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“Christine,” he said, interrupting her, “where have you been?” Then, realizing that Thomas was standing there, he nodded at her. “Nurse Thomas, thank you. Please look after the other patients. We’ll call you if we need you.” He trusted that Thomas wouldn’t take this personally. The simple truth was that he and Chapel worked well together.

McCoy and Chapel promptly started treating Huber’s wounds.

“At least you just didn’t give up on him,” David McCoy said reproachfully. “That’s very determined of you.”

The first step was the careful removal of the burnt dermis, large whitish-brown patches, leathery to the touch. McCoy drew his laser scalpel along the affected area, lifting the dead flakes with tweezers, while Chapel applied lab-cultured pseudoskin onto the raw flesh and deftly sealed the wound with her protoplaser.

It was slow work, due to both the nature and the size of the injury. The longer it took, the more McCoy found himself returning to the conundrum of the sedative-resistant pain. What could be the cause for this? Was it really possible that there was a connection to the distortions and, by extension, to the comas?

The Farrezzi holding Kirk down had started to emit strange shrieks that the UT couldn’t translate. If it was a call for help, Kirk had to act now.

The Farrezzi’s size and strength were its advantages, so the captain had to use them against it. He couldn’t throw someone so big from his present position, but perhaps he could force it to come closer. The Farrezzi’s tentacles were wrapped around his upper arms, leaving his hands relatively free, so he grabbed the tentacles and pulled with all his strength in one quick move. It was difficult to tell how heavy the alien was—at least twice his weight. The immense effort of throwing it off balance caused searing pain throughout Kirk’s body, as overtaxed muscles and tendons complained.

The sudden force made the Farrezzi fall toward Kirk, and with no other option, the captain slammed his head into its abdomen. It fell sideways, landing on the deck. The weight constricting his chest immediately lightened. He could breathe now.

The grip on his arms and legs was still there, but now he had a fighting chance. It was lying on its side, all its limbs occupied, with no way of stabilizing itself or even getting up again—except by letting go of Kirk.

It didn’t. Instead, it kept its grip on him while emitting more of those unsettling shrieks. They made Kirk think of animals in distress. Determined to put an end to this, he kicked and punched. His foot connected with a soft spot in the Farrezzi’s abdomen. The alien emitted an ear-piercing wail, but it still wouldn’t let go. Another kick had the desired effect: two appendages released him, the one around his throat and the one holding his left arm at the wrist.

Where was his phaser? In the melee, he’d lost track of it. It had been close before, but now he had no idea where it was. Kirk gave the Farrezzi another kick, then risked a quick look. Thinking back to where he’d seen it before, he remembered that the phaser had been just out of reach of his right hand, which was still underneath the whimpering Farrezzi.

He brought his left arm around to grope underneath the slaver’s body. The Farrezzi didn’t let him do that unhindered. It tried to grab him again.

He repeatedly punched with his left hand—at the alien’s abdomen, its upper body, its head. The wailing increased, as did the intensity of its grip. His right hand was tingling, the tentacle-like fingers impeding his blood flow.

However, his opponent moved just enough for him to shove his hand in between body and floor. Kirk felt something wet and sticky and could only hope that it was the alien’s blood. He thought his fingers had touched the phaser, but then the Farrezzi moved again.

Its eyestalk-like visual organs were—like those of most beings—bound to be highly sensitive. Kirk directed his next punch at the nearest one.

Another series of shrieks and wails followed, so loud that Kirk felt everybody on board could hear them. The tentacles on his legs