"Not a word," Kaife stated.

"You're certain?" It wasn't that Zhenah distrusted him. It just seemed surprising somehow, that no one at all had commented on the false statement of Lasaya Katon's death.

"It was ridiculous enough to put it to the Media branch," Kaife explained as he leaned against the table. "They scoured every broadcast, every newspaper article, every e-statement in every country for any mention of Katon. There were a couple of tabloid bits. Nothing mentioning his demise--or lack of one--at all. And there were no related calls to the Setera District security headquarters, either."

Zhenah sighed. That would do it. "Well, it's good news really. We have a new form of communication no one else has."

Kaife bobbed his head. "I was hoping to test it more openly. If we can keep transmitting, we might find a way to detect or even receive the transmissions."

"It can receive the transmission," Zhenah reminded him. "Why not just reverse engineer that one and create more?"

Kaife was quick to answer. "Because we only have one. We can't risk damaging or destroying it. I have inventoried and examined all its parts, though. I will definitely be trying to recreate it as that would be the simplest way to build a receiver for its signal."

Zhenah thought of the possibilities. If they could detect the signal, they would know if anyone else tried to use one, be they alien or simply Buftanisian. If they could build something to communicate with it, they would have an unprecedented tactical advantage. "We are supposed to share our findings with Buftanis, you know."

Kaife stood up. "Well, we don't have to tell them the truth," Kaife responded. Yes, Kaife was definitely the right type of Winged, Zhenah decided.

"He's remarkably similar to our primates in this respect," Doctor Bishtae summarized. They had finally finished all the chemical tests. Baezhu had spent the last week cataloguing everything. Bishtae was presenting their findings to the rest of the staff.

"Of course," he went on, "we already knew he had some allergies and we can attribute some differences to that. In fact, small percentages of our primates suffer from the same allergens. In short, in this regard, he closely resembles the ekanon. What is caustic to them is caustic to him."

"He has been," Burha agreed, "biochemically speaking, remarkably similar throughout. Which is good, or they both might have died on our operating tables the day they arrived. We sedated them successfully thanks to our knowledge of indigenous physiology."

"Our next exploration will involve environmental elements," Bishtae said, moving on. Baeszhu was sure he wouldn't be like an ekanon in that. Ekanon were hairy primates which thrived in high altitude forests.

"Has he sufficiently recovered from his wounds?" Dr. Geeben asked. "If he hasn't, severe cold or heat could alter his endurance and give an inaccurate result."

Bishtae waved a hand. "His scalp has healed nicely, and he has no lasting injuries from the chemical tests. He's as ready as we can make him. He's weak due to lack of activity but there isn't much we can do about that."

"Perhaps he needs a more stimulating environment," Geeben suggested.

"He used to perform calisthenics in his room," Burha told him. "He stopped after our first exploratory."

Baezhu thought he knew why. That first exploratory had told the aliens what was in store for them. Before that, the male had kept his options open, stayed strong. After, he perhaps knew he had no options except a more passive resistance. So he allowed himself to weaken, which slowed his healing between procedures, and so, slowed the procedures.

"He is a stubborn one," Bishtae concluded. "And I think we can say that empirically."

Hoshi had spent another week in her cell in the lab. It wasn't a vacation for her this time. She was bleeding though she was sure it was too early for her period. To be honest, Malcolm had long since lost track of days, and the weeks weren't far behind. How many months had it been now? It was a never-ending nightmare for both of them. She had it easier, in some ways. The work distracted her most of the time. She tested Pippen. Everyone significant had to have a code name, so Pipa was Pippen. Malcolm had only four walls, a floor, and a ceiling.

His only bright spot on his hemisphere was Sméagol, and that was only a relatively bright spot. He was simply slightly less dark. Bright was Hoshi, having someone to talk to, someone to care about. And he did care about her. He had some idea what they were doing to her. She didn't want to face it and he didn't make her. It was their agreement together. When something bad happened to one, the other was to distract them, carry the burden of the communication.

Malcolm looked at his leg. The plastic cylinder was gone. But there were still patches of sore, inflamed skin. It wasn't fun, but all told, it wasn't having his stomach cut open and intestines pulled out. No, this was the least terrible thing they had yet done to him.

It was morning. At least he thought it was. There was more noise outside his room. But the heat lamps had not gone off.

Sméagol entered with food and water. He said something that probably equated to "good morning." Malcolm decided to chance something with him. He waited until Sméagol was looking him in the eye and then looked up to the ceiling with raised eyebrows, hoping Sméagol got the question even if he wouldn't understand the answer.

The male alien looked at the ceiling and his expression seemed quizzical. That was a breakthrough! Baezhu stole a glance at the camera in the room. The male was facing away from it. But Baezhu was facing forward. Anything he said would be picked up by that camera and the microphone there. He was at a turning point and he had to decide. Would he share this subtle attempt at communication with the others? The male, it was obvious by now, stubbornly refused to interact. Baezhu felt it was the only thing the alien could control. Would he take that away from him?

But then, the doctors had encouraged him to talk to the male since the moment he had told him about the female and he stopped trying to kill himself. So he could tell the male about the heat. He just had to do it carefully, like he was trying to explain it to a creature that would not even acknowledge him. "The heat," he said, pointing to the ceiling, "will stay on. We are testing heat. And you. Drink water." He pointed to the bowl and made a drinking motion with his other hand.

The male must have understood part of it. He sighed and started eating his breakfast. Baezhu tried hard not to smile. If the male had gone for the water, he would have proved to the camera--and the scientists--that he had understood.

"Did he react at all to what you told him?" Kenu asked as Baezhu entered the office. He sounded hopeful.

"He just stared as usual," Baezhu said. He had decided.

The bleeding finally stopped and Hoshi found herself glad to be going back to the hard, hot work in the fields. It was hard, yes, but it was honest work. Nothing nefarious except being forced to do it. The lab was something else. Something she didn't want to face. She had Malcolm distract every thought of it from her.

He did and she found something in her heart. He was so private that his own parents didn't know he loved pineapple. And here, in this bleakest of circumstances, he was opening to her, telling her about his life. She knew even now he was holding back, hiding things he thought would put him in a bad light. She wasn't so naive as to think he had an idyllic childhood. She wanted to know those darker times in his life. She wanted to know why he hid so much even from his family.

And she wondered if she would feel the same if it was Trip who was marooned here and turned telepathic. Or Travis or the captain. Was it Malcolm or just anyone who was the only other human on this planet? So she imagined it--Trip instead of Malcolm--and looked for clues. He would be companionable but would he give so much as Malcolm? Trip had no problem conversing about his life. For Malcolm, it was a sacrifice. And besides, she thought of times before this, times when he had been there for her, piqued her interest, or just been the one she turned to. He had mistaken her attempts to get him to confess his favorite food as a come on. She was mortified but admitted to herself that she wasn't completely adverse to the idea. When she was hearing voices and seeing a stranger, she turned to Malcolm, who quietly checked and didn't deride her for being crazy when he didn't find anything. And he was on Degra's ship tending to her, trying to shield her from the captain's desperation after her abduction by the Reptilians. All evidence she had called up before.

But there was also the time she showed up topless at his door. She was brusque with him at the time, but she was secretly amused at his shocked expression. Few things shocked Lieutenant Reed. After that, he was all chivalry and never brought it up again--as far as she knew.

No, Trip or the captain or Travis wouldn't do. Malcolm had already had a toehold in her heart before they even crashed.

"Heat," she heard.

What? She needed a little context. It is hot here but I don't think that's what you meant.

"It's going to be hot here, too," Malcolm replied. "From what little I understood this morning, it's their next game. 'How hot can the alien take it?'"

How hot? How long?

"I have no idea, but I'm betting it will be until I get heat stroke."

You can play it up, she suggested, hoping it wouldn't come to heat stroke. It would have to get hotter than here, because I'm in it, but maybe you could fake it after that.

"I can try, but I can't fake not sweating or a change in my pulse, anything of that manner."

Well, it's worth the try. They might stop.

"True. How hot is it there?"

Good question. I don't have a thermometer. I'd guess it's like Georgia in the summer. Thirty-five Celcius maybe.

"I'm probably getting close to that. So you're back to work?"

Weeding, watering, fertilizing. The usual.

"The other females still acting strange?"

Hoshi hadn't thought about that. I don't think so. I gave them water earlier, and they didn't sniff or pull away like that.

"Well, enjoy it while it lasts. How's Pippen?"

She was glad to see me, as always. They kind of bob their heads and click their beaks lightly when they're happy. The females seem much more open with their emotions. Like children are.

What would Trip think? Malcolm thought to himself. Trip had not let Charlie be an inferior person in its (Was it a he or she?) neuter gender. He helped it see it was as smart as the others and nearly upset a whole civilization. Personally, Malcolm had agreed with what Trip had done. Professionally, he did not.

Hoshi told him about her first meeting with the females, how they talked, how they ate and worked and related with each other. In this case, it didn't seem as though the females were kept as inferiors. They really were inferior. And so they were used as slaves and didn't even know enough to ask for freedom.

The heat was stifling already. Hoshi had an occasional breeze. Malcolm had still, stale air. Sweat dripped from his forehead into his eyes and he brushed it away. How hot could a person take anyway? At least they brought him water. They would end their test a lot faster if they didn't. But then, Hoshi would be alone and he didn't want that, no matter how bad it got for him.

The heat lamps were glaring red, bright enough to hurt his eyes. It was like a twentieth century tanning booth on steroids. Malcolm realized his skin was going to burn and wrapped his sheet around his body and head. It was white. Hopefully, it would deflect some of the heat, too.

"What is he doing?" Kenu asked. "Covering up in the heat?"

"It's white," Baezhu spoke up. "White reflects heat. Perhaps he's trying to shield himself?"

"Well at least he's moving," Bishtae noted cheerfully. "He's reacting. Let's enjoy it while it lasts and learn what we can."

"He's uncomfortable in the heat?" Kenu offered.

"If he wasn't, he'd hardly try to shield himself from it."

Baezhu was still unsure. "Weren't they found in the desert, in dark clothes?"

"Their ship crashed," Bishtae replied. "They may not have planned for the desert. Burha did say they looked rather withered. And they were wet with salty, pungent liquid, as our male is now. Perspiration. His body is attempting to regulate his temperature."

"And so far, it's managing," Geeben broke in. "It's barely raised even one degree, while the room has raised ten. We only have one mammal, one creature, on our world that regulates internal temperature by perspiration, and that's through sweat glands on the back of its legs. This one perspires wherever it has skin!"

"The President stands firmly in support of the Shirkatisan protesters as they stand for freedom against the tyranny imposed on them by Zheiren."

"Those poor people," Enesh said as Besta turned off the monitor. They had tuned in to the afternoon news broadcast during break.

"Why do you say that?" Besta challenged. "Because of what Zheiren may do?"

"What Zheiren will do," Enesh replied. "If not now then after Turn when the Raptors have the Head Council seat."

Besta took a deep breath and sighed. "I hadn't thought about that. Right at Turn, too? That will make them even more hot-headed."

Enesh laughed. "It makes all of us hot-headed! Every major war in the last three centuries was started after a Turn."

"And the bigger ones were when the military--Raptor or not--was in control," Besta agreed. "Well, let's hope the Shirkatisans can break free and build something strong enough to hold Zheiren back by Turn."

"Buftanis is the only country that can hold Zheiren back. With every male Raptor in the military, Zheiren has the largest military in the world. Shirkatisa doesn't have a chance." Enesh felt a weight on his chest when he thought that, and, once again, he was glad to be in Buftanis.

"Unless we step in," Besta said softly. "Our new President will be more likely to do so than the one we have now. We really could end up with war." He clapped Enesh on the shoulder. "Come. The tests should have something solid by now. Let's see why our little blastocyst didn't make it."

They had retrieved the blastocyst as well as other uterine material from the rags the female discarded. They were unable to determine anything about the uterine material. With only one female, they had no way of knowing if her womb was optimal for bearing a child or if it was abnormal and posed a toxic environment. The blastocyst was somewhat decayed, so they were testing its DNA more fully to try and determine if there was a flaw which kept it from thriving. It would take a week, Besta had said, to produce the entire genetic structure for analysis and then likely another to analyze the data and compare it against an uncompromised sample from the male. As they reached the lab, the machine was just beginning to spit out a long paper full of genetic data.

"I realize you're not a geneticist," Besta said, handing Enesh another stack of paper, "but you should be able to handle a side-by-side comparison."

Enesh nodded. "I can do that, but if we find a discrepancy, you'll have to figure out what it means."

"There were protests in Shirkatisa," Obek said, startling Kahrae again. Four hours of silence preceded that statement. Not for the first time, Kahrae wondered where Obek got his information. The news never showed protest in the satellite countries. It could encourage dissidence.

"Oh?" Kahrae said, trying to stay non-committal on the topic. He felt Shirkatisa should know better but he also didn't want to go to war to help them learn that.

"What are they protesting?" Obek asked.

"Whatever they usually protest." Kahrae tried to sound disinterested.

Obek answered his own question. "Freedom. And do you know why?"

"Because they want more, I would suspect," Kahrae replied. "I doubt they felt they had too much of it." One of these days, Obek was going to get in trouble, and Kahrae really didn't want to go down with him.

"But why would they want more? Why would they want? According to the Great Plan, each has what he needs. It's a beautiful system. Why would anyone protest it?"

Because they were protesting the actual implementation of it, Kahrae thought. He didn't answer aloud. Obek, for all his talk, could be a plant. He could be trying to trick him into saying something treasonous. Given that his last guard partner turned out to be a spy, it wasn't unthinkable.

"What happened to the protesters?" Kahrae finally asked, hoping he could keep Obek answering instead of asking.

"Nothing."

"Nothing?" That did surprise Kahrae.

"Not one arrest. In fact, it's still going on. In fact, they are now protesting the arrest of their ambassador here in Zheiren."

"That should have kept them from protesting!" Kahrae was shocked. Zheiren could not--would not--allow Shirkatisa to mock something meant as a punishment--a threat. "Are they asking for war?"

"They know it's too close to Turn. In four months, every soldier would be pulled home. No, they'll have time to play until after Turn. Then we'll force our brand of the Plan on them."

The heat was unbearable. Malcolm guessed it was over fifty degrees. The metal parts of the bed were hot to the touch. Malcolm had crawled under the bed earlier to be in the only relative shade in the room. It wasn't much cooler but he couldn't stand having light from the heat lamps touch his skin anymore. He thought maybe now he knew what it meant to have his skin crawl. The sheet covered most of him, but it was stifling underneath, and even if he was under it, some part of him was always exposed.

His pulse was fast. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, and the band on his wrist blinked rapidly. They hadn't brought him water since dinner, and it had to be night by now. His mouth was parched. Sweat was nearly pouring off of him, so he wasn't having heat stroke yet. He tried to lie down and sleep but the sheet stuck to him everywhere and felt confining. And the air was practically unbreathable. It was like trying to breathe in an oven. He was afraid he'd pass out from lack of oxygen.

Hoshi had talked with him all day while she worked. She'd gone to sleep, exhausted, at least an hour before. So Malcolm was alone. To try and take his mind off the heat surrounding him, he tried to see what she was dreaming. If what they'd already done could be considered an "audio" channel, what Hoshi had dreamed when they were shaving his leg could mean there was a "video" channel. She dreamt what he saw. Now he hoped he could see--in his mind--what she was seeing in her dreams.

It was just too hard to concentrate. He felt dizzy and every time he thought he was concentrating hard enough, he'd fall asleep and then jerk awake when the sheet tangled his movements.

The door opened and one of the orcs came in. Cool air whooshed into the room and Malcolm caught a breath of it. The orc sat a bowl of water on the floor by the door and stepped back to close it. Malcolm nearly cried. Water. The bowl was water, but to get it, he'd have to leave the shade and enter the oppressive light from the lamps. The door closed and Malcolm debated with himself. Could he make it to the door? He could take the sheet with him. But the white tiles on the floor were hot, too. He'd burn his hands and knees trying to get there. He certainly couldn't manage walking.

But he needed the water. He rolled onto his side and kicked at the soaking sheet to loosen it up. He got up on his hands and knees and promptly fell back down. Water. He had to try again. But he couldn't even raise his head. "Water," he breathed as his eyes rolled back and he lost consciousness.