"I think it was emotional," Baezhu told his friend as he took the rodent from the small cage in front of him.

"Well, it is a female," Kahrae replied.

Baezhu swallowed his food before correcting Kahrae. "The male, too. Just a different emotion. Or she showed more."

"How can you tell?" Kahrae asked. "Are their faces like ours and would they use the same expressions?"

"I don't know for sure," Baezhu admitted. "One was definitely different. The female's eyes were overproducing moisture. She tried to brush it away, like she didn't want us to see. It was something she was accustomed to. The rest wasn't just in her face, or his. It was in their pulses, their breathing. As they became conscious, they twitched and their pulses raced. Their breathing was erratic. The machines had to take over. She was still conscious when we entered the room. She was scared, Kahrae."

Kahrae shook his head. "You can't be sentimental about it," he warned. "Didn't Bishtae remind you of that?"

"That doesn't mean the aliens can't," Baezhu returned, lowering his voice and leaning closer to his friend. "Imagine being the subject of our examination and waking up to all the bandages, immobility and pain of a major operation. What if it were reversed and we--you and me--were on their planet being studied by their biologists?"

A sour look crossed Kahrae's face, and he pushed his plate away with a grimace. "I think I'll have nightmares now."

"Exactly," Baezhu said. "The male even started to pull out its tubes."

Kahrae drew back in shock. "Wouldn't he realize those tubes were keeping him alive?"

"I think he did, Kahrae. I think he didn't want to live. If they weren't scared of us before, they are terrified of us now. We'll have to take traumatic syndrome into account."

"To change the subject," Kahrae offered, raising a hand, "I have news for a change. Buftanis launched another airship at us. Unmanned spy drone. And it flew over our little desert home."

"Here?" Baezhu asked. "Why would they come here? We're leagues away from the capitol and any major military installations. We are a biological research station."

"Why else?" Kahrae replied. "Our backward little research station just changed the world and life as we know it. Where else would they go?"

"Then they'd have to know." Baezhu leaned on the table in front of him as the possible implications of that sank in.

"Or at least suspect," Kahrae reminded. "They might have picked up the crash the same way we did. They might not know a thing about the aliens and there's nothing to find at the crash site anyway. We shot down the airship before they flew over it."

"Well, even if they don't know," Baezhu decided, "things just might have gotten more complicated between us and Buftanis."

"They send drones; we send drones," the same Winged Councilman stated. "You'd needn't bring up every one to the Council. So long as it was shot down."

"Pardon me, Councilman," Colonel Gaezhur said, trying to remain diplomatic for the sake of his own career, "but a drone flying over Rihansu is worth bringing to this Council since that is where we found the aliens. Is that not something we would want to keep from the Buftanisians?"

Grand Raptor Ussa broke in at that. "You make a good point, Colonel. And I agree you are right to bring this drone to our attention. I'm not sure, however, if we should keep the knowledge of the aliens from Buftanis or any other country."

The Council erupted into a cacaphony of mutters and exclamations. Gaezhur, however, was silent and found himself holding his breath. He was shocked that Ussa would suggest such a thing.

"Do you think," the Head Councilman broke in, "that we should notify the world about these aliens?"

"I don't know," Ussa admitted, "but I do think it deserves due consideration. Not the populace at large, but the governments--for the purpose of defense. I do not wish to bow to Buftanis in anything, but I wonder that, if these aliens do portend a threat, we might make a better defense as a united front rather than separate entities."

The Head Councilman bobbed his head, and Gaezhur actually let himself sigh. He had thought Ussa had gone mad. "You raise the question for debate then?" the Head asked.

"Yes," Ussa agreed. "We have agreed that we do not yet know if the aliens pose a threat or not, so there is some time to decide. Should they pose no threat, I would vote that all such knowledge of these creatures' existence remains a state secret."

"And if they do pose a threat?" one of the other Wingeds asked.

"I honestly don't know," Ussa replied. "Buftanis might use such knowledge against us and seek an advantage over us by attempting to ally with the aliens. It is not something to be decided on a whim, but to be deliberated with due consideration to both sides of the question so that we make our best decision."

"We may have to tell Buftanis anyway," Raptor Nega said, causing everyone to turn to him and stare. "As Grand Raptor Ussa brought up the other question, I bring up this one. To what length will we go to avoid open war? Would knowledge of the aliens be giving too much? It may come to that if they are sending spy drones over Rihansu."

"Seismic activity is reported worldwide," the most junior Winged Councilman related in Nega's defense. "They probably didn't pick Rihansu at random. It seems to me that these two questions are related, and it is with utmost importance that we should investigate them from every conceivable perspective."

"And so we have a grand debate ahead of us, it seems," the Head said. "Thank you, Colonel, for informing us of this violation of our airspace. It may prove quite fortuitous yet."

Gaezhur nodded and bowed before leaving the chamber. He was suddenly quite content to only be a colonel and not a Council member. It had all seemed so black and white when he woke up in the morning.

Since joining Starfleet, Hoshi Sato had experienced some of the most exhilarating times in her life. And some of the worst. The Xindi attack and the year in the Expanse culminating with her captivity, for example, or the time she and Trip nearly died--or did die--from a disease they picked up on a planet. There was also the time she, the captain, and Malcolm got turned into another species.

But this beat all of those. With the Xindi, she had hope of rescue or a quick death to look forward to. The disease had been rather quick, relatively speaking. And she hadn't exactly cared a whole lot about changing species until it was over, as it had affected her mind as well as her body. This was a waking nightmare. And a sleeping nightmare. It was horror in a cold, impersonal way that sapped hope in its banality. She and Malcolm were lab rats being kept alive for the next exam or experiment.

She almost wisheded she didn't have her gift anymore. Even foggy from drugs, she was beginning to understand the natives. And they sounded like doctors or professors. Scientists with a couple of specimens to study. Malcolm, while going through the same torment as herself, didn't have to listen to them discussing anatomy or the intricacies of his digestive system. And he certainly didn't have to listen to the raging debate over what to call this new species. So far, simply 'alien' was winning as most seemed to think they needed more information to properly categorize the subjects. And Hoshi knew what that meant. Ignorance just might be the closest thing to bliss she or Malcolm could afford in this situation, but her gift denied even that small comfort.

The one bright spot in her bleak existence was the hand that almost constantly held hers. In an effort to watch them interact, the scientists had pushed the beds closer so she and Malcolm could reach each other with their unspoiled hands. Malcolm's right had been cut up where her left had been. Placed as they were with their effected limbs to the outside, their other arms could reach into the center and meet.

Small comfort, really, when up against everything else. Except for one little detail the natives didn't know about. She and Malcolm could now communicate openly. No more songs. Just the code, tapped lightly on the back of the other's hand.

For three days--she thought anyway--she'd drifted in and out of consciousness on a somewhat different schedule than Malcolm, for whatever reason. But in between, they had talked--by hand. He had apologized first. She had told him not to. And then she had told him what she had felt--in a nutshell. I was awake.

His reply was simple. Me, too.

Today, the levels of sedative must have been changed, because she felt less fuzzy and tired when the scientists came in. They went about their usual routine, checking blood pressure, pulse, etc. She tried not to be afraid. Malcolm had worked this out to offer some comfort. The scientists wouldn't do anything else before they were healed enough to survive it, just like they had after the crash.

They did something else this time though. They returned to Malcolm and the bigger one introduced himself. Malcolm made a point of looking away from him. And tapped "Saruman" on the back of her hand.

Saruman kept trying as Hoshi watched and Malcolm didn't. He introduced himself and then touched Malcolm's chest, asking what his name was. Then he pointed to her, changing his question by only one word. He was asking Malcolm what her name was. A few minutes later he gave up and left the room, without even once having spoken to her.

*****

Hoshi was crying again. She had withdrawn her hand to cover her face. It had been six days, by Malcolm's best guess. The level of drugs they were keeping Hoshi and him on must have been toned down because he felt less fuzzy every day. And if he got worked up over the trauma of it all, the ensuing drug didn't put him out like before. Less conscious, but not unconscious.

They had settled into something of a routine. A perverse routine, but anything could become 'normal' after a period of regularity. Saruman and his underling came by twice a day at least. A different set came in two other times, and finally one doctor alone came in the middle of the night. Bandages were changed once a day, and so he and Hoshi were treated to the sight they were denied when they were vivisected. Bruised skin between row after row of stitches on one leg each, one arm each, nearly their full torsos. Hoshi got to see his eye. Once. Every other time, she turned away. A translucent pink salve was rubbed on all of their wounds--except his eye--before they were bound again with clean bandages. And each day, Malcolm saw the improvement in those wounds. The salve must have aided the healing.

But only the external wounds. Malcolm hoped the internal ones would heal slower. Not that he particularly enjoyed his present condition. Rather, he feared what would happen once they were deemed healthy enough by Saruman and his ilk. Orcs. That's what Hoshi and he had decided to call them. 'Doctors' didn't seem fitting and 'scientists' was just too bland. And a lot longer than 'orcs.' They were working in Morse code, after all.

Hoshi had spent most of the first three days crying. Malcolm didn't blame her or think any less of her. She had told him that she was awake just as he was during the 'operation.' He had nightmares every time he slept and flashbacks often when he was awake. He had nearly vomited on quite a number of occasions, though the infernal machine would always abort any serious display of post-traumatic stress.

Physically. It never made the trauma go away or even lessen. Even when Malcolm dared to imagine a day when they were rescued, he would still imagine carrying that inside him, giving him nightmares, interfering with his duties. Even if they never touched him again, he feared and felt that Saruman and his orcs had ruined his life beyond repair.

So, no, he didn't begrudge Hoshi her tears. Still, as he had, she had grown somewhat accustomed to the rhythm of their present schedule. And the ability to communicate seemed to lift her spirits somewhat. Just the challenge of lifting hers gave him something else to focus on and thus lifted his. She was beginning to understand what the orcs said. He did not want her to translate. He accepted only the gist. "Medical stuff," she had said. Their attempts at introduction were obvious, but Malcolm refused them the satisfaction. He noted that they never introduced themselves to Hoshi.

And so the tears had, for the most part, dried up in the last day or so. And even then, she had sought his hand for comfort before, where now she had pulled it away. She seemed embarrassed. Malcolm wanted to ask her what was wrong, but she would not give him her hand or even turn her face toward him.

He realized why during the late-night visit. The doctor--orc--tended him first, taking a particular interest in his eye. He used a different salve that felt strange at first, almost hot. But after a few seconds it actually made his eye feel better. The patch was replaced and the orc moved on. He finished by turning Malcolm onto his side facing Hoshi.

Hoshi had gone stiff but for her quiet sobs. The orc, lulled by the routine almost as much as he and Hoshi were, broke into fluttering animation when he uncovered Hoshi's left leg. When the orc finally got around to removing her bandages so he could get at the problem, Malcolm knew what the problem was and realized two things. It was inevitable, and, to Hoshi, it was a horrid betrayal of her own body. The bandages were red with blood at the end where they met her torso. She was menstruating. And the longer it took the orc to realize it was a natural function of her reproductive system, the more in danger she was of him overdoing his response.

Malcolm did not want to add to her humiliation by being an audience. He held his hand out to her and turned his good eye into his pillow. After a few minutes, he felt her hand squeezing his. Malcolm turned their hands over so their hands would block the view of his thumb from the camera on the ceiling. He had hit on an idea, allowing her to communicate without words. Show him it's natural. Take the clean bandages.

He heard her sniff and then her hand was gone. He waited, still offering her what privacy he could. After quite a while the orc started twittering again, and Malcolm resisted the urge of his curiosity. It was some time still before Hoshi took his hand again and he heard the orc leave. She turned their hands over. I think it worked.

Malcolm gave her hand a squeeze and looked up. She was still teary, but she seemed relieved and even offered a small smile. Malcolm returned it. Let's get sleep, he told her and she nodded. She closed her eyes but did not let go of his hand.

By the time Dr. Bishtae and Baezhu were ready to make their rounds with the aliens, it was decided that the female was experiencing an aspect of her reproductive cycle. That was based on the relatively unchanged vital signs relative to the amount of blood loss in addition to the source of the bleeding and the female's extraordinary reaction to it.

Baezhu felt exhilarated. Not only did they finally get some behavioral actions worth study from the aliens, but the doctors had also determined the excess water production in the female's eyes was an emotional reaction. With behavior, they could now try to pinpoint which expressions corresponded to which emotions. He had been right, as well, with his assessment of fear before. Whenever anyone entered the room and approached the aliens while the latter were conscious, other indicators such as increased heart rate and trembling helped to verify that determination.

Last night's display was more complex. Fear would seem to be a part of it. The female's eyes watered, her heart rate increased, and she trembled. But she had also covered her face and made strange choking sounds. The male, too, had reacted, turning his face so that he could not see the female.

They had watched the video of the encounter three times that morning and still had not reached a consensus. After Enesh discovered the bleeding, the female's behavior increased in the same vein, except that she took the male's hand for a moment. Something happened in that moment though, because her behavior and demeanor immediately shifted. She wiped her face and snatched the bandages from Enesh only to pack them between her legs. She knew about the source of the bleeding, and her more complex emotional reaction was because of it. That was Baezhu's guess. She was afraid but also embarrassed. The aliens were perhaps more private with their sexuality and reproduction.

Regardless, the linguist, once he conferred with Bishtae, had agreed that the female was communicating when she took the bandages. He had reminded them all that, among their own species, language was forty percent nonverbal. The female was saying that she knew what was happening and how to deal with it.

Dr. Bishtae had decided to let her. If it was part of her reproductive cycle, they could let her treat it however she might and observe. If they could learn the cycle, it might even be possible to breed the pair so that their species' development could be studied from conception.

Dr. Bishtae altered the usual routine and began with the female, offering her clean gauze, folded to make a thick pad, in one hand and a waste bag in the other. She watched him for a moment before taking the gauze. She left it on the bed while she removed the soiled bandages from the night and threw them into the waste bag. She put the gauze pad in its place and pulled down the loose sheath she wore. Baezhu then took her hand and cleaned it with a sterile cleaning cloth. She pulled her hand back quickly when he was finished, and immediately reached for the male's hand as if to say all was done.

Dr. Bishtae called him back over to the male and everything then proceeded much as before. "They're healing nicely, Baezhu, do you see?"

Baezhu took a closer look at the male's leg which was now unwrapped. The bruising around the incisions was taking on various hues--green, red, purple, yellow--but the skin did seem to be knitting together beneath the stitches. "Adjust the sedative and pain medications down another ten milliliters."

"What about the antibiotics?" Baezhu asked.

"Leave it until the end of the week," Dr. Bishtae replied. "We can reassess it then. I think we can start removing the stitches by then as well."

When they were done, Dr. Bishtae tried again to provoke the male into communicating vocally. Introductions were so simple that it should be possible for any sentient being to grasp the concept. Baezhu observed as the doctor tried. The male simply turned away, refusing to even look at the doctor.

"I think he understands," Baezhu offered. When Dr. Bishtae turned and gave him a slight smile, he felt more confident and continued. "I think he just doesn't want to communicate."

"Either that or he's a complete imbecile," Dr. Bishtae replied, startling Baezhu, who had expected to be asked for the evidence to support his hypothesis. "Considering where he came from, I think we can safely say he's not an imbecile. But that leaves a double-edged sword, doesn't it?"

Baezhu pondered that but couldn't come up with a definite answer to what the doctor might intend. "How do you mean?"

"We can discuss it outside," Dr. Bishtae said instead of answering. Baezhu nodded and headed for the exit, curious to learn more.

"If you were in his place, Baezhu," Bishtae asked, once they were in the changing room, "would you not do the same? By not speaking, he's trying to deny us certain knowledge, which may be safer from his perspective. But if we perceive that he is deliberately trying to keep us from that knowledge, the Raptors might use that as leverage. They'll take him and make him speak and maybe kill him in the process. Then we'll spend months or even years trying to decipher what he said and maybe still learn nothing."

Baezhu realized where that was going. "But if he stays with us, we can be learning even when he refuses to speak."

"Exactly," Bishtae said, clapping him on the shoulder. "And maybe, by treating him kindly, he'll someday decide to speak. Or perhaps we'll find a sedative to make him more willing to do so."

"And we can still spend those months or years trying to decipher it," Baezhu finished for him, "only he'll still be alive and we can continue learning."

*****

"Malcolm," Trip's voice called him softly. "Come on," it encouraged. "Wake up."

Malcolm opened his eyes to find Trip's face leaning over his. And yet he didn't feel happy or relieved as he had thought he might.

"That's better." Trip leaned back and Malcolm saw that he was in Sickbay. Dr. Phlox was puttering around, feeding the animals he kept, and the captain and T'Pol stood on the other side of the bed.

Malcolm's voice was rough when he tried to speak. "Why didn't you come?" he asked, looking to his captain.

But it was Trip who answered. "We're not even there yet, Malcolm."

"What?" Malcolm didn't understand. "Then where the hell are we?"

"In the Expanse." This time Captain Archer did answer. "We're trying to stop the Xindi weapon, remember?"

"You took quite a knock to the head in that last fight, Malcolm," Trip told him.

Malcolm shook his head. It felt fine. Except that he couldn't see out of one eye. He held up his hands and saw that the right one was completely bandaged. He could feel the wrappings around his chest and abdomen. But it didn't fit. Trip had said he hit his head. Besides, he did remember. More than this.

"We did stop the weapon," he said. "I remember. Some of the Xindi helped us. We stopped it just before it could fire, and the captain ended up in some warped version of the second World War."

Trip whistled a long note. "Must've got hit harder than we thought."

"That hardly seems logical, Lieutenant," T'Pol stated. And that was when Malcolm saw Saruman and his underling conferring with Phlox.

"Then who are they?" he asked, pointing past his feet at the two reptilians with vestigial wings.

"The Xindi do have Reptilians, Lieutenant," T'Pol reminded him.

"They don't look like that," Malcolm argued. None of this made any sense. He remembered the ceremony back on Earth. And he remembered the mysterious call that began his last mission with Hoshi and Moody. He remembered the desert and... what came after.

"Well, maybe the Avian Xindi aren't as extinct as they thought," Archer said, cutting off discussion with his chipped, angry tone. "It doesn't really matter what you remember or don't, so long as we get you back to duty soon. So stop asking questions, Malcolm. We'll get there when we get there. You and Hoshi are just going to have to hang on until then."

With that puzzling statement, Archer turned and walked away, motioning for T'Pol and Trip to follow.

"You heard the man," Trip sighed as he shrugged. "See you later." And he, too, was gone.

Phlox approached then with Saruman at his side while a smaller one took notes on a pad of paper. Phlox had something in his hand and he held it up now for them to see. "As you can see, the human eye is fairly simplistic compared to some organisms...."

Malcolm awoke with a gasp and found not Saruman, but one of the others standing over him, while another of the smaller ones took notes a few feet away. He felt someone squeezing his hand and turned to see Hoshi watching him.

He squeezed back as if to say he was fine, but he knew that was a lie. He wasn't sure that his dream was any better than his reality even for being on Enterprise. The captain's inpatient statement hung in his memory as did the entire incongruous discussion.

Why the Expanse? That threat was gone as was the Expanse itself, as the spheres were destroyed. The Xindi weapon had been destroyed almost a whole year ago. Why had he dreamt that instead of his usual nightmares replaying what Saruman and his orcs had done? Or better yet, why not a happy dream for a change?

The orc doctor finished whatever he was doing and then started chattering at him. When he got to the end of this statement, he touched his own chest. Great, Malcolm thought, more introductions. This orc's name was apparently Burha. Malcolm didn't care. Maybe he'd call him Lurtz. He softly tapped that name to Hoshi and she gave him a short, slight smile in return.

Malcolm realized that he hadn't dreamed of Hoshi at all. He felt a sense of guilt bury itself in his chest as he replayed the dream. What if it had been real? He hadn't even asked about her. He had forgotten her.

Bad dream, she tapped as Lurtz and his groupie finally gave up and left.

Aways, he admitted as he tapped back to her.

She sighed and just squeezed his hand, as if to say she understood. And he knew she did.

"When's the next one?" Kahrae asked, passing a tray to Baezhu.

"Next what?" Baezhu asked. He tilted his head toward an empty table at the back of the eating hall. He knew exactly what Kahrae was asking about, but they couldn't discuss it publicly. Kahrae wasn't even supposed to know about the aliens. His posts were always outside the facility. He wouldn't even begin to be rotated inside for another six months. They could speak in euphemisms in public, but Baezhu was too tired to bother thinking them up.

Kahrae moved his head close to Baezhu's ear. "The next estimate on the quota," he whispered, throwing Baezhu completely offguard.

"I...," he stammered, "I hadn't even thought about that. Are we that close to Turn already?" He and Kahrae moved down the buffet, choosing the rodents and fruits of their breakfast along with large glasses of water.

"Already?!" Kahrae asked, incredulous. "Baezhu, it's been more than two years since the last one. Don't tell me you haven't even thought about it."

Baezhu silently counted the months and years since last Turn. Kahrae was right. He set his tray on the table and sat down. "I guess I've just been too wrapped up in my work lately."

Kahrae dropped his voice to a quieter level. "Your work may be world-changing, Baezhu, but only a few of us know that, so the rest of the world just keeps on rolling like before. The next Turn is only eight months away. The Council should be putting out estimates on the quotas every two months, so one should be due soon."

Baezhu smiled. "If you know so much," he teased, "why are you asking me?"

"Because you are working so closely with Dr. Bishtae and now he's head of the department...."

"He's only head where the aliens are concerned," Baezhu corrected. "Burha is still in charge of the rest. And I think I remember hearing he'd delegated the quotas to be sent to Dr. Enesh, who'll be in charge of doling out spots for Kennisatae."

"Enesh, huh?" Kahrae popped a fruit into his mouth. "And he doesn't work with a Lesser Winged."

"Not regularly," Baezhu said, nodding. "At least not now that he's staying overnight."

"And no one stays with him." Kahrae was sounding more and more glum with each sentence.

"Only the inner facility guards." Baezhu took a long drink of his water. "Look, Kahrae, don't worry so much about quota estimates. They're not the list that matters."

"I know," Kahrae said, waving a hand as he recited, "'It's the Final Quota that counts.' I just want to have some idea of my chances. If the estimates are low, I might be better off giving up hope completely."

Baezhu laughed. "I don't think you need to worry, Kahrae. Especially with the growing tensions between us and Buftanis."

"Speaking of that," Kahrae began, changing attitude as if he'd changed channels on a radio, "there's rumors going around that that drone knew right where to fly."

"Of course, it did," Baezhu replied. "Seismic hit, just like what we detected."

Kahrae shook his head. "If that was true, why'd they wait a month and a half for the flyover? And for so small a seismic hit? It was only felt as far as Kantha. That's hardly enough to make the media take notice, especially out in Rihansu."

Baezhu mulled that around a bit. Rihansu was uninhabited with the exception of Kennisatae Research Silo at the outskirts. Kantha was the next town over from where the staff of Kennisatae lived in Bethae Community, which is where Baezhu and his friend were sitting having breakfast. A seismic event of the same magnitude in Kantha might still not make the media. It was really the confluence of the seismic event and the airship flying over that really made Kennisatae even curious. Without knowledge of what caused the seismic event, why would Buftanis get curious a month and a half later?

"How would they know?" he asked finally.

Kahrae looked up from his drink. "Someone would have had to tell them, I suppose."

Baezhu didn't feel like eating anymore. "Who would do such a thing?"

Kahrae shrugged. "I don't know, but I wouldn't want to be him when the colonel finds him."