Dr. Kaife had said it could take months, or even years, to recreate the communications device. Still, it bothered Major Zhenah when he gave it thought. The aliens hadn't used it and yet they hadn't destroyed it in the explosion. The analysis of the crash had confirmed his theory of it. The two aliens had survived, and they blew up the space ship with a third alien inside. The DNA from the bone chip did not match either of the two surviving aliens.

They obviously destroyed the ship to keep its technology from them. But why leave the communications device intact? It was more advanced than anything on Sharu. It alone could spark a technological revolution, if Zheiren ever decided to make it public.

So why not destroy it? To call for help or reinforcements. They had to have sent at least one message between surviving the crash and burying the device. And that was why he had traveled to Korthitra, the capital of Soana Province to the Audiotronics Institute. The Wingeds there studied anything that made sound. They had records dating back to seventy years of radio waves, transmissions, seismic activity. Maybe they could have detected that one call—or others—made by the aliens.

Dr. Suro, the director of the facility met him at the door. "Major, so good to see you!"

Zhenah hated false pleasantries. He'd never met this man before and he didn't keep friends with Wingeds. "Have you found anything abnormal?" he asked, getting right to the point.

Suro's head bobbed. "Indeed we have." He led Zhenah to a laboratory on the third floor and motioned for another Winged to join them in the office in the back.

"This is Dr. Benras. He found a low frequency radio pulse during the time frame you gave in the vicinity of Rihansu. Doctor?"

Zhenah looked to Benras as he flipped open a folder. "We found several instances of a pulse pattern. That's what struck us as odd. We might have taken this for simple, naturally occurring sounds, except for the pattern."

"What pattern?" Zhenah asked, intrigued by the idea of a pattern. Perhaps that linguist back at Kenisitai would finally have something to do.

"Three short pulses followed by three longer pulses and completed with three short pulses again. And they occurred at fairly regular intervals. It would appear that there was someone in Rihansu transmitting a coded message."

Suro spoke again. "If you'd like, we could send the data to Zheira. The cryptologists there could perhaps make something of it."

How? Zhenah wondered. They wouldn't know the language behind it. Buftanis had used that method back in the war fifty years ago. They used a tribe of Karatans and their rare, dying language to pass messages Zheiren was unable to decode. By now, Zheiren had that solved. There wasn't a single Karatan tribe left without an operative embedded to learn their language. They didn't, however, have any operatives wherever the aliens came from. "No, thank you," he said, holding out a hand for the folder of notes. "We have a linguist looking into it back in Kenisitai. He has clearance. No one else does. I'll want all recordings of this sealed and sent to Kenisitai as well. Understood?"

Dr. Suro dipped his head. "Of course, Major. Dr. Benras, please prepare the recordings."

Benras handed Zhenah the folder and left the office.

"If you'll give me the linguist's name," Suro was saying, "I'll be sure everything is sent to him."

Zhenah headed for the door. "Send it to me. I'll make sure he gets it."

"I'm not sure I can keep this up," Malcolm's voice sounded tired, which meant his thoughts were tired, weaker. "I remember survival training. Ten percent of fluid loss can be fatal. This time they may not be able to keep me going."

Hoshi didn't like the sound of that. But it was nearly three days since they had stopped giving him water. Sméagol's secret offerings had probably let Malcolm go a little longer than he might have but it wouldn't be enough. What are your symptoms?

There wasn't an answer for a few minutes and she began to worry. Malcolm?

"Hoshi?" Hoshi sighed in relief. "I'm sorry. It's hard to keep focused. My head hurts so much and I'm so tired I can't even stand."

Say the word, Malcolm, she told him. One word won't get them very far and it's not worth your life. I couldn't do this without you.

The doors opened and Hoshi wished for another sifami. She could use a day off. Though she knew she'd get more than one in a week or two. She didn't want any in the lab. She'd be happy with just one here in the barracks.

But the bugs wouldn't take a day off, so she knew she and the girls would be working. Malcolm, did you hear me?

"I tried," he replied. "My voice won't work."

You have to try, Malcolm. She meant it. She couldn't do this if he wasn't there. She couldn't face a lifetime of slavery and experimentation alone. She needed him. She loved him.

Malcolm couldn't find enough moisture to swallow, let alone talk. The orcs hadn't thought this through properly. The incessant beeping of his bracelet pounded in his head, driving the pain higher. Hoshi was right. He had to stop this. He couldn't die and leave her here alone.

He gathered up all his energy and leaned toward the foot of the bed he'd been sitting under. His arms weren't reliable when he placed his hands on the floor. They tingled and wobbled unsteadily. His legs didn't want to hold him either, but he kept them moving and crawled toward the camera. He didn't make it and collapsed in a heap just after he'd cleared the bed. He tried to get back up but it was not use. He'd have to try it from where he was.

He took a deep breath and tried to make his vocal cords work. All he got was a whisper that sounded more like a cough. He tried again and his whisper sounded a little more like the word "water." He was nearly panting and couldn't catch his breath for another try. He couldn't even scoot back under the bed to escape the bright red light of the heat lamps. Thankfully, someone suddenly turned those off.

The door burst open and Malcolm's gaze was fixed on the water bottles carried by Saruman. Sméagol was with him as well as another scientist, but Malcolm couldn't remember if he'd named that one. They sat him up and pushed a bottle to his lips. He gulped down the water. When he was done with the first bottle, they lifted him up and deposited him on the bed. The sheets smelled fresh though he hadn't noticed anyone changing them. They checked him over fully while Sméagol washed his legs and arms with a cool, wet cloth. His dirty tunic was lifted off of his shoulders and a clean one was placed over his head. He could barely lift his arms to get them in the holes that served to make sleeves of it. Then they gave him the second bottle, though this one tasted more like a sports drink than water. He drank it quickly and laid down. This one's over, Hoshi. Or should I say 'Frodo' in case I accidentally say something out loud again?

"Frodo's fine. Feeling better?"

Clean and sated, though still a bit woozy. For once, I'm happy to see these guys. They're even putting in an IV. Must be worse than I thought.

"Madeline told me about the time you went on bread and water for days. You think those kinds of survival experiments you did helped your stamina for this?"

Perhaps. Did I ever tell you about my great great great great uncle on my mother's side? He paused to think that through. Did he have enough greats?

Hoshi laughed. "Until these last few months you'd hardly told me me anything. Who was he? A Naval officer?"

Malcolm nearly smiled externally. He still felt weak but he was happy suddenly. My mother's side, he reminded her. Actually, he was in the British special forces. Until he retired and had a reality show on television.

"Your great uncle was a reality TV star?"

Four greats, he corrected, and yes. His name was Bear Grylls. The show was about surviving in the wild. He'd be prepped by experts and then taken to inhospitable locales with a film crew. He'd show the audience how to survive and find their way out. He'd eat spiders or lizards or anything edible and jump into frozen lakes just to show you the right way to get out and not die. He'd even drink his own urine when he had to. He'd probably be disappointed I didn't go that far.

"Well, he didn't have Sméagol sneaking him water. Was his name really 'Bear?'"

Malcolm chuckled very slightly. Yeah, maybe Mum's side of the family were hippies once. Hoshi—Frodo, I think I'm going to nap for a bit.

"Go ahead, Sam. You need it. I'll still be here when you wake up."

In fact, he napped for two days and Hoshi missed him in that time. She tried not to worry and take it as a sign of the worst, that he was dead. She didn't want to be alone here, and she didn't want Malcolm Reed erased from existence. She wanted him in her life whether here, separated by continents, or sitting across the Bridge from each other or rocking in the porch swing on her sister's porch in Seattle. She conceded she might be able to live without him in those other settings. But not here. There was nothing for her here without him. Only misery and fear.

She distracted herself with Pipa, trying to see if she could teach her one native friend how to count or do simple math. Pipa would repeat numbers after her but could not say them on her own.

They came for her just after lunch on the second day. Malcolm? she tried, as they dragged her toward the laboratory building. She didn't fight them. They could easily just pick her up and carry her. Or stun her. She looked back to where Pipa was and noted a dark line on the horizon just above the waist-high crops. It might mean rain. She hoped so. It would save Pipa and the others some work.

The orcs carted her through the door and up the stairs and down the hall. They zapped her just on the other side of the door and she went limp.

"Hoshi?"

You have impeccable timing, Lieutenant. She was so relieved she might have let out a sigh if she wasn't completely immobile and limp as a wet noodle. I've just been deposited in the lab.

"Oh, I guess I shall have to tell you a story then."

Give me a funny one. I've missed you so much I might tear up. Then what would the wizards think?

"I think I'm all out of funny ones."

Surely not. She really hoped he'd find one. Or maybe she had to help him. Well, tell me about Madeline. I always wanted to grow up with a younger brother or sister.

"No, you don't," he replied too quickly.

She would have smiled. Oh?

"More trouble than they're worth."

I seriously doubt that. I was one, remember? But he did have her intrigued and thoroughly distracted so she played along. What about sibling love? A lifetime friend?

Malcolm snorted. "All lies, probably created by those without siblings, or worse, those who are younger sisters. They are the root of all suffering, the spawn of all evil—present company excepted—and the master of the 'why' argument."

Hoshi laughed. Well, only in a way he could hear or imagine. Her face never moved.

"My sister is a prime example."

How exactly? I've spoken to her. She seemed lovely.

She's not your younger sister. He stalled for a moment, struggling to find a memory to prove his point. He never could tell jokes, so funny stories were not his forte. Stories were not his forte. But he'd managed up to now with near-forgotten memories. Hoshi needed a distraction. Sounding like a moron was a relatively small price to pay to provide it.

And that thought brought a nice little memory to the fore. And here's a prime example of just how irritating my sister is . . . was . . . . He took a deep breath, pulling the memory from its hiding place in the recesses of his brain.

One day—and really this happened more than once, but just for the sake of the example—one day, I was sitting at the computer, minding my own business when I suddenly sprouted a new head right on my left shoulder. 'Malcolm,' she said, and then nothing.

Until I finally gave in with a sigh and asked, 'What?'

'What are you doing?' he asked mimicking her voice perfectly in his thoughts. In fact, it wasn't his voice at all.

'Medical experimentation,' I said, hoping by my tone she'd go away. Of course, I had no idea of our present predicament. I was fifteen.

"Excused," Hoshi said. "And you did her voice well."

Well, it is a memory. She didn't go away. She leaned in closer, pushing me forward in the chair until she could see the screen better. 'Medical experiments? Mum'll go mad if you get blood on the computer.' Which, of course, was preposterous.

I tried not to stare at her like she was a complete moron, difficult though it was. I'd gotten it for that once before. 'Maddie,' I had to tell her, 'I was being sarcastic.'

She'd get all indignant and ask the most infuriating question ever invented: 'Why?'

I said, 'Because you're asking stupid questions.' I was really getting angry. She knew all the right buttons to push with me. I figured it had to be some sort of scheme, or union: 'Sisters Against Older Brothers."

Then Maddie shoved her hands onto her hips. I swear, if she'd been twenty-five years older at the time, with some sort of cleaning supply in her hands, she'd have been the spitting image of our mother. And she said what all younger sister of older brothers say: 'I am not!'

And, like any older brother, I'd have to respond: 'You are, too!'

'I'm so not!' she said. But I managed not to fall for it a second time. 'Good Lord, I'm not getting into an argument with you.' I was much too mature for that kind of babyish debate.

Sadly, she wasn't: 'Why?'

He could hear her choke on a bit of laugher, and he struggled to keep his own smile purely mental. He wouldn't move his face physically to give the orcs any clue what was happening.

'Because,' I said. I left it at that and turned back to the computer in another attempt to ignore her. It didn't work.

'That's not an answer.'

I replied through clenched teeth, 'It is now.' To which she said—

"Why?" Hoshi supplied.

Exactly! I clenched my teeth again, and probably my fists. 'I swear to God—' but she cut me off.

You're not allowed to swear! Mum said so, Malcolm mimicked, being sure to get the sing-song voice Maddie loved to use in those situations.

I told her I wasn't swearing. It was a figure of speech. But she called me a liar and it went on like that for another hour until I finally stormed out. Only when I returned, I found Maddie still there, playing games on the computer.¹

Now she let out a good laugh. "Oh, it does sound like you had a terrible time of it."

Then he sighed, thinking of his pestering little sister, who even at twelve could know when he needed distracting. He missed her. Actually, I was closer to Maddie than anyone else. Especially after—well, I wasn't Daddy's little sailor any more, if you get my meaning. More like Faramir with Denethor—before the burning pyre, I mean.

"'Do not throw your life away rashly or in bitterness,'" She recited. "'You will be needed here, and for other things than war. Your father loves you, Faramir, and will remember it ere the end.'"²

That was Gandalf, he corrected. Not Denethor. And I was more thinking of 'But if I should return, think better of me!' and 'That depends on the manner of your return.'³

"That was when Faramir's heart finally broke," she said, matching the sadness of the book at that part. "When was yours, Malcolm?"

And he told her. He told her about Victor Renslow and the two other bullies trying to force a younter boy to eat a worm behind the gardener's cottage at Evington Academy. He told how he fought his own fear to face them, swinging a rake to make them get off the younger boy. Then he told how they threw a rock and hit him in the head and them pummeled him until he couldn't tell up from down or fathom why they were dragging him or where. It was the water that clarified it. They held him under the water of a fountain until his lungs burned and the water tricked him. It made him think it was the air he held that was suffocating him. So he let it out to breathe again. And he drowned.

A passing teacher rescued and revived him, but Malcolm was never the same. His tie to his father's acceptance was severed. He could never be a sailor again.

By the time he finished his story, Hoshi was deposited back into her little room off the lab. A few minutes later, she could move and she felt the wet tears around her eyes. That day, April 11, 2136, was the day Malcolm became a stranger to his own family and an enigma to everyone else. It marked the deepest part of Malcolm's heart and she hurt for him. And she loved him for letting her know it.⁴

"Kenu's finally not bored all day," Baezhu told his friend at breakfast. "And it means the aliens must have had a communications device in the desert. Now, I'm guessing it's somewhere in the lab."

"I might know where," Kahrae replied. "Eshna and Daeron have shifts at the northwest wing. Major Zhenah has it secured. Only he and a Dr. Kaife have access."

"Kaife?" Baezhu asked. "I don't know a Kaife there."

"Exactly. I'll bet he has the device. I wonder what it looks like. I've never seen alien technology."

"It may not do much," Baezhu admitted. "All Kenu got was a pattern of pulses. Short short short, long long long, short short short. Some sort of code."

"That ought to keep Dr. Kenu busy," Kahrae said, laughing. "He's a linguist right, not a cryptographer."

Baezhu so wanted to really share his thoughts with his friend. But, depending how far he went with this, Baezhu was not going to implicate Kahrae in what he was doing. What he was risking.

Baezhu remembered the tapping the aliens did when they were in separate rooms. They were using that same code, though not the same pattern. They were communicating to each other all along. And if Kenu or any of the others figured that out, they might get a step closer to communicating with the alien. And that would not be good for the alien.

"Dr. Burha said he'll have the quotas out in a couple weeks," he said, changing the subject back to something less dangerous.

That perked Kahrae up. "Really? Any way you could get a peak, just see if I'm on the list?"

Baezhu laughed and downed the last of his water. "I don't have to look. You're a Cold Raptor, Kahrae. I'm telling you, you'd have to do something egregious to be taken off the list."

"I used to fantasize blowing up the school with those three in it," Malcolm admitted.

I thought it was the NI3, Hoshi replied. She was still in the lab and she figured she'd be there through her period.

"That was the 'how,'" he said. "Not the 'why.'"

Well, did you ever see a counselor about this? You were a kid who went through a traumatizing attack. You needed counseling.

"My father didn't see it that way." His voice was quieter now, sadder. "Except for my parents, I've never told anybody, until now."

In that case," she thought to him, I'm impressed. You had every right to be become a psychopathic terrorist bomber.

He smiled. She could tell somehow. "Well, I still fantasize about blowing things up—the laboratory, for example—but I try to channel it into productive endeavors."

Exactly. There was more. But I'm sure you didn't wake up the next day deciding to be a productive citizen and explosives expert.

"No, I plotted my revenge. I got some not-so-bright older students—big, brutish types—to like me by doing their homework for them. And two years to the day of my drowning, I got it. I had my boys take the leader of those bullies for a joyride to the pier. I was there waiting and they beat him for me."

Hoshi gasped. She tried to equate what she was hearing to the Malcolm Reed she knew and loved, but it didn't add up.

"I even joined in," he added, "and got a few licks in. Then, when he was a bloody mess who couldn't even hold his head up, I told them to toss him over the pier. He pleaded with me then. He said he couldn't swim. And I told him, 'Neither can I, not anymore.' And I'll tell you, Hoshi, I reveled in it." His tone hadn't changed. Still quiet, still somewhat sad. "I made him beg me! I had that power. Then I saw my reflection in his tear-filled eyes. I'd become him. And right there, I changed."

Hoshi smiled now. Into the one man on Enterprise who would stand up to the captain when he tortured a prisoner for information about the Xindi. What did you do with the bully?

"I told my bullies to take him to the hospital. I decided to join Starfleet that night. Space just seemed so far away from where I was, and I didn't want to be there anymore."⁵

Malcolm, why didn't your parents press charges? You knew who attacked you. And why didn't your father want you to get help? Her door opened and food and water were set inside by one of the orcs. She waited until the door closed before she went to the food.

"I don't know. I was very scared and confused at the time. He didn't discuss charges with me. As for help, I'm a Reed and Reed men don't let circumstances get the better of them. They pick themselves up and get going again."

She'd heard Stuart Reed's voice there at the end. Like your uncle on the Clement? What about your mother?

"My mother does what Father says when Father's home. And he was home then and only too happy to bring up the Clement when I tried to tell him why I couldn't get in the boat anymore."

Hoshi knew this was the heart of who Malcolm was. His drowning, his revenge, his redemption. And his father's disapproval. She meant it when she said she was impressed. He had managed to grow into a confident and competent man and officer in spite of receiving no counseling after the attack and no support from his family, pretty much ever since. But it also made her sad for him. She wanted to hug that young boy who had been drowned and tell him that everything would be okay. He was wrong, Malcolm, she said instead. About all of it. You came out remarkably well but you needed counseling, and it's even more understandable that you're aquaphobic since you didn't get any. And it doesn't make you any less of a man because you can't be in the navy. You are a good man and a Starfleet officer with a distinguished career. And if he can't see that, then he's the one with the problem.

"I know," Malcolm said sadly. "But he's still my father and I want him to be proud of me. I want to be Boromir, but I'm stuck with Faramir."

Faramir was the better man of the two, Malcolm.

"Someone's coming," he said, changing the subject. "It's Sméagol."

Major Zhenah opened the door to Dr. Kaife's lab. Thus far, few knew of this lab or what was going on in it. The guards at the door made sure of that. Dr. Kaife was at his table with the device tapping it slowly in the pattern they'd found at Korthitra. "What do you make of it?" he asked. "It's been a week."

Kaife gave a short laugh. "A week without any frame of reference. You don't need a scientist, Major. You need a miracle worker."

Zhenah sat down and sighed. "I wish I had one. The aliens have been here half a year and we still can't say why they've come or ask them the simplest question. What do they call their kind? What do they call themselves? If we can't even ask that, how are we supposed to learn anything?"

"Science can take time, Major," Kaife said. He stopped tapping and set the device down. "You just have to be patient. And let the little breakthroughs help you stay positive until the big ones come."

Zhenah looked up. "You have a little one?"

"Yes." He held up the device. "I know how they did it and I know it's not the default method of communication for this device."

"How do you know?"

"Because I could only recreate the pattern by interrupting the carrier wave. The carrier wave exists when I turn the device on. The tapping," he said as he demonstrated it, "interrupts it."

Zhenah stood up. "But if you replicated the pattern, you had to hear it. You've found a way to receive the signal from this device!"

"That one's too big," Kaife replied, waving his hand that Zhenah should sit again. "I have a smaller breakthrough. I can detect the signal. It's more a matter of seeing it than hearing it." He got up and went to one of the computers on the bench behind him. He pointed to a monitor display of a simple line. Then he turned the device on. The line became wavy. He tapped in the pattern and the line straightened with each pulse. "I can only say the signal is there. I can't say what it carries."

Enesh pulled up the camera's view of the female's womb and was happy to see both blastocysts still intact. "I'd have been satisfied if one survived," Besta said, coming up beside him to look. "But two is even better. The previous one was gone by this time. These two are doing nicely thus far."

Enesh looked more closely, estimating the distance between the two blastocysts. "Do we have any guesses about the size of the offspring when it's born? Can her womb hold two embryos successfully?"

"Well," Besta replied. "What do our most similar mammals do when they are pregnant? Do their bellies distend to provide room for the fetus? Is it born large or small?"

Enesh thought about that. The ekanon, as he knew it in Zheiren, gave birth to infants much smaller than the adult size would have one think. An adult could stand nearly three meters high while a newborn was barely ten centimeters. If the female was similar, the blastocysts would have plenty of room to develop into embryos that would produce male aliens genetically identical to the one he'd had to leave behind. But there was a lot of differences between ekanon and these aliens. "It depends how similar they are. We don't know this one's gestation period or the growth rate of the embryos yet. She's only similar in a few characteristics. She's a whole new species."

¹Story contributed by Exploded Pen as "Sibling Joy" and adapted by me to fit this story.
²Quote from *The Lord of the Rings** by J.R.R. Tolkien, Houghton Miffline Company, 1994, p 799
³Same, p. 798
⁴As told much better in the novel Last Full Measure by Michael A Martin and Andy Mangels, Pocket Books, 2006, New York, pages 145-150.
⁵Same, pages 150-154.