an ironic grin. I think I had better reevaluate this officer.
Hunter and Mandala Flynn embraced with the easy familiarity of the less formal traditions of the border patrols.
“I see I don’t have any more introductions to make,” Jim said. “When did you serve together?”
Flynn’s smile vanished abruptly and her usual air of watchfulness returned. Jim wondered uneasily if his spur-of-the-moment excuse to Ian Braithewaite, that it would take security twenty-four hours to prepare for the prisoner, had made its way back to his new security commander. He knew it could not have come from Spock, but it might have reached her more circuitously via Braithewaite himself.
Give me another chance, Ms. Flynn, Kirk thought. I didn’t know if you were going to work out. You needed that undercurrent of ferocity to get as far as you have, from where you started, and I didn’t know if you could keep it under control. I still don’t. But you’re an able officer, security is shaping up for the first time in a year, and the last thing in the galaxy I want to do is antagonize you.
“My squadron and the fleet Mandala flew with merged for a while,” Hunter said. “Out by the Orion border.”
“That got sticky, by all reports,” Jim said.
From there, the conversation slipped straight into old times and reminiscences, and even Mr. Spock unbent enough to relate one strange tale from early in his Starfleet career. To Kirk’s surprise and relief, Mandala Flynn also began to relax her stiff reserve. Only Mr. Sulu remained on the fringe of the conversation, and he did not seem to feel left out. Rather, he appeared more than content merely to listen. Jim Kirk smiled to himself. He had experienced a few minutes of regret, rather selfish regret, after his impulsive invitation for the others to join him and Hunter, but now he was glad he had done it.
Later that night, Sulu sat in the dark in his small cabin, absently chewing on his thumbnail. He liked the Enterprise. His friends were here; his crewmates respected him and his superiors occasionally appreciated him; he admired his captain. And if he decided to stay, he could admit even to himself that he was desperately in love with Mandala Flynn.
Still, he thought, still—what about all those ambitions I used to have? Nothing I’ve been thinking about for the last six months has changed. My record so far isn’t good enough to give me a chance at a real command. I’m going to have to take more risks than I have so far in my life.
What about Mandala?
He knew that if he gave up his ambitions for her she would not understand, and she would begin to despise him. If they were friends, or lovers, it could not be on a basis of guilt or self-denial, not from either side.
If he followed through, he would be taking risks. Aside from the sheer physical danger he would be volunteering for, if he applied for a transfer to a fighter squadron—ideally, to Aerfen—Captain Kirk would not stand in his way. He was fairly sure of that. But he had no reason to believe Hunter would accept his application. If she did not, and if ultimately no squadron commander accepted him, and he stayed on the Enterprise, things would never be quite the same for him here again.
Jim and Hunter walked together to the transporter room.
“I enjoyed today, Jim,” she said. “It’s been good to see you again.”
“I’m sorry we have to leave so soon,” he said. “But there’s no reason we can’t swing past Aleph on the way back.”
“I’ll be gone by then,” she said. “The border’s unstable and my squadron is at low strength—I can’t afford to keep the flagship off the line any longer than I absolutely have to. As it is I’ll probably have to take Aerfen out shorthanded.” She shook her head, staring down at the floor. “I don’t see how I’ll replace those two people, Jim,” she said.
There was nothing he could say. He knew how it felt to lose crew members, friends, and there was nothing anyone could say.
They reached the transporter room, and Jim fed in the coordinates for Hunter’s ship.
“Well.”
The only real awkwardness came now, when they did not want to say goodbye. They hugged tightly. Jim had left too long the things he wanted to say. He was afraid it was far too late, not only by today, but by years, to say them. He buried his face against the curve of her neck and shoulder; the scent of her hair brought back memories so strong that he was afraid to look at her again, afraid to try to speak.
“Jim,” Hunter said, “don’t, please don’t.” She pulled gently aw
ay.
“Hunter—”
“Goodbye, Jim.” She stepped up onto the platform.
“Goodbye,” he whispered.
She nodded that she was ready. He touched the controls, and she flickered out of existence.
It took Jim Kirk some time to regain his composure. When he succeeded, he headed straight for his cabin, hoping he would not see anyone else. He felt both physically and emotionally drained. For the first time he felt resigned to the Enterprise’s carrier mission: nearly grateful for it.
Hunter was right, he thought. This will be a milk run. And maybe that’s what we all need right now.
He entered his dark, silent cabin. It was the only place on the ship where he could even begin to relax, and he had not been anywhere near it in over twenty-four hours. Exhaustion began to take him over. He stripped off his shirt and flung it inaccurately at the recycler.
The message light was glowing green on his communications terminal. He cursed softly. A green-coded message was never urgent, but he knew he would not be able to sleep till he had found out what it was. He pushed the accept key.
Mr. Sulu’s recorded voice requested a formal meeting.
That was strange. Kirk’s last formal meeting with anyone in the crew was so long ago that he could not recall when it had been. He had never had one with Sulu. He prided himself on being so accessible that formal meetings were unnecessary.
Out of curiosity he returned his call: if the helm officer were sleeping, Kirk would not override a privacy request. But, not entirely to the captain’s surprise, Sulu appeared on the screen immediately, wide awake, though looking tired and stressed. Now that Kirk thought of it, Sulu had not had any opportunity to take advantage of liberty on Aleph Prime. Through one circumstance or another he had been more or less on duty ever since they arrived, and he had stood an extra watch to maneuver the Enterprise away from the singularity.
I push him too hard, Kirk thought. His competence is so low-key, so overlaid with his sense of humor, that I don’t really acknowledge how hard he works or what a good job he does. Oh, lord—I wonder if he had other plans for tonight, but thought my invitation was an order?
STAR TREK: TOS #2 - The Entropy Effect Page 6