Free Bloodhype by Alan Dean Foster

nexus!” he roared.
    Engineer-Physicist Pyorn looked up helplessly from his control desk. “Commander! Consider, the final linkage has never been tested! The possible effects remain theoretical at this point and—”
    Parquit looked hard at the Engineer. “To the Dead Star with your linkages, nye! A good time to test them, vya-nar? And if your effects prove theoretical, our deaths will not. Full power! And hold!”
    “Exalted commands,” Pyorn muttered faintly. He broke back two plated switches, one yellow, the other brown. Pressing both in sequence, he uttered a quiet prayer to the dust demons to hold the newly installed systematization together.
    The Vom recoiled in terrible pain. The entire vault, excepting a large section of the center flooring, had suddenly and unexpectedly come alive with several million volts. The access tunnel was similarly charged. In its weakened condition, the powerful overload was more than its unprepared cells could distribute. It shrank back on itself towards the one section of the vault that was uncharged. All movement was agony. Misjudged, misjudgment! It cried. One by one centers shut down to avoid being burned out forever. Those which tried to distribute the charge had some success before failing. Those on the organic periphery went first.
    Unfortunately, very unfortunately, it did not quite die.
     
    “Full off, back down slowly,” Parquit ordered after several minutes had elapsed. The Vom had long since ceased all movement of any kind, but the Commander was not about to be undercautious. Obediently, Pyorn closed down the system. The Engineer examined dials and meters intently.
    “All sections holding Commander.” There was a hint of pride in the voice, which Parquit, under the circumstances, did not reprimand.
    “Compliments,” he said curtly. To the two scientists, “Follow me, please, sanderings.” They descended to the floor of the great control center. Parquit singled out an elderly AAnn seated alone amid thousands of tiny glass cages with captive dials.
    “Well, Amostom, is it ruled a final dueling?”
    “I cannot say yet, Commander. According to life-support monitor . . .” he gestured at the meters and such, “ . . . the thing still lives.”
    “Impossible,” Arris said quietly.
    “Strange words to come from a xenobiologist,” replied the Commander.
    “Exalted, there isn’t a living creature that can take half the voltage that was poured into that vault for more than a few milliseconds. Even then, the aquatic being in question has all its higher neurological functions crisped. The thing must at least be paralyzed beyond possibility of recovery, a point where ‘death’ becomes an exercise in convenient semantics.”
    “Well,” Parquit said grimly, “you may be right, there. If not, your scheme of tolerance will be forced to revise itself to include a variable.” He turned to stare at the monitors which relayed images from the vault.
    “If it is still alive, it shows no sign of it. All visible motion has halted.”
    “I beg to question, Commander, but there is no ‘if’ involved,” interrupted Amostom from his seat. The elderly nye made a sweeping motion with hands and tail. “The readings are plain for those who have the openness to read them. The thing lives. Weakened, granted, but it lives.”
    “How ‘weakened’?” asked Parquit.
    Amostom performed the AAnn shrug-equivalent. “By any reasonable standards, I should guess near to death. Indeed, it may, as the good Arris observes, never recover. But then, little of it observes normal or reasonable standards. By its own—who knows?”
    The Commander grunted and turned back to the largest tridee monitor. It remained focused on the quiescent black mass.
    “Well, we shall have to find out. A good external stimulus ought to be the best way. And we have one that has proven itself effective.” He gestured to Carmot and Arris to follow.
    “Your pardon, Commander,” said the Observer-First,