Folomar finally wrenched his attention back to the reports. He scanned the power-output reports, skimming over everything but the amount that the special sensors were using to map the nebula. The sensors were the prime focus of this mission, and his engineers prided themselves on the capabilities of those sensors. With the technological might of the Federation behind them, they might very well be the most powerful sensors in the Alpha Quadrant, if not the entire galaxy.
        "Prettier than a speckled puppy dog," a voice said in his ear. He turned around, knowing already that the voice belonged to that of the ship's doctor, Doctor Ellen Prouter.
        "Good morning Doctor," he greeted her with a smile. She returned his smile. Her oval-shaped face was framed by red hair that had a touch of gray at the temples. She was short, with a touch of motherly plumpness to her. Born in what now passed as the backwoods of Tennessee on the planet Earth, she liked to utilize homespun mannerisms and sayings that were almost meaningless in their obscurity. Despite her innocuous appearance, there was no one he would rather have safeguarding the health and wellbeing of his crew
        "How's my favorite Rigellian today?"
        "Good, Doctor. It looks like it will be another glorious day in the service of the Federation."
        "Well, we've got to make hay while the sun shines, Captain. What's on the schedule today?"
        Folomar ran a hand through his stubby, stark-white hair. The action made the dermal tattooing, covering his arm and hand, stand out even more than normal.
        "Doctor, we have another round of surveying to do." He did not bother to try to make sense of what she was saying, other than her question.
        "Well," she harrumphed. "If you need anything, I'll be down in the labs, working on some tests. If we stay near this nebula much longer, I'll be as crazy as a Bessie bug."
        "Good day, Doctor," was all he could say in reply. He watched carefully as she turned away and headed for the turbolift, half-expecting her to stop and regale the unfortunate security sergeant exiting the lift with one of her humorous, but long-winded stories about growing up a country girl. The sergeant slid to the side and quickly engaged the ship's communication officer in a whispered conversation. Prouter continued past him without a second glance and disappeared into the turbolift.

        Folomar turned his attention back to the view screen, settling down for the long shift ahead.

Just inside the Edge of the Cotton Candy Nebula

        The entity coasted through space, seeking easy nourishment in the interstellar flotsam caught in the ionized eddies at the edge of the nebula. The waves of the nebula washed over it. To the creature, the stream of charged particles was as warm as the environments on the occasional water world it had fed from were to the indigenous species of those planets.
        The creature canted a wing, using the soft pressure of the starlight to change orientation. It rolled over and turned its back to the depths of the nebula. It basked in the birthing pains of the youngest components of the stellar nursery, absorbing the radiation through the super-tough membrane that covered it. As it basked, its senses turned outward to outside the edge of the nebula, a reflex action driven by the ever-present need for food.
        Soft, electronic pulses rolled over what passed for its ears and eyes. Startled, the creature instantly pulled its wings in and presented a smaller target toward the origin of the pulses. The business end of its tail arced under its body, oriented straight toward this new potential threat. A virtual forest of diamond-hard explosive spines raised along the leading edges of its wings, ready to be expended against anything that threatened it.
        Nothing happened. Slowly the entity uncurled from its defensive posture. It made its own, tentative examination of the area of space immediately outside the border of the nebula. It detected a disturbance in the fabric of space close to the edge of the nebula, a disturbance that was approaching even closer. With delight, it realized that the pulses it had emitted had found an organism not unlike others it had devoured over the decades of its life. It reshaped its wings to catch the full effect of the myriad stars of the nebula, surfing up and down on the waves of expanding ionized gas. With amazing velocity, it accelerated toward its prey.
        Speedily it closed upon the food beast. With building excitement, it anticipated the rich meal that awaited it, once it had made its kill. It did not pause to think that its prey might be more intelligent than it was, and might have its own hopes and dreams, for the entity had none. It lived only for the moment, to kill, to absorb substance, to find others of its kind, to propagate, and to hunt again. Its existence was not complicated by reasoning or poetry, by music and art, or by angst and hate. That was not the nature of the beast.