Shuttle Bay, U.S.S. Colin Powell

        Lieutenant Robert Callahan studiously concentrated on calling out his pre-flight checklist. Beside him, Lieutenant Tom Smith concentrated just as hard on following it. They did not know how Snake one one and one two had died. They just knew that both heavy fighters had been lost to the creature, and that they would be the next to launch when Captain Folomar ordered.
        That they would launch was a foregone conclusion to both of them. If they were carrying nuclear-tipped drones for an attack on the creature, remote control would be possible and much safer, but they needed information, and the probe drones could be linked in without pilots in the cockpit. Their fighter had been fully reconfigured as an electronic warfare fighter and the Powell would need every bit of intelligence that could be gathered. Their chances of survival was low, as demonstrated by the terrific pounding the ship had endured on the first run in, and the destruction of everything that had come near the thing.

        But they would launch anyway. So they controlled their fear and steadfastly refused to dwell on the very real possibility that death was an intimate component in their near future. Their duty was to the ship and to their fellow crewmembers. Today, duty was a harsh master.

Emergency Bridge, U.S.S. Colin Powell

        Commander Ed Jones and the Powell's Prime Team were up to their eyeballs in data. To Jones, the tension in the air of the Emergency Bridge was almost stifling. He knew that the decision to make another intelligence-gathering run on the creature would rest on whether they could discern the secrets of the creature.
        He glanced over at the Prime Team's science officer. Her career field and the intense training she had received on Vulcan made her the center of all their efforts. The Vulcan gave no sign that she felt any pressure, her face as impassive as if it was set in stone. She sat in front of her terminal, as immobile as a statue. Only an occasional murmur to her companion broke the aura of calm that she projected.
        Not so, the Andorian engineer beside her. His antennae twitched constantly as the two of them concentrated on the streams of data pouring in. He stood behind the Vulcan, excitedly interjecting whenever he deciphered another point of interest in their research. He seems amazed by what the instruments have discovered about the Manta's method of locomotion, Jones thought.
        The other three members of the Prime Team were working together on another set of terminals. The team's heavy weapon specialist and the scout were both out of their fields of expertise, but were both highly intelligent soldiers, fully capable of contributing to the research that was going on. They were busy helping the medical doctor map out what passed for the creature's cardiovascular system.
        Jones looked back down at his own science library. He and Joprin were concentrating on the creature's defensive capabilities. Information that the sensors had ascertained indicated an array of organic capabilities that rivaled that of the Powell itself. Exactly how the life form was able to project these capabilities against them escaped the computers and the two men.
        Finally Joprin stood up. A well-built man in his early thirties, the Prime Team commander normally exuded an air of supreme confidence, but it now appeared to Jones that all of the confidence had been stripped away from him. Joprin turned to him and began to speak.
        "I don't know, Sir. None of our research has indicated a way to deal with this thing," he shrugged helplessly. "I even had Senior Lieutenant T'bavris attempt to contact the Manta telepathically. No dice."
        "What made you think to try that?" Jones was impressed in spite of himself. Joprin was thinking out of the box with that one.
        "I heard a rumor back during advanced training that an Orion spy had ascertained that the Romulans had made brief mental contact with a Space Dragon."
        "Not something I would want to try, but good thinking, Lieutenant Commander." Jones looked down at his own terminal. The team, with the help of the hard-working lab crews and the ship's own computers, had sorted through most of the data. Now they were not making any progress. He drew a deep breath, and then spoke to the room.
        "Does anyone have an answer yet?" His eyes met those of each member of the Prime Team. One by one, they dropped their eyes and shook their heads negatively.
        He stiffened his shoulders. It was time to make a call to Captain Folomar. He keyed the intercom, eyes fixed on the monitor in front of him. The words blinked mockingly at him.
        Insufficient data. Insufficient data.