The admiral rose and came around the desk, addressing Uhura. “I looked a little deeper into your contacts around the time you appeared to abandon the research. There were three visits to the Academy grounds that month by Starfleet Security or Intelligence personnel whose specific activities were redacted. I’ve determined that one was in connection with a member of the faculty, while another involved a non-Federation exchange student.

“The remaining visitor was a Commodore Conrad Reppert of Starfleet Intelligence.” He handed her a second, smaller slate with an image of a light-skinned human male with a broad face, salt-and-pepper hair, and a pug nose. “I don’t suppose his face rings any bells?”

Uhura studied the image. “I’m afraid not. But you think he’s the one who classified our work?”

“He’s the only credible possibility we’ve found. Unfortunately, Cartwright wasn’t able to find any entries in his record confirming it, and Reppert’s superior at the time is deceased now. If the commodore did talk with you, the report was buried so deep that even Cartwright can’t find it.”

“Is Commodore Reppert still alive?” Spock asked.

“He’s retired now, living on Kaferia.” Kirk paused, shifting his weight uneasily. “But even he may not be able to tell you what you need to know.”

Chapter Twelve

Starfleet Headquarters

“… So that is where we stand.” Pavel Chekov tried not to sound too apologetic as he finished his report to the room full of high-ranking Starfleet officers, all of them captains and above. Admiral Cartwright had gathered this group to discuss defense plans for the vacuum flares, and Chekov had been given the unenviable task of summarizing how little they had to work with. “We know that if the vacuum flares continue to backtrack through Commander Uhura’s life history, they will soon reach the Sol system. But we have not yet devised a means to predict their onset or shield against them. Nor are we any closer to determining their origin or finding a way to prevent them.” He searched for words. “I’m afraid that’s all I have to report at this time.”

“Thank you, Mister Chekov,” Cartwright said, rising to take the floor. Chekov returned to his seat at the meeting room’s long, black oval table as the admiral moved behind the podium. “But I have to disagree with you. The fact that we know they’re coming is an advantage in itself. It means we have a chance to prepare.

“That’s why we’re gathered here, people. We know a storm is coming. We can’t stop it, can’t shield against it, but we can still cope with it. Working alongside civilian emergency response organizations, we can patrol the endangered volume around Earth’s orbit and be ready to respond swiftly to any outbreak, with enough ships to provide evacuation and medical treatment in a timely manner.”