Hoshi knew something was wrong when they wheeled a bed into the room. One of the smaller ones, Lurtz's aide, stopped right in front of her while the other, Saruman's, pulled in a little rolling table and left it by the bed. Hoshi felt her heart begin to pound in her chest.

She never wanted to see a bed like that again, and just the sight of it shook her with uncontrollable memories. Malcolm, beside her, had grown paler. She reached for his hand and he let her take it.

Why only one? she wondered when the orcs didn't bring in another bed. When Saruman and Lurtz came in, she pushed herself into the wall, trying to get as far from all of them as possible.

Saruman's orc had handed him a syringe and then came to stand in front to Malcolm. "Tis teuk," Saruman ordered and Hoshi tried to work out the meaning. It became clear without much thought as the orc in front of her grabbed her by the arms and pushed her down onto her mattress. The one in front of Malcolm grabbed him but lifted him up instead.

Realizing that the bed wasn't meant for her but for Malcolm, she froze. She was still tense, wanting to push against the orc's strong arms but she stopped kicking and watched in guilt-laden horror as Malcolm was dragged to the bed. He fought, but with Lurtz there to help--and their size advantage--the natives still had an easy time with him.

Saruman put the syringe to Malcolm's neck, and Malcolm sagged like a rag doll in the orc's grip. Hoshi prayed he was unconscious, but when he tried to lift his head she could see his eyes still open and filled with fear.

Lurtz and the orc lifted him easily onto the bed and the orc strapped both his wrists to one side. Whatever drug they gave him only relaxed his muscles. He wasn't paralyzed. He kept his hands clenched into fists and tried to kick them when they strapped his ankles down.

Hoshi was relieved for herself, which made her feel awful. She couldn't shake that bit of relief--or the shame that came with it--even as she felt horrified and nauseous witnessing Malcolm's torment. When Saruman examined the instruments and container on the little table, she got a sick feeling that she knew what they were for. Her orc was watching too, so she took the opportunity to kick him in the base of his beak. He lost his grip as he stumbled back and Hoshi rolled over, burying her face in the sheets on her mattress.

He tried to tell himself that it wasn't happening but that failed utterly. It was happening and nothing in his life had ever prepared him for this. Not his earlier vivisection, not the drowning incident that had sparked his aquaphobia, not the Xindi, nothing.

He tried to focus on Hoshi, on his relief that they weren't molesting her but thinking of her at all as they touched him felt wrong, dirty. He tried willing his body still, to deny the pleasure he began to feel physically while he felt violated in every other way. The drug only made that harder, and he clenched his teeth and balled his fists and pulled weakly at the restraints on his ankles.

His own body betrayed him and he was glad Hoshi had turned away. He was exposed more fully than when they had cut him open and spread his ribcage. His dignity was ripped away, his strength sapped, his control usurped. His heart raced and sweat spilled onto his eyelids. Unbidden, unstoppable tears mingled there, and he turned his face to the mattress as best he could in the awkward position they had left him in.

He choked back a moan as pleasure and horror warred in his body until finally, it was over, leaving only horror. They had what they wanted and Malcolm was empty, hollowed out. He gave in to the drug and let his body sag fully against the bed. There was nothing left to fight for. He didn't even move when they unhooked his wrists and ankles. Someone pulled him off the bed and dragged him back to his mattress. He only moved to pull his knees up to his chest. Someone covered him with his sheet, but he didn't dare open his eyes to see who it was. He didn't care.

Hinath was still rubbing his cheek when Baezhu wrapped up his work. No one had really expected that but Baezhu thought it was a little ridiculous for Hinath to still be making an issue of it. The female could not have hit him that hard. She was much smaller and her muscles were probably not at their optimum strength. She had surprised him, though, because Hinath had let his attention slip from her to the activity with the male. His pride was probably more damaged than his jaw.

Baezhu left his thoughts of Hinath at the lab. It was the aliens that occupied his thoughts as he headed toward the exit. He had never felt such sympathy for senemae or other animals, even primates and other semi-intelligent reptiles.

The aliens had such different faces from everything he was familiar with but they were so expressive. Given, he had no objective reference for how to interpret those expressions. And yet, some of their expressions seemed to evoke emotions in himself. Though it was subjective in that way, when logically attributed to the event immediately proceeding any given expression, one could infer a certain meaning.

When the male pointedly looked away during Dr. Bishtae's attempts at verbal communication, his expression could be read as indifference, or maybe boredom. The look in his eyes when he woke up from the induced coma--after an invasive procedure--when taken with other physical evidence could easily be inferred as trauma and fear. The female's expression before she took hold of the bandages to control her bleeding seemed to be embarrassment.

What he had seen from the male that afternoon had torn at Baezhu's conscience. The male had fought the procedure. All the animals they had collected semen from in their studies had, thanks in part to the drug, enjoyed the experience. Baezhu did what Dr. Bishtae had suggested earlier and put himself in the alien's position. He was not an overly modest person, but volunteering a sample of semen was not the same thing as being forced to ejaculate. He started to feel sick imagining someone fondling him, even if clinically. He would feel molested.

"Are you troubled?" Dr. Bishtae asked, suddenly behind him.

Baezhu was caught off guard. "I," he stammered, hoping the direction of his thoughts wasn't written on his face.

"A bit different than our previous experiences, yes?" Bishtae offered.

Baezhu let out a breath. "Yes," he admitted. "I'm concerned we might have damaged him."

"Not physically," Dr. Bishtae stated, nodding. "But it would be difficult to deny a negative emotional reaction even though we can't accurately read their expressions. He clearly objected to the procedure. As did the female."

"Is it wrong, Doctor?" Baezhu asked, wringing his hands, "to study sentient beings the same way we study non-sentient animals?"

"Wrong?" Dr. Bishtae repeated. "Not wrong. Troubling perhaps, but not wrong unless it's done unethically, with undue cruelty. In ancient days, for example, subjects were vivisected to the point of death with no anesthesia. We don't even do that to vermin anymore. But we must study if we are to learn. We know so little about them and they aren't willing--or likely able at this point--to tell us what we need to know. We can't let sentiment stand in our way, but neither can we let ambition drive us to cruelty."

He put his hand on Baezhu's shoulder before he continued. "It's good that you're concerned, Baezhu. That will help us guard against cruelty. However, we must push those boundaries to learn what we must. We do not damage them permanently, physically. That may give them time to heal emotionally. They'd fare worse under the Raptors. Distance yourself, young one. Don't let your concern cause you to doubt." With that, he left Baezhu at the door and turned back toward the lab. Baezhu still had a lot to think about as he stepped outside.

Malcolm hadn't moved. Hours went by with no distraction from the incessant children's shows. The little one came in with fruit and fish for dinner, but still Malcolm didn't move. Hoshi hid one of her fruits in case he got hungry later. But the heat lamps came on and the lights went downand the monitor blessedly flicked off for the evening. Malcolm stayed still. Hoshi laid down and extended her hand. He didn't take it.

She felt him move sometime in the night. It woke her from her nightmares which had seemed more vivid than before. He got up and shuffled awkwardly toward the lavatory. He was steadier by the time he returned, and she surmised he had probably stiffened up after lying still for so many hours. He sat down on his mattress and leaned against the wall, drawing his knees up once more.

Despite her dreams, Hoshi was feeling the pull of sleep again. She wanted to stay awake with him but didn't feel she could. She wasn't sure he would want her to.

Finally, he started to lie down. Hoshi lifted her head and caught his gaze. She wasn't sure what she read there. He looked away too quickly. She offered her hand again, and, this time, he took it. His grip was firm but not the confident strong of the last however-many months. There was a need for comfort more than a surplus. Hoshi squeezed his hand lightly. This time, she would give him hers.

She woke up again when the television--deciding to call it what it was in her own vocabulary--switched on again with yet another episode of a Reptilian equivalent of Sesame Street. She tried to ignore them all, but the knowledge was filtering in. She was pretty sure that by now she could carry on a general conversation. She wished she couldn't. Or that she could. That she was on a planet that would not consider her a threat or oddity but just a fellow galactic citizen to learn from and to teach.

Malcolm got up, too, sitting up on his mattress and tucking the sheet around his lower body. The small orc brought them their breakfast, gently placing a bowl and plate on the floor in front of Malcolm.

Malcolm watched him without moving. The orc gave Hoshi some more gauze and she reluctantly left them both to deal with her own needs. When she came back, the orc was leaving. Malcolm didn't move at all until the orc was gone. He began to eat as Hoshi sat down. Fruit and water. She wondered where these people got their calcium and what would be the consequences for her own body after not having any for so long.

Hoshi finished her fruit just as Malcolm finished drinking all his water. He stood up then and walked toward the lavatory. As usual, Hoshi looked away to give him privacy, but, in doing so, she saw his plate was missing.

The crash brought her head back around to find Malcolm stopped in front of the now destroyed television. He turned and looked at the camera on the opposite wall. He held out his hand and Hoshi realized what he planned. She quickly reasoned it wouldn't do much good and just as quickly decided to obey. She took her plate to him, careful not to step on any glass.

He squinted at the camera for a moment, then sent the plate flying like a Frisbee. It shattered against the camera but did the job. The camera cracked and fell forward, slapping into the wall. It hung by a few wires but the tell-tale red light blinked off.

"Feel better?" she asked quietly, relieved just to be able to use her voice freely for a change.

Malcolm surveyed his handiwork. "Yes," he said. "I think I do."

"They'll replace it."

He nodded. "Yes, they will." He walked back to his mattress and sat down. "Eventually."

Hoshi smiled, her first one-hundred-percent smile since their capture. Circumstances being what they were, she was happy. Malcolm was back, the television was dead, and the camera was gone. It was just the two of them. For a little while anyway.

Kenu, Baezhu and Dr. Bishtae stared at the blank screen in utter shock.

It was Kenu who finally broke the silence. By laughing triumphantly.

"What is it that you find so amusing?" Bishtae asked. "That aggressive outburst just caused hundreds of units in damage!"

"Don't you see?" Kenu asked, in return. He waited, grinning, until Bishtae shook his head. "That aggressive outburst was definite communication!"

"It was revenge," Baezhu ventured to guess. "He was very upset about that last procedure."

"I would be, too!" Kenu retorted, not losing an ounce of triumph in his tone. "It's a response! They have been almost entirely passive up to this point. This was aggressive, active, reactive! Anything but passive. And yet it wasn't malicious. He didn't attack you, Baezhu, when you fed them. He only attacked the video display and the camera. Think of it as a negotiation of sorts."

Baezhu tried to look at it from that perspective. "We took something from him, so he took something from us."

"He did more than that," Kenu replied. "He did take something from us, but he also took some direct benefit for himself."

"Privacy," Dr. Bishtae said, finally understanding. "They have complete freedom in there now because they know we aren't watching."

"Exactly!" Kenu sat back, satisfied. "And he also bought them peace. No annoying children's programs to ignore."

"If he's intelligent enough to work that out, " Bishtae agreed, "and I think he is, then he must understand that we will replace them."

Kenu nodded. "He probably does. Maybe he felt it was worth it for a few hours of privacy and peace."

"A negotiation," Bishtae said, mulling over the term. "Very well. He's given us quite a lot to analyze just there. Dexterity, for one thing. His aim was perfect. We will have to get another camera in there as soon as possible. But we'll give them a few days without video programs." He looked pointedly at Kenu.

Kenu held up a hand. "No problem. It wasn't exactly doing much good anyway."

"It's settled then." Bishtae turned to Baezhu. "Would you mind terribly cleaning up the glass so they don't cut their feet celebrating their victory?"

Baezhu smiled. He nodded and then left. Oddly enough, he felt proud of what he had witnessed, both in the alien, and in Dr. Bishtae.

When the little one returned with a long pole, Malcolm tensed even though he tried not to. He expected some of the big ones to follow to punish him for damaging the camera and monitor. The door closed, though, without anyone else coming through it. And then he realized the pole the little one carried had a brushed head. The orc kept his head down and quietly swept the broken glass into a pile. He pulled some sort of flat sheet from under his arm and swept the pile onto it before tossing the sheet and all the glass into the waste bin. Then he and Hoshi were alone again.

Beside him, Hoshi smiled. She was disheveled, badly dressed, and completely un-made-up. But that smile was worth all the beautiful models he'd ever seen back on Earth. He hadn't realized just how much he'd missed seeing other people smile or hearing friendly voices. Hoshi's was enough to make it a good day after all.

"Three months," he said, leaning back against the wall. "I keep going over the crash. I just wish...."

"You did everything you could," Hoshi interrupted. "We hit something up there. You and Moody kept the shuttle up as long as you could."

"If we could have made it closer to the trees, perhaps." Malcolm couldn't keep from finding a possible alternative to where they had ended up.

"They could probably have tracked us," she argued. "They probably have infrared and if they don't they might have smelled us. The raptor-like dinosaurs on Earth had really good olfactory senses."

Malcolm closed his eyes and pushed back his too long, unruly hair with his hand. "I know. I just don't want to be here any more. I want to wish it all away with what-if's, I guess."

"Sadly," she said, moving closer to lay her head on his shoulder, "in my experience, that has never worked."

"Pity," he replied. "So what do we do? Just sit here waiting for their next procedure?"

"We sit here waiting for Enterprise, don't we?" She turned her head to look up at him. "Unless you know some other options that I don't. The only other one I can see is in that bin over there."

The bin? What was in the bin? Then it hit him: the glass. Was she hinting at suicide? There certainly were times he had considered it in his life, though only once since joining Enterprise. Until now, of course. He'd thought about it upon waking from the horror of being cut open while conscious. He touched the tubes still embedded in his neck, stubs that connected to the ones he had tried to pull out. Until he saw her.

"Is that what you want?" he asked, half afraid of what she would answer.

"I've thought about it," she confessed. "I don't want to just give up living, but this isn't really living, is it? What do we have to look forward to if Enterprise never comes? If we later want and decide to do it, will we still have the same opportunity? There's glass there now, no camera for them to see us and stop us."

Malcolm considered their options for the millionth time since Hoshi fell in the desert. They could not escape. Even if they got out the door and past whatever guards were out there, they had nowhere to go. They didn't know how far the trees or even the desert were from this facility. And they would have a planet full of dinosaurs trying to find them.

Hoshi was right in that, presently, they had one more option than they usually did. They could give up waiting for rescue. There was something attractive about it, especially after what they had done to him the day before. He would rather be dead then face that--or another surgery--again.

But when he imagined it, one thing just wouldn't let go of him. Hoshi, lying in a pool of blood, her eyes open, dry, and staring out of her pale face.

He took her hand and held it up, seeing once again the band on his left wrist, beeping quietly with his pulse. "They'd still know," he replied. "Besides, what kind of Sam would I be if I lost all hope? Or let Frodo lose it?"

Hoshi took a moment to tug on her band. It did not come off. "I should have let you be Frodo."

"It's no easier being Sam," he replied.

"Except he never gave up hope," she argued.

"He did once," Malcolm reminded her. "When he thought Frodo had died. He was ready to give up the whole of Middle-Earth in his grief."

"'Don't go where I can't follow,'" she recited. "That was a beautiful line." She took his hand again and rubbed his palm with her finger. "I know I couldn't do this at all without you here."

"Likewise," he told her, letting his head rest on hers. "So what do we do with our well-fought privacy?"

"It is only morning, isn't it?"

"Just the start of another day with nothing to do," he replied, nodding.

"We could play chess," she suggested.

"We don't have any pieces or a board," he felt compelled to point out.

"Makes it all the more challenging! Close your eyes," she told him. "I'll start by moving the fourth pawn from my left, the one in front of the queen, two spaces forward."

Malcolm smiled, picturing the board and her white figures placed opposite his black ones. "He's on black then, isn't he?"

Baezhu was anxious to get back to the lab the next morning. But he was also anxious to tell his friend all that had happened.

"He did what?" Kahrae asked as he sat down at their usual table in the corner.

"He threw their plates and broke the video monitor and the surveillance camera," Baezhu replied. "It was no tantrum, Kahrae. He was very precise. He knew exactly what he was aiming for and he didn't miss."

Kahrae didn't say anything. In fact, he had stopped moving altogether. Baezhu wondered then if he had alarmed Kahrae. Kahrae might be looking at this like a Raptor, not receiving it from a scientific Winged. "There's so much to it," he went on, trying to add science to it, to keep Kahrae from thinking too much on the military aspects of such precision. "Physically, the dexterity was amazing, especially for a mammal. If I had five fingers, I'd find them cumbersome. I'd fumble things. The extra two would get in the way. But for him to launch the plate the way he did, with his wrist, took all of his fingers for follow-through. For stability. For control to put the plates where he wanted them."

Kahrae finally spoke. "Was he angry? Why'd he do that?"

Baezhu definitely thought the male was angry about the semen collection but he didn't think that was why he had broken the equipment. "Actually, he looked calm," he told Kahrae. "But he was upset by the collection, even traumatized."

"Why?" Kahrae asked. "Do you think they never do that on whatever world they come from when they study animals?"

"Maybe they do," Baezhu replied. In fact, he couldn't think that they could avoid it when they studied animals, at least animals whose numbers were threatened. "But they're not animals, Kahrae. That's the difference. We pushed too far this time."

Kahrae sat down his drink and folded his small hands together. "Maybe the colonel is right. They could be dangerous."

Baezhu dropped his own utensil, still loaded with the bite he was about to take. "First," he stated, "he didn't harm anyone. I even went in there to clean up the glassalone. He sat perfectly still the whole time. Second, that's mostly what they've been doing for the last few months. They've shown no inclination toward violence. Third, even if they did, what could they possibly accomplish? Just the two of them? And if they're intelligent, like we think they are, he might just have reasoned that out."

"There are others," Kahrae pointed out, "where he comes from. We saw the second ship."

"Leave them," Baezhu interrupted. "We don't know why but it was going away from the crash site. Why would they do that if they were going to come back in force to take revenge on us for studying them? Besides, even if these two are an advance unit for an invasion force or whatever the colonel has dreamed up, how would they call their cohorts? We found no communication devices on them." Baezhu resumed his breakfast. "No Kahrae, we think it was a breakthrough. What he did could prove his sentience. And that was the start of some real communication."

"He spoke? I thought he just broke expensive property?"

"He didn't speak in words," Baezhu explained patiently. His friend often got sarcastic when Baezhu had to reason with him. "What he did said, I don't like what you did.' Or maybe, I don't like you watching us all the time.'"

Kahrae sulked for a few moments then resumed eating. "So you're not going to watch them anymore?"

"No," Baezhu told him, feeling a bit more remorse than perhaps he should as a scientist. "The new camera will be installed today. And they'll be given disposable dishware from now on."

Kahrae held up his now empty plate. "Can't break much with those, no matter how you throw them."

"That's the point." Baezhu finished his own meal and washed it down with water. "You know, Kahrae, I'm really rather shocked by how mundane this has all been."

"Mundane? You just told me how the male stood up and threw plates!"

"Yes, and that is the most exciting thing to happen in months." He wasn't bored. That wasn't the problem. He just had to find the right words to frame it. "I just remember thinking how knowing they even existed would change everything. It was frightening, but also exciting, imagining all we'd discover as we studied. All we'd learn! An now, looking back, it all seems rather less phenomenal somehow. So much so that plate throwing is the biggest breakthrough we can get."

"That's because most of the world doesn't know," Kahrae told him. "If they did, nothing would be mundane for quite some time, I think. And it's because you're a Winged. You and that method reduce every incredible phenomenon down to bland scientific data sooner or later."

That got a smirk out of Baezhu. "Oh, and you Raptors don't find it mundane staring out into the sandy nothing of Rihansu night after night?"

"There's nothing mundane about it," Kahrae replied in his race's defense. "We see the bigger picture. My best friend tells me about aliens on our planet. Nishet says Buftanis is deploying more troops to distribution centers along its western coast. We could be on the brink of war with our planetary enemy or invasion by aliens. And all this so close to Turn! Nothing mundane at all!"

"The images are clear, Councilman," Major Zhenah reported. "We estimate that more than eight thousand troops have arrived at the western Buftanisian transit stations."

"What about long-range weapons?" Grand Raptor Ussa asked.

"Likely," Zhenah replied. "Though they have enough stationary intercontinental missiles to destroy us already."

"They are not planning a nuclear attack," the senior Winged Councilman retorted. "They wouldn't be preparing to send troops over to our irradiated land. They're posturing."

"Or they plan to attack with conventional weapons," Raptor Nega spat back.

"If they did," the Winged held, "we could retaliate with nuclear weapons and they know that."

"But we wouldn't!" the senior Winged shouted to stop the argument. He lowered his voice before continuing. "We won't because we know that their weapons would automatically launch and we'd likely reduce our whole world to an uninhabitable ball of radioactive rock."

"We can defeat them conventionally just as well," Major Zhenah stated, confident of that and glad he was only a messenger.

"Keep on them, Major," the Head Councilman ordered. "And keep us apprised. We will watch, for now."

The next few days were thankfully uneventful, though Malcolm could not shake the feeling that something was waiting just around the corner. The realist in him knew that was inevitable, barring pre-emptive rescue from Enterprise. The pessimist told him that Enterprise had left them behind, thinking them dead perhaps. But there was just enough optimist left in him--nurtured by his years of service on that ship--to hope they were still looking after all this time and that he and Hoshi would not have to spend the long years remaining them as laboratory curiosities until they died.

The camera had been replaced the very next day. As had their dishes. They were no longer served meals on ceramic plates but on paper ones so flimsy he couldn't break a nail, let alone a camera. Thinking of that made him wish they would at least provide a toiletry kit. His nails were far too long. His beard itched and his hair was a tangled mess. The beard fascinated the orcs and their masters. They had cut a lock of it as soon as it was long enough, probably wanting to study the new hair that he had grown since his arrival. So he also had an uneven, unkempt beard.

A shower would be nice, he thought. Even their stupid children's shows had demonstrated basic hygiene. Hoshi and he had to make do with washing themselves the best they could in the little sink by the toilet--if it could be called a toilet.

At least they had not brought in another television. While they could not play invisible chess anymore to alleviate the boredom, they didn't have to listen to those shows drone on and on. Hoshi understood too much of their language now as it was.

As quiet and private as he usually kept himself, he wished now that he could talk to someone. Someone other than Hoshi. He couldn't air all his fears to her. He had to stay strong for her as the senior officer. Someone like Trip would be better. Trip didn't look up to him professionally. And he was a friend. He had gone through his own hard time losing his sister to the Xindi and losing some of his closeness with the captain. He would understand Malcolm's doubts, let him vent his anger and frustration, and maybe, just maybe, come up with a solution to this mess that Malcolm, for all the time he had to think, had miraculously managed to miss.

He shivered a moment as a chill passed down his back. He had dreamed of Trip again the night before. This time they were in the galley and Travis was there, too, having dinner. But while they were eating their familiar Earth foods, Malcolm's paper plate held a modest portion of cooked fish and fruit.

"We've been through this before, Malcolm," Trip had said. "We are not there yet."

"But we're getting closer," Travis added, trying to be helpful.

"How soon?" he asked, hating to be a pest but desperate for a real answer.

"Hard to say, exactly," Trip answered around a mouthful of pecan pie. "It depends on when we find the weapon."

"And the anomalies aren't making things any easier," Travis said.

"I know when we find the weapon," he had tried to argue, "and where. Because we already did."

"Malcolm," Trip sighed and set down his fork. "I think you need a break. The stress is starting to get to you."

"How am I supposed to have the luxury of taking a break?" he barked back, "if we're still trying to stop the Xindi from finishing a weapon that can destroy all of mankind?"

"Take Hoshi to movie night," Trip suggested, ignoring the outburst. And it's point.

Malcolm froze. "Why Hoshi?"

"You two are always together," Travis pointed out, "holding hands and whispering so no one will hear."

"No, we're not," Malcolm stated, standing. "Not in the Expanse. We crashed. Come and get us!"

Trip grabbed his arm gently and tried to get him to sit down again. "When we get there, Malcolm, I promise."

With that, he'd woken up. Malcolm found it odd that he could still remember so much of that dream, and the other one in sickbay. He usually forgot his dreams quickly, except the nightmares which were easier since they were based on actual events. The common theme of those two seemed odd, too. We're not there yet. Still in the Expanse. Why would his subconscious be throwing the Xindi and the Expanse into his dreams? Why not stick with birdlike monsters in lab coats performing hideous experiments on him and Hoshi? Not that he preferred those. It was just odd that two nights out of the last three months--give or take--he'd had such odd, and oddly related, dreams.

He rather wished he could run that by Trip, too. Or Phlox. If he could ever manage to feel comfortable in sickbay again.

Play again, Hoshi asked, tapping her fingers onto the back of his hand.

In Morse, he tapped back, raising his eyebrows to show it was a question. He'd won every game so far. Hoshi had trouble remembering where she had left all her pieces. They hadn't played since the camera returned though.

His stomach growled and he realized something. No food, he tapped.

Maybe late, she replied, but he could feel her tense beside him.

Maybe. But Malcolm realized that they were about to turn that corner. And he already knew what was on the other side.

"Tomorrow?" the Raptor asked, surprised, and just a little panicked.

"Yes," the caller replied. "Tomorrow evening. I'm to come in with the swing shift."

"Then they would be left without any supervision tomorrow night."

"It will be too late then!" the caller blurted. "He won't be in any shape for it. And the narcotics might interfere. We'll have to do it tonight."

"Fine, tonight," the Raptor replied. "I'll need to make a call. Get him ready. I'll come at midnight. And Doctor?"

"Yes?"

"Don't forget the surveillance camera."

"Oh, oh yes, of course."

"Tonight then."

"Tonight."