The Entropy Effect

by Vonda N. Mcintyre Неизвестный Автор

  “We should?”

  “Yes, Captain. I believe it is vital that we do so.”

  Kirk flung himself back into his chair.

  “What the hell,” he said.

  Ian Braithewaite wanted to bundle his prisoner off to the Enterprise immediately.

  “Sorry, Mr. Braithewaite,” Kirk said. “Can’t be done. My ship isn’t any more fitted for handling dangerous criminals than Aleph is. We’ll have to make some preparations first.”

  Kirk and Spock left the prosecutor’s officer and headed toward the central core of the station.

  “ ‘Preparations,’ Captain? Security Commander Flynn is not likely to appreciate the critical implications of that statement.”

  “Good Lord, don’t tell her I said that. It was just a convenient excuse.” He realized that he could hardly have chosen a less tactful excuse: if Flynn heard about it she would be offended, and justifiably so. Since her arrival, security had shaped up faster than Kirk would have believed possible. Kirk did not think that his status as Flynn’s commanding officer would protect him from her fierce loyalty to her people. Or from her brittle temper: it was so quick to snap that Kirk sometimes wondered if Flynn really were officer material.

  “I have no reason to repeat imprudent remarks to Commander Flynn,” Spock said.

  “Good,” Kirk said. “Well, I’ve never been to Aleph Prime before; I don’t see any great harm in staying for a little while, whatever the excuse.”

  “You will find it most fascinating. There is a small research facility involved in growing bioelectronic crystals, which could revolutionize computer science.”

  “I’ll definitely have to look into that,” Kirk said. “Mr. Spock ...”

  “Yes, Captain?”

  “Just exactly what’s going on? Braithwaite was ready to give up and call for another ship, obviously you realized that. I went along with you, but I’d like to know just what it is I’m going along with.”

  “Indeed, Captain, I appreciate your trust.”

  “Well,” Kirk said wryly, “what’s a captain for?”

  “I apologize for my apparent lack of consistency. Until he mentioned the name of the ‘vicious criminal,’ I had no way of knowing that something far more complex than lawbreaking—however serious—is involved.”

  Kirk frowned. “I don’t remember—Georges Mordreaux? Who is it, Spock? Do you know him?”

  “I studied temporal physics under him many years ago. He is a brilliant physicist. In fact, when it became clear that we had not been diverted to deal with any sort of true emergency, the only benefit I could see from our being ordered to Aleph Prime was the possibility of discussing my observations with Dr. Mordreaux before I repeated them.”

  “This must have been quite a shock to you.”

  “Jim, the whole matter is absurd.” Spock collected himself instantly and continued, the model of Vulcan calm again. “Dr. Mordreaux is an ethical being. More than that, he is a theoretical scientist, not an experimental one. He was always more likely to work with pencil and paper, even in preference to a computer. Still, supposing he did branch off into experimental work, it is preposterous to think that he would endanger self-aware subjects of any species. I think it unlikely in the extreme that he has metamorphosed into an insane murderer.”

  “Do you think you can prove him innocent?”

  “I would like the chance to discover why he is about to be transported to a rehabilitation center with such dispatch and under such secrecy.”

  Kirk did not much like the idea of meddling in the business of civilian authorities, but for one thing they had meddled with his ship and for another he was as aware as Spock that if Mordreaux entered a rehabilitation colony he would not emerge improved. He might be happier, he would certainly no longer be troublesome, but he would not be a brilliant physicist anymore, either.

  “All right, Spock. There’s something weird about this whole business. Maybe your professor is being railroaded. At the very least we can nose around.”

  “Thank you, Captain.”

  Kirk stopped and pulled out his communicator.

  “Kirk to Enterprise . Lieutenant Uhura, lift radio silence.”

  “ Enterprise, Uhura here. Is everything all right, Captain?”

  “I wouldn’t go so far as to say that, but there’s no emergency. Secure from general quarters. I’ll be staying down on Aleph for a while, but you can reach me if you need me.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Kirk out.” He hesitated a moment, then thought better of broadcasting his message to the Enterprise’s security commander.

  “Mr. Spock, please tell Commander Flynn to back us up if Mr. Braithewaite questions the reasons for our staying here. I think a day is about as long as I can justify, but arrange a rotating skeleton crew so everybody gets some time off. Including you. And particularly Mr. Scott; he’s not to spend the layover buried in the engines.”

  “All right, Captain.”

  “I assume a day on Aleph and a leisurely trip to Rehab Seven will suit your plans?”

  “Admirably, Captain.”

  The spacious plaza gave the illusion of being under an open sky. In reality it was deep beneath the surface of Aleph Prime. With its mild, random breezes, the scent of flowers in the air, grass a little shaggy, inviting strolls, it was so perfect that Jim Kirk knew he would not be able to tolerate it for long. But until the cliches became obtrusive, he could enjoy it for what it was, the re-creation of a planet’s surface by someone who had never walked in the open on a living world. Besides, if he decided he did not like it, he could always go to one of the other parks, one designed for the non-human inhabitants of the station. Jim Kirk glanced around at the nearly empty plaza and wondered if an inhabitant of Gamma Draconis VII would find the nearby tunnel-maze enjoyable for a while, then gradually come to the conclusion that it was just slightly too uniformly-dug, just triflingly too damp, and just faintly, barely perceptibly, too cleverly predictably complex.

  Then he saw Hunter, walking out of the shadows of a small grove of trees, and he forgot about tunnel-mazes, about the inhabitants of 7 Draconis VH, and even about the balmy, erratic breezes.

  Hunter waved, and continued on toward him.

  They stopped a few paces apart and looked each other up and down.

  Hunter wore black uniform pants and boots that were regulation enough, but she also had on a blue silk shirt and a silver mesh vest, and, of course, the red feather in her hair.

  “Still collecting demerits, I see,” Jim said.

  “And you’re still awfully regular navy, you know. Some things never change.” She paused. “And I guess I’m glad of it.”

  They both laughed at the same time, then embraced, hugging for the simple pleasure of seeing each other again. It was not like the old days, and Jim regretted that. He wondered if she did, too. He was afraid to ask, afraid to chance hurting her, or himself, or to put more of the kind of strain on their friendship that had nearly ended it before.

  They fell into old patterns with only a little awkwardness, in the way of old friends, with good times and bad times between them, and years to catch up on. They walked together in the park for hours: it came to about an hour per year, by the time they worked their way to the present.

  “You didn’t get orders to come to Aleph, did you?” Jim asked.

  “No. This is the only outpost in my sector that will paint Aerfen the way I want it, without throwing stupid regulations at me. And my crew likes it for liberty. Gods know they deserve some right now. How about you?”

  “Weirdest thing that ever happened. This fellow, Ian Braithewaite—”

  Hunter laughed. “Did he pounce on you, too? He wanted me to pack up some criminal and take him to Rehab Seven, in Aerfen !”

  “What did you tell him?” Jim asked, as embarrassment colored his face.

  “Where he could put his prisoner, for one thing,” Hunter said. “I guess I should have claimed Aerfen would practically fall out of orbit w
ithout a complete overhaul, but the truth is I was too damned mad to do any tactful dissembling.”

  “So was I.”

  “I wondered if he might go after you, too—but, Jim, a ship of the line flying a milk run? Don’t keep me in suspense, what did you say to him?”

  “I told him I’d take the job.”

  Hunter started to laugh, then saw that he meant it.

  “Okay,” she said. “That’s got to be a better story than any amount of imaginative profanity. Let’s hear it.”

  Jim told her what had happened, including Spock’s analysis. He was glad to have someone more objective to talk to.

  “Have you ever heard of Georges Mordreaux?”

  “Sure—good gods, you don’t mean he’s been on Aleph all this time?He’s the one you’re supposed to take off to have his brain drained?”

  Jim nodded. “What do you know about him?”

  Hunter had always had a serious talent for physics, and had considered specializing in the field. But the academic life was far too quiet for her, and her taste for excitement and adventure won out early on. Still, she kept track of major advances in research in the branches that interested her.

  “Well,” she said. “There are two schools of thought, and hardly anybody in the middle. The first camp thought he was the finest physicist since Vekesh, if not Einstein. Listen, Jim, do you want to have dinner on Aerfen , or shall we find a place around here? I don’t know what schedule you’re working on, but it’s late for me and I’m starved.”

  “I was hoping you’d come up to the Enterprise and let me show you around. What about the other camp?”

  She glanced away. “I might have known a diversionary tactic wouldn’t work with you.” She shrugged. “No offense to your Mr. Spock—but the other camp, which is most people, thought Georges Mordreaux was a loon.”

  Jim was silent for a moment. “That bad?”

  “Afraid so.”

  “Spock didn’t mention it.”

  “That’s fair. I expect he has his own opinion and considers the opposing one scurrilous gossip. Which it surely fell to.”

  “Why do you keep talking about Mordreaux in the past tense?”

  “Oh. I think of him that way. He put out some papers a few years back, and the reaction to them was ...hm... negative, to put it mildly. He still publishes once in a while, but nobody knew where he was. I had no idea he was here .”

  “Do you think it’s possible somebody’s arranged some kind of vendetta against him?”

  “I can’t imagine why anybody would, or who would do it. He just isn’t a factor in academic circles anymore. Besides, criminal prosecution isn’t the way physics professors discredit their rivals, it hasn’t got the proper civilized flavor to it.”

  “What do you think about him?”

  “I’ve never met him; I can’t give you a personal opinion.”

  “What about his work? Do you think he’s crazy?”

  She toyed with the corner of her vest. “Jim ... the last time I studied physics formally was fifteen years ago. I still subscribe to a couple ofjournals, but I keep up a superficial competence at best. I’m far too out of date to even guess at an answer to the question you’re asking. The man did good work once, a long time ago. What he’s like now—who knows?”

  They walked for a while in silence. Hunter shoved her hands in her pockets.

  “Sorry I’m not more help. But you can’t tell much about anybody’s personality from their work, anyway.”

  “I know. I guess I’m just grabbing at anything to try to figure out why the Enterprise got chosen for this

  duty.” He had already told her about Mr. Spock’s ruined observations. “Well, Captain, can I offer you a tour of my ship, and some dinner?”

  “Well, Captain, that sounds great.”

  From across the park, Jim heard a faint voice.

  “Hey, Jim!”

  Leonard McCoy waved happily from the other side of the park, and, with his companion, came tramping across the grass toward Jim and Hunter.

  “Who’s that?”

  “That’s my ship’s doctor, Leonard McCoy.”

  She watched him approach. “He’s feeling no pain.”

  Jim laughed, and he and Hunter walked together through the field to greet McCoy and his friend.

  Spock returned to the Enterprise , paged Lieutenant Commander Flynn, and started working out a schedule to give the maximum amount of liberty to the maximum number of people, as Captain Kirk had requested. Before he finished, the lift doors slid open and Flynn stepped out onto the bridge.

  “Yes, Mr. Spock?”

  He turned toward her. “Commander Flynn, our mission here involves your section. Tomorrow morning Dr. Georges Mordreaux will board and we will convey him to Rehabilitation Colony Seven.”

  She frowned very slightly. Rehab Seven was in this system; it was in opposition to Aleph Prime right now, but still that meant it was only about two astronomical units away: a trivial distance for a starship, almost an insult, and she must realize that.

  “If he were a V.I.P. you wouldn’t have called me,” Flynn said. “I take it that means he’ll be in custody.”

  “That is correct.” He knew she was waiting for more information, but he had none to offer. However, Captain Kirk’s statement to Ian Braithewaite, that security would have to prepare for Dr. Mordreaux’s arrival, suited his plans, and he saw no reason not to make the statement true in retrospect. “We have our orders, Commander Flynn,” he said. “Please secure the V.I.P. cabin for Dr. Mordreaux’s use.”

  Spock waited for the stream of questions and objections that would have come from the previous security commander, when he was asked for performance out of the ordinary, but the new commander behaved in quite a different manner.

  “All right, Mr. Spock,” she said. “What’s Dr. Mordreaux been convicted of?”

  Spock found it difficult to tell her, because he disbelieved the accusations so strongly. “Unethical research on self-aware subjects,” he finally said. “And ... murder.”

  “Mr. Spock,” Flynn said carefully, in a tone that offered information rather than criticism, “the detention

  cells are considerably more secure than my people can make a cabin by tomorrow. And the cells aren’t dungeons; they’re fairly comfortable.”

  “I am aware of the security problem, Commander Flynn, as is Captain Kirk. I am putting my trust in your abilities. The prisoner will be confined in the V.I.P. cabin.”

  “Then I will have the cabin secured, Mr. Spock.”

  “I have posted a liberty schedule for all the crew except your section. I leave that arrangement to your judgment.”

  She glanced at the terminal, where the screen held the security roster ready for assignment. She picked out several officers with electronics background: four people, as many as could work efficiently on the energy screens.

  “Everyone else can go down to Aleph,” she said. “Since we aren’t responding to a system-wide emergency.”

  “No, the orders are simply to transport Dr. Mordreaux. Thank you for your cooperation, Commander Flynn. If I can be of any help to you in making the preparations—”

  “My people can handle it, Mr. Spock, but thanks.”

  He nodded, and the security commander left the bridge.

  By the time Mandala Flynn got off the turbo lift she could hear the whoops of delight as the liberty schedule went up on all the ship’s general communication terminals. She was as glad as the others that a call to a disaster had turned instead into a few hours of freedom. She had to admit, though, that in two months on the Enterprise she had sometimes wished for some incident, some conflict, that was real instead of only practice.

  You could have stayed in the border patrol, she told herself, flying back and forth and up and down the same limiting plane of space, fighting the occasional skirmish, risking your life and getting shot up, until they retired you to a backwater Starbase somewhere.

  Her ambitions aimed higher tha
n that. She was not satisfied with what was known; the unknown fascinated her. That was one reason she had grabbed for the unexpected opportunity to transfer to the Enterprise : not for cross-system detours like the current bit of bureaucratic nonsense, but exploration, new worlds, the real thing. Even if once in a while it meant spending six weeks staring down into a naked singularity.

  Flynn wanted experience on this ship because, in time, she intended to command it or one like it herself. The limits of Federation worlds were far too narrow for her. She was a child of interstellar space, comfortable with it, attuned to it. She belonged in the vanguard of discovery.

  And if you ever find what you’re looking for, she thought, if you ever even figure out what it is you’re looking for—what will you do then?

  She pushed her musings aside as she entered the security duty room, where the four officers she had chosen were already waiting for her.

  When Spock was alone, he opened a communications channel to the station and began his real task, that of obtaining as much information about Dr. Mordreaux’s recent past as he could find.

  First he requested the records on the professor’s trial from Aleph Prime’s housekeeping computer.

  The request bounced back: NO INFORMATION. The tape should be a matter of public record.

  Spock tried again, appending his security clearance, which should have been sufficient to overcome almost every level of classification. His request was refused.

  He tried several other possible repositories of criminal records, and found nothing. The news services carried no notices whatever in their indices of Dr. Mordreaux’s arrest, conviction, or sentencing; he held no listing in the station directory. Spock pushed himself away from the information terminal and considered what to do next.

  Perhaps the professor had been living under an alias, but that did not explain his disappearance from judicial records, which would have used his real name. Spock considered possibilities, made a decision, and proceeded to deceive the Aleph computers without mercy. Their defenses were adequate for normal purposes—they were not, after all, ordinarily concerned with any particularly sensitive matters—but insubstantial compared to Spock’s ability to break them.