Star Trek: Voyager: Endgame

flux . . . approximately three light-years away.”
    Very close. Why had such readings been silent until the ship was so near?
    “A wormhole?” Neelix asked.
    “I'm not sure. I'll need to run additional scans.”
    “We can finish our game tomorrow.”
    Lost in her work, Seven nodded without meeting his gaze. “I'll contact you at the usual time.”
    She affixed her eyes firmly on the strange readings and forced the equipment to focus, then focus again on the impulses flying into the sensors. The readings were cluttered, indecipherable. Wormhole . . . the data seemed correct, but skittish. It kept changing position.
    Seven changed the focus of the sensors several times on a nebula that the starship was quickly approaching—less than one light-year now.
    Suddenly the calibrations snapped to clarity. When they did, Seven's human heart began to pound.
    * * *
    Voyager'
s bridge was the town square of their universe. When critical information arrived, it came here first. Captain Janeway, Chakotay, Tom Paris, and Tuvok had mustered to hear a stunning report from Seven and Harry Kim, and to look at the graphic of the huge churning golden nebula they now skirted. The nebula was heavily clouded, with distinct edges, probably held by magnetic forces that might someday draw all this matter into a single spatial body.
    The main screen showed only the stirring sight of the nebular gases. However, an auxiliary monitor brightened with additional information, an analytical graphic of the nebula.
    Kathryn Janeway peered at the graphic and fought her churning stomach. The sight wasn't making her ill—it was making her excited. The core of the nebula, like the eye of a hurricane, was clear of gases or matter. Inside that clearing were hundreds of blinking dots.
    Seven of Nine stood near the monitor, reporting what she knew so far.
    “The emissions are occurring at the center of the nebula,” she said. “There appear to be hundreds of distinct sources.”
    Harry was nearly bouncing on his toes. “Which could translate into hundreds of wormholes!”
    Though everyone fidgeted with the thrill of this discovery, Seven remained anchored to the data. “The radiation is interfering with our sensors, but if Ensign Kim's enthusiasm turns out to be justified, it could be the most concentrated occurrence of wormholes ever recorded.”
    “Any idea where they lead?” Janeway's question gave voice to the frustrated eagerness she felt churning around her from every member of the bridge crew.
    “Not yet,” Kim said, “but if any
one
of them goes to the Alpha Quadrant—!”
    Choked by his own surge of anticipation, he couldn't even finish the sentence.
    Tom Paris smiled at him. “Who knows, Harry? Maybe it'll take us right into your parents' living room.”
    Janeway glanced around at her crew. They were holding their breath—or pretending not to—and waiting for their captain to pick the right wormhole in the next five minutes and drive through it to the rousing cheers of their families at home.
    Home . . .
    But Janeway wasn't a tour director. It was her job to nurture their hopes while also guarding their very lives. She turned to the main screen and gazed at the enormous lightning-racked tumor in space with puffs of energized matter boiling in great thunder-heads the size of entire planets.
    “Alter course, Mr. Paris,” she began, measuring her volume and degree of enthusiasm. “Ensign Kim, when you speak to your mother, tell her we may need her to move the sofa. All of you, take your duty stations. Seven, tune astrotelemetrics to prioritize those neutrino fluxes.”
    “Yes, Captain.”
    Janeway looked around and noted with satisfaction the sudden activity her orders had caused. They still behaved like a ship's crew when it counted. Chakotay was looking one by one at each monitor as he stood near Janeway. Tuvok and Kim went to their stations on the bridge. Seven had quickly gone to the lift and disappeared, heading for astrometrics.
    “Mr. Chakotay, let's have red alert. Call all hands.”
    “All hands, Captain.” He pressed the comm on his link panel. “All hands on deck. Red alert. All hands to emergency stations. Report readiness to the first officer.”
    “Secure for turbulence,” Janeway added. “Batten all systems. Secure deflector shields and man all primary and auxiliary stations shipwide. Clear the outer areas and flush the nonessential plasma systems.”
    “All departments complying,” Chakotay confirmed,