She caught herself, realizing the sensation was probably her own imagination. Or maybe she was picking up the reactions of the others. She glanced around at them, using her various senses to gauge their reactions. Ranul Keru seemed ill at ease and disapproving; his life experiences had instilled in him a strong, aggressive sympathy for the victims of violence. Jaza Najem was solemn and reverent, like a man at a funeral, yet those feelings warred with an intense scientific curiosity. Only Dr. Ree seemed to take their surroundings entirely in stride.
The chamber was larger than Deanna had expected from the transporter console graphic; she had to remind herself that the star-jellies were over a kilometer across. Its dimly lit walls bore a similar texture to the ones she recalled from Farpoint, but were more rounded and translucent. The whole chamber was slightly askew relative to the local gravity vector, leading Deanna to wonder if the gravity they were feeling came from the corpse around them rather than from the hunters’ ship.
A party of avians was approaching the away team, with the alien commander, Qui’hibra, at its head, giving the others instructions about what sounded like routine ship’s business. Only Qui’hibra and two others bore colorful headcrests, while the rest had what appeared to be marsupial pouches in their abdomens; presumably the latter group were females. Qui’hibra afforded the new arrivals a disinterested glance. “Welcome to the newest prize of Clan Qui’Tir’Ieq,” he said in a not particularly welcoming tone. “I am Qui’hibra, elder of the clan.” He indicated a tall, younger female standing next to him. “This is Matriarch Qui’chiri.” Deanna sensed strong fatherly affection as he introduced her, but he gave no outward sign of it. “If you will come with us, you may observe our operations.”
He and his group resumed walking, leaving the Titanparty little choice but to follow. “Elder Qui’hibra,” Deanna said, “thank you for your welcome. I’m Commander Deanna Troi of the Federation vessel Titan.These are Jaza Najem, our science officer; Shenti Yisec Eres Ree, our chief medical officer; and Ranul Keru, our chief of security.” Qui’hibra barely acknowledged the introductions. “May I ask what your people are called? What planet you’re from?”
“Pardon me, I have my duties.” Qui’hibra gestured to one of the other males in the party, who was younger and taller and bore a fiery red-orange crest. “This is Hunter Se’hraqua. I have assigned him as your liaison; please direct your questions to him.”
Se’hraqua seemed to have other ideas. “Elder, I still think—” Qui’hibra halted him with a simple stare. Deanna sensed frustration from the younger male, and a resentment divided between Qui’hibra and her own team. The elder remained unaffected by it, his stoic authority unwavering, and soon Se’hraqua bowed to it. “Yes, Elder.” He threw a withering glare at the Titanparty. “Come, try to keep up,” he snapped, and strode forward after his commander—or patriarch, perhaps. Se’hraqua reflexively preened his own neck feathers with the small beak at the tip of his muzzle, apparently as a form of composure grooming.
The elder and the matriarch stopped at an irislike portal. “Progress?” Qui’chiri asked one of the other females next to it, who was manipulating the molded shapes on the wall in a way that looked like a cross between working console controls and giving a deep-tissue massage.
“The prize is airtight and nearly equalized,” the female reported. “Neural and immune activity confirmed zero.”
“A good sign,” Qui’hibra murmured.
“The Spirit smiles on us.”
“Do not be premature,” the elder snapped. “The Spirit does not reward arrogance. Remember that!”
She lowered her head. “My remorse, Elder.”
“Hope it will be adequate, cousin. And open the iris.”
The female stroked the wall again, and the portal swirled open. A charnel smell poured through, the smell of burned flesh, metal, polymer—maybe all of those, maybe something in between. Whatever it was, it made Troi choke, and Jaza and Keru along with her. Ree flared his nostrils curiously, extended his tongue to taste the air, and mulled it over like a wine connoisseur, although he offered no judgment.
Se’hraqua made a cawing, scoffing sound at the humanoids and spoke to Ree. “Your comrades have no stomach for the kill, it seems.”
The doctor tilted his long, lacertilian head. “So it would seem. But these humanoids, they often partake in things they have no stomach for.”
The avian studied him, and then the others. But Qui’chiri was already on the move, giving orders. “We need to purge the death toxins faster! Chi’harthi, check the gravitic nodes, ensure their viability. Tir’chuai, see to the motor cortex first thing; I have concerns about feedback trauma from that hit….”
As the matriarch went on assigning the others to their duties, Se’hraqua grudgingly attended to his, leading the away team out into the star-jelly’s internal passageways, which were identical to the ones from Farpoint, although without even the dim bioluminescence those had possessed—and without the slow, heartbeat-like sound that had pervaded them. The work teams carried their own lights with them. “To answer your earlier questions,” Se’hraqua said stiffly, looking in Deanna’s general direction, “our people are the Pa’haquel. We are from no planet; the skymounts are our homes, the Hunt our life and soul.”
“Really?” Jaza asked. “Tell me, how long have you lived this way?”
“We have always shared our lives with the skymounts, since the dawn of our civilization.”
“Hm. Are they…if I may ask, have you engineered them in any way? Their abilities are very…unusual for natural creatures. Not to mention their appearance.”
“They are as Providence sent them to us.”
“But these corridors, the gravity, the interior lighting…”
“They are as they are! Do not question their divine perfection!”
Ree interposed himself between them. “Indeed, they are remarkable prey, continuing to serve the Hunt even after their death. My colleagues and I are naturally eager to learn of their many gifts.”
Se’hraqua was mollified somewhat. “You are a hunter?”
“By biology and avocation,” Ree replied. “I am a doctor by profession, and I am fascinated by these great beings.”
“For us, all professions serve the Hunt, and the Hunt serves all our needs.”
“I am sure. With these creatures’ replication abilities, you can no doubt manufacture anything you need.”
“Indeed so.” Se’hraqua folded his long, clawed fingers in a pious gesture. “Truly they are the divine source of our lives. They feed us, water us, clothe us, give us homes, give us wings to fly and claws to fight.”
“To fight others of their own kind,” Keru countered.
Se’hraqua bristled (literally, his crest feathers spreading outward) at Keru’s judgmental tone. “Thus is the balance sustained, alien. Do not presume that you speak for the skymounts. You know nothing of them. The Pa’haquel have been bound with them in the Hunt for thousands of generations. You are not the first who have sought to judge us in ignorance.”
As they moved along the corridors, Deanna noticed that scattered among the work crews were a number of crew members from other unfamiliar species, including massive red-furred bipeds with feral features and simian tails; delicate, scantily clad humanoids with lavender fur on their scalps and backs; and long-armed, bronze-skinned humanoid variants with a gorilla-like gait. “Pardon me, but may I ask—does the name ‘Pa’haquel’ refer only to those of your own species, or does it include everyone on your ships?”
Se’hraqua paused, still seeming disinclined to speak amiably with anyone but Ree. “They are valued allies in the Hunt, but they have their own names. They are crew, not clan.”
“Thank you.” She tapped Ree lightly on the shoulder, and moved in close to his ear membrane. “You seem to be the only one hitting it off with him,” she said softly. “Why don’t you take the lead?”