Hoshi's period hadn't come. She was back at work anyway. But now, when she woke up in the morning, there was a bucket beside her. She got sick and the bucket was the receptacle for it. She felt downright awful until a couple of hours had passed. It had started in the lab. At first, the orcs had fussed over her, taking blood samples and checking her temperature. But they didn't give her anything for it and sent her back to the fields. Hoshi knew there was a clue there but she didn't want to face it. Denial was the better option at this point. It kept her reasonably sane.

Malcolm was having a difficult time again, though they both had figured this one was coming. They'd tested his heat tolerance, so cold would have to come next. Though the cold did come more gradually. The temperature dropped steadily throughout the week and didn't become intolerable until the day before.

As with the heat, they'd first tested just how cold he could stand it. Then they fixed the temperature at something less drastic than that to test his tolerance. So it was cold, but not nearly as dangerous as it had been. And this time, the orcs threw in an added twist once he showed the first signs of frostbite on his ears.

"This one could be mathematical," he said. "But it's hard to tell when I don't know their numbers or symbols."

The orcs had given him puzzle boxes. Each box held something to protect a part of him from the cold. The first had been relatively simple, and it had produced a crude stocking cap. The second had mittens without thumbs. He had to take them off to work on the puzzles, though.

What's in that one? she asked. They'd both decided these little tests of his intelligence were worth doing to keep him from losing any appendages in this experiment.

"Looks like the mittens, but larger. I'm hoping they're for my feet." Hoshi could hear his teeth chattering. Not through Audio I. His thoughts were steady, if a bit hurried. But she could now almost hear through his ears--Audio II. The teeth, though, made it easier because he also would hear the chatter from inside his head which amplified the sound.

"There is an upside to the cold," he told her. "The orcs haven't come in. Cold-blooded, like our reptiles."

Hoshi gave that some thought. The girls do seem stiffer in the mornings here.

"Got it!"

How? Hoshi sat back on her heels to rest her back. The weeding was harder now that it was summer. The sweat got in her eyes and burned, and the weeds pricked at her fingers if she didn't grip them just right. They entwined their roots on the plant's roots to resist the picking. Fortunately for the plant, it was sturdy enough to survive a broken root or the reburial of one that was pulled out with the weed. The weeds also grew fast and wrapped themselves around the plant's stem, climbing two feet up in one day. And that meant the work got harder as the day went by. The weeds pulled in the morning were short and not so well established. The fields she got to at the end of the day had waist-high weeds. Hoshi was assigned fourteen long rows to keep weed-free. Pipa had twenty in front of her. Hoshi saw less of her until evening.

"The answer is three digits or characters long, so I just tried every combination until it opened. Which is good because my toes are completely numb and starting to turn blue. These aren't the most stylish socks but I'll take them."

"He has to be smart," Kahrae said, putting down the paper Baezhu had given him. "If he could figure that out. I can't, and I know the language."

"Given enough time," Baezhu replied, "I'm sure you'd be able to figure it out. He has hours until the cold drives him to do it quickly. He resisted at first, but then his ears showed the first signs of frost-bite."

"You said his skin was soft," Kahrae said. He handed the paper back to his friend. "So how does he stand the cold better than most of us?"

Baezhu chuckled. "How do you stand it when I'd freeze up? It's not so much about the skin, though with yours, you'd probably survive longer. It's about the blood. You and he regulate temperature internally. Where as we non-Cold Raptors do not. So the extremities and areas with less blood flow--like his ears--are the first to deteriorate." That thought made him grow serious. "I just hope Dr. Bishtae knows when to call this off. It may not be easy to recognize when he's actually freezing to death."

"His core body temperature will drop," Kahrae said, surprising Baezhu. "We learn that in survival training. There are limits to the cold, even for us."

Malcolm Reed huddled on top of the bed with the edges of his make-shift tunic tucked beneath him. His arms were tucked inside it, close to his body. It wasn't enough. He was still very cold. The puzzle boxes had things to help protect him from permanent damage. He recognized that. They had protected his ears, the socks his toes, and finally mittens with no thumbs for his fingers. His face was on its own.

He blew out a visible breath of steam and tried to relax. Only when he was totally relaxed could he stop shaking. But he couldn't stay relaxed for more than a few seconds anyway.

What would his great great great great uncle say? Keep moving, for one thing. Keep the blood flowing. But Malcolm could argue that one. He didn't have to survive. The orcs would see to that. All he had to do was withstand the torment until they were satisfied that they knew his limits. Keeping the blood flowing would only prolong that. He hoped, rather, to shorten it.

Hoshi tried to help, telling him how hot it was in the fields. It was so humid the air felt heavy and stuck to her skin. It was even difficult to breathe, or it seemed so, and the sweat poured off her forehead into her eyes. She told him of visiting her grandmother's garden in the summer as a child and how she and her sisters would walk with their grandmother while she told them all the names of the flowers and the legends and history of each one.

That's when he created two new controls on the visualized console. He wanted to see her memories and feel the heat. Video I and Tactile. He wanted to be careful with that last one. He never wanted it to be accidentally triggered if they took him back to surgery or did some other agonizing experiment. He didn't want Hoshi to ever feel that again.

But it was a long way from that. He was too cold, and his thoughts were getting lethargic. He hoped that meant it wouldn't be much longer. He'd heard that freezing to death was a peaceful way to go. He didn't believe it. It might eventually turn peaceful but getting to the freezing point was miserable and even painful--at least until whatever body part became numb.

Dr. Bishtae didn't like that Major Zhenah was watching over them. Baezhu could tell by the doctor's stiff posture and his clenched jaw.

Dr. Burha finished checking the alien's vitals. "His core temperature has begun to drop. It has decreased three degrees in the last hour."

"Has he spoken again?" the major asked.

"No," Dr. Bishtae replied quickly. "But he has given us clues to his intelligence by opening the puzzle boxes."

Zhenah sighed. "Then make it colder."

"That would not be wise," Bistae argued. Baezhu was glad.

"It would be useful," Zhenah argued back. "You scientists have had him for nearly eight months. You've come up with very little that's useful thus far."

"Hardly, Major," Dr. Buhra stepped in. "We've learned his heat tolerance, which chemicals are caustic and now his cold tolerance. All of which can be of use to a resourceful military should any more of them arrive."

"Certainly you have Wingeds who can develop chemical weapons to be used against them." Dr. Bishtae turned toward the Major now. "Or has the military finally given up the irrational fear of an invasion by alien forces?"

Zhenah didn't answer. "How long can his core temperature drop before he dies?"

"We don't know," Dr. Bishtae replied, "and we won't be finding out. We can't bring him back from that. Or do you not remember the Shirkatisan pseudo-scientific experiments of the last World War? Once it goes down more than a few degrees, it's very difficult to raise again without killing the subject."

"Those were reptiles, cold-blooded," Zhenah held, displaying a rather impressive knowledge of history for a Raptor. "This alien is warm-blooded. Perhaps it will be easier."

Dr. Burha nodded. "Perhaps. But if not, we risk the expiration of the one alien we have in our possession. The risk is too great. We need to warm him now."

Baezhu could see the Raptor square his shoulders for more arguing. An idea had been forming in him for a few days, and he let it out now, hoping to disarm any further argument--and risk to the alien. "We could test a piece of alien equipment."

Four heads turned to face him. "And you are?" Major Zhenah asked, clearly perturbed that a Lesser Winged would interupt a discussion between him and the senior scientists here.

Dr. Bishtae defended him. "Baezhu was the one to discover the traitor's tampering, Major."

That seemed to mollify the Raptor, as his posture softened and his glare let up. "What piece of equipment?"

Baezhu swallowed. "I read they were found with a metallic blanket. It could have reflected the sun by day in the desert, but perhaps have kept them warm at night."

One of Dr. Bishtae's eye ridges raised. "That is a delightful idea. We'd learn more about their technology and how the technology affects their environmental tolerance."

Major Zhenah just said, "Hmph," and turned back to the video monitor of the huddling alien.

Dr. Burha stood. "I'll go and fetch it."

Enesh checked the camera and was thrilled to see both blastocysts still viable and growing into little embryos. It was early yet and things could still go wrong, but it was progress at least. The report from the overseer noted the female got sick every morning but was fine by lunch. She was still able to perform her duties. His last blood sample, though, taken at night, revealed some nutritional deficiencies they would need to correct. It brought up a thorny issue though. What did the alien need for an optimal pregnancy? Did she need extra food or vitamins? Were her hormone levels within average range for early pregnancy? They simply had no baseline to measure against. Primates or shehra got what they needed from the environment. This alien got what they fed her, what they had determined she would eat. Was it enough?

Malcolm poked his head up when he heard the door open and something soft drop to the floor. It was a large silvery cloth of some sort. Then it hit him. He recognized it. From the desert, from the shuttlepod, from Enterprise. He uncoiled himself and raced across the small room, slipping a bit on the tile floor in his knit socks. This changed everything and he was willing to let them learn whatever they wanted out of giving him the all-weather blanket.

He slid back to the bed and sat. He turned and pulled his legs up. He started at his legs, tucking the blanket around and under the calves and then back up between and onto his shins. He tucked the lip of the blanket there around his feet. Then he worked his way up, rocking from one side to the other as he tucked the blanket beneath himself, cutting off all access to air at his thighs, his hips, his back and chest. He let the top of the blanket rest on his chest then used his right arm to reach under his left and pull the corner of the blanket back until it was tucked securely under his left arm. He did the same with his right arm and then laid his arms to his side. The blanket tightened across his chest.

He shivered but closed his eyes, knowing that the blanket would reflect his own body heat back on himself. He would be warm soon enough.

Hoshi had forgotten about that blanket. It had been so long ago. Zheiren had their uniforms, too, their boots. She missed the boots. It was one thing to lounge around a lab barefoot but now she had to walk in dirt and mud as she worked. She felt filthy. And with the uniforms as patterns, why couldn't they make some better-fitting clothing?

"Maybe they can't sew themselves," Malcolm reasoned. "They can't exactly send out an order to the local textile factory without letting their secret out."

Good point, Hoshi replied. Then why not just give us back the uniforms?

"They probably have cut them up to study the buttons, zippers, fabrics, and patches. We are their first aliens. They're studying everything they can about us. Think about it though," he said, sounding much calmer--much warmer--than before. "They have our names. But we confused them. They must think S-A-T-O spells 'Frodo' now. That's good. If they try to figure out 'ENTERPRISE' or 'EARTH', they can't get anywhere near the real words."

That was clever. If he ever gave them 'Sam,' they'd think it was spelled REED. It gave her an idea. We can do more than that.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

They may eventually make one of us talk. More likely you. So what if you told them something in three languages?

He laughed. "I see. And what if I told them a lie in three languages?"

They'd spend the next three centuries trying to parse it out, she replied, and still end up with a lie. What lie do we tell?

"And how do I manage the languages?" He sounded just a bit skeptical.

If they drugged you or--heaven forbid--tortured you, who would you listen to more? My voice or theirs?

"Yours. Yours is familiar, even if I don't understand."

Exactly, so I just tell the lie and you repeat what I say. Maybe we can even strengthen the console so I can push words through, influence you more if need be.

"We'll have to practice the next time they withhold water or food or whatever," he suggested. "You can try to make me say a word I've never heard."

I'm glad they didn't make you say 'blanket.' I was worried about you.

"They won't let me die, Hoshi."

Not on purpose. But you could have lost fingers or toes. I wouldn't want that either. So, what will the big lie be?

"We keep the same story we've been playing with all along, Frodo."

Hoshi had to hide her smile behind her hair. Perfect, Samwise Gamgee. Maybe we should spend some of our time refreshing the story in our minds.

It didn't take long, cocooned as he was in that blanket, for his own body's warmth to reflect back on himself. Malcolm stopped shivering and closed his eyes, re-imagining the book and movies, melding them for consistency with Hoshi. It took hours and kept her mind completely off her physical state while she went about her menial duties.

Somewhere during The Two Towers, she'd finished for the day, and feeling quite toasty and drowsy himself, Malcolm had fallen asleep. He awoke with a start when the cool air hit him. Cool, not cold. When he opened his eyes, expecting to see his lab cell, he saw instead the wide-open space of Sickbay on Enterprise. And Trip.

"Get away from me," he growled.

"Glad to see you're feelin' better, Lieutenant," Trip replied, leaning over the bed. "Phlox said your injuries were minor."

"Minor my ass!" Malcolm shot back. He sat up. "I'm not going through this with you again."

"What with me again?" Trip really did seem perplexed.

Malcolm looked around. "Let me guess. I'm not on Degra's ship, so the Xindi weapon is destroyed. But you're still not coming to get us."

"The captain and T'Pol are missing down on Vulcan with the Vulcan government tryin' to kill 'em. I really can't just order the ship off right now."

"Of course not," Malcolm sneered. "Because you're not there yet, right?" He stood. "Well, bugger off! I don't need you anymore. Not unless you're ready to rescue us. I've got Hoshi now."

Trip's eyebrows drew down. "She's with you?"

Malcolm closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Sickbay did not fade and Trip was still standing there. "No, she's on the other side of the bloody planet, but I'd rather spend time with her in my head than with you. You're nothing but a figment!"

"Now that's not fair, Lieutenant, and your tone is bordering on insubordination."

Malcolm was incredulous. "Insubordination? Well, have me court-martialed then! You'd have to come get me first. I'm sure Hoshi would be happy to kick your ass with that black belt of hers so you could bring her up on charges of assaulting a superior officer. Anything to get us out of the hell we're in. But seeing as you're not real, and this isn't real, I don't think there will be any charges. Because there weren't. This is the past, Trip. Some surreal version of it anyway. I don't know why I keep coming here and I don't care anymore. This is of no use to me. Just send me back!"

"To the hell you're in?" Trip's demeanor had changed completely. Malcolm almost took him for a friend again.

"Unless you can get me out for real, Trip, yes, back to the hell I'm stuck in. Hoshi's there, too and I don't like leaving her. I certainly don't like being reminded of what we can't have." Malcolm went back to the biobed, lay down and pulled a blanket over him. He closed his eyes tightly, trying to ignore the various electronics sounds of Sickbay. He heard Trip talking with the doctor, discussing how irrational he was, but he didn't care. This wasn't real. Hoshi was real and he wanted to be where she was, hell or not.