Major Zhenah was nervous. Usually, Colonel Gaezhur was in the Council meetings arguing with Burha. And usually, the Council members weren't pulled away from the activities of Turn to preside here. The Monitors who are watching over the mundane functions of the government were not prepared to handle something of this magnitude. Gaezhur had told him to handle it as he knew what had happened best. He advised him to be aggressive against Burha and to trust that Ussa, as Head Councilman, would give him the advantage.

Gaezhur had told him how raucous the Council chamber would be. Everyone except the Monitors were growling and snarling at one another.

"Traitor or not, it's this chamber that decides the fate of a civilian charged with treason," Burha yelled. "Major Zhenah questioned him and killed him. He consulted no one, not his commanding officer and not this Council."

"And you defend this Lesser Winged?" Head Councilman Ussa shouted back, banging his gavel on the desk.

"I do not!" Burha held. "I defend his right to have his defense heard before judgment by the rightful Council. I accuse the major of usurping that right and the right of the Council to that judgment!"

"No person is above the state!" the Grand Winged called out. He didn't remember his name even though he'd recently been the Head Councilman. "The Lesser should have been arrested, bound, and brought to us to try. We know how to deal with traitors. Perhaps the major doesn't trust the Council's judgment."

Ussa turned to Zhenah, "Is that so, Major?"

So much for an advantage. Zhenah shot Burha his best dirty look then turned to the Head Councilman. "It is not, Head Councilman. I trusted it completely. It was myself I could not trust. I admit I lost control. I beg the Council's forgiveness, for I, too, have been pulled away from Turn. And it is taking all of my strength now to keep myself under control as this Council deserves."

Ussa stood up and thundered, "It is only Turn then that brings leniency on a usurper such as you. So you will not so rashly forget your place, we shall give you a lower one. Behold, Captain Zhenah." He held out his arms for effect, and the other Council members, except the Monitors, banged their fists on their desks.

Zhenah bowed again, showing deference in the hope that he would still be heard. "I accept this demotion and thank you for your mercy." He stood again. "Now I beg your indulgence for the manner of the Lesser Winged's treason brings a potential danger. He allowed the alien to use the communications device we recovered from the desert."

The room went quiet. The Grand Winged now stood and faced Dr. Burha. "Is this true?"

Burha dipped his head. "It appears to be. It was not recorded. We do not know what he transmitted, but we do know that someone responded."

And the cacophony returned. "This Council," Zhenah shouted, "must now make the most important decision in the history of Sharu."

"This Council," the Head Monitor spoke up, "is in no shape to do so."

"And yet it is before you," Zhenah argued. "They replied. They could be here within a day, an hour, a week, a month."

"Or never," Burha interrupted. "If the alien does not reply again to confirm his location or existence, they may think it is a fluke and pass us by."

Zhenah faced him and snarled. "Whatever they replied, they looped for hours. Who would do that for a fluke?"

Burha didn't back down. "We have not learned enough of the alien psychology to know if they would or wouldn't. They could be coming or they might not. We just don't know." He turned to the Council. "It is a momentous decision and it should not be decided rashly. In a week, Turn will be over and we'll all think straighter--"

"We won't," the Head Monitor reminded him. "Should we wait two more and risk being unprepared?"

Zhenah had an idea that might serve his purpose, put Burha in his place, and solve the puzzle about the aliens coming or not. "Let us make an example of the alien we have. Kill him, so slowly and gruesomely, that any aliens to come looking will hesitate to set foot on Sharu again."

The room fell silent. Burha's eyes were wide. He was completely shocked. Zhenah liked that look on him.

The Councilmen seemed to be thinking it over. Even the Wingeds were silent.

Ussa was the first to speak. "It has merit."

Burha shook his head. "With all due respect, he's the only one we have! We kill him and he's gone."

"You could study its corpse," Zhenah told him. Then he spoke to the Council again. "This one alien may have called more, aided by a traitor. He has acted against Zheiren and perhaps all of Sharu. He deserves death anyway!"

"You do not determine that, Captain Zhenah," the former Head Councilman reminded. He turned back to Burha. "What more can be learned from the alien alive that cannot be learned from a corpse?"

Burha struggled with the question for a moment then offered, "His language."

Zhenah laughed. "Ask Dr. Kenu how that's going. It purposely confounds him by speaking more than one. Thirteen at last count, I believe."

"So he can't or won't volunteer useful information," Ussa concluded. "He can't answer questions if he can't understand the questions, and we can't understand the answers. Do you see that changing in the near future, Dr. Burha?"

Burha deflated. It was fascinating to watch. His shoulders dropped, his back slumped, and his beak dipped down, "Kenu has made some progress. We know the name of his world, his ship."

"When will we know more?" That was the Winged again. It was almost like he conceded the death sentence but was looking for a legitimate reason not to do it.

"I -- I don't know," Burha admitted. "There's no way to know."

The Head Monitor proved very helpful next. "Are not the Buftanisians even now working on a clone of the male alien? This uncooperative one will be superfluous when they succeed."

"That could take years," Burha said.

"We don't have years," Zhenah reminded them all. "The aliens have tried to communicate with the male. They are probably waiting for a response. We should give them one."

Ussa waved his hand. "Leave us. We will decide."

Enesh returned to his apartment flushed and exhausted, but very content. In Zheiren, he was lucky to have two chances to mate the whole of Turn. Here, he'd gotten that every single day. And there were still four days to go. It was heaven! He couldn't help but think that everyone in Zheiren would defect if they just knew how differently it was done here.

His telephone rang. That was odd. It was late. He looked and saw he had three missed calls. He picked up the phone. "They're going to kill him," a voice said. In Zheiren.

"Who is this?" Enesh asked.

"That doesn't matter. Your people need to get him tonight or not at all. In the morning, it will be too late."

"Tonight? What are you talking about?"

"You're done screwing for the night, Enesh. Use your brain." There was a click and the line was dead. Enesh slowly set the receiver down. Someone in Zheiren had called him. Spoke to him in Zheiren. Someone was going to be killed. What did it mean? He hurried out the door to Besta's apartment down the hall.

Besta was disheveled. He must have just come back, too. He let Enesh in and Enesh told him about the call. "It was probably just a prank," he said.

"In Zheiren? How many young people here speak Zheiren?"

"You'd be surprised," Besta replied. "It's either that or it's someone from Zheiren warning you to go get him before he's killed tomorrow. Who were you planning to go get?"

"Dreading going," Enesh reminded him. "The alien? Why would they kill the alien?"

Besta sighed, then showed him the door. To Enesh's surprise though, Besta stepped out with him. "We've been neglecting the lab. I figured they had him in a coma so we wouldn't need to be waiting for reports. But I suppose we should check."

The doctor was up. And he was, for the most part, coherent. He was a few days short of his full cycle, but there were detailed medical reports coming through, and T'Pol had thought it prudent that only the doctor should see those translated reports. Archer had agreed. He worried at the number of them, but T'Pol reminded him that a year had passed and that Malcolm was in a biological research facility. That hadn't made him feel any better, but he had to concede that that was the reason for the numerous medical reports.

There were others, though. Reports on the way the "aliens" acted together, and how the "alien" acted when he first realized the female was missing. He'd whispered her name: "Frodo."

And that was just the first of the Lord of the Rings references. There was a much longer one from many months later. That report had included a recording. The translation software--and Carstairs--had had a heyday with that. "It's a retelling of the story, sir," Carstairs said excitedly. "They'd apparently drugged him with something. Doctor Phlox is going over the compound, but anyway, it got him to speak. For a couple of hours. The thing is, we counted at least twelve different languages there. Most from Earth, but not all. Easy stuff for the translator."

"I wasn't aware that Lt. Reed knew any other languages," Archer mused. "But it's definitely like him to try and deflect them from the truth."

Carstairs was clearly impressed. "It's brilliant. If, by some miracle, they parse out the languages, they'll still only get that he was on a quest to destroy the One Ring. He spoke for hours and told them nothing."

Archer looked up at him. "And there's no evidence he had any contact with Hoshi?"

Carstairs sobered. "None, sir. We have heard of her, though. The doctors in the facility shared reports about the lieutenant with someone who reciprocated with reports about the female alien."

Archer stood up. "Do they say where she is?"

"No, sir. There are medical and sociological reports. Medicals are sent to Dr. Phlox, as you know. As for the others, it seems she's been put to work with native females. It noted she stopped crying and sulking when they did. She follows instruction well and has not been difficult with her handlers."

Archer was puzzled by that. "What kind of work?"

"Agricultural, mostly. Planting, weeding, irrigating, harvesting."

"Did they drug her to talk?" Archer sat down again.

"No mention of it, sir. In fact, there's no mention thus far, of her having spoken at all."

Archer handed back the report. "Find that third party, Mr. Carstairs."

Carstairs nodded and left the ready room. Something was off. Malcolm had spoken a dozen languages over a couple of hours, and Hoshi hadn't spoken at all in a year. That just didn't make sense. Malcolm was the silent one. Hoshi was the linguist. She could speak dozens of languages and pick up new ones in a matter of days. And if Malcolm was drugged, where did he find the wherewithal to recite fiction?

He was still pondering that at breakfast, so he brought it up to T'Pol and Trip. "Hoshi could learn their language," Trip agreed. "Maybe that's why she's not talking. I'm trying to think of it from Malcolm's point of view. He wouldn't want her to answer any of their questions. If they knew she could, they might make her."

"They may have made the assumption that females of your species cannot speak," T'Pol added. "It appears that their society is male-dominated. They may make the mistake of thinking that all societies are. They only try to get the male alien to speak because the female is less important."

Archer sat his fork down and asked T'Pol, "Why do you think they are male-dominated?"

"The reports about Ensign Sato's work are the only reports that have mentioned females at all. They are not in the media, not in lists of historical figures for any nation on the planet. We knew they exist because of those reports and the fact that the inhabitants mate every three years."

Trip tucked a piece of sausage into his mouth. "I'd say that qualifies."

Archer nodded and let that go. "Okay, so how does Malcolm speak a dozen languages while drugged and have enough control to paraphrase The Lord of the Rings? The way Phlox tells it, he would've been too loopy to recite the quadratic formula with what they pumped into him."

"I do not believe," T'Pol replied, "that we have enough evidence for a logical solution to that dilemma. The lieutenant is formidable but he is not immune to chemistry."

Dr. Bishtae startled the young guard at the window in the door. "There--there is blood--" he stuttered.

"Kahrae, isn't it?" Bishtae asked. "Baezhu's friend?" he whispered.

The guard, a Cold Raptor, bobbed his head up and down. "It's not its blood," he said, pointing to the floor where the blood had seeped from under the door.

Bishtae put a hand on the young man's shoulder. "I'm sorry to be the one to inform you. Your friend is dead."

Kahrae stepped back, away from Bishtae's hand. He strained harder to get the right angle at the window. "Dead? Why? How?"

"Major--Captain--Zhenah caught him in an act of treason. He killed him."

Kahrae shook his head. "Treason? No! He wouldn't!"

Bishtae looked in the window. "I can't give you details," he said. The alien was still in the far corner, hunched into a ball. "He tried to help this one."

Kahrae let out a long breath. He knew more than it seemed. Baezhu must have trusted him a lot to tell him about the alien at all. "Pretend you don't know," Bishtae advised. "Pretend you don't feel. Grieve in private. Don't give them a reason to question you."

Kahrae held one hand to his mouth for a moment. Then he squared his shoulders and nodded once before marching on his rounds. "Goodnight, Dr. Bishtae," he said without turning.

Trip looked up from his desk as one of the MACOs entered. He was tall and lean with broad shoulders, just like all the other MACOs. Not really, he chided. They were almost as diverse as Starfleet.

"Corporal Woods, sir," the MACO introduced himself. "I'll be going with you to the planet."

Trip stifled a growl. "As soon as we go anyway. We've got a few details to work out."

Woods nodded. "Understood. I've got a pack ready with emergency medical supplies. I'd like to stash it near the ship so we can be ready as soon as we get the order to go."

"Guns, too, I hope." Trip raised his eyebrows.

Woods smiled. "I never leave home without them."

Trip stood and walked around his desk. "You seen what the natives look like?"

"I've heard they look like dinosaurs, only smaller," Woods admitted, still standing at a stiff parade rest.

"At ease, already, Corporal," Trip ordered. "You're not far off. They're only smaller when comparing them to our dinosaurs back on Earth. The smaller of these guys are still about half a meter taller than you. The bigger ones are almost four meters tall."

Woods did loosen up. He nodded slowly. "We'll need really big guns then."

"Our first trip will be to get Lt. Reed," Trip told him. "Right now, we're trying to find blueprints or schematics for the facility. After that, we've got to pinpoint where any evidence is: blood and tissue samples, etc. Commander T'Pol is working on a virus to erase any computer records dealing with the humans, the communicator, uniforms, etc. We can't just get the people. We have to get everything."

"Like the bone fragment." That was said very quietly.

Trip sighed. "Yeah, like that. You guys heard then. I'm sorry about Moody."

"Thank you, sir. We'd like to know the circumstances of his death. I'm hoping the lieutenant can tell us when he feels up to it. What about Ensign Sato?"

Trip made a face. "We know she's down there, but we haven't got her location pegged yet."

The comm buzzed on the wall. Trip went to answer it. "Engineering."

T'Pol was on the other end. "Commander, can you meet me in the Science lab? I believe I have a 'lead' in finding Ensign Sato."

Trip liked the sound of that. The sooner they found her, the sooner he could get down there and get them. "On my way," he replied. He turned to the MACO. "Ensign Mayweather is in the launch bay with the ship. It's not a big ship. Work with him to get everything stowed in a way that will work for us."

"Aye, sir," Woods said as he snapped to attention. "We will be ready."

Enesh didn't know whether to be relieved or worried. The sun was just beginning to rise--as much as it could with such a blizzard hanging over them. He was still in Buftanis. He and Besta had found no new reports from Zheiren, nothing to back up their theory about the mysterious call. Still, they had disturbed the Director, who had gotten through to President Gudai. The mission was off, for now anyway. It was not feasible at this time with all members of the strike team incapacitated with Turn and all of Zheiren's armed forces still at home. If the call was true, the male alien was lost, and they must work all that much harder to clone him. If not, then the raid could proceed after Turn and after Zheiren moved to put down Shirkatisa.

But still Enesh wondered why Zheiren would kill the alien. They had the most valuable one. The one who could give them the clues to technological advancement, knowledge of other worlds and cultures, or simply a clearer picture of their place in the universe. The female was just a worker and a baby factory, at this point. Enesh truly doubted she would be anything more, except, he hoped, a good mother. It just didn't make any sense to kill the male.

Maybe the caller had meant someone else. Another spy perhaps, like Nishet had been. His door chimed and, when he opened it, Besta stood waiting. "Let it go, Enesh. There's nothing you can do at this point." He tilted his beak up. "Except enjoy yourself."

Besta was right. He couldn't stop Zheiren from killing the alien, or anyone else for that matter. It was Turn, and the females were waiting. He stepped into the hall and closed the door behind him.

An even bigger, long-armed T'Rex had woken Malcolm up. No other orcs were in the room. The T'Rex barked something at him from between clinched, very long teeth. Malcolm was still groggy. He'd only managed a few hours of sleep he'd guessed. But even with a clear mind, he wouldn't have understood the T'Rex. Sauron, he decided, in keeping with the Lord of the Rings code names. It would still be early in Buftanis, and he had a pretty good idea of which way this was going. He decided not to wake Hoshi. Not yet anyway.

Sauron was apparently not satisfied with his silence. He stepped straight onto Malcolm's right thigh, the broken one, and tapped that long claw on his hip. Malcolm tried to stifle his scream as Sauron put more and more weight onto that foot. The bone, though, didn't give. They'd probably put a rod or something similar in to stabilize it. But the pain was immense, and he couldn't hold back the scream for long.

Sauron let up and shouted at him. Malcolm had no idea how to answer. Which was why he'd never learned their language and ordered Hoshi not to speak. They could make him want to answer their questions. Hell, he already did. But he honestly didn't know what they were asking.

Sauron didn't understand either and he apparently didn't like it. The next hour or so--it was really difficult to tell time--was spent getting pummeled and thrown around the small room. By the time Sauron stopped, Malcolm hurt everywhere. He was bruised and sore and broken, he was sure, in a few places. Ribs mostly. He really hoped the orcs would come and give him something for the pain or wrap his chest in bandages. They really were not the bad guys in the scenario, as much as he didn't like them. Except poor Bayzhoo who had begun to stink in the corner by the door.

But when the door had opened, it wasn't orcs but more T'Rexes--Uruk-Hai--who entered. Two of them lifted him by the arms and dragged him out the door.

Malcolm truly hoped they were done with him, like they had been with Bayzhoo. Maybe they'd take him to the orcs who'd drug him into oblivion. Maybe they'd just shoot him or behead him. The latter didn't sound fun but at least it would be quick. He wondered if it was time to call out to Hoshi, to say goodbye.

The first thing that hit him was how bright the sun was. Daylight hours in the lab were well-lit, but this hurt his eyes and caused them to water. The second thing was the heat. Once he had been dragged clear of the last doors and the modest air-conditioning, the heat engulfed him. He was, once again, in the desert.

He took a painful breath of the hot, but very clean air, and looked up at the bright blue sky for the first time in what was probably a year. Too bad it isn't Earth's sky, he thought. Hoshi, are you awake?

Her answer was quick. "Yes, morning feeding for the little critters everyone likes to eat around here. How are you? Have they hurt you?"

No surprise there. Not after Bayzhoo, he replied. The Uruks kept dragging him along, sending waves of searing pain up his bad leg each time it was pulled forward. All in all, I'm not having a very good day.

"Are we ever?" He could hear the humor and was glad he could, at least, hear her smile even if only in her mind, now and then.

I can hear you smiling, he told her. I wish I could see it with my eyes.

"You're changing the subject."

Oh, the subject. He looked around, wondering if it was good to tell her any of this. Of course, if they killed him, she'd probably figure that out, so there wasn't much point in hiding it. Still, there was always reason to hope. Enterprise may have been far out of range, but someone else might have heard his message. Vulcans could translate it. Denobulans would understand it. Humans might figure it out. Someone might come for them. For her, at least. Things aren't so good, Hoshi. They obviously know Sméagol helped me. That's why they killed him. They're angry with me, Hoshi. They've taken me outside.

"The scientists?" He heard hope in that one, false hope, but hope nonetheless.

No, my love. The other ones. I don't think they mean well for me.

"Maybe someone heard. We were passing by when we heard the other message. Somebody might have heard this one." She was smart, not that he had ever doubted it. Still, he didn't want to spell it out unless he had to. And to be honest, that was for his own benefit. He didn't want to look any further than the ground just in front of his feet.

That's what I'm counting on, he said. It's all I've got left, I'm afraid.

"I thought I was the reason you breathe."

You definitely are, and you're worth every bit of the pain. I shall continue to breathe so as long as it is in my power. For you and nothing else.

"They're going to kill you, aren't they? As punishment?" God, he loved her courage.

I think they're going to try. I won't leave you though, not without saying goodbye. I promise.

"I never want you to say goodbye," she said. "I'm going to keep hoping. One day, a year from now maybe, you and I will be sitting in a cafe, sharing a piece of pineapple cake and laughing over some joke Trip told."

Malcolm couldn't keep his smile just in his mind at that, which caused a hiss from the soldier to his left. And a tall glass of milk for each of us?

"Better," she answered. "A shake, cookies and cream with big chunks of cookies at the bottom of the glass."

T'Pol had found a way in by following reports. Reports went up a chain of command, and she had found her way to the top.

"The ruling council," she stated, summarizing her findings for the captain and Trip. "Nine members, three of each of the main subspecies. When the shuttlepod crashed, the Wingeds held the Head Councilman position. However, as Turn approached, the Raptors moved into that position. By searching through minutes from the council meetings, I found one of note that took place just before Ensign Sato was removed from the facility."

Trip decided to jump in. "And the communicator showed up. There are reports coming from that biological research lab about an alien communications device that started just after that particular meeting."

Archer crossed his arms and furrowed his brow. "What happened at that meeting?"

T'Pol took up the recitation again. "An envoy from a nation called Buftanis arrived and issued an ultimatum."

Trip cut to the chase. "Either share the aliens, or we'll tell the rest of the world you have them and start a world war. That was the stick. The carrot was telling them where to find a piece of 'technology' in the desert."

Archer nodded. "They traded Hoshi for the location of the communicator. So she's in Buftanis. So we can find her."

Trip had been leaning on the counter, but he stood up. "We're closer, but Buftanis is the second largest country on the planet. We need another probe. Maybe we could pin-point her location with that."

"It's daylight down there, right?" Archer asked.

"Buftanis is six to eleven hours behind Zheiren, depending on the time zones. It is approaching mid-day for the laboratory where Lt. Reed is being held. It is morning on the east coast of Buftanis, but much of the continent is still dark."

Archer unfolded his hands. "Keep it to the dark. Treat it as a test flight for the cell ship. We need to know we can get a crew safely down there and back. How is the computer virus coming?"

Trip smiled. "It will eat every file they have mentioning anything about aliens or the communications device, but not before sending us a copy."

The captain nodded. "There could be hard copies, too. Get with Malcolm's people. Get something Malcolm would be proud of."

T'Pol tipped her head slightly to one side. "You wish to blow up the laboratory?"

Archer shook his head. "Not all of it. Look, that cell ship can't hold four people and a years worth of files or specimens."

Trip finished for him. "So we'll blow up the files and specimens. I'll go talk to Malcolm's people." He headed for the door with a lighter step. Malcolm would appreciate that.

"I'll prepare the probe," he heard T'Pol say before the door swished shut behind him.

Bishtae did not relish the position he was put in. He hated it. As he had told Baezhu, scientists were not cruel. They did not torture. And if a creature under their care needed euthanizing, it was done quickly and without pain. What he was now called to do was the exact opposite. He now felt his heart was beside Baezhu's. If he wouldn't be counted a traitor for it, he would have sided with the alien and tried to help him get home to his people. But the verdict was passed, and he would be beside the alien if he did anything of the sort.

The Raptors, still flush with testosterone, had called for a traitor's death for the alien, and the testosterone-flushed Wingeds in the Council had approved. The Monitors, not wanting to anger those who would oversee their Turn went along, too. So the alien was to be spiked at Yekina. And to be certain he didn't die too soon, Bishtae, the lead scientist researching the alien would assist by directing and adapting the spikes for the alien's odd physique. No primate had ever been staked at Yekina. There had never been a sentient one before now, so none could commit a crime.

Wooden pylons had been set deep into the sand on the side of the hill. They were set in good positions for staking the limbs of Wingeds and Raptors, Lesser and Greater. A second set nearby sat ready for Monitors of various sizes. The alien was too narrow at the legs for any of them.

Bishtae suggested flipping him, so that his legs would be on the lower side of the hill where the pylons were closer together to accommodate reptile arms. Gaezhur would have nothing of it. "The head always goes downhill. Captain Zhenah has found a workable solution."

The demoted, yet still arrogant, Raptor stepped forward, carrying three thick steel cables. "There are two bones in each set of lower limbs: lower arms and lower legs. We can thread these through those bones just above its ankles and attach them to the stakes in the pylons. The third cable can attach between its ankles, pulling them together where the others pull them apart."

Bishtae threw up his hands. "Then what do you need me for?"

"We would hate to nick an artery and have him bleed out," Gaezhur replied. "Same with his arms: between the bones. No arteries, but make sure we contact nerves. Major ones."

Bishtae thought for a moment that he had an out, a way to keep his conscience somewhat clean. By severing major nerves, pain would be lessened for the alien. But how to convey to the alien that he should still scream in pain? And still, he'd be left to die here in the elements. More pain was more stress on the alien's whole system. He might die faster due to shock.

So when the guards brought the alien up and dropped him at their feet, Bishtae did his job, hating every moment of it. This was not how he wanted to be vindicated for his belief in alien life. His people, he realized, were not ready to embrace such things, to learn from them.

So he fudged in small ways. Zhenah pushed the alien onto his back by pressing his considerable weight on his chest. That alone was distressing and quite painful to the alien, who gasped for breath and writhed under Zhenah's foot. Zhenah tapped his long claw and the alien stilled. It was hard, it seemed, for anyone to scoff in the face of death by evisceration. The alien's arms were bent at the elbows to line them up with the narrowest set of pylons, and Bishtae marked a path for the spikes by inserting a long, thick needle. He chose a path that would just scrape but not crush the median nerve.

The alien grimaced in pain as each needle was inserted. Bishtae repeated the procedure with the alien's ankles as his legs were held down tightly by wide-eyed guards. Then he found the intermediate dorsal cutaneous nerve and the peroneal artery. He set the needle to scrape the former and bypass the latter.

The actual staking was done one at a time, to increase the horror and pain for the victim. Bishtae asked to leave. Instead, Gaezhur produced a portable defibrillator set. "In case his heart gives out too early."

Bishtae seethed at being made to watch. He snapped at Zhenah in his frustrations, "You'll crush his chest and kill him that way if you don't let up!"

The pressure eased on his chest, but it was still hard to breathe. T-Rex wasn't off him completely, and he felt something snap in his side. Then there were the rather long pins impaling his wrists and ankles. At least he couldn't see his feet. But he couldn't look away from his hands. And what he saw next filled him with the worst terror he'd ever felt. Well, except for drowning, but he didn't feel in the mood to compare. A large pointed piece of metal was being placed alongside the needle in his left wrist. An Uruk there had a mallet and he began to drive the metal in. The pain was immense and he screamed. But the next strike hurt worse. The metal was threaded, and it felt like it tore where it went in. White-hot pain blocked out his sight. He kicked but they grabbed his legs and the broken one added to his agony.

Frodo!

"Sam, I'm still here. And I will be, every second."

Don't ask what they're doing!

"I'll tell you a story. Did you know I always wanted a cat? I was quite jealous that the captain got to have a pet on board. My mom didn't like them, so I couldn't have one. I'd go over to my aunt's sometimes just to see hers. It had long hair and lots of different colors but also tiger stripes. And it had extra toes, too. Thirteen in the front. Looked like it was wearing mittens."

Her voice was his lifeline. He scrunched his eyes shut and tried not to hear the mallet striking the stake or his own screams as it ground through his arm. He nearly passed out when one of the bones in his arm cracked. Unfortunately, he didn't, and they started on his other arm.

Trip thought Malcolm would be proud. Woods had collected various explosives that would destroy small sections of the lab and burn hot. They didn't want to start a war or kill the animal specimens being studied. They wanted to completely eradicate any evidence of humans.

"We'll have to do the same where they're holding Hoshi," Trip told him. "Buftanis. On the other side of the world. Bad enough they were down there, but they were down there alone."

"Alone isn't easy," Woods agreed. "Hopefully, they'll recover once they're home."

Trip thought about that. Eleven months or more alone in a world of aliens who were not familiar or necessarily friendly. Malcolm might be okay. He was so private anyway. Trip hoped that protected him from the worst psychological effects. Hoshi, though, she was not one for silence. She was made for communicating. It still shocked him that she'd not said a word for the whole time.

"Well," he said, "it seems there may be only one place for human data or evidence where they have Hoshi. One lab. They keep her elsewhere. And that could be difficult."

Woods met his gaze. "How so?"

"She's likely to be surrounded by hundreds of female mini-dinosaurs."

Woods' eyes went wide. "Hundreds. How are we supposed to get her out of that?"

"That's what we've got to figure out."

Hoshi hadn't slept much. She had known the night before that things weren't good for Malcolm. And now that she was up, she had to try not to show that she was concentrating on him. He hadn't told her what they were doing to him, and she didn't ask. It was meant to kill him, but slowly and painfully. It was hard not knowing, but she was, in a way, excited that the day had started. Because it would all be over by that night.

While she told him about the animals she and the other two females were feeding, she went over drafts of a plan privately. She could nick a finger on a cage. Blood might get the other females going for her. Or she could start a fight with one of them. Either way, she couldn't just run. The guard would catch her. She had to get him to leave her here alone. That night, when it was dark.

The snow could help. It was quite deep already. Maybe ten centimeters. It had stopped snowing, but the wind was strong and blew the snow into drifts. Maybe if it snowed again or the wind kept blowing, the snow could cover her tracks when she did run.

"Tell me," she heard in gasps, "about snow." Malcolm was so very hot while she was cold. At least she had the fur coat and booties they had given her. He was stuck with his weather.

It's deep, she told him. Soft and white as far as the eye can see. It hangs on the limbs of the trees and piles up. It snowed for hours yesterday. Hard enough that it was difficult to see through it. Maybe I can help you feel it.

She'd gotten rather accustomed to concentrating on one thing in her mind while performing rote tasks with her body. So she fed the little beasts but concentrated on the console. Tactile didn't exactly describe what she wanted but it was close. She installed the switch and set it to herself. She added a slide and slid it slowly as she concentrated on the cold of the wind on her face and legs where it hit below the coat and above the booties. Normally, she resented that exposure to the cold, but now, she treasured it as a chance to bring some comfort to him.

It felt like a breeze. But the hair Malcolm had flung over his face to block the sun from his eyes never moved. He felt it but he had a hard time sorting out the cold sensation from the heat and pain. His fingers, some of them, radiated pain, and his arms throbbed. He wouldn't look at them anymore, though. That made it worse. His legs were elevated out of necessity. A cable attached each one to the stakes about a half a meter on each side. Another cable stretched between his two ankles, adding tension in the opposite direction. The problem was, all those cables were attached through his ankles and not around them. They were taut, so any drop in elevation pulled on those cables even more. Any movement in any direction caused pain in another. It was an exhausting, impossible, and agonizing position.

So maybe it was cold. He couldn't tell but he did think he felt a breeze. And that made it just a little bit easier to keep breathing, to keep holding his legs a few inches off the ground.

I felt, he told her, a breeze.

"I wish I could do more for you."

Just hearing you helps. He meant it. Part of him very much wanted to just go ahead and die if he could. But the other part didn't want to leave her alone no matter what. Her voice kept him going, kept the first part from winning out.

Sweat poured off his body, and he was parched from the lack of water and from screaming when his present position had been accomplished. His exposed skin--and there was a lot of it--seemed to sizzle in the heat. The sun, he could tell through his eyelids--was directly overhead. It was morning for her. How long, he asked, are days here?

"On the planet? About the same as Earth, I think. But maybe your day will be short."

But Malcolm remembered suddenly, in total clarity, the crash that brought them down. Aiming for the trees. They were headed north. And deserts tended to be nearer equators than poles. Moody died here.

"Moody?" She thought for a moment. "I remember him. MACO. He helped you keep the nose up."

At least he went quick, he said. I wish we could.

"I wish we could, together. I love you, Malcolm Reed. I want to be there with you."

I'd love to be there, he told her, with you. We'd go over that wall together. Best we can manage is this.

"I can do better," she told him, and suddenly, he could see the snow, the animals, the two females she was with, and the guard with them. The snow was so white, he could block out the glare from the sun behind his eyelids and hair. "I just wish I could take the pain for you."

Nothing on the console could block that out. Every twitch of his legs sent shockwaves from his ankles right up to his thighs. Trying to relax the cable in between pulled the cables pulling each leg outward. His back hurt because he couldn't rest his feet on the ground. He had to hold them up a few inches. It was hard on his abdomen, but resting meant pulling on all those cables. His wrists hurt but at least he could try and relax his arms to loosen any pull from the stakes.

He tried to focus his mind on the cold and snow she was providing. It was hard to hold the images steady though. They flashed in an out with the intensity of the pain. Her voice, though, was always steady. When do you feed them again?

"Just after dark," she replied. "That comes early now. Ten hours or so."

Ten hours. Could he survive ten hours in the sun? Could he stand the pain, the thirst, the heat? He would do it, he determined, somehow. He could not leave her alone on this planet.

The probe returned to Enterprise without incident. T'Pol was able to predict the time between the chronoton energy blasts so that the probe could exit the turbulent interference without hitting one. But when she analyzed the data, there was no evidence of a human female in Buftanis. That narrowed down Ensign Sato's location to the eastern coast of the country. As it had already been daylight, that coast had not been in the flight plan of the probe.

T'Pol returned to her efforts to trace the transmissions, to infiltrate the networks of Buftanisian computers. The transmissions from the research facility to Buftanis were in the language of Zheiren. The replies were in the same language. The exact ultimatum had demanded three items: Ensign Sato, the scientist who had been turned to treason, and the spy who had turned him. The first two were granted. The third was denied. So the scientist from Zheiren in Buftanis explained the language of the transmissions from Buftanis to the research facility in Zheiren. But it did not help her to locate the point of transmission, nor provide a backdoor into the Buftanisian network behind it. In fact, it appeared to be a single system, used only for receiving and transmitting the reports. She would have to find another way.

As with Zheiren, T'Pol could not find any national evidence for the existence of any sentient alien. Ensign Sato was likely kept in a secret facility, just as Lt. Reed was. There was one clue to her location in the translated reports sent from Buftanis. Agriculture. She worked in an agricultural facility with many other females. That would eliminate small establishments. More likely, she was on a large plantation that was known. The laboratory on the plantation would be the secret. The particular crop Sato worked produced a fiber similar to Earth's cotton. Cotton grew in the temperate zone on Earth, but in the warmer climates such as those found in the lower central section of the North American continent. But did the Buftanisian material require the same warmth? Buftanis, itself, was situated at a fairly high latitude in the northern hemisphere. Presently, a blizzard covered most of the eastern coast. There was actually less snow in the far north than there was farther south. However, produce made up most of the crops in the far south of the country.

T'Pol concentrated her search for a plantation in the central zone of the eastern coast. She was able to pull up contemporary maps from Buftanisian media showing the various crops in the area. Then she used geographical data from the probe that was sent out after the shuttlepod disappeared. She looked for sizable plantations with significant buildings for housing large numbers of workers as well as laboratories for research. She had a few dozen possibilities, but not knowing how the female workforce was housed hampered her efforts.

It was lunchtime, but Hoshi could hardly eat. She wouldn't need the meal. Malcolm was dying and, as soon as her opportunity came that night, she would be joining him. Life here was nothing to hold on to. There was no future worth having.

The food was bland to her tongue, and she methodically chewed and swallowed it. Malcolm was hungry and very thirsty. She kept telling him stories about anything but food or water. The sun, for him, was beginning to dip at least. She thought she'd already lost him a few times, but he came back so she figured he must have passed out. She didn't know exactly how he was hurt but she realized it was awful. She was grateful he was holding on. For her.

As she looked back on it now, she realized how odd it had been to fall in love here, with all they had to go through, and without seeing each other's face for so long.

"Long distance romances have happened before," he reminded her.

Not in real time, not so intimately, she argued. This is closer than a telephone, quicker by far than letters.

"Some men in my family did the letter writing. On the sea for months. But most of them had fallen in love before setting out."

That was a lot for him to say. Maybe the temperature was dropping, giving him some relief.

I'll bet they wrote lovely letters, she replied. They did back then when it was the main form of distance communications. They'd put their hearts out there with no guarantee of a reply. I like this better. I just wish I could see your face again, hold your hand.

"I'm sure I look a mess." He paused a bit. Hoshi could almost feel him trying hard for a breath. Was she imagining it? "You, on the other hand, could never be less than beautiful."

I'm not sure you'd say that if you could see me now. I probably look like a cavewoman.

"Hoshi Sato, I'm glad I realized that I love you before I died."

And I, you, Malcolm Reed. I'm pretty sure I loved you long before this, but just couldn't see it with all the distraction.

"Being stuck in your head for a year is a great way to get rid of distractions."

At least unwanted ones.

The orc was back. Lunchtime was over. With the blizzard coming down, shoveling was going on all day. She hoped it kept snowing right through the night.

Trip was with the captain and T'Pol again. She wanted to send another probe over the eastern part of Buftanis. She had narrowed Hoshi's location to less than a dozen possibilities, and it was just getting dark there. The door opened and Carstairs hurried in, carrying a PADD. His eyes were wide and his face pale. "Sir, we have to go now!"

"What is it?" the captain asked, holding out his hand for the PADD.

"One of the latest Council sessions. Sir, they know he made the transmission. They know we tried to contact him, and they sentenced him to die."

Trip looked over at the PADD as Captain Archer scrolled down. "'Staked at Yekina,'" he read. "Where's Yekina?"

"It's where they execute traitors and spies," Carstairs answered. "I looked for cultural references and newspaper articles. Found one from just after Ensign Sato was taken to Buftanis. A Buftanisian spy, Nishet, was staked and striped there. There was a photograph. They staked him through the limbs, peeled off wide strips of his skin and left him in the desert for predators to eat."

Trip felt sick. He read the paragraph with the sentence again. "Staked, not striped. So he could last awhile like that, right?"

"I think that's the idea, sir," Carstairs said.

"Any--," Archer began but had to start again. "Any reports after this?"

Carstairs shook his head. "No sir, not from the Council. Nothing interesting anyway. They went back to focusing on Turn and the bureaucracy. We're translating more reports from the lab where they hold him."

Archer scanned the report one more time. "It doesn't say when."

"Sir?" T'Pol asked.

"When are they carrying it out?" Archer elaborated. "It doesn't say when. It may not have happened yet. What time is it there? Is it dark?"

T'Pol checked the sensor logs. "It should be approaching 'midnight' in that region."

Archer turned to Trip. "Are you ready to go? Do you have a plan?"

Trip nodded. His pulse was racing. "As much of one as we can. They're at Turn. The facility should only be lightly manned. We'll stun the guards and set explosives to destroy any biological specimens we find."

"I will send the virus," T'Pol said. She returned to the computer and began to work.

"Hoshi's gonna be harder, Captain," Trip told him. "Turn or no Turn. She's likely to be surrounded by the females she works with."

Archer nodded. "We'll keep working on finding her. Carstairs, get the doctor the very latest medical reports and tell him to get ready. Go, Trip, and come back in this time."

"Yes, sir," Trip said, as he headed for the door behind Carstairs. He stopped by the comm link to call for Travis and Woods to meet him in the launch bay. "I'll bring him back," he told the captain. Archer nodded and Trip headed for the bay.

At first, he had been relieved when the sun had set. The heat had begun to dissipate and, at least, that torment was gone. Malcolm knew he wouldn't last to see another day, so he didn't have to worry about the sun any longer. But he remembered their nights in the desert after the crash in flashes of clarity. There were other things to worry about. Even through the horror of what had already happened, he found himself terrified of being eaten by some beast.

He saw some shadows on the edge of his waning sight as the world grew dark around him. And he began to shiver from the cold. He tried to stop, but, to do that, he'd have to relax. That was impossible because each tremor sent new waves of pain through his limbs.

Hoshi had been faithful through it all, telling him story after story when he couldn't reciprocate. She asked him a question now and then to make sure he was still there. He wanted to be. Until she could go, too.

Is it time? he asked her, interrupting her story about her sister playing Mozart in an orchestra.

"Soon," she replied. "They're getting the feed ready."

The pain was blinding and it was harder to breathe. He was so tired. I can't do this much longer. I can't think straight. His breath that had come out in puffs of steam was barely visible now. He couldn't see the stars. He heard footsteps and lolled his head to the side. A shadow was moving closer.

Hoshi, I think I have to say goodbye now. It's not going to end well here, he told her. I want you to know that I love you more than life. If there is something after this, I'll be waiting for you there.

He tried to yell at the beast as it came closer but his parched throat and dry tongue could barely make a sound.

"Malcolm, I'm glad I'm in the snow, so they can't see my tears. I love you more than life, and I can't live it without you. I will be with you on the other side tonight."

It pounced and Malcolm felt his whole body tense at once. Everything: muscles, lungs, heart. But it was all in a flash so quick that he didn't register it had happened. His ears vaguely took in a yelp, and then the blackness closed in on him. His body relaxed, his eyes closed, and his mind shut down.