The paper carried a photograph of Nishet on its front page. It was gruesome. The spy was unrecognizable. Had Baezhu not been trained in biology, he might not have even realized he was looking at a Lesser Raptor at all. There was little skin left, and bone was exposed in many areas. The gut was open and the inner organs strewn about. And it all had a rather burnt appearance.

The military had supplied the photo as well as an official story that, while disclaiming Nishet rightly as a Buftanisian spy, deftly skirted the true circumstances of his capture. No aliens were mentioned, of course, but neither was Doctor Enesh's treason. The story was half-fabricated and Baezhu had to wonder how much of the photo was staged.

Still, he didn't concern himself with it much. The spy had been punished irrevocably. That was enough. For that aspect of the whole affair. It did still rankle that the traitor had gotten away--and with one of the aliens.

"Has he spoken again?" Kahrae asked as he reached for the discarded paper.

"Not a sound," Baezhu replied. "That's not exactly good breakfast reading," he warned.

"What's not good?" Kahrae argued. "He got what he deserved. That's to be celebrated."

"Yes, but the picture. . . ." Baezhu, fortunately, could set aside gruesome images or smells and keep his appetite. Science did, in some aspects, strengthen one's defenses in such regards.

"Helping to preserve the endangered wildlife," Kahrae stated. "Even shehra need to eat."

They turned him every few hours. Maybe twice a shift, if he could recognize the faces. He didn't want to. He hurt and he was alone. Malcolm only wanted to be unconscious--and maybe dead.

He thought about it now and then when he was awake. Maybe that was why they had secured his hands this time. So he couldn't pull out the tubes. He wondered what would happen if he did though. Would they rush in and save him before he bled to death? Or would they try to calculate just how much a human could lose before he died?

Considering the surgeries--it seemed almost profanity to call it that--hadn't killed him, the orcs seemed determined to keep him alive. Not for any hindrances on their part. Had Moody lived, they might have given in to the opportunity to have a free-for-all vivisection on one of them. Now since there was only one male and one female, they had to do it piecemeal in order to keep the specimens around for study.

Maybe they had decided that male and female were close enough and so killed Hoshi in order to dissect her. No, he couldn't think that, didn't want to think it. He'd dreamt it a few times and vomited upon waking. That sent the orcs into a frenzy. They had rushed in chattering most likely about their theories for the cause, while the smaller orcs cleaned up and took samples.

He missed having her hand as he slept. Who would fight off his nightmares now? And who would fight off hers, wherever she was? Was she scared? Was she as lonely as he was? As hurt? Had they done the same thing to her, slicing up her back with scalpels? Or something worse? Had she woken up? Did she know where she was?

He fell asleep with those questions, and woke-up in sickbay once again. He sat up.

"Rest easy, Lieutenant," Phlox admonished, pushing him gently back down. "You've had quite a shock."

Malcolm pushed his hand away and stood up. "Bullocks! I've had enough of this. Where's the captain?"

"The cap'n's busy, Malcolm," Trip replied, appearing beside the bed. "The Xindi? Remember?"

"I remember!" Malcolm shot back. "I remember a hell of a lot more than you do. You're going to tell me the same damn thing again, aren't you?"

Trip shot him a concerned look. "What same damn thing?"

"Why you've left us behind."

Trip sighed and rolled his eyes. He ran a hand through his hair. "Malcolm," he said, speaking softly, "I know you don't want to hear it--"

"She's gone, Trip!" Malcolm yelled. "They cut me up a second time and she was gone when I woke up."

"Cut you--Malcolm, the Xindi took her. Probably the Reptilians. We'll find her. We'll get her back."

Malcolm rolled his eyes. "Major Hayes will die doing it. It's all happened before."

"That is hardly logical," T'Pol intervened suddenly from behind him.

"Nothing about this has been bloody logical," Malcolm retorted. Then he turned back to Trip and softened his voice. "I thought you were my friend. How can you just leave us there?"

Trip's eyes glistened. "I am your friend, Malcolm, and if I could, I'd get you myself. But we're not there yet."

"How long?" Malcolm asked.

"We cannot predict the future, Lieutenant," T'Pol replied. "You will simply have to wait until we do."

Malcolm's knees buckled and Trip grabbed him before he could fall to the floor. Malcolm felt as if his heart would crack open. "I don't know that I can," he whispered.

"Hang on, Malcolm," he heard Trip say as his head spun and his eyes grew dark. He forced them open and found himself looking at the tiled floor through the thin cushions that surrounded his face when the orcs turned him onto his stomach.

Hoshi was starting to understand. Some of the language and what had happened. They were leaving her awake longer each day and shocking her less. But they did come and take samples of her blood and other tissues. And when they did, they spoke. Now there were fewer words of the orc language she had learned before and more of the new one. A new language, a new place. It wasn't that Malcolm was gone. She was. They had taken her to a new place. Radagast was speaking--not well--the new language. He had brought her to the new place.

T'Pol, with all her logic, would have thought that this understanding would make her feel better. But Hoshi wasn't that logical. For the last week or so she had been able to just float on the odd sounds and different inflections, knowing that something had changed but not really given the time to truly grasp what it was. And whatever they had done to her physically hadn't hurt beyond that first shock that made her go limp. She had let herself float there in confusion, and well, relief.

Relief in that the nightmarish surgery hadn't been repeated or even attempted. Relief in that Radagast had covered her face before they did whatever they did that did not hurt during it or after. Relief in that her constant fear was lessening.

The relief came crashing down on the realization that they had separated her from Malcolm. She had noticed his absence, of course, but could imagine that it was only temporary or that he was just in another room. Now she knew he was much farther than that. She was in another region or country, and she had just enough logic to work out that the first country wasn't about to give up both of its prized aliens. Radagast had some part to play in her transfer to this place, and now he was speaking the new language. He was a traitor. And she was a bargaining chip.

Malcolm, then, was the only prized alien of the first country--Mordor, she decided, sticking with their codename scheme. They'd never trade him, and this country--Harad, maybe?--would never trade their new prized alien back. Malcolm was lost to her and she to him.

Had they taken him to surgery when they took her away? Was it as bad as the time before? She cried, remembering and imagining him there alone after it and tears filled her eyes. It had meant everything to see him when she had woken up before. He gave her a reason to open her eyes every day, a reason to eat and drink and keep hoping.

What hope was there left? If by some miracle--and for his sake, she wished there was--Enterprise returned to find them, they might find Malcolm since he was near the crash site. They would have no idea where to look for her. She would never see Malcolm or T'Pol or the captain again.

She didn't want to think anymore or to understand anymore or to feel anymore. She didn't want to eat or breathe or do anything. She wanted to die or just to disappear into nothing. A speck of light swallowed by the looming blackness of space.

Enesh watched the female sulk through the window. She had stopped eating the day before and now she just huddled in the farthest corner. Her eyes leaked constantly. They had deduced back in Zheiren that that meant she was upset, either sad or embarrassed. While it was possible she was embarrassed given the exams she had been subjected to--She had seemed quite modest about her reproductive cycle.--Enesh did not think that was the cause of her moping.

"I think she is lonely," he told Besta. Only the last word was in Zheiren. And he wasn't completely sure he got the tense right.

Besta supplied the word and corrected the tense before replying, "The male?"

"They did have a bond," Enesh said. Besta corrected politely. Enesh took no offense. Besta separated language issues carefully from the conversation when need be. Enesh appreciated his tutoring. He mentally filed away a question about the proper way to emphasize in Buftanisian. In-depth explanations had to wait or the entire day and all its work would bog down. "They held hands when they slept, sat next to each other every other hour of every other day."

"They never spoke?"

"Not that we ever heard. Their faces are very expressive though. It is just a matter of correctly interpreting those expressions."

Besta leaned against the wall. "We can't take her back to the male, and I think we'd be asking far too much to try and bring him here."

"True. We may have to force feed her."

"We could try something less drastic," Besta suggested. "Perhaps she'd feel less lonely with more of her kind."

Hoshi did not bother to look up when the door opened. She stayed still and waited for the shock that would paralyze her. Instead, two strange orcs entered, one with wings and one without. That wasn't unusual here. They each took an arm and lifted her to her feet. She did not resist. In fact, as they escorted her through the door and down the corridor, she held out a hope that they were through with her and taking her to her death.

She doubted anyone would blame her for giving up now. Resisting any further would only mean pain. The end would still be the same. They would do what they wanted with her until they were finished and finally killed her. There was no hope of rescue, no hope of a future.

She was somewhat surprised when they led her straight out a door into bright sunlight. It had been so long since she'd seen natural sunlight that it stunned her. There was grass on the ground, as green as any on Earth. And trees. There were trees not so different that the ones she had climbed as a child. The buildings were bigger but completely alien. They had doors and windows here and there.

They led her along a concrete sidewalk to another large building with few windows and two floors. Once inside, Hoshi glimpsed a courtyard at the end of the long corridor. They passed two doors on the left before they stopped. A winged native stepped out.

"What is it?" he asked, shocked at her appearance.

"A kano," the one on her right answered.

"An important kano," the one on her left corrected. "She is not to be bayka. They must understand that. There are only two like her and we only have her."

"She is so small," the new guy stated.

"So put her with the kinana. Find her something to do. We'll collect her from time to time."

The new guy sighed and took her arm from the others. He opened the door again and led her through an anteroom to another door.

"They'll never understand you," he said. Hoshi got the feeling he was talking more to himself than to her.

Hoshi's curiosity was piqued. And her fear. But they had called her important. They wouldn't hurt her too much if she was important. Maybe, she realized, she wasn't as ready to die as she had thought.

The door opened and Hoshi saw a large room full of dozens of natives huddled in groups on the floor. There was a cage to one side and he dragged her to it as the mass of natives watched.

There was something different about them. They were all Winged which seemed odd here where the various species seemed more mixed. They were smaller, though still taller than her. But it was mostly in their faces. Something odd, more animalistic than the ones she'd seen before.

"Lada!" the taller orc stated. "Come!"

One of the smaller orcs came forward and sniffed at the cage before coming to the other. Standing together as they were, Hoshi realized why they were different. One was male. The other, the smaller, slightly differently colored one was female. Kano, female, like her.

"Important!" the male said, pointing at Hoshi. "No taydee, no fahdee. She fahd, you fahd. Understand?"

"No fahd," the female, Lada, repeated.

Hoshi felt something coming back to life in her. Anger. The male talked to Lada like an owner talks to a bad dog. Or a misbehaving child.

"Kifa!" the male bellowed. "Come." He grabbed Hoshi's arm through the bars of the cage and pulled her forward into them.

Kifa, a thin female limped forward. "Look," he teased.

Kifa did as she was told. She was bent a bit and limped slightly as she walked. She pressed her long beak into the bars, and Hoshi backed away as much as she could with the male still holding her. Kifa sniffed and then put an arm in to poke her with her long, clawed fingers.

"Kufa," she said, and poked harder.

Hoshi gasped as the claw stabbed at her shoulder. Instantly the male let go and lunged at Lada. He had a baton of some sort, and he beat her with it. Lada screamed. And then she went feral. She flew at Kifa and knocked her to the ground, growling and drooling like a rabid beast.

Lada's claws dug into Kifa's neck until blood began to gush out. The rest of the room was motionless watching. So was Hoshi, her shoulder forgotten. It was barely a scratch.

"No fahd!" Lada screamed. "I fahd, you taro!"

The male did nothing to stop it. Kifa was screaming, fighting weakly against the stronger Lada, who gouged at her with her beak, biting. "I fahd, you taro!" she kept repeating while the male nodded.

Finally, Kifa stopped fighting and her arms unfolded into limp wings at her sides. The male pulled Lada back. "Good Lada," he said. "Get cleaned up."

Lada padded away without a backward glance at Kifa, her victim. The male opened the cage. "Come!" he ordered, motioning for her as if she didn't understand the word. She hesitated. She did not want to go to someone like him. "No fahd," he said and then repeated, "no hurt. Come!"

No hurt. I hurt, you die, Hoshi realized. She hurt, you hurt. It had all been a training exercise. For her sake.

The male reached in farther and grabbed her arm. "Come!" he demanded as he pulled her out. He dragged her to the back wall where there was a sink and a cabinet. Lada glared at them but stepped back. The male got a cloth, wet it, and then pressed it to the scratch Kifa had made. "You are kufa," he said. He taped a patch of gauze on after spraying some sort of antiseptic on her wound. Then he stretched out her arm and looked more closely at her hand with its five fingers. "And small. We'll have to put you with the kinana." He wasn't looking at her, and again, she felt as if he was talking more for his benefit than hers.

She felt now some small reasons to live. These females were treated like animals by the males and it made her fume. She was furious to think that these males thought they were so superior to the smaller females. So superior that, when faced with a female of a completely unknown species, they'd assume their superiority to her. She toyed with the idea of telling this male just what she thought of that. But two things stopped her. One, T'Pol's warnings about influencing cultures before their time, and Malcolm's about what they would do to force her to answer questions if they knew she could understand them. "No hurt" just might not matter as much then.

So she kept her mouth firmly shut and shuffled behind him as he led her past the huddled females. At the far back corner was a group of even smaller females, maybe three-fourths the size of Lada and Kifa. Just a little taller than Hoshi.

"Pipa," the male said. "You watch her. No hurting. No taydee. Show her. You work. She works. Understand?"

Pipa's eyes were wide as she listened. "No taydee," she repeated. "I show her work."

"Good Pipa," the male said. "If someone hurts, you tell Lada or me."

And then he walked back to the front of the room, leaving Hoshi standing before a dozen or so young, curious females.

Baezhu checked the restraints one last time before leaving the room. The male had really begun to challenge their ability to keep him alive lately. This sullen mood had apparently affected his immune system and brought an infection. Fortunately, Dr. Geeben had caught it quickly, and the antibiotics he prescribed were doing well to counter it.

Infection was something they were quite adept at handling. Suicide was something more irregular. Twice the male had managed to dislodge one of the tubes from his neck, spilling blood all over the floor or spurting it onto the walls. It had taken quick action to keep him from bleeding to death and creative thinking to devise a method of restraint that kept his neck isolated from his rather flexible body.

The first time, he had simply ducked his head toward his hands, which had been held to the opposite side of the mattress. The second time, with each wrist cuffed to a forward leg of the bed, he had managed to slide his body up and hook the tubes over the corner of the bed well enough to pull one out as he slid back down.

Both times, he had nearly ripped out all his stitches. It had to have hurt a great deal, Baezhu realized, and yet the alien had managed to control his breathing and pulse to keep from being incapacitated by pain medication. The alien was despondent but they had underestimated the extent of his anguish. And all apparently because the female was gone.

"You're probably uncomfortable like this," he said, indicating the arms held behind the male's back, "but we can't let you harm yourself. You're too important to us. I can tell you about Frohdoh."

The male had been staring blankly at the wall but his eyes snapped to Baezhu at the female's name. Baezhu tried to keep his tone light and hopeful, and he hoped that such tones would have the same meanings to the alien's species. "Frohdoh is in Buftanis. She is well."

For a moment, Baezhu thought the alien would speak. His breath had changed and his pulse quickened. But the alien's mouth never moved. Only the hair above his eyes dipped in toward the center, and his gaze pierced Baezhu with its clarity.

The alien had understood something. The name, of course, and that everything else pertained to her, mostly. Baezhu decided to try and use his hands to help convey his meaning. "We," he began, pointing back and forth between himself and the male, "are in Zheiren." Thinking quickly, he wadded some of the used bandages into a ball, and then pointed to one side. "Zheiren." Then he pointed between them again. "Us. Zheiren."

The male was watching. Baezhu felt encouraged to continue. "Frohdoh," he said, then pointed to the other side of the ball of gauze. "Buftanis."

The exchange clearly meant something to the alien. His pulse was racing and his eyes were beginning to leak. The machine clicked and Baezhu knew he didn't have much more time before unconsciousness severed whatever connection he had managed to forge.

"We didn't want to send her away," he explained, just in case the male could understand some of it. "We wouldn't have given her up if we hadn't had to. It's complicated. Dr. Enesh went with her. He caused all of this and hurt you again."

The alien's eyelids were drooping. "I'm sorry," Baezhu told him, and then the alien's eyes closed. His breathing and heart rate returned to normal. He was out.

For only the second time in what she guessed was three months, Hoshi could see the sky. She could smell new grass, hear what might be birds twittering in the distance. There were trees here, surrounding great patches of straw-covered land. The air was crisp and there was still some frost on the straw as Pipa bent down and started gathering an armful up. "Ragula syn," she said, pointing at the straw with her right hand.

Hoshi didn't quite understand the words, but she got the idea as the other juvenile females began to do the same thing, each eying her with curiosity or suspicion. They were clearing the straw, and she was to do likewise. She thought for just a moment about her options, but, finding none, she bent over and picked up the wet straw, piling it onto her left arm.

By the time the sun was straight overhead, they and the many other females--Hoshi estimated at least four hundred that she could see.--had cleared three large fields. Her bare arms and the sheet that served as her dress were dirty and wet from the straw. Her feet were covered in mud past her ankles and numb from the cold. Fields were exactly what they had uncovered. Farm fields.

There were males, standing at intervals with clubs or whips and watching the female workers.

"Frohdoh! Come!" one of them called, the same one who had placed her with the juveniles. At first Hoshi thought he was saying a new word in this second language on this planet. It took a second, more forceful call for her to realize he was calling her name. She was Frodo.

For a moment, she panicked. How could they have learned if not from Malcolm? But then she realized it was a code name. If Malcolm had been forced to talk, he was still using code and giving false information. So he was alive and at least in some amount of control of his situation. He was strong enough to resist them.

When the male started stomping toward her, she went to him. He was holding a small box. Once she reached him, he grabbed her and pulled her roughly into the shadow of the nearest building. "Balanu!" someone called and the rest of the females began marching to several other locations where she noticed now bowls and large vats had been brought out. It was lunchtime.

Hoshi's stomach growled and the male gave her a quizzical look. He thrust the box at her and then pushed her shoulder until she set down on the ground.

The box was warm and it smelled like fruit and meat. Cooked meat. One corner was heavy, and, when she opened it, she found not only the food but a long, cylindrical beacon of water capped with a lid. The scientists had packed her a lunch.

By the time the whistle blew and the females marched back to the fields the males indicated, Hoshi had finished her lunch and figured out at least part of the culture of this planet--or this region of it. But probably also the one Malcolm was likely still in. She knew now why she had seen no females there. It was a male-dominated society and the females were slaves. By evening she knew without any doubt that she was a slave, too.

Exhausted, she dropped to the floor beside Pipa. She was wet from the dousing they had each gotten to clean off. She shivered, thankful for the warm red lights that came on overhead. The females huddled in their small groups talking in broken fragments of sentences before lying down themselves and closing their eyes. Lada, though, the one threatened to guard her well-being came back to the group of juveniles and pushed aside some of the others to join the adjacent group. She glared at Hoshi before closing her eyes as well. Hoshi did the same, secure in the thought that no one would harm her during the night without Lada killing them.

Malcolm pushed past the leftover haze of the drug that had put him to sleep, wondering how much time had passed this time. He hadn't dreamed while drugged into unconsciousness. It only felt like seconds since the little orc had told him Frodo--Hoshi--was sent halfway around the world.

That was as much as Malcolm had understood. Two places: Zheiren and Buftanis. And he was in one and she was in the other.

His pulse increased so he slowed his breathing, parsing out his thoughts gently. He felt happy to know that she was alive at least. And maybe if they had sent her there, they hadn't put her through what they had done to him. It would have been too dangerous for her, and they obviously wanted to keep the two of them alive.

But he also felt a deep sadness, a loneliness more hollow than he had ever felt before. How could he do this without her? How could he endure the pain, the nightmares, the far too vivid imaginings of what else they might do? How could he hold out hope of rescue alone?

Could she? Was she scared there? Lonely? Had they hurt her? Would she be strong enough to keep silent and pretend she doesn't understand?

The door opened and he closed his thoughts. Two of them entered, Saruman and the little one. The latter went to the machine and turned a few dials there. After a few minutes, Malcolm felt his head clear even more. He also felt an ache all across his back punctuated in long lines where they had cut him.

Saruman was talking but it was all gibberish to Malcolm. He listened anyway, though he tried not to show it.

They unhooked his wrists and rolled him onto his stomach. The little one practically crawled under the bed to cuff his hands together there. He needn't have bothered. Malcolm had already decided that if Hoshi was still alive, he would try to live.

"They put her to work!" Baezhu told Kahrae as they settled into their corner table away from the other crowds. "Like some ordinary female."

Kahrae didn't flinch. "What else are they to do with her? She is a female."

"Not an ordinary one!" Baezhu held. "They're not like us. Why do we assume they have the same gender differences? Even if they do, they could do better than work her in the fields. We don't know their environmental tolerances yet. She could become ill or get hurt."

"Or eaten," Kahrae quipped. "They are females." He stopped eating. "Colonel Gaezhur is getting snappy."

Baezhu had no trouble following the change in subject. "I know; he was at the Council again yesterday. Dr. Burha had to defend against him. He'd kill the male if he had the chance, trying to get information he can't understand from him."

"My guess is there's no imminent invasion from space," Kahrae said. "It probably would have happened already if there were."

Baezhu slurped down his water. "Why can't the colonel see that?"

Kahrae just shrugged. "I don't try to out-think my superior officers. I just follow orders. Is the male still trying to kill himself?"

"That's the latest thing exciting all the doctors," Baezhu said, excited himself. "He's stopped. He's almost as passive as he was in the beginning. We actually learned a lot more when he was suicidal. His flexibility and ingenuity, for example. And his intelligence. Animals don't commit suicide."

"You talk to him anymore?" Kahrae asked.

Baezhu finished his meat before answering. "We try. He's back to ignoring us. I can't say he understood anything but names and hand signs anyway."

"Still, it's something," Kahrae encouraged. "If he ever gets to understanding and speaking, maybe Colonel Gaezhur won't have to kill him to get answers."

It was loud in the fields. The clearing had been done and now they were turning the hard, cold soil with spades. The juveniles, the group Pipa and she belonged to, had somewhat smaller spades, but Hoshi's was still quite large for her frame. Pipa showed her what to do with few words and no complaints at their treatment. She looked up at others now and then and found the same. They worked without cry or complaint, and Hoshi wondered if they knew they were slaves.

As was quickly becoming a daily routine, Hoshi was called away by one of the guards, Gothmog, she called him. He sat her down with her boxed lunch while the other females were called to food stations along the perimeters of the fields.

Hoshi was glad it was a lot of food. There was no such thing as dinner here. Just breakfast and a late lunch, both substantial. So besides being deprived of one meal, she and the other females were well-fed.

Turning hard soil was more difficult than clearing hay, so when they quit for the night, there were still fields unturned. Her muscles ached and her feet throbbed. She was glad for the heat lamps after the lukewarm shower that had hastily cleaned most of the mud off. She wanted to try and talk with Pipa but she knew she shouldn't. Besides, she was too tired to bother. She thought for a moment that Malcolm was the lucky one, lounging on a mattress on the floor and bored out of his mind. Then she remembered and shivered. Maybe she was. Or maybe they were tied.

Major Zhenah seethed. The coordinates were not as exact as Genad had led them to believe. Every day, for nearly three weeks since the spy had been staked, Zhenah and a small contingent of troops had been combing the ground in a grid pattern, passing metal detectors over the sand and scrub. The only thing they had found yet was a sort of food wrapper one of his men had accidentally kicked up this morning. At least it would give the linguists something to try and decipher. It had strange symbols on it like the symbols on the clothing the aliens had worn that day.

Seven hours, with a least another hour to return to the base, only to try again in the morning. Zhenah was starting to think the Buftanisians were lying.

"Major!" Uhlad called out. "I've got something!"

Zhenah didn't bother running but waved to show he was coming. It could simply be more debris from downed Buftanisian spy drones.

Uhlad had waited and Zhenah decided he'd report him for that if this was just junk. For now, he knelt down and brushed the sand away from the spot Uhlad indicated. His fingers hit something small and hard. He grabbed it and lifted it into the sunlight. It was some kind of little black box with a lid. He opened it and it whirred for a second before dying. He'd never seen anything like it. Technology! Buftanis had told the truth after all.