President Lorg wrinkled his snout in puzzlement. “But why choose our time to focus on?” the middle-aged Tellarite asked in his folksy Martian accent. “If they were trying to contact beings in the later universe, they could have done it with any number of other civilizations over billions of past and future years.”

“They, or others like them, may indeed have done so, Mister President,” Spock replied. “It is quite possible that more civilizations—if that term can be meaningfully used for societies of such a profoundly alien physical nature—rose and fell within the several minutes of the nucleosynthesis era than have existed in the subsequent thirteen point seven eight billion years of the far cooler, more diffuse universe we occupy. Many such species throughout space and time may have made similar contacts in the past, or may do so with other primordial plasma civilizations in the future.”

Uhura was finally compelled to speak. “Which doesn’t diminish the importance of preserving this civilization’s distinct culture and history, if we can renew contact.” She paused, glancing apologetically between Spock and the dignitaries on the wall screen. “I’m sorry, sirs. But if there’s one thing recent events have made clear to me, it’s that no one deserves to be forgotten. In the end, how we’re remembered—or whether—is all we have. These beings are pleading with us to be heard, Mister President. We owe it to them to listen.”

Morrow and Lorg looked sympathetic, but Cartwright’s steely gaze didn’t waver. “That’s all well and good, Commander, but it’s hardly our priority right now. The flares in the Sol system are still coming, growing larger and more frequent. The last two have struck in empty space, but the second missed engulfing Luna by only a couple of million kilometers. We’re relying on luck here—we still haven’t found a way to modify deflector shields to keep the damned wormholes out.”

Commander Scott shook his head. “That’s a futile effort, sir. They pop right out of the fabric of space itself, anywhere they like, even inside a ship and its shields.”

“We know that, Mister Scott, but what else do we have?”

The burly, gray-haired engineer narrowed his eyes in that thoughtful way he had. “I’ve been thinking about that, Admiral. Maybe we need to be thinking less about walls and more about oil on the water.”

Cartwright frowned, but it was Morrow who answered. “Oil, Commander?”

“Aye, you know. Mariners as far back as Aristotle knew you could calm a turbulent patch of water by spreading oil over the surface. The surface elasticity of the oil helps dissipate the wave energy—”

“Yes, yes, we know, Commander. I take it this is an analogy for something relevant?”