The images swirled around the inside wall of the Hilbert Space vehicle. A flat, burned plain. The broad, luxuriantly quilled backs of a herd of domestic triceratops. Three concentric rings of gaudily-colored teepees swarming with panicked natives.

"Look at 'em run," Chris laughed at the tribesmen scampering around in the vehicle's shadow, "They have no idea what to do. Like ants waiting for the boot to come down."

"Ants, your worship?" Turtle rested comfortably against ...