Текст книги "Orion's Hounds "

Автор книги: Christopher Bennett

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Текущая страница: 17 (всего у книги 21 страниц)

Ranul Keru couldn’t tell up from down right now.

Free fall was one thing. That he could handle, having trained for it extensively as part of the all-encompassing security drills he required for his people. But the play of gravity fields around a star-jelly’s distortion generators was much more confusing. Along the equatorial plane of the jelly, where the gravity vector reversed, one was technically weightless, but there was a sort of inverse tidal effect, a sense of one’s head and feet being pulled in toward one’s belly. It was particularly pronounced for a large man like himself. And right around the generators themselves, the gravity became considerably more problematic. Essentially each of the jelly’s seventy-six generator nodes was the center of its own local gravity field, and “down” was toward it from any direction. As one drew nearer a node, the gravity vector shifted more and more toward it. It would be easy to get lost, except that all the respiratory “corridors” in the area fed into the nodes. Keru was assuming that the gravity shifts he was feeling meant that he was getting closer to a node, rather than getting turned around and heading away from the equator. But he could only hope it was the right node.

Truth be told, he wasn’t even sure what he was doing here. Counselor Troi had suggested that he might be able to help the jellies adjust to the idea of living symbiotically with other sentient beings inside their bodies, by telling them something about the Trill experience with symbiosis. He did not consider himself an ideal choice for this, since he had never been joined. True, he had tended the symbiont pools for a few years, but his communication with the symbionts had been limited and intuitive at best, and he had no firsthand insights from the host’s perspective. But there were no joined Trills on Titan’s crew, so it came down to him. Troi had heard his objection that he would have little to offer, but had asked him to do what he could anyway.

So right now he was tracking down a telepath. The jellies could read any thoughts he had to offer, but he could not sense theirs without an interpreter. Since the other psisensitive crew members were occupied, he had been assigned to work with Lieutenant Chamish. The Kazarite ecologist could only register their emotions, not their cognitive thoughts, but Troi felt that would be enough to allow basic feedback, and apparently in their case the distinction was blurred anyway.

Keru was happy enough to work with Chamish, since he’d been trying to persuade the Kazarite to help train his security force in tactics against telekinetic attack. The gentle ecologist had shown no interest in combat exercises, and had demurred that his powers were too feeble to present much opposition. Riker and Vale had not seen the proposal as important enough to make it an order. Still, Keru hoped to change the lieutenant’s mind, feeling that any further edge he could give his people, however slight, would be worthwhile. Maybe it was impossible to save them all, but the more prepared they were, the fewer he’d have to lose.

A little TK might be useful for maneuvering right now,Keru thought as he stumbled onto the generator node at last. “Onto” was indeed the word, for he stood on the curving surface of the node, a seven-meter-wide sphere which glowed a warm red as the intense energies swirling within it shone out through its fleshy surface. The respiratory passages were wide and open here. The effect was something like being a giant standing on the surface of an ember-hot brown dwarf, though fortunately the node’s surface was only warm. Keru started to walk along it in search of fellow crew members, and tried not to stumble as he went. To his eyes, it looked as though any step he took would take him downhill, and he reflexively adjusted to compensate; but the gravity field shifted with each step so that he was constantly on the “top” of the imagined hill. The conflict between expectation and reality made it hard to adjust. The red-on-red lighting scheme didn’t help much either.

Soon enough, another crew member came into view around the curvature of the node. It was not Chamish, though, but Torvig. The cyborg cadet was traipsing along easily, no doubt using his bionic enhancements to compensate for the bizarre environment. “Oh, hello, Commander Keru! Am I in trouble for something again?” he asked, though his tone was affably inquisitive.

“Uhh, no. I was looking for Lieutenant Chamish, actually.”

“Oh. He’s on the other side of the node.”

“All right.” He paused. “What are you doing here, Cadet? I wasn’t aware you were assigned here.”

“I had some ideas I wanted to share with the star-jellies. Ways they could enhance their distortion generators to accelerate their warp field initiation cycle. Shielding enhancements for combat scenarios. Ways of reallocating interior space to accommodate larger populations. It seems to me they have a number of body parts they could do without, or simply materialize on an as-needed basis.”

Keru frowned. “Well. How did the jellies take your…suggestions?”

“Mr. Chamish says they’re wary, but curious to learn more. I’ve got the schematics running as a subroutine in my brain so they can review them in depth while I work on other things.”

“I see. Very well,” Keru said with a harrumph. “Carry on, then.”

Torvig blinked at him. “Commander, your tone of voice conveys disapproval. Do you now think I’m doing something wrong?”

“No. No, Cadet, it’s not that.”

“May I ask what it is, then?”

At least Torvig was learning to couch his relentless nosiness in slightly more polite terms. Keru sighed. “I just…don’t like seeing this done to the jellies, that’s all. Having their bodies altered to serve another species’ purpose. It feels like…”

“Like Borg assimilation?” Torvig’s gaze on him held steady.

“Frankly, yes. It just doesn’t feel right to me.”

“We know the jellies have probably been upgraded by others before. We are standing on one of the components added to their design.”

“Yes, but if that’s so, whoever did that to them isn’t around anymore. And the jellies have been living free for as long as they can remember, which is probably millions of years. So I think if they were used by others, they probably weren’t very happy about it. I think they decided they’d rather be free. Do we have the right to change that?”

Torvig looked surprised. “I don’t follow your logic. Just because the Great Builders didn’t stay with them doesn’t mean they weren’t wanted. They just moved on to other projects—the way they did after the Great Upgrade of my people.”

Keru stared. “You mean…you assume this was done to them by the same race that made you into cyborgs?”

Torvig lowered his cervine head. “Apologies, sir, I should’ve couched that as a hypothesis rather than an axiom. I’m aware that the Federation doesn’t share our belief in the Great Builders as the creators of all things.”

“I thought Choblik didn’t believe in anything that wasn’t supported by empirical evidence.”

“It is empirical that we were Upgraded to our current state millenia ago by some technological agency. It is also empirical that the galaxy contains many other life forms, worlds and phenomena that could not have come into being without technological intervention. And many of the fundamental mysteries of the universe can be resolved by postulating it as a construct of some entity or civilization existing on a transcendent plane. Given the power and pervasiveness that such a creative agency would require, it’s logical to interpret all lesser creative agencies in the universe as aspects of the ultimate Builders.”

Keru absorbed his words. “You mean…engineering is like a religion to you?”

“As I understand the term, I suppose so, although most religions seem to have less empirical bases and are hard for me to grasp yet. But yes, it’s how I serve the legacy of the Great Builders.”

“All right. But if you don’t mind an…empirical question…”

“Not at all, sir.”

“How do you know these Builders had benevolent intentions when they ‘Upgraded’ you? How do you know they didn’t intend to use you as slave labor, or just as some kind of experiment that they abandoned when they’d learned what they needed?”

Torvig looked up at him and spoke softly. His synthesized voice was far more expressive than Keru had realized at first. “I can’t see any logic in that hypothesis, sir. We owe everything we are to the Builders. In our native form, we are not fully sentient—simply relatively bright animals, small and weak herbivores who roamed the forests of Choblav, trying to avoid being eaten by various large predatory species. We had no speech, no arms, nothing but a simple prehensile tail.” He waved his tail forward and flexed the bionic hand on its end, a smaller counter-part of the intricate, versatile grippers on his bionic forearms. “The Great Upgrade gave us language and reason, plus the ability to build and create, to protect ourselves, and to improve our lives. And the Builders stayed with us long enough to establish the infrastructure that lets our civilization continue, that lets us pass on these gifts to our young.”

Keru suddenly realized he was curious about that. “How does that work, anyway? How can bionics be hereditary?”

“We have nanotech chromosomes which are passed on in our gametes and allow the self-replication of many of our internal components. Further enhancements are surgically installed in our young as soon as they are ready. We receive several successive suites of upgrades as we grow toward maturity.”

Keru shuddered. “Sounds unpleasant.”

“Oh, no, sir! It’s a wonderful experience, to gain new intelligence and abilities, to metamorphose into a new phase of being. These are celebrated rites of passage among my people.”

The feeling in his voice surprised Keru. “I…didn’t think you were the sentimental type.”

“Less so than most, sir. But this is who we are. Is it sentimental to cherish the core of one’s existence?”

“Hm.” He was silent for a moment. “Even so, you can’t assume that other species will have the same reaction to the idea of being…upgraded.”

“Of course, sir. I understand. It’s much like the Trill people’s concerns about how symbiosis would be perceived. The fear that it would lead to rejection or persecution of the symbionts if other humanoids learned of them.”

“Uh, that’s not really what I meant. And it didn’t turn out that way after all.”

“Didn’t it? Maybe not among other humanoids, but it seems that there was some serious intolerance toward the symbionts on Trill itself. I mean, considering the attempt to exterminate them and all.” He paused. “That was about the time I entered Starfleet Academy, in fact. My family was reluctant to let me join, because they were afraid I might face persecution. We had only recently been contacted by the Federation, and their response to us had been…mixed. When the news about Trill came, many of us feared a similar genocide. But my studies of the Federation convinced me that you were better than that. Well, most of the time.”

Keru was chastened. So many of the symbionts in his care had died because of the hatred of a few fanatics, because some people just couldn’t accept their right to live the way they did. How could he stand here now and judge Torvig for the way he was? “I guess you must be pretty disappointed in us, then. Or at least in me.”

“Oh, no, sir! I knew some discomfort and adjustment were inevitable. And you haven’t tried to have me killed or anything. Indeed, I’ve learned quite a lot from our interaction. So it’s all for the best, sir.”

The big Trill stared at the little Choblik for another long moment. Then he reached out to shake the cadet’s bionic hand.

Chapter Fifteen

Captain’s Log, Stardate 57207.4

We are now four days into training, and the star-jellies and Pa’haquel appear to have established a comfortable working relationship. After the initial disruption, the Pa’haquel seem to be managing the jellies’ hormonal influence on their moods effectively. Apparently the effect is not as strong as their telepathic influence. Meanwhile, more jellies have allowed themselves to be boarded by Pa’haquel, and practice maneuvers have been going well. This morning, Elder Qui’hibra led the school of jellies in a practice hunt of the plantlike sailseed creatures that pervade the region. The jellies took to it surprisingly well, tracking down two in the course of a few hours and destroying them both quite efficiently. So far, it looks as though the jellies will make excellent hunting dogs.

Now if only I could decide whether this is a good thing or not.

Qui’hibra looked around the control center, still unable to adjust to how empty it was. Normally, almost any place he went on a skymount was bustling with activity, as clan and crew carried out the tasks that the live creatures’ own metabolism had done originally. But now the skymounts they occupied were live, and fully capable of managing their own functions. Indeed, now that they had adjusted to the collaboration, they could respond to a hunter’s thoughts faster than he could speak them, making for a greatly improved reaction time. He had been able to spread out his skeleton crew, already only a fraction of any one mount’s normal complement, among six livemounts (as many were now starting to call them). The livemounts’ performance in the hunting drill against the sailseeds had been freakishly efficient, despite—or perhaps because of—their frivolous attitude toward it. They had chosen to treat the experience as a form of play, and had taken to it quite eagerly. Qui’hibra was not troubled by that; indeed, he welcomed their enthusiasm as a sign that they would take well to the Hunt. And the enthusiasm they had induced in their occupants had been good for morale, heightening the hunters’ alertness and energy rather than distracting them. The few people with Qui’hibra in the control center had been a bit distracted by his uncharacteristic good humor, though, so he had done his best to restrain his enthusiasm and maintain a properly stern visage. But inside, he’d revelled in a sense of youthful predatory glee that he thought he’d lost ages ago.

Now, though, Qui’chiri did not seem too pleased about the livemounts’ efficiency. “This is ridiculous,” she said. “This place is so empty. How can we support whole clans this way? How can a mount be home to hundreds if seven or eight can run the whole thing?”

“There is still much room for occupancy,” he replied.

“Yes, many could live here, but what would they do?How could they be happy without purpose? And what happens to all that youthful male aggression if it cannot be sated in the Hunt? This is why the sedentary peoples have so many wars—because they have nothing better to do with their hostilities. And when they do not war, they wallow in depravity and indulgence and the other sins of leisure. Must we see the Pa’haquel reduced to that?”

“There are other ways we can find to be useful. Look at the crew of Titan.They toil in science and learning, seek ways to better people’s lives.”

“Pfa. Most of it is sophistry, nothing anyone will ever need. They just imagine it keeps them useful. And it has caused us no end of trouble.”

“Good point.” He exchanged a small smile with his daughter—not mount-induced this time, but the genuine good humor that, since his last wife had died, he shared only with Qui’chiri. “I have no answer beyond hope. Hope and trust. I trust the Pa’haquel to find ways to lead lives of meaning, no matter how our circumstances may change. No matter what, we exist to preserve the balance.”

“Well, females trust in the tangible. I will believe it if it happens.”

Before Qui’hibra could respond, a hail came in from another livemount in the school. “Elder,”came the voice of Huntsmaster Chi’tharu. “We have detected a group of spinners on the other side of this star system. I think they would make an excellent next test.”

“How many?”

“Four, Elder.”

Qui’chiri appeared skeptical. “Spinners can be dangerous, Father. Perhaps it is too soon.”

“Yes, they are dangerous,” Qui’hibra said. “That is why we should not pass up a chance to kill them. If they have come to this system to procreate, we should prevent it. And the danger to a skymount is not that great.”

“If the mount is accurate in its aim.”

“I have confidence in these mounts. They have done their job well.”

“Against things that cannot harm them.”

“And now we must learn how they react when faced with things that can. I have made my decision, Chiri. And I advise you to think confident thoughts—for the benefit of our host,” he finished, gesturing at the mount around them. Qui’chiri fell silent and nodded in understanding.

“All fleet,” Qui’hibra said into the comm, “the hue and cry is given. Proceed to intercept the prey, maximum warp.” He paused. “Mount, would you hail Titan,please? And ask Commander Troi to come to the control center.”

A moment later, an image of Riker appeared on the sensation wall. “Riker. We have detected prey on the far side of the system. We are proceeding to engage them. I recommend you follow and observe.” Even as he spoke, he felt the mount building up its energies to warp.

“What kind of prey?”

“Spinners. They are not sentient, so you should have no concern there. But they can be a hazard. They are vast sails of fine mesh, light in mass but as wide as fifty skymounts, rotating and given rigidity by a set of heavy nodules around their perimeter. Normally they travel propelled by light pressure, but the nodules contain maneuvering jets. The spin induces a magnetic field which they can also use for maneuvering, or to gather hydrogen for their jets. The mesh absorbs energy and can change its shape magnetically. If a starbeast or ship approaches too near and is too slow to dodge, the spinner will wrap around it, encasing it in multiple layers of sail, and drain its energy away.”

Riker frowned. “How great a risk does this pose to the star-jellies?”

“Little, if they perform as well as before and avoid being caught. Spinners are flimsy, slow-moving things. The main peril is that they are hard to kill. Blast a hole through the sail and it is barely felt, since there is so much sail remaining, and the energy of the blast feeds it. You must strike the nodules, which contain its organs and what little brains it has. But they are small moving targets and there are eighteen per spinner. I would call it more of a challenge than a risk. The kind of challenge that would make excellent training.”

Riker hesitated. Clearly the human was uncomfortable having his mate still aboard during a hunt. Not to mention the Vulcan tactical officer, who was aboard one of the other livemounts, assisting in the training. But he accepted Qui’hibra’s estimate of the risk. “Very well. It’s your fleet, it’s your call.Titan will follow and observe.”

It took a while for the mounts to cross the star system even at warp. Qui’hibra used the time to fill Troi in on the situation once she arrived. The quartet of spinners turned out to be on the far outskirts of the system’s cometary belt, making it a somewhat longer flight. Qui’hibra ordered the school/fleet to maximum warp, knowing that Titanwould need some time to catch up, but not concerned by the fact.

He was a bit concerned, however, by what the sensation wall showed when they came out of warp. Chi’tharu reacted to it as well, speaking over the comm. “Look how fast they go! How did this happen?”

His Vomnin scientist, Fasden, spoke. “They are still on the system’s outskirts. They would not have been decelerated much yet by the star’s light pressure.”

“No, there is more,” Qui’hibra said. “I have never seen spinners move this fast.”

After a moment, Titan’s scientist Jaza spoke from his own ship, lagging behind but still in communications range. “There’s a pulsar seven light-years back along their course. Its emission cones sweep right through their path. They must have used that radiation to gain an extra push, and gotten a gravity boost from the pulsar as well.”

“Is this a problem?” Troi asked.

“It will take some work to match velocities,” Qui’hibra said. “It makes for a more interesting chase.”

She studied the sensation wall. “It looks to me like they’re coming right at us.”

“Yes, they are. Fleet,” he commanded, “make backward thrust, and stand by to fire. They will overtake us before we can match velocity. We will meet them face-on and take what shots we can. All mounts, aim for the nodules around the outside, not the sail. And make sure to stay well clear of them once they pass.”

“Wouldn’t it be safer to stay out of their way and then approach them from behind?”

“That would let them gain more of a lead, and more time to react to our approach,” he told the Betazoid. “Right now we are backlit to them, hard to detect—we have surprise on our side, and they will have more trouble dodging at this speed than we will.”

“Firing range in five,”Chi’tharu announced.

“Mounts, fire at will. Good hunting!”

But he felt that something was wrong. A sense of unease pervaded him, and no stings were launched. “What is wrong?”

“They’re reluctant to fire,” Troi told him. “The creatures don’t pose an immediate threat to the jellies, and they don’t want to provoke their hostility.”

“Do not fear,” Qui’hibra called to the mount around him and to its schoolmates. “We have trained for this, we are ready. The spinners react slowly. As long as you remember your training, you will be fine. This is just another game! Try to hit the spinning balls! You can do this!” The optimum shot, of course, was to sever the radial cord which held the nodule in place, amputating it from the spinner. But that was a much harder shot.

His coaxing seemed to do the job. The livemounts moved into attack formation and began firing. Their first few shots went wild or pierced the sail uselessly. “The star-jellies are unused to leading the targets,”Tuvok reported from aboard his mount. “I suggest the gunner crews concentrate on aim, and let their thoughts direct the jellies’ fire.”

“Gunners, do as he suggests.” With the gunners’ experience guiding the mounts, the shots began to fall truer, and one by one the nodules began to be blasted open, their hydrogen ignited. But the losses were fewer than they should have been at this stage, with the spinners nearly upon them. “Concentrate your shots on a single side of each,” Qui’hibra commanded. “Unbalance them enough and they will spin out of control.”

But there was too little time. A few more nodules fell, and one of the spinners began to wobble and drift off course. It instinctively tried to compensate by trimming the sail between its radial cords, changing the way it caught the light, but of course out here the light was too feeble to matter. Qui’hibra could tell from the way its sail was undulating that it was no longer a threat; it was too unbalanced now to stabilize itself, and the oscillations would build until it tangled and tore itself to tatters. But the other three were still intact and almost upon the school/fleet. “Evade,” Qui’hibra called.

The mounts began to dodge, but one remained on course, still firing. He focused his thoughts on it, knowing his mount would direct a comm signal there. “You are too close to its path! I said evade!”

A voice came back—Se’hraqua. “We are off its direct path. Just a few more hits…”

“Do not let it move to grab you!”

“This far out, the star’s magnetic field is too weak to tack against!”

Idiot!Se’hraqua knew the physics well enough, but not the tactics. “You fool, they can tack off each other’s fields!”

Even as he spoke, he saw the spinners repelling apart and knew it was too late. What happened next was almost too quick to see. The spinners swept by, and the sail of one caught Se’hraqua’s ship. The force of impact wrapped that part of the sail around the livemount, and the spinner’s momentum swept it forward. That sector of the sail began retracting along the radial cords, giving it slack as it wrapped itself layer by layer around the mount, trapping it.

Troi gasped, and Qui’hibra understood why. The trapped livemount was frightened, sharing its fright with the others, and their hormones fed it to him and his people. “Remain calm!” he urged everyone. “We can rescue them. Keep firing at the nodules, make it lose control of its wrapping! Se’hraqua, if you still live, fire out from inside, try to burn a hole through.”

“They are pulling away too fast!”Chi’tharu cried. “We cannot do it in time!”

“Keep your focus, Huntsmaster! Keep the skymounts’ emotions apart from your own! And mounts, do not despair! You can rescue your schoolmate, we will help you! But you must manage your fear!”

Someone was screaming now—it sounded like Se’hraqua. On the sensation wall, livid violet stings were shooting out from the enfolded spinner as the captive mount tried to blast its way free. But the blasts were feeble, most of their energy absorbed by the mesh, doing limited damage. After a moment, the shimmer of the mount’s teleportation beams began playing over the sail from inside, disintegrating its inner layers. But it kept wrapping more and more layers around the mount. Stings from the other mounts lanced into view as they tried to assist its escape. They were picking up speed, gaining on the spinner, which had been slowed some by the impact, falling slightly behind its two surviving fellows. When they grew close enough, they added their teleport beams to the effort. Soon, the livemount broke free and shot unevenly away from its tattered cocoon. Crows of relief and triumph from Se’hraqua and his crewmates sounded over the comm. The other mounts began moving to rendezvous with their schoolmate.

“No,” Qui’hibra ordered. “We must engage them again. Finish this one off and take out the others!”

Troi shook her head. “They don’t want to do that. They’re had enough.”

“Enough? This is nothing! No one has been lost.”

“They’re still new at this, Qui’hibra. Isn’t this enough for one test run? Give them a chance to get used to it.”

But suddenly he saw something on the sensory wall. “Everyone, hunt stations! The prey is turning to fight!” Or rather, one of the other two spinners was slowing, letting the school/fleet catch up with it. It must have pushed off its partner’s magnetic field to get the deceleration.

Troi grabbed his shoulder. “The jellies want to flee, not fight.”

He didn’t need her to tell him that; he could feel the panic building inside him. He refused to give into it. “No. Hunters, we must master this fear! Stand and fight! A few more hits will cripple it! Keep firing!”

A few of the mounts, including his own, moved hesitantly toward attack positions, while others hovered uncertainly, torn between fleeing and aiding their schoolmates. The resultant formation was a mess. “Pull it together! We must act as one!”

“The jellies are conflicted,” Troi told him. “They don’t know what to do. They’re starting to panic.”

“Do all you can to keep them calm, Troi.”

“They’re not ready for this, Qui’hibra! Let them run!”

No. He could not do that. It would mean giving in to the cowardice he felt inside him. True, it was hormonally induced, but that was all the more reason why it must be conquered. Unless the Pa’haquel’s courage could overcome the livemounts’ timidity, the Hunt could never endure.

But just then, disaster struck. The livemounts’ erratic courses had brought one too near the spinner’s outer perimeter. A plasma jet shot out from one of its nodules, blindingly bright, the hydrogen heated to fusion temperatures. It sliced across the livemount’s carapace, knocking it into a spin and leaving a glowing, blue-hot welt across its armor.

At that, the panic erupted through him at full force. He struggled to resist it, but to no avail. All he could think of was fleeing. He rushed to the nearest neural membrane wall, pushed at the nodules, not knowing or caring where he was going.

Then the ship shuddered, and a shroud fell across the sensation wall.

Riker watched in dismay as the star-jelly bearing Deanna and Qui’hibra began to be enmeshed. The school’s members were panicking, flying every which way, and that one, in trying to escape the mostly intact spinner that was attacking, had shot off in the direction of the damaged one from which the other star-jelly had been extracted. Apparently, even though much of its sail had been holed and many of its outer nodules destroyed, it still had enough control to have untangled itself. It reached out and snagged the jelly, beginning to engulf it. Its movements were slow and erratic, and the jelly almost broke free, but the spinner managed to hold on and wrap more layers around it, holding it more and more securely. Stings shot out, transporter effect shimmered, but one jelly alone couldn’t do enough, and the others were in panicked flight or crippled. “How soon before we get there?” he asked, striving to keep his voice level.

“Ninety seconds, sir,” Lavena told him.

“Will, look.” Vale gestured at another portion of the screen. The more intact spinner fired another plasma jet at a passing jelly, knocking it out of control, then fired a few other jets in the opposite direction in order to thrust a corner of it forward to snag the wounded beast. Now there would be two to rescue, at least.

On this vast scale, the attack came with stately slowness, so it was only moments later that Lavena reported, “Closing to engage, sir.”

“Drop out of warp.” Weighing the variables, he chose his target. “Target phasers on the damaged spinner. Sever the mesh around Qui’hibra’s jelly.” Deanna’s jelly.Was he playing favorites? Maybe. But this one would be the easier target; it was wounded, slow-moving, its sail already damaged. They could deal with it quickly and have more time to tackle the other. He glanced at Vale; she nodded, supporting his tactical call.

Phaser beams lashed out, sliced through layers of sail. Wisely, Kuu’iut chose to cut where the jelly’s sting had already burnt a hole through, widening the tear. Still, it was slow going; the mesh absorbed much of the phaser energy before it vaporized. “Tractor beams,” Riker ordered. “Pull that slit apart.” Kuu’iut split the beam in two and used it like a surgical spreader to widen the incision, tearing it further, slowly, laboriously. Finally the jelly wriggled out and shot away. Deanna?