Uhura passed the time in Morning Nectar’s company, drinking iced tea (which was really very good, sweetened with crystallized fruit drake honey) and discussing Kaferian linguistics. Even to her ear, the swift clicks the Kaferians’ bright-hued mandibles produced, blurring together into a cicada-like drone, went by too quickly to discern much in the way of meaningful patterns. After a while, she gave up, with apologies to her host. It was starting to remind her too much of her research into the vacuum flare patterns, and of the fruitlessness of this investigation into her past.

When Spock emerged with the commodore, Morning Nectar moved to check on his patient. “Were you able to assist him, Captain?”

“Only to a limited extent, I fear. Perhaps his lucid periods will be slightly longer now. But most of what I could do to circumvent the damage has already been done by his brain’s natural healing processes, and presumably by prior treatment. The point of diminishing returns has already been crossed.

“However, I have done what I could to seal away his memories of the trauma he endured in captivity. It may prevent further panic attacks, or at least ease them.”

“Thank you, Captain Spock.” The Kaferian understood that anything else Spock had uncovered was none of his business. He invited the commodore to the kitchen to help him prepare lunch.

Once they were alone, Uhura turned to her friend. She wanted to throw her arms around him and thank him for his compassion toward the old man, but she knew that even now, with his greater acceptance of emotion in the wake of V’Ger, Spock was still a very reserved individual who would find such a display uncomfortable. So she kept her tone professional. “Anything, sir?”

A small shake of his head. “No. While Commander Kor evidently exaggerated when he claimed the mind-sifter’s maximum setting would reduce the subject to a vegetative state, he was truthful enough when he said that it emptied the mind of the memories it read. What remains are only fragments of a life.

“When I focused on his memories pertaining to Starfleet Academy, I did receive some sensory flashes that may have been connected to you—the shimmer of dark hair, the perception of a pleasant voice. But they were too difficult to distinguish from other sensory impressions. I do not know the commodore’s mind well enough to organize and separate the impressions. Normally in a meld, the partner’s mind guides one’s own in interpreting their unique web of associations. But Commodore Reppert’s mind is too disorganized for that.”

Uhura sighed. “I understand, sir. We knew it was a long shot.”

Spock studied her. “Still, you experience the disappointment that comes when a slim hope of success gives way to certainty of failure.”

He really did understand emotion better now. “I just don’t know where we can turn next. We’re all out of leads.”