“Worse: If the rifts are created by quantum wormholes transmitted from the primordial plasma, they could allow that plasma to emerge directly into Solar space. A plasma denser than neutronium with a temperature of billions of degrees. It would be tantamount to a supernova occurring within the system. Not only would all life on Sol’s planets and moons be destroyed, but the radiation could eventually endanger Alpha Centauri, Procyon, and perhaps other core Federation systems.”

Cartwright turned to Lorg. “Mister President, I insist you evacuate to a safe location.”

“Now, let’s have none of that, Lance. I didn’t get where I am by backing down from an argument. We can do something about this, right? Now that we know the cause, we’re that much closer to a solution. We just need to contact these plasma creatures, reassure them that we can hear them, and ask them to kindly stop shouting.”

“I’m afraid it’s not that simple, Mister President,” Uhura said. “Shastri and I were working in secret, so we didn’t keep written records. We relied on my eidetic memory—if you’ll forgive the irony. I’ve forgotten how we compensated for the scattering effect of the quantum foam to reconstruct a coherent signal—while Shastri has spent the past dozen years trying to forget. The signal reconstruction protocols were more my department than his anyway; he mainly helped to configure the equipment.”

The president and the admiral exchanged worried looks. Spock turned to Uhura. “Nonetheless, Commander, you were able to contact them once—to deduce their very existence from nothing but a nigh-undetectable pattern in the noise. That scientific ability is still within you, even without your memories. And you are beginning at a more advanced stage. You know what you are trying to contact, and you know that contact can be achieved. You have been studying the signals for weeks now, no doubt recapitulating much of your original work.

“More fundamentally, we simply do not have any other options. You and Rajendra Shastri are the only ones alive with the necessary knowledge to make contact with the plasma life-forms. You must try.”

Uhura held his gaze and nodded. “Aye, Captain. I’ll do my best.”

“Then I am confident we will succeed.”

She smiled, appreciating his praise, even as she doubted it. The work itself would be challenging enough—re-creating years of research under the pressure of a time bomb counting down. But having to work with Rajendra Shastri added further complications. The rift between them was deep—and she no longer knew him well enough to have any idea how to mend it. Was there any chance they could recover the rapport they had once had?

Or would picking at those old scars create a rupture as explosive as the one they were trying to prevent?

McCoy residence

San Francisco