She stifled an uneasy laugh. “Why, thank you.”

“But wild peoples…let me try to think of an example relevant to yourselves. I know. Have you read Dr. Gillian Taylor’s monographs on humpback whale psychology? Or listened to the oral histories of dolphins?” Troi showed recognition, but her husband shook his head. “You should. They are most insightful and witty. The whales were hunted to extinction by your people, brought back only through temporal intervention. The dolphins fared better, but still suffered much from human fishing nets and pollution. But they never blamed you for killing them. They never declared war on you or sought to exact retribution. Because they did not have the civilized being’s conceit of being above the food chain. They were wild peoples who knew and accepted that survival was a day-to-day matter, and that any creature could become food for another at any time. They accepted the risk as part of life, and never condemned their predators.”

Riker took a moment to absorb his words. “That’s very interesting, Doctor, but I’m not sure it applies here. We know that the star-jellies don’t see it that way. That they’re horrified by what’s been happening to them, outraged at the Pa’haquel for doing it to them.”

“Respectfully, sir, I disagree. They were horrified when they did not understand it. They saw it as something unnatural, not a normal cycle of predation.”

“But now they’re turning on the Pa’haquel, killing them en masse.”

“They are protecting their fallen siblings from desecration. And they will do what they must to achieve that, even kill, just as any animal would kill to survive. But I do not believe that killing is itself the goal. That kind of vengeance is not the way of the wild. You kill to survive, to feed or to escape becoming food. We do not hate our prey, and it does not hate us. We simply play our parts in the dance of life and death.”

Riker remained unconvinced. “The star-jelly at Farpoint station tortured the Bandi leader. I saw it with my own eyes. Deanna, you said it felt satisfaction.”

Troi furrowed her brows. “No, Will, I think Ree’s right. That jelly only tortured Zorn because it wanted him to free its schoolmate. There was anger, yes, but its satisfaction was more about coming closer to its goal. The pain it inflicted was only a means to an end. It didn’t mean the jelly was motivated by sadism.” She fidgeted; something about this line of discussion made Troi uneasy. Ree imagined there might have been times in her Starfleet career when she had been forced to use harsher interrogation techniques than she would have liked.

Riker fell silent for a time, thinking. Ree returned to checking patients’ vitals, but cocked his head to listen once Riker spoke up again. “If what Ree says is true, then maybe there is a way out of this. The Pa’haquel need the star-jellies to do what they do…but the jellies haven’t understood the situation, so the Pa’haquel have had to use force to get their way. What if we explained the big picture to the star-jellies? Told them how valuable they could be in protecting the galaxy from dangerous cosmozoans? What if we could persuade them to work withthe Pa’haquel? To allow themselves to be used as ships while they’re still alive? We know it’s possible. The Farpoint jelly allowed us aboard it, it didn’t expel us. If they could be convinced to let the Pa’haquel live inside them, then the Pa’haquel wouldn’t have to kill them any longer. They might even be stronger for it. Live star-jellies can probably do things that dead ones can’t even approach.”

By now Troi was staring at Riker in disbelief. “So let me get this straight, Will. You’re asking me to negotiate a treaty between hunters and their prey.”

“If Ree is right, it should be a lot easier than some of the treaties you’ve negotiated.”

“I’m not so sure. Even if they don’t hold grudges, convincing them to change such a— primalway of defining one another won’t be easy.”

Riker stroked his wife’s arm, and Ree felt a twinge of envy at the obvious depth of love they shared. “Deanna, my faith in you knows no bounds.”

She rolled her eyes. “Just my luck.”

“Madness!”

“Impossible!”

“Blasphemy!”

Riker had spoken to Deanna about persuading the jellies to work with the Pa’haquel, but had soon realized that the reverse might be just as hard. Now that he had actually proposed it to the Conclave of Elders, an assembly of the leaders of the various Pa’haquel fleet-clans in the area, he realized it would probably be even harder. He wished Deanna were here with him, in this large meeting chamber on the senior clan’s lead skymount, to make the case. But they had only authorized one representative to speak on Starfleet’s behalf.

However, he noted that Qui’hibra himself had not joined in the chorus of objections. He was nearly the only one who had not—the other being his daughter Qui’chiri. Only the ship elders and the senior males of their subordinate families had formal voting status in the Conclave—with their votes weighted in proportion to their place in the hierarchy—but all the elders were accompanied by their matriarchs, who served as advisors and were free to participate in debate if not voting. A few non-Pa’haquel were present as aides, but none had status on the Conclave. Qui’hibra seemed to hold a high standing in this council, if only because his fleet-clan was now one of the largest and strongest in attendance due to the attrition the others had suffered in the Hounding and against the Crystalline Entities. The key role Clan Qui’Tir’Ieq had played in defeating the Entities had also boosted their status. Given that, it was an encouraging sign that Qui’hibra and his daughter seemed receptive.

Beyond that, though, they had given Riker no cause for optimism. Qui’chiri said nothing but appeared openly skeptical, while the elder himself maintained his usual statuelike calm, pinning Riker with that cold hawkish gaze that made some primal part of him want to scurry away into the underbrush.

Not that the others were reticent about speaking for him. “You would have us betray our most sacred traditions,” said Aq’hareq, the senior fleet-clan’s elder, an ancient, wiry, battle-scarred male with almost as many bionic parts as Torvig. “Such a thing could not restore the balance, only worsen it! The Hunt is the struggle for survival! For one to live, the other must die, that is the balance! That is the will of the Spirit!”

“More than that,” Qui’chiri said, turning to Riker to explain. “If we do not prey on the skymounts, what keeps their population from growing out of control like any other starbeast?”

“They’re intelligent beings,” Riker said. “If they understand the ecological dangers of their overpopulation, maybe they can be persuaded to limit their procreation. Besides, you’re not the only thing that preys on them, are you?”

Qui’chiri conceded the point. “True. Indeed, they would still lose many if they joined us in the Hunt.” Riker found he couldn’t share her detachment at the prospect. Even if he did bring about this peace, he realized, it wouldn’t mean an end to the dying. But at least he could give the jellies a choice in the matter.

“It would never work,” objected a third elder, Rhi’thath. “How can we hunt with mounts that have wills of their own? What if they wish to chase sailseeds or dive in nebulae when we tell them to attack branchers? What if they panic and flee?”

“Do not speak of them with such disdain!” The others whirled. The cry had come from Se’hraqua. Riker had been surprised to see him on the Conclave, since he had seemed to be a fairly unimportant member of Qui’hibra’s fleet. But apparently he had been abruptly catapulted to the head of his family by the loss of its elder males in some recent battle, so he was entitled to be here, if only in a subordinate standing.

“Mind your place,” Qui’hibra warned. But Se’hraqua did not subside.