At Starfleet one of the most important lessons for an officer to learn is that every mission will probably be your last. If you can't deal with the fact that your mortality is constant, then you have no business being in Starfleet.
But even that stone cold truth never stopped Uhura from being afraid. She was afraid when she tackled Bigsby. She was afraid when the world that she had known for so long disappeared into a blinding light. The daily schedule of ship maintenance, monotone hum of the Enterprise bridge. The way the engines revved when Kirk wanted to "see what they could do."
All of it disappeared into a never ending confusion, and when the light finally faded, Uhura stood alone in a dark alleyway, no Bigsby in sight.
She tapped the communicator on her chest, hoping that she could contact...anyone. Spock, perhaps? The bridge? Hell, even Kirk would be an improvement. "Uhura to Enterprise, do you read me?" But silence was the only response. A deep, sickening nothing that blended with the noise of automobiles, and rustling garbage. Where was she? When was she?
History was never her best subject, and neither was geography. There were ancient looking brownstones that lined the streets, and a cracked sidewalk that extended far beyond Uhura's view. And the stale stench of fuel exhaust hung in the air like a fog. Each intake of smog was followed by an outtake of coughs. Grime stuck to her skin like leeches, and even in the darkness of the shadowed alleyway, she still felt exposed. It was as if she were stranded on another planet with no life support. And any Starfleet officer knew that that could only mean death.
"Stay calm Uhura," she said. "Remember your training."
First thing was first, always count your advantageous. Despite the pollution in the air, Uhura could breathe. She was still on earth (albeit a different time period) and from the looks of things the large houses, and rap music blasting from the speeding cars, she was somewhere in America. Possibly New York City? And if she was in America, that meant she wouldn't stand out too much.
She looked down at her uniform, a form fitting red shirt that hugged her waist and stomach. And tall go go boots that seemed to melt into her thighs. If she was going to blend in, she'd need a change of clothing. It wouldn't do for her to be walking around in a uniform that wasn't meant to exist yet.
But a change of costume was going to be hard without any of this timeline's currency. It's not like people just gave things away here. Uhura tapped her palms against the base of her phaser. This situation wasn't favorable in the least, but if she was going to find Bigsby and get home, she'd have to deal with it. Uhura took a deep breath of smog filled air, and stepped out into the blinding light of ancient New York.
She tried to blend into the crowds of men and women she passed. Their garments were so...old. Men sported tilted baseball caps, women dug through hand bags (they were called purses back then, right?) little girls jumped through ropes, and braided each other's hair.
Uhura walked on, keeping her eyes forward, ignoring the men who looked her way, called out to her, and made gestures when she decided they weren't worth her time.
Just keep in moving Uhura.
So far so good.
People slowed to examine her from time to time, and hopefully, she would just be a passing memory. Time Travel was talked about all the time at Starfleet. The dangers of polluting the time stream were paramount lessons, hell, even Spock created a document called "Temporal Prime Directive" to list in detail the best way to go about dealing with being temporally displaced.
But one of the most important aspects of Spock's theory, the one Uhura took to heart, was that temporal displacement always comes with seismic shifts. Instances in points of time that were never meant to happen.
In the blink of an eye, the sky exploded in a wash of color and light, and the illumination fell down at Uhura's feet like a waterfall. And as the light subsided, in its place stood a beautiful young woman with dark skin, brown eyes, and a steeled resolve that Uhura had only ever seen on Starfleet officers. She reached for her phaser and pointed at this woman's chin.
She could be in danger. Uhura knew very little about this point in time, and she knew even less about how her presence her was affecting the temporal space around her. Even if she did shoot and move on, what kind of unforeseen consequences would that bring way to? She could run in the other direction, but the same problem would still arise.
People everywhere gawked and took out their devices and started taking pictures. Shit, this was getting worse. If there was photographic evidence of Uhura's presence here, there was no way the time stream wouldn't be changed. Damn it. This was becoming a bigger nightmare than even Spock could imagine. No matter what Uhura could think of, there was always a million more possibilities that would counteract whatever good she tried to do. So, instead, she threw Spock's entire thesis to the wind.
She holstered her phaser. "My name is Nyota Uhura, communications officer of Starfleet and…" this was the only way. "I need help."
"Good to know," came another voice from the distance. In the crowd stood a trio of ladies. One whose hair was white as snow, and fell down to her shoulders. The other wore wrinkled scrubs with spilled coffee stains. And finally, the last one stood with an unmistakable grandeur. Her hair reached up to the sky, and her gun pointed straight to Uhura and the stranger's face.
"My name is Detective Mercedes Knight, and I'm gonna have to ask the both of you to come with me."