Bird on a Wire (An Enterprise novel coming in September 2003)
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"Human customs are so curious."
Dr. Phlox squinted at the specimen on his examination table, its skin smooth in some places and textured in others. He searched for an entry point.
He grasped the scalpel firmly, his forefinger steady near the base of the blade. Old-fashioned medical equipment still had its place, especially when the pressure of a cut was important in judging its depth. Lasers could leave tactile judgment lacking, he had found.
Phlox pierced its exterior almost vertically, pushing gently at first, determining the give-and-take of the material. Internally it felt...interesting. Crisp, not as tough as outside, but a challenge nonetheless. At a depth of more than an inch, it suddenly gave way as if there were nothing there.
Hollow?
"Hmmm."
He continued to slice through the surface in a curve, small beads of moisture gathering along the incision behind. The occasional crevice in his path interrupted the smoothness of his progress. After a moment, the cut was complete, and a firm tug revealed an inner chamber. There was indeed a void, and the raw scent of something...earthy, sweet...hit his nostrils. Not unpleasant, actually.
He peered within the wound he had created. Pale flesh surrounded the cavernous opening below. Phlox poked at the interior with a scraping blade, bringing up fibrous attachments along with chunks of material. He felt the inside wall with his finger, wrinkling his nose. Slimy.
He carefully examined the small pieces scooped from inside. The material was spongy, yet resilient. Strands clung stubbornly to their origin, opaque tear-drop shapes tenuously entwined, yet not easily removed, slippery, hard to grasp. Scraping for several minutes, he unceremoniously plopped the contents onto the table.
"Alright, then, now for the challenge."
Phlox turned the object, comparing each hemispheric profile with a critical eye. Finding a pleasing proportion along one side, he focused his attention on a second perforation of his scalpel, then a third, a fourth. This time, the doctor's now practiced hand made swift work of his planned incisions. Before he knew it, his task sat almost complete before him. He balanced his work carefully on the edge of a table.
"Ensign, could you turn the lights down a bit?"
He struck a match, the acrid smoke stinging his eyes. He blinked hard, then watched the wick flare briefly from the heat, then settle down to a steady light. It shimmered from small currents of air as he placed it inside.
Phlox stepped back, admiring his handiwork for a few moments. It was only after finding himself smiling absently that he recognized a vague resemblance ... to ... his mother.
"Hm, humans," he clucked.
-- FIN --