The next morning, as they met for breakfast, Baezhu and Kahrae sat in a far corner, away from anyone who might overhear. And Baezhu told his friend all he knew. Which wasn't all that much actually. The airship they had seen was strangely a ship from another world, though they still couldn't understand why it hadnt picked up the two survivors from the other ship before it left.

The crashed ship was destroyed, leaving a crater and dust and ash and very little to study. Except the bit of bone one of the soldiers found. Burha had determined it was from a third creature, since Dr. Bishtae had not been able to find any loss of bone in the others' x-rays.

The remaining two were apparently not related, as preliminary studies of their DNA showed some key differences. Little was known of them beyond what could be determined during surgery, and in the lab, where tissue samples could be analyzed. What they could determine was that they were the same species, but different genders. They had lungs that breathed air, thick bones, and relatively small hearts. They appeared to be mammalian, and, yes, sentient.

"How do you know they're sentient if they don't talk?" Kahrae asked, still obviously stunned. He hadn't touched his food.

"They flew from space in a ship," Baezhu answered, thinking it obvious.

"The ship crashed and the other ship left them behind," Kahrae pointed out. "They could have been pets or experiments."

Those were good points, but they didn't explain the clothes. "They wore clothing, Kahrae, woven fabric with fasteners. There is writing on the cloth."

"What does it say?"

Baezhu chuckled a bit. "I don't know. I don't speak mammal."

"Did they --" Kahrae began and then tried again. "Were they afraid of us? Do they think us as strange as we think them?"

Baezhu thought about his answer, trying to focus his memory on their reactions. "No, I don't think they were. Maybe they were in shock. They were injured. Or maybe they're just used to seeing beings from other planets."

"That would mean there are more," Karhae stated with a faraway look in his eyes. "If there can be sentient mammals out there, what else is out there?"

"And if there are sentient mammals," Baezhu said, making a different point, "and all we're taught says that's not possible, what else is possible that we think isn't? What other truths are untrue? How can we trust anything we've ever known?"

They leaned forward on their chairs and let that thought run for a bit. It was Kahrae who finally broke their ponderous silence. "You're a scientist, Baezhu. At least you have something to fall back on."

"Except that it might all be untrue," Baezhu refuted, not seeing the bright spot in this new veil of chaotic uncertainty.

"You are always saying science is the method," Kahrae told him. "The method. Not the results. So you can put that method to work and find answers. The method hasn't changed."

Baezhu hadn't thought of it that way. The method. Evidence, hypothesis, experimentation, and publication. The evidence had changed, but the method had not.

"I'd bet Colonel Gaezhur doesn't see it that way," Kahrae continued. "Without the ship, if we can't communicate with them, we can't find the answers we need. Like why did they come here in the first place?"

Hoshi so wanted to cry out, to know she wasn't alone, to find a way to communicate with the people who held them. But she understood Lieutenant Reed's order. No communication, no questions, no answers. It was probably easier for him. He was so quiet anyway. But she was made for communication. All her talent and passion went to learning languages and bridging the gap between two cultures.

She wanted to know the natives' intentions. She wanted to know about her injuries. She wanted to know where the lieutenant was and if he was okay. She wanted to talk.

She had lain awake the whole night--or what she guessed was night. Without a window, she couldn't be certain. What she did know was that she was scared, and her chest was starting to hurt again. The red overhead lights had faded, leaving the room warm and white. They had healed her, but what would they want with her now?

When a face appeared in the door's window, she suddenly wanted to stay alone. The face was reptilian, and except for the environmental suit that covered it, it reminded her of a scene from an old 20th century movie about dinosaurs brought back from extinction in an amusement park. A velociraptor looking through the kitchen window at the two children who were trying to get away. Thats what they reminded her of: velociraptors. Of course, beyond their first introduction, she'd yet to see more than just the head of whoever kept watch.

When the door opened, it was a soft sucking sound like an air lock being released. Quarantine, she realized. They knew nothing about her, whether she carried diseases or anything else dangerous to them. Two of the creatures-- "people," she told herself--entered, one taller than the other and both wearing environmental suits. The tall one moved closer, bending down to peer into her face. She met his gaze, but did not say anything. She'd keep her silence as ordered. But she would say what she could with her eyes.

After a moment, she felt she'd gotten through to the creature. He straightened up quickly and stepped back. He barked an order to the smaller one, who held up what looked like a clipboard. The taller one's demeanor changed, and Hoshi immediately felt like a science exhibit. He turned her head one way and then the other, opened her mouth to examine her teeth, manually opened and shut her jaw a few times, all the while spouting notes for the smaller one wrote down on its clipboard. He seemed fascinated that her jaw could move sideways as well, though at one point he moved it too hard and Hoshi winced.

The creature let go of her, said something to the smaller one, and then resumed where he'd left off. He studied her arms next, releasing one of the restraints. He tested its movement in every direction not interrupted by the bed they had her on. Her fingers apparently enthralled him. He counted them one by one. And so she learned their first five numbers: ak, ahsh, bah, seh, ki.

Where it went from there, though, made her quite uncomfortable. He pulled back the ill-fitting gown and fingered her breasts in the same clinical and yet curious manner. She closed her eyes and told herself over and over that he was a doctor, no different than Phlox. She would not feel overly uncomfortable in a doctor's presence back on Earth or Enterprise. She shouldnt here. Still, she kept her eyes closed and stiffened her body until he had moved down to her knees and replaced the gown.

He seemed completely unaware of her previous discomfort and just as fascinated with her feet as with every other part of her. Ak, ahsh, bah, seh, ki again. Five toes on each foot.

Finished with that initial exploration, the big one got down to business. He removed both arm restraints and sat her up on the bed. It hurt a bit, but he did call the other one over to support her. Once again, he removed the gown by a tie at her shoulder. He then began to remove the bandages around her chest, all the while talking over her shoulder to the smaller one.

He's giving directions, she realized. Like a doctor training an intern. Once the bandages were taken away, the big one carefully patted her ribs and inspected the incision through which they must have repaired her lungs. He said something, to her this time, but she only stared back. He motioned to her, holding his hands to the side of his own chest as he inhaled deeply. She understood, and did what he was suggesting. She was more comfortable now that her role was back to patient rather than exotic curiosity or alien specimen. The tall one--Doctor, she decided to call him--resumed his examination. She winced a few times and the doctor said something else to the smaller one--the intern. The doctor rewrapped her ribs and walked away. The intern put a syringe to her shoulder and tied the gown back up. And he too moved away. The door opened and they were gone.

Still feeling weak, and now once again feeling sleepy, Hoshi laid herself back down. She was glad that at least they hadn't restrained her again. She could untie her ankles when she woke up. She had just a moment to note she'd moved into another phase of her stay here, before her eyes became too heavy, and she closed them in sleep.

Malcolm Reed had not slept all night. He realized it was morning when the red light dimmed. As reptiles, the natives here needed heat lamps at night. So once the red light was off, the day, he reasoned, would supply enough warmth. And all that reasoning didn't change his situation any. He was still there tied to a bed on an alien planet, one crew member dead, the other lost to him.

Just when the pain in his arm was becoming too much to ignore, two natives entered. Beaked ones, one taller than the other. They wore environmental suits and one carried an old-fashioned clipboard and a camera. The taller one gave the other some instructions and then came over to Reed for the inevitable examination.

What proceeded was the most laborious, embarrassing, invasive examination he'd ever been subjected to. The doctor poked at every minute part of him from eyebrows to toenails, while the shorter one took photos and jotted down notes. He did his best to bear it with enough Reed stoicism to make his father proud, but it wasn't easy. Still, he managed with only an occasional wince or the closing of his eyes.

After all that fuss, they finally got down to the business of his broken arm. The taller one--Saruman, he decided, keeping with the theme of their silly code names--unwrapped, cleaned, and redressed the wound, and then replaced the hard plastic splint before winding it all back up again.

Oddly enough, they didn't restrain him again. Saruman simply placed his arm back in the fabric on the hook to keep it suspended and walked away with the verbal order to the smaller one. That one gave him a shot of something which caused the pain in his arm to die down and his eyelids to become heavy. He was asleep before the small one left the room.

Dr. Bishtae had waited for him in the corridor, with his helmet off. He smiled. "So what have we learned?" he asked, putting Baezhu on the spot.

"They are similar to us in several ways," Baezhu began, keeping it simple. "Two arms, two legs, eyes, ears, mouths. But they are more similar to each other. Five digits on each limb, no claws, highly mobile mandible...."

"They are different from each other as well," Bishtae added. "In what ways?"

"Their skin tones, body hair placement, musculature, shape of the torso, eye-shape and color, head-fur length, and, of course, genitalia."

Bishtae nodded. "So what can we surmise?"

"They are the same species, but the differences derive from their separate genders or separate classes within the species."

"A very good hypothesis," Bishtae agreed, "though further study is required to test that theory. I'm content, though, that the differences seem superficial. Of course, they are likely to have different reproductive organs, but after initial internal study, we can concentrate our studies on the male."

"What do we do with the female? Baezhu asked as they began to walk again.

"It will be superfluous. Of course, we will try to keep the male viable, but we can keep the female as a backup subject. All this, of course, must wait until they heal. It's all superficial until then."

"Doctor," Baezhu said, setting a hand on Bishtae's arm to stop him again, "what does it all mean together? They're aliens. From another world. Are there others, different ones, out there? And why did they come here anyway?"

Bishtae sighed. "All good questions that I can only theorize about now. I believe there are others, I'm sure you're well aware. I feel vindicated by the appearance of these two. As to why they came or what others are out there, we can only guess or infer from the evidence these two give us, either through study, experimentation, and observation, or by communicating with them directly."

"Is it even possible to communicate with them directly?"

"Hypothetically, from just this superficial examination, I think they have the ability to communicate. Certainly, they have the intelligence. They might not do so verbally. Or they might simply be cautiously observing us."

Baezhu gave that some thought, imagining himself in the opposite role. "Do you think they are afraid of us?"

"Perhaps, but we cannot let sentiment stand in the way of discovery. Our worldview has been shaken by their arrival. If they won't communicate with us, we will have to get the information we need scientifically. They are subjects, Baezhu, not guests. And if they were not subjects, they'd be prisoners, as Colonel Gaezhur sees them. Which would you rather?

Baezhu nodded, understanding that choice very well.

"Good," Bishtae said, clapping him gently on the shoulder. "Get those notes into the system and scan the images. We'll need them to plan our studies."

Baezhu nodded and headed toward the doctor's office while Bishtae went to meet with his superiors. At least he had a little more information to share with Kahrae now.

When he awoke, Malcolm's arm hurt a bit. His other arm. He lifted his head to see a small bandage there over a ball of cotton. They had drawn his blood again. He wondered again why they did that. Was it for Hoshi? Was she that bad off? Or were they just stocking up? He didn't want to think about that.

But given the time--night again, if he judged by the warm, red light--and the quietness of the room, he didn't have much else to keep his mind from going places he'd rather stay away from. The old gag film "Alien Autopsy" came to mind. "Planet of the Apes" also popped up. Only one of the surviving astronauts escaped without a lobotomy. And he was seen as a threat.

No. He forced himself off that train of thought. They had treated him kindly, if clinically, so far. Yes, they were scientifically curious. Who wouldn't be when the first aliens you ever knew existed showed up on your doorstep? They had treated his arm and Hoshi's ribs--he assumed. They had managed to successfully anesthetize him without knowing the first thing of human physiology. They had fairly advanced medical technology, based on what little he'd seen. They weren't cavemen.

They had plenty of opportunity to kill him and dissect him since they found he and Hoshi and hadn't done that yet. They had even released the restraints....

Restraints! He sat up now that he remembered. His arms were free and it only took a few minutes, given his one bad arm, to release his legs. It felt good just to bend them, though he got a bit dizzy when he stood up. His whole body felt stiff and he was hungry. He also felt the call of nature and was glad he could use the odd lavatory with his back to the door with its little window and ever-present face. Hoshi wouldn't have it so easy. Neither would he, eventually.

That accomplished, and no evidence of anything edible forthcoming for the night, he paced his small room, tapping lightly on the walls. The guards head cocked to the side at that, but Reed ignored him, trying to make his tapping sound casual, more like a song than the Morse code he was using. After about an hour of that, with no response, he felt sleepy again. His rational mind told him Hoshi was either still sleeping or not in an adjoining room, but he couldn't talk himself out of the heavy feeling of alone-ness that began to sink into his chest. He laid back down on the so-called bed and wallowed in it until he fell back asleep.

******

Hoshi counted seven nights, wondering if she'd been unconscious through more than that. Her ribs felt better, though they still ached considerably. Every day, the smaller guy--the intern--would come in to change her bandages and give her an injection, though lately the injection didn't make her as dizzy and did less and less to dull her pain. She thought that perhaps they didn't know how much pain she was in. She dismissed that. She couldn't tell them how much it hurt, but she couldn't keep all of it out of her facial expressions or body language.

Perhaps, then, they were studying her reaction to the pain. Or they simply didn't know which drugs worked best for her since she couldn't tell them. Still, she tried not to dwell on it. Her ribs were healing in spite of the pain.

And they were finally getting a handle on what kinds of food she could eat. Though she was game to try new and exotic dishes, she had drawn the line at raw, living rodents, worms, or insects. She preferred the fruits and vegetables they gave her. Some of them were actually quite tasty. She especially liked the sweet, purple melon. She wondered, though, if Malcolm's allergies were limiting his choices even further than hers.

Seven nights. A week of silence. There were only two people on this planet that she could talk to, and she couldn't find one and hadn't seen the other in over a week. She couldn't remember the last time she had ever gone so long without talking to someone in some way. She'd never felt this lonely. Even with someone watching her every second.

Seven days in, she'd kept only a modicum of modesty. She'd learned to use the odd toilet contraption in the best manner she could manage. The first time she was quite nervous because of the shape and size of it and because of her peeping Tom. Orc, she decided. By now, she'd had to use it so many times, she didn't care if he was watching. She'd yet to be let out of the room, so she had to take care of her needs right there under his nose. At least Malcolm could stand up half the time, she thought ruefully.

Every time her thoughts returned to him, she felt lonelier.

The male creature ate more. That was no surprise to Baezhu. He even seemed more willing to try new things, though both balked at live meals. Baezhu had never seen that before. He had assumed, then, that they were herbivores, but Bishtae reminded him not to jump to conclusions. The doctor carried the experiment further by bringing them carrion, which they also wouldn't touch. In fact, they kept as far away from it as possible in their small quarantine rooms. And then Bishtae got creative and put fresh meat--without skin--over a burner until it was dark and stiff. That, they ate. They truly were alien.

But the surprise was that the male was apparently the more susceptible to illness. Twice in the last week, he'd gotten sick in response to his meals. Baezhu was able to work out the reasoning himself, given that it happened immediately after the male ate. He was allergic.

But to what? The whole fruit or a particular nutrient in it? There was no way to tell except by the scientific method. His meals were carefully planned out to narrow down, by elimination, the ingredients he was allergic to, and what reaction they produced.

The first time a reaction had occurred was to hava, a sweet, seedless fruit imported from the tropics. He'd sneezed for hours. A second time came from a keuf, the red root of the keufeir flower. His limbs and face had swollen and become blotchy with a red rash. Fortunately, he'd eaten little of it, and the swelling reduced in less than an hour. The rash had lasted through the night.

The female was fed the same foods and had no adverse physical reactions. With only one of each, however, could they truly know that these two were representative of the entire species? DNA tests carried out on the bone fragment were inconclusive though enough to prove it had come from neither of the two specimens they had on hand. There had been a third alien. Subsequent searches of the area could not find enough trace evidence to piece together anything more of the third, so they could come to no conclusions about it other than it had existed and now did not.

Both the surviving aliens slept a great deal, which could be attributed to their injuries, especially the female's. Of course, it could be part of their natural behavior, like felines. They could be accustomed to cooler climates and thus conserve energy in the heat by sleeping. Baezhu dismissed that one. They were walking in the desert when they were found. Baezhu had his own idea on why they slept so much: boredom.

These creatures had traveled in space. Being stuck in such small rooms--alone--for a week had to be maddeningly dull. The actions of the male, when he was awake, seemed to bear that out. He sometimes paced the room and tapped absently against the walls. Dr. Bishtae had hoped it was some form of communication, but he never did it when they were in the room. As it was, he tapped on every wall except the one with the door, which would be the most apparent channel for communication with his hosts. Neither could Dr. Bishtae discern a particular pattern that might be indicative of language. However, it was rhythmic, and thus the scientists had concluded the male was tapping music.

And that was exciting in itself. "They may be more like us than we thought!" Baezhu told his friend at breakfast.

"Like us?" Kahrae repeated. "They came from another planet. How does tapping on a wall make them like us?"

"Because it's culture, Kahrae," Baezhu replied. "Like art and films. If they have music, they might have those other things, too. We know they have science and technology, but culture shows even more depth of intelligence."

Kahrae smiled. "That's strange coming from a Winged. Most of you have no use for the Monitors."

Baezhu didn't take offense. "Well, you Raptors don't seem too appreciative of them either."

"Not true," Kahrae argued. "We know the value of entertainment and relaxing after a night's--or day's--work. It's you Winged who bring your work home and analyze everything even in your sleep. We haven't been to a film since they arrived."

"It's only been a week," Baezhu reminded him. "Besides this isn't just some geological study, Kahrae. This is like a meteor striking the planet. This changes everything."

Kahrae pushed his cup away and looked thoughtfully back at his friend. "If you were in charge, Baezhu, what would you do with them?"

Baezhu pondered his friends question with equal thoughtfulness and then answered, "Just what we're doing. We have to study them. They won't just talk to us, and even if we could make them, how could we understand what they're saying? So we have to glean whatever information we can."

Kahrae shook his head. "It just seems so slow. Ten days and we don't really know much at all."

"Well," Baezhu began, "we know they breathe the air like we do, don't like live animals for food, wear manufactured clothing and can fly in outer space."

"Yes," Kahrae said, waving a hand, "and they have skeletons of bone with some cartilage, teeth for both plant and meat eating, and a dozen other scientific facts. But we don't know where they came from or why they came. Are they explorers or are they conquerors? Do they want to trade with us or enslave us? If they were to attack, could we make a defense? And what about others? If these creatures are out there, even if they are pacifistic scientists, are there others who are just hoping to find a planet full of reptiles to devour? Can science answer those questions?"

Baezhu consider that. "Maybe not all of them, but I wouldn't think they'd stopped to make music if they were only interested in war."

They'd stopped wearing environmental suits somewhere around two weeks. That probably meant they were no longer concerned about microbes or bacteria, Hoshi decided. Though, remembering the Klingon-esque food they brought her early on, and pairing that with what she knew of lizards on earth, she worried about microbes and bacteria from them. Komodo dragons drooled particularly noxious saliva that helped to kill their prey. Two weeks in, Hoshi was not at all worried about being eaten. But what if one of them sneezed?

Her ribs were feeling better, though they still hurt quite a bit if she made any sudden moves. Not a lot of chance for that though. Her days were mind-numbingly routine. At least the food had gotten better. It still couldn't match Chef's cooking, but she was sure she'd had worse in her secondary school cafeteria. The fruits were actually quite good and the vegetables were fresh, if somewhat bland.

When she was visited, it was rather clinical and far less a violation than that first visit. In fact, it had all become rather blasé to her. What was curious to her, though, was the fact that they never tried to communicate with her. Not once did they attempt to introduce themselves in even the most rudimentary way. They spoke, but only to each other. And she was beginning to understand words and phrases, glimpses of grammatical structure by their clipped and meager speech. They spoke about her, and scientifically so, but never to her.

They drew blood, checked the progress of her ribs, weighed and measured her, and left her alone. And alone was how she spent the rest of each day and night. She wished she had some assurances that they hadn't bugged the room. Then she would just turn her back to the face in the door and talk to herself just to have someone to talk to. But she had no assurances, and the nights became oppressively quiet.

She had just lain down, hoping to fall asleep quickly when she heard something. Tapping. At first she worried it was some sort of rodent or other pest, but then she started to discern a pattern to it that sounded vaguely familiar.

It stopped.

Her heart dropped. It was something, maybe something from Malcolm. She played it over in her head and tried to place the rhythm. It wasn't Morse. Morse code had only a few intervals. Short between dots, longer between dashes, and even longer between words. Morse code sounded mechanical and this was more musical. Without tune and pitch it was harder to identify.

She played it again and just then the tapping resumed. And in her head she heard an orchestra. She nearly cried for the joy of that sound: Starfleet's anthem.

Malcolm Reed didn't really know why he bothered, except that he had nothing better to do. And he couldn't let go of his need to find Hoshi, even if he couldn't leave the room. By now the ever-present guard even seemed bored with it. He didn't put it past them to try and find patterns to his tapping, however, which is why he decided upon songs and not code. He could change songs and change the pattern making them start from scratch.

Today's chosen tune was the Starfleet anthem. He'd used it before, but he had to keep the repertoire rather thin to be sure Hoshi had the best chance of recognizing it. She might be a classical fan or she might not know Mozart from Wagner. He kept it to singable choruses, short pieces of some known value to Hoshi and Starfleet's anthem fit that nicely.

But just like every other day, he heard nothing in reply. The overhead heat lamps had come on and he had given it another five minutes before he called it quits. He finished the last chorus from the bed and lay down, resolving to do some light conditioning the next day. He still couldn't do much with his arm, but he could manage sit ups at the very least. There were some karate warm-ups that would seem innocuous enough to appear nonthreatening.

That decided, he closed his eyes. And then popped them open again when he heard a soft rapping on the wall. Had it been Morse, it would have begun dash, dash, dash, dash, dot, dot. But Malcolm knew it wasn't Morse, just as his had not been. And he knew it wasn't his captors just trying to tap back as an experiment because the rhythm was far too familiar... and British: "God Save the Queen."

Wanting a confirmation, he risked one word in Morse: Frodo. And he had to force himself to not smile when he heard the reply: Sam.

Baezhu stood behind Dr. Bishtae, taking notes on every reaction the male made. "Bishtae," Dr. Bishtae said, touching his own chest before lightly touching the male's chest. The male followed the movement of Bishtae's hand with his gaze, but made no move to reply. Neither did he look perplexed or confused, however. If anything, he appeared disinterested, though, of course, even that was an assumption on Baezhu's part. What basis did they have for interpreting facial expressions of aliens?

"Bishtae," the doctor tried again. This time, he even touched Baezhu on the arm and gave his name. Without thinking, Baezhu ducked his head at the introduction. Still, the male kept silent.

Dr. Bishtae stood up straight. "It is possible," he stated for Baezhu's benefit, "that they don't communicate verbally."

Or he doesn't want to communicate, Baezhu thought. "Do you mean the tapping?" he asked.

"Possible, though we can still not detect any particular pattern. The female does only tap on the conjoining wall however, but no, I mean that they might communicate telepathically."

"If that were so, they wouldn't need the tapping. Even if it is not communication in strictest sense, it may be that it comforts the female to know the male is nearby. If they could communicate telepathically, she wouldn't need such comfort. She would know he is here."

Dr. Bishtae regarded him for a moment. "You've really been giving this thought, haven't you?"

"I find it fascinating, Doctor," Baezhu admitted. "Though it is still incredible to suddenly know that aliens exist."

"A bit frightening as well, yes?"

"Not so much these two." Baezhu waved a hand at the male, who was following their conversation with his eyes. "They seem placid enough, but the whole idea rather--and who else--or what else--might be out there."

"We are only on the cusp of discovery, young one. But to get back to the topic at hand... hypothesizing telepathy. It could be their telepathy only reaches those they can see, and these two cannot see each other."

"But he can see us."

"True, but would we know how to perceive his thoughts if he were sending them?" Then Dr. Bishtae smiled. "Well, telepathy or no, they do possess vocal cords so we can assume that they use them for something."

"So we shouldn't give up trying to communicate verbally," Baezhu concluded.

"Or trying to find patterns in their tapping."

Bishtay, Malcolm pondered, and Bayzhoo. I'm still going to call you Saruman. Not sure about the little guy yet. He wondered what they were discussing, but, seeing as he didn't possess Hoshi's gift for language, he concentrated on their interaction. The smaller one deferred to Saruman who almost seemed like a teacher. Perhaps the smaller one was just young, a student as well as an assistant. Oddly, whenever a different doctor visited with this assistant or a different one, there was far less discussion and more order-barking. Maybe Saruman was more of a Gandalf.

They hadn't mistreated him after all. Sure, they kept him locked up--and away from Hoshi--and drew his blood every few days but tortured them with nothing more menacing than boredom. Maybe he was more of a Thranduil to Malcolms Thorin, though that would be jumping books altogether.

Bored enough that I keep playing games with Tolkien code names, Malcolm chided himself. Where is Enterprise? It had been thirty days by his count, give or take a few in the monotony of it all. Thirty days and no sign of rescue. And no way to get a sign. It just wasn't like Captain Archer to leave his people behind like this. If they were still trying to stop the Xindi weapon Malcolm would understand the captain finally making that decision. He'd been a different man then. But that threat was ended months ago. Enterprise was exploring again. Archer wouldn't feel compelled to sacrifice two of his senior staff--and a MACO.

No, Enterprise and her captain would come for them when they could. He was sure of it. He and Hoshi would just have to wait it out.

They couldn't say much without giving the natives a stepping stone--however obscure--to communicating with them, but in small doses, she and Malcolm passed assurances in code through the wall between them. And it was the high point of her day when they did so. She felt physically better just knowing she wasn't alone and that the lieutenant was all right. Each time he tapped exercised her mind to pull the tune from her memory. And each word she received or gave was a lifeline giving her something to hold on to. The silence, she was convinced, would have driven her mad eventually.

She wished the natives would try to talk to her. Not so she would disobey Malcolm's order or risk contaminating their culture any further, but rather for the challenge of learning to understand more than a few medical or biological terms. She felt like she was no more than a lab rat to them.

On the one hand, they seemed understandably fascinated and curious to discover and study an alien. But on the other, they had no wish to communicate with it even without knowing whether or not it had any intention of communicating back. They should at least try, she thought. She supposed she should feel relieved, but it frankly made her a bit angry.

They don't talk, she told Malcolm, tagging it onto the end of "The Itsy-Bitsy Spider." She waited awhile for a reply, as always, worrying that it wasn't just a disguise for their attempt at contact with each other, but that he hadnt heard her at all. Eventually, though, she heard it. It was hard to tell the song, given the even beats of it. She'd work that out later, as a distraction. Right then she wanted the message at the end: Do to me.

Now she really was mad. They were talking to Lieutenant Reed but not to her. And she was a linguist! Of course, they didn't know that, but still, she did. She knew that she should be the one they tried to talk to.

More tapping, no song: Safer this way.

He must have known how she would feel. That surprised her. She liked Malcolm, but he was so private that she forgot how observant of others he was.

He was right, of course, though it didn't make her feel any better.

"We do not know that they are a threat," one of the Wingeds at the long table said.

Colonel Gaezhur glared back at him. "We do not know that they are not," he retorted.

"Mind your tone, Colonel," Grand Raptor Ussa scolded. "You address the Council."

Colonel Gaezhur bit back his next invective rather than voicing it aloud. "Forgive me," he said, dipping his head to the Winged, whose name he'd not bothered to learn.

"If I may," Dr. Burha interjected. "The colonel is correct in that we don't know either way. The problem is that we can't know if they won't tell us. And they don't seem inclined to speak. In fact, we are not even certain that they can. There are simply too many questions."

The colonel fumed. Burha had already cut off his avenue of argument. He couldn't force the aliens to talk if they couldn't talk.

The Head Councilman spoke for the first time since the meeting began. "Their wounds are healed?"

"Sufficiently so, sir," Dr. Burha replied, "so as not to threaten viability or hinder further research."

"And you can keep them viable?"

"We believe so. Life support is simple enough. We have stocked blood from the male, and it is compatible with that of the female. Respirators can be--and have been--adapted to keep their airways open."

The Head Councilman nodded and the colonel waited for him to say more. But it was the Winged who spoke next. "From the preliminary exams, it would appear they have little in the way of defense or offense, biologically speaking. Any threat would have to be technological. And until communication is possible we can't discover their threat potential. What we can learn from them physically outweighs their strategic value. We can learn about their biology, of course, but that can give us clues to geography as well, telling us what kind of world they came from."

"And sociologically," Dr. Burha piped in. "And learning of the culture could give us hints at their threat potential. Respectfully, I submit that until they communicate--and we can understand their communications--science is the only way will learn anything."

Colonel Gaezhur knew hed lost even before the vote. He did understand the logic behind the decision. What bothered him was the time. Science was a valuable tool, but a slow one. It had been forty days already since the aliens had been found. If an attack was coming, it could be next week or next month. And would they be ready?

"If I may," he interjected after the last vote was cast and the decision passed. The Head Councilman nodded. "It may be that in the course of studying the aliens, they may speak--or communicate in some other way. It may also be that we will not recognize it or understand it. Would it not be wise, therefore, to have a linguist present at all times to study any such communications? I am certain the learned doctor and his colleagues have been diligently recording the tappings the aliens do, but they are biologists, geologists, sociologists. A linguistic specialist might find such patterns where a biologist might miss them."

The same Winged on the Council ducked his head. "A reasonable suggestion."

"I concur," said the Head Councilman. "If there is any who disagrees, speak now. "

None spoke, so the colonel resigned himself to this one small victory. The Wingeds would have the aliens for now, but a linguist working with them directly meant that they might get to reevaluate that decision all the sooner.

"We may proceed!" Bishtae announced to the gathered scientists. A cacophony of clapping and clucking followed that proclamation, and he reveled in it for a moment before raising his hands for silence. A month ago, he was considered a quack. Today, they all looked to him for guidance. He respected each one of them and did not consider himself so high above them in knowledge or skill to merit this change of fortune. It was the depth of his imagination that set him apart and turned them toward him. He was the only one to have dreamed that aliens might exist and invest his time and thought into imagining what they might be like and how to find out.

"The information we've gained thus far is invaluable," he told the group. "But there is much still to be discovered. We will start with a comprehensive internal examination of both subjects. We must, however, keep them alive, and so we must not take on too much at once. We will have time later for detailed explorations of major organ systems. We can also narrow down the redundancies. One lower limb will suffice to tell us of both, for example, though we should accurately document both genders."

"So, what we are looking for at first is a baseline anatomical evaluation?" Dr. Enesh asked.

"Precisely," Bishtae replied. "Anything further might prove too much strain. We can test tolerances later and move forward--principally with the male--at that point. My fellows, this is an historic moment, and we are the ones at the apex of it all!"

The celebration lasted for a good five minutes and then, in their euphoria, the scientists began talking in small groups. This banter naturally melded into scientific discussions, questions and plans. Within two hours, the two surgical teams had been picked and the methods of anesthesia and life-support decided. All that was left was to prepare the surgical area--and the subjects themselves.