T'Phol was the only one waiting in the living area when McCoy left Chapel's room. He joined her on the couch, sinking down beside her and stretching his legs. She pulled him against her for a kiss, which he returned with a quick eagerness before breaking away with a wry smile.
She sat back. "I know, command decorum. How is Nurse Chapel?"
"We're all right, I think. Patched if not healed. Where is everyone?"
"They are in their rooms."
McCoy sighed and got up, going to the big window and looking out. After a moment, T'Phol joined him, wrapping her arms around his waist from behind. The day had remained heavily overcast and dark, although currently no drizzle was falling. The view was cold and grey. The doctor's human heat felt good, and she rested her chin on his shoulder. He tilted his head toward her with a backward glance.
"This feels like Thanksgiving," he said quietly.
"Yes?" T'Phol tightened her arms around him, waiting for him to share his thoughts.
"Late November is often cool and rainy in Georgia. I remember lots of Thanksgivings with weather just like this, maybe not as cold."
When he didn't continue, T'Phol prompted. "This gloom puts you in a holiday spirit?"
He smiled and turned to face her. "Sounds strange, doesn't it?" He wound a stray lock of her hair around his finger, watching it spring into a curl as he released it, his thoughts far away.
T'Phol studied his face for a moment. "How do you plan on looking for them?"
He didn't pretend not to understand, and in a mark of their newly close relationship, he didn't wonder how she knew what he was thinking.
"I am modifying my medical tricorder to scan for their signature."
"When? This evening?"
"Maybe now, before dark. Just near the compound. No farther than I can walk. Do you want to go?"
"Yes," she said instantly. "Only us?"
"I think so. It shouldn't be dangerous." He looked at her with a little smirk. "If we don't see Piasa, we can always use the opportunity to neck." He grinned as a flush spread over T'Phol's cheeks. "I'll have to let at least Giotto know we're stepping out. Wrap up good. I'll grab my things and jab some tri-ox."
McCoy pulled up a site map on the computer and studied it a minute before injecting himself with tri-ox compound. He grabbed his medical kit, tricorder, and coat before knocking on Giotto's door. It was standing part way open and Giotto looked up, motioning him to enter. He had a PADD and stylus on his desk.
"Are you going somewhere?" He immediately put down the tablet and reached for his coat.
"Hang on, Barry. I just want to look around the compound. I won't go beyond hollerin' distance from the fence. T'Phol is coming with me. We're just takin' a little walk."
Giotto sat unhappily, searching McCoy's face with a shrewdness born from experience. "Are you taking a romantic stroll or bird watching ?"
McCoy blushed. "Maybe both," he admitted.
Giotto sighed. "Then take my phaser one. Just in case. There are other predators here besides the birds." He handed it to McCoy who slipped it in his coat pocket.
"How long do you plan to be outside?"
"Not too long. We'll come back in before dark."
Giotto glanced at the clock. "That's well over an Aminta hour." He frowned. "If you're not back a few minutes before dark, I will come out searching for you."
"Fair enough." McCoy turned toward the door.
"Doc, be careful. The captain will shoot me if I let anything happen to you."
McCoy scowled. "I am a grown man, and Jim is an overprotective ass sometimes. Don't worry, I'll be careful."
T'Phol was waiting at the doors. They stepped out into damp cold. McCoy took her hand as they crossed the yard, their steps crunching on the brittle ground..
The perimeter fence surrounded the compound and had gates at the front and back. The gates were fastened but not locked. They slipped through and were outside the wall. McCoy did a sweep with his tricorder. The readings indicated a few small mammals in the grass about four hundred yards to the south. He guessed those were the smaller variety of Amintian deer. Beyond the grass was a thick stand of evergreens, curving around to the north, meeting the road in front of the buildings. In the east more trees stood, their bare branches in sharp relief against the soft, dull grey sky. He looked at them a long minute. T'Phol's fingers tightened around his.
"Those are the trees in your dream?"
He nodded. "Of course, they would be in the east," he muttered. "Like going to Mordor. With- what did Chekov call 'em, quasi-deciduous?- trees. That's the way we need to go."
McCoy's trepidation grew as they approached the woods. They paused at the edge. He halfway expected to see a luminous path, but there was none, glowing or dark. The forest floor had a dark covering of past leaves and very little underbrush. Here and there a spriggish, leggy succulent twined around a grey trunk in an undulant merging.
He told himself his accelerated heartbeat was from the tri-ox. "Let's go." Still holding hands, they slipped into the shadow of the trees.
It was slightly above freezing. Occasionally a drop fell, its plop magnified in the quiet, still air. They walked a few hundred yards into the woods, the leaves muffling the sound of their passage.
McCoy stopped, looking around as he took an opportunity to catch some breaths.
"This is a pretty piece of forest," he said, marveling that he could think so after dreaming about them twice. "And it doesn't stink." He drew a deep breath. "Just smells leafy, not moldy and dank."
"Like Georgia?"
He huffed. "I don't think we're in Georgia any more, Dorothy Gale."
"Have you switched books? I thought we were in Middle Earth."
He pulled her close and they kissed, but he broke away after a moment, his senses alert.
"Evidently neither Middle Earth nor Oz are conducive for romantic activity," T'Phol said.
"No," McCoy almost whispered. "'Listen." He took up the tricorder, making a sweeping scan, looking at the readings. "Stay still. A bird is coming."
There was a small clearing about forty feet in front of them. In less than a minute a grey shape landed, teetering on an upper limb, then dropped to the ground.
"It's Piasa," McCoy said quietly. "He's alone." He handed her his communicator. "Stay here." He took a step forward. Piasa tilted his head, humming, his pupil constricting. McCoy stopped.
"Good afternoon, Piasa."
Piasa shuffled about halfway to McCoy, then halted. He hummed a couple of lines from Blackbird, and lowered his head. When he looked up, his gaze was on T'Phol.
McCoy took a few steps toward him, finishing the verse, then bowed his head, mirroring Piasa's action. He looked up and pointed. "This is T'Phol. She is our friend."
Piasa warbled, his pupil fluctuating and he came the rest of the way to McCoy, who reached out and stroked his neck. Piasa chimed and trilled, then looked at T'Phol again.
"Would you like to meet her? Yes?" He spoke to T'Phol softly, his eyes never leaving Piasa. "T'Phol, move toward us slowly, hold your hands free. If he objects, stop and hold still."
Piasa watched her intently, trilling very softly as she approached. She stopped just behind McCoy. Piasa stood tall, falling silent for a minute. His head moved closer to her, tilting to inspect her with his amazing eye.
"Hello, Piasa."
He hummed another piece of the Blackbird song. T'Phol responded by singing a scale as do-re-mi. For a moment Piasa was quiet, then he sang it back to her in the same key. She changed keys and repeated. So did Piasa. She sang scales a total of six times, in six different keys, all in perfect pitch, and he repeated them back to her, each perfect.
McCoy looked on, amazed.
T'Phol reached out tentatively, but stopped short before actually touching him. "Now it is your turn. You sing to me."
Piasa's shining eyes fluctuated, then he sang.
It was haunting and melodic, and it obviously was telling a story. He sang for a long while, beautiful alien words telling a tale they couldn't understand. He finished and was silent and still.
T'Phol spoke first. "Thank you, Piasa," She looked at McCoy. His face was wet with tears. Piasa moved to him, trilling gently. He touched his beak to McCoy's chest, then looked him in the eye, their faces inches apart. McCoy stroked the soft scales on his chest, running his fingers next to the hot skin. Piasa chimed, allowing the contact for several minutes. McCoy straightened, letting go, rubbing the wet from his face.
"Piasa, tell the Tribe to stay away from the compound. They're afraid of you there. We are trying to translate your language."
Piasa regarded him, eyes turning between red and gold. He warbled a bit, finally humming a bit of Blackbird, as if he was using it as both a greeting and a farewell. He took low to the air and was out of sight through the trees.
The communicator T'Phol was holding chirped. Wordlessly she handed it to McCoy. He turned off the tricorder before answering.
"McCoy here." His voice sounded rough and hoarse.
"Giotto, Sir." A pause. "Are you all right?"
"Yes, we're fine."
"You'll be in before dark?"
"Yes. We'll be on the way back shortly. How long until night?"
"Less than twenty more minutes of daylight."
"We'll be there. McCoy out."
He pocketed the communicator and looked at T'Phol.
"I have no words for what just happened," she said. "Are you all right?
He nodded, pulling her against him, leaning into her solid form. She held him until he moved away, taking her hand. "I guess we'd better head back before Barry sends out a search party."
They retraced their path through the woods until they stood once again at the edge outside the perimeter fence. The temperature had grown noticeably colder as the grey light faded from the sky. They both pulled their jacket hoods close as they crunched across the field, entering the gate just as the compound lights came on.
T'Phol stopped before entering the doors. "Do you think Piasa understood?"
"I hope so."
"A question before we go inside, and I expect the entire truth. Did you already know he was coming to you?"
McCoy pulled the hood away from his face. "I did not know he would come. I thought he might. I didn't know when or where."
She nodded, satisfied. "One more thing."
"Yes?"
"Kiss me again."
He obliged.
Giotto met them as they entered, obviously relieved. McCoy fished the phaser from his pocket and returned it, went to the bathroom, then to his room to hang his coat. The others were sitting in the living area, Chapel and Cassady were playing a card game, Uhura was working on her PADD. Everyone looked up as he entered.
"Have y'all had supper?"
"Snacks," Cassady answered. "We were waiting for you and T'Phol. I'm starving."
T'Phol came out of her room, slipping on her heavy sweater. "I am hungry as well, Cass."
"I don't see how either of you stay so thin," Uhura said.
"You didn't have to wait, but thanks. Let's go," McCoy said, slinging the tricorder around his shoulder. Uhura and Chapel both noticed, but made no comment as they walked the long hall to the galley and commons.
McCoy got a sandwich and soup, noting that everyone chose more food than the previous evening. They were well into their meal when he heard the familiar staccato heels clicking on the stone floor. He stood and greeted her like the Southern gentleman his Grandma raised.
Arnette nodded curtly and addressed Uhura. "There will be an opportunity for you and your colleagues to visit one of the working sites tomorrow. A team will leave here returning to Site Three to switch personnel and take supplies. You may accompany them if you feel up to it. You will be back at the compound before nightfall."
Uhura and T'Phol both were obviously keen on the idea. McCoy frowned.
"Site Three is not in a magnesite area?"
"No. And they may use the oxygen-enriched crawler."
"I'd need to send security along, and probably Nurse Chapel as well."
"Certainly." Arnette's cool gaze rested on McCoy for a moment. "Your team should be ready shortly after daybreak, around zero-four. I shall send the particulars to the computer in your area. Good night."
Uhura waited until Arnette was out of earshot. "Well, that's a surprise."
"I wonder what changed her mind? That's a complete about-face from this morning." He glanced around the table. "I suppose you all want to go? You'll take Barry with you. And Christine, too."
"But that will leave you here alone," Chapel protested.
"I have those physicals to complete. They'll need you with the kit full of tri-ox. I'll be fine."
They finished eating and returned to their rooms. Chapel and Cassady resumed their interrupted card game while Giotto put a video in the comm unit and started a movie. McCoy handed his tricorder to T'Phol. She opened the Moog, connected them and began the transfer. Uhura came over, propping her arms on the stone counter as she watched. When the download was complete, T'Phol disconnected the tricorder and handed it to McCoy, who gave it to Uhura. She took it with a raised brow.
"Should I assume there's something new here?"
McCoy nodded to T'Phol. Her fingers played across the Moog buttons and her clear voice sang the first scale. Piasa answered, his layered woodwind vocalization deep and enticing. They continued to sing scales. Across the room, the card game halted, Giotto paused the video, and everyone gathered near as Piasa began his song. They were held enthralled for the entire twenty minutes Piasa sang. The Moog went silent as the song concluded. McCoy looked at each of them, holding Chapel's gaze a beat longer, willing her to understand there was more to the song than random pretty sounds, that Piasa was sharing a story with them.
Uhura spoke first. "I think this removes any question of whether his song is language."
McCoy closed his eyes briefly, relieved that Uhura agreed.
"Is it enough?"
"That will take some time to tell."
McCoy slumped a little. Time was a thing they had in limited supply. "Can you send the recording to the Enterprise?" He handed her his communicator. She sent the transmission, then sat to watch the video of the encounter.
"Hey, T'Phol. Could you translate his song to piano or violin? Is it too alien, or are musical keys constant throughout the galaxy? "
T'Phol looked at Cassady, surprised. The question was thoughtful, and she had already considered doing just that.
"I could transpose it for either. At its heart, music is a series of simple integer ratios; the physics involved in the relationship between components of the sound wave is constant. It does not change because the instrument changes. A key of F-sharp remains F-sharp, whether on Earth or Aminta, violin or piano or vocal cord. Piasa's song would lend itself handily to a woodwind ensemble, particularly clarinet, oboe, and bagpipe."
"You said yesterday you wanted to hear their original compositions," Chapel said to T'Phol. "Isn't it fortunate the bird happened along just as you two were taking a walk?" She looked at McCoy. "I'm going to bed. Do you want to scan me first?"
McCoy reached for his kit without a word. He passed the scanner over her, looking at the readings. "Everything appears fine. Headache?"
"No. Goodnight, then."
McCoy watched her go to her room, seeing her anger betrayed by her stilted posture. Evidently they were not as patched as he had believed.
Uhura looked up from the tricorder, frowning, her eyes following Chapel as she left. "I have some things to say. First, this is an incredible encounter. His song is exquisite." She looked at T'Phol. "You sang beautifully, too."
"I do not sing. I have absolute pitch, the ability to recognize or recreate any musical note without a reference tone. It is a handy skill, but solfeggio is not the same thing as singing. Absolute pitch is almost certainly closely related to my projective synesthesia."
"Were you able to envision patterns while he was singing?"
"Yes, to a small extent, they were not elucidate."
Uhura turned to McCoy. "Christine is right. This meeting was no accident. Piasa knew you were out there and where to find you. Did you know where to find him?"
"T'Phol asked me the same thing. No, but I had a feeling he might come. I didn't know for sure."
Uhura tapped her finger against the tricorder. "Did Piasa tell you where to meet?"
"No."
"But you had a 'feeling'." It must have occurred to you that Piasa is sending those feelings telepathically. T'Phol, did you sense any attempt to communicate with you while you were out there?"
"Beyond the song itself? No." T'Phol lowered her eyes.
"So, Doctor, it seems Piasa speaks only to you. And you don't want to talk about it. Or maybe you can't. Maybe Piasa doesn't want you to talk about it."
McCoy's anger flared, hot and incommensurate. He looked across her shoulder. Giotto was seated at the video screen, but looking down, his gaze averted as if he was trying not to listen. Cassady was staring with wide eyes. Chapel was in her room, still perturbed with him. Uhura's expression was Vulcan-like and unreadable. He looked at T'Phol. There was no coercion in her eyes, just quiet acceptance. He drank in the strength and calmness there, and turned away. To give himself some time to collect, he went to the synthesizor and got a glass of water, sipping until he felt able to contain his irateness. He turned to Uhura, fighting to keep his tone calm and quiet.
"This distrust is wearin' on me. From Chapel, from you. I have never been a liar."
Uhura sighed. "No one is accusing you of lying." Uhura paused, gauging how much she could push. "What are you not telling us, Len?"
McCoy pinched the bridge of his nose. Discord and suspicion were making him miserable, and he could feel a blinding headache waiting to blossom into full reality. He wanted to cry or scream. He wanted to be anywhere but in that chilly room, struggling to explain things he didn't understand to people who didn't believe him. He imagined himself sitting on the front porch, swinging in the gentle, warm evening, sweet iced tea in hand, the scent of gardenia drifting past, listening to crickets chirp and watching fireflies in the yard. When he spoke his words were soft with Georgia bleeding through.
"I've already told you what I can. Piasa does not speak to me using words. I talk to him that way, 'cause it's the only way I know. Maybe he is communicatin' with me, but it's subtle and I can't detect it. I can't point to anything inside my head and say, 'Oh look, Piasa wants me to meet him in the woods at six o'clock.' " He ran a hand through his hair. "He does seem to understand what I say to him. I'm certain he's not controllin' my mind, though. I'm still myself, and I think I've been compromised in that way often enough to recognize it. I don't know how many times I can tell you. Or how many times you can refuse to believe me." He fell silent, looking away to hide his pain.
Uhura got up, walked around the edge of the counter and stood inches away, glaring up at him. "Listen to me, Leonard McCoy. I do not question your honesty." Her voice, although pitched low, contained a quiet fierceness that would not be rebuffed. She grasped his face in both her hands, forcing him to look at her. "But something is going on here, something we don't understand. And according to what you just said, you don't understand it, either. Piasa may be totally benign. Maybe he views you as a kind Human or an exceptional healer, which you are both, and simply wants to be friends. He may be planning total galactic domination with you as his pawn. He may be premiering a new song on a test audience. Maybe he likes The Beatles. Whatever he is doing, he has established a form of communication with you, and only you, and evidently this communication is some sort of one-sided telepathy. I find that disturbing and a little frightening. I'm trying to find answers, but there are too many puzzle pieces missing. It's difficult not to think you have at least a couple of those pieces in your pocket, whether you think so or not." She released him, her movement and tone becoming softer. "You are dear to me, Len. We're getting so close to the end of this five year mission. We can't stumble now."
She reached out to him in a hug, which he returned. "This is turning out to be one hell of a milk run," he said, pressing a quick kiss to top of her head. "I'm sorry if you are worrying about me, but this is so important..." He trailed off, weary of trying to defend his involvement with Piasa, knowing he had to continue.
Uhura gave him a final pat and let go. "I'm not trying to add to your stress, but it is possible we will have to leave Aminta before we make a breakthrough on translation."
McCoy nodded. "I'll continue to advocate for them in absentia."
"A force to be reckoned with." She picked up his tricorder and handed it to him. "If we are leaving shortly after daybreak, I need to get to bed. I hope you sleep well. All this will be all right. It has to be. Good night, all."
Cassady also bade them good evening and went to his room. McCoy picked up his scanner. "Before you go, I want to check you, Barry." Giotto walked over, submitting to the quick pass. ""Looking good," McCoy said. "You should do fine tomorrow with the tri-ox and tazocap."
Giotto nodded. "Thanks. May I speak freely?"
"You might as well, everyone else has. If it's about the birds, just remember I'm armed with hypos and I know how to use 'em."
"No, I'm not too worried about Piasa. If he wanted to kill you he easily could, and he's had every opportunity to do so, twice now. I think he communicates with you because he knows you care." He shrugged. "That's not dangerous in itself just because we don't understand it. And I don't see how it could be a prelude to galactic domination. So I will trust your assessment of the situation unless I see contrary evidence."
McCoy released a breath, gratified for Giotto's support. "Thank you, Barry."
"They don't mean to gang up on you, Doc," Giotto said quietly. "Nurse Chapel is afraid of the birds and the other predators, the hyenas." He huffed. "She gave me hell for letting you go outside."
McCoy would have laughed, but humor seemed currently incongruous where his head nurse was concerned.
"What I wanted to discuss is your plan for tomorrow. I am not comfortable with splitting the landing party and leaving you here alone."
"I have physicals to finish. The others all want to go. Chapel will need to go as the medic." He looked sharply at the security chief, trusting Giotto's instinct. "What makes you uncomfortable, exactly?"
"This entire planet buzzes my nerves. I don't care for Jasso or Arnette. It's nothing specific. Some places just feel- toxic."
"We're in total agreement there." McCoy sighed. "I promise I'll lay low tomorrow and try to keep out of trouble."
"You'll stay inside?"
"Yes. And you check in with the Enterprise every hour."
"Understood." He inclined his head in a slight bow. "Good night, Doc, Miss Grayson."
"I am going to change," T'Phol said, after Giotto's door closed. "Then you and I must talk."
"Et tu, Brute?"
T'Phol shook her head. "I shall return shortly."
She came out in pajamas and carrying a blanket. They sat on the couch together and she began massaging his neck, her strong fingers kneading and smoothing. "Your neck feels like knotted rope."
"They don't believe me." His voice sounded thin, defeated.
"They have reason for their misgivings, their concerns are not unfounded." She felt him immediately tense and dug into his muscles with more vigor, leaning closer. "Shhhh," she soothed. "Be still a minute. You will get a headache."
"Too late," he rumbled. "I already have one."
T'Phol made a small, noncommittal sound and continued her effort for a few minutes, finally feeling him begin to lean into her hands. She shifted closer, began following her fingers with her lips, moving over his neck and across his jaw, finally covering his mouth with hers. He gave in with a small groan and they kissed with growing hunger. She undid the button at the top of his shirt and he pulled back enough to see her eyes. The longing he saw there mirrored his own. He ducked his face, feeling raw and needing to hide.
"I thought you wanted to talk," he murmured into her neck.
"We are talking." She nuzzled into his shoulder, sliding a hand underneath his shirt.
He managed to get to his feet, pulling her up with him. "We're gonna have to continue this conversation in private."
"Command decorum?"
"We'll worry about that later."
McCoy adjusted the pillow under their heads, pulling the blankets around the two of them. They lay entwined without speaking for a few minutes. T'Phol stroked his temple as she held him close. "How is your headache?"
He tucked his arm around her tighter. "Somehow I forgot about it."
"Good. Because now we really do need to talk."
"About this afternoon?"
"Yes. I have been thinking about what happened. Uhura questioned if Piasa tried to communicate with me. I told her no, and he did not. I tried to communicate with him, first by singing scales, but I also attempted to establish a Tap. I was not successful, perhaps because he is a species with which I am inexperienced, or maybe it is beyond my capability to initiate a 'reverse' Tap, for lack of a better definition. Uhura also asked if I could see the pattern within Piasa's song. I could not, beyond the most basic of fabric, because Piasa was blocking me."
"Blocking you?"
"I sent an inquiring tendril but could sense nothing of his mind." She thought for a minute. "It was like tossing a glass of water at a wall. He is heavily shielded. I do not think it was deliberate on his part to hide anything from me in particular. It simply exists. It is part of him like your aura surrounds you or my Rage is in me." She smoothed the little line that appeared on his forehead.
"Then how can I tell what he's thinking?"
T'Phol raised a brow. "If you are indeed understanding his thoughts, it can only be because he is facilitating the process. Or he is sending what he wants you to believe. After meeting him, I have no doubt that he understands what we are saying. Both he and Little Birdie comprehended your treatment yesterday and cooperated with every request. Today I asked him to sing and he did. Since he has probably not studied a standard dictionary, he must be receiving his translation directly from our thoughts. It was no coincidence that we met him in the woods today. He could have sent you the message to meet, or he sensed that you were outside and came to you. Either way, he has access to you, maybe to us all. His robust shielding suggests a telepath of substantial ability resides behind."
"You didn't feel any communication from him at all?"
"No. It seems you are the chosen one." T'Phol hesitated. "You were impacted emotionally by his song. Can you tell me what you were sensing?"
McCoy propped on an elbow, his eyes focused on her, intense. "First tell me, do you think Piasa is dangerous?" He looked briefly away, then back. "Could he be controlling my mind without me being aware?"
T'Phol gently smoothed his lock of hair that always beckoned for her touch, wanting to ease his inner turmoil, feeling certain she would add to his disquiet instead. She turned over phrasing in her mind before opting for direct and simple.
"Yes. It seems to me both are possible."
Some strong emotion flickered over his face, quickly gone. He closed his eyes. When he looked at her again, they were soft and deep, with a sort of lament that both frightened her and made her want to lose herself there. She unconsciously tightened her arms around him. He stroked her cheek with his thumb, winding a wisp of her hair into a curl before he spoke.
"Piasa's song was about me." He released the little curl, watching as it sprung into a coil. T'Phol heard the resignation in his voice, and felt apprehension washing over her like a cold wave. She held her breath, waiting for him to finish, but not wanting to hear.
"It was written two thousand years ago."