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- Алан Дин Фостер
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’
That
was
Brett
.
’
Her
light
turned
back
to
focus
on
the
speaker
again
.
’
I
’
ll
get
you
out
of
here
.
’
She
was
crying
.
’
We
’
ll
crank
up
the
autodoc
,
get
you
.
.
’
She
broke
off
,
unable
to
talk
.
She
was
remembering
Ash
’
s
analogy
of
the
spider
,
the
wasp
.
The
live
young
feeding
on
the
paralyzed
body
of
the
spider
,
growing
,
the
spider
aware
of
what
was
happening
but
.
.
Somehow
she
managed
to
shut
off
that
horrid
line
of
thought
.
Madness
lay
that
way
.
’
What
can
I
do
?
’
The
same
agonized
whisper
.
’
Kill
me
.
’
She
stared
at
him
.
Mercifully
,
his
eyes
had
closed
.
But
his
lips
were
trembling
,
as
if
he
were
readying
a
scream
.
She
didn
’
t
think
she
could
stand
to
hear
that
scream
.
The
nozzle
of
the
flamethrower
rose
and
she
convulsively
depressed
the
trigger
.
A
molten
blast
enveloped
the
cocoon
and
the
thing
that
had
been
Dallas
.
It
and
he
burned
without
a
sound
.
Then
she
swung
the
fire
around
the
lair
.
The
entire
compartment
burst
into
flames
.
She
was
already
scrambling
back
up
the
ladder
,
heat
licking
at
her
legs
.
She
stuck
her
head
out
into
the
engine
room
.
It
was
still
deserted
.
Smoke
curled
up
around
her
,
making
her
cough
.
She
climbed
out
,
kicked
the
disc
back
into
place
,
leaving
enough
of
a
gap
for
air
to
reach
the
fire
.
Then
she
strode
resolutely
toward
the
engine
-
room
control
cubicle
.
Gauges
and
controls
functioned
patiently
within
,
waiting
to
be
told
what
to
do
.
There
was
one
particular
board
whose
switches
were
outlined
in
red
.
She
studied
it
a
moment
,
recalling
sequences
,
then
began
to
close
the
switches
one
at
a
time
.
