THE SOUND OF NO BIRDS SINGING


The plaza was different from when the away team had last seen it. The milky morning sunlight they had described so clearly to Hoshi still shone aslant between the trees, but it struck no warmth from the flagstones; a grayness hovered beneath the surface.

Reed had disembarked almost eagerly as the shuttlepod landed, forgetting Hoshi, forgetting his previous suspicions about this counterfeit institute, intent only upon searching out the people that had done this to him. Hoshi bided her time, understanding from the tight ripple in his cheek and the horizon-straight line of his shoulders that her presence was neither wanted nor needed.

She hesitated at the shuttlepod's hatch, and watched.

The place was a ghost town, something from an old Western; leaves parched with merciless heat and torn loose by fearsome winds fluttered across the flagstoned square, and the breezes whistled in the desolate hollows. There was the deathly sound of no birds singing.

Reed was unarmed, a state she could tell from his stance was naturally uncomfortable for him, but he stepped around the open plaza with the quick, practiced movements she had learnt to expect from him, his light feet springing from stone to stone and his eyes bright with the cold gray and faint drizzle in the air. She had rarely seen him mean business this way before, but the occasions on which she had were a comfort—he was a trained bodyguard as well as tactician and defense expert, and automatically adopted those instincts when danger may threaten. She allowed her mind to wander back to the pretend kidnap; but to her, now, Reed was more himself' than he had ever been.

He turned to her, and called out in a tone she knew well; a changed tone, speaking as Lieutenant to Ensign. As if nothing had occurred but a routine away mission. Stay with the shuttle, Ensign. I'll take it from here.

I'd rather go with you, she replied.

That wasn't a request, Hoshi.

Hoshi pursed her lips, thoughtfully. With all due respect, sir, you're hardly in a position to be giving orders. You stole a shuttlepod, Lieutenant. And technically the captain suspended you from active duty when he confined you to quarters. If anything, then currently I outrank you.

Reed's frown deepened as he stared speechlessly at her. Then that slow honey-smile began to tug at the corners of his mouth again, and he folded his arms, neatly. I borrowed it, he said. All right, Ensign, if you're in command of this little expedition . . . then what do you want me to do?

Hoshi shuffled her feet. Well, I . . . She stuck her chin in the air. I order you to lead the way, Lieutenant.

Reed chuckled, and did just that.

----------------------------

It had taken the unnegotiable force of his rank to win the argument, but Archer had finally succeeded in sending Trip to get some rest for three hours, seeing the commander's eyelids drooping to half-mast against all effort to keep them open. He knew he expected too much of the engineer, sometimes, relying on him as the sounding board he needed when this command became a burden. He had spent years of friendship and Starfleet training grooming the younger man for the role of first officer, and in hours of need tended to confide in Trip what he would never confide in T'Pol. And at those times it was easy, even despite the Vulcan's obvious presence, to think of Trip as his second still.

It occurred to him now that he had never really apologized to Trip for T'Pol's sudden succession in his place, and yet Trip had made only token noises of complaint for a few weeks, then allowed it to pass altogether, a gesture fundamentally unlike him. By nature, the man was vocal in his grievances.

So it was that when Phlox requested Archer's presence in sickbay, he went alone. Only the ever-hopeful Porthos trotted at his heels.

T'Pol's mutinous pout had not altered, but when Archer arrived she was sitting upright on a biobed, ramrod-straight. Clearly, imposed silence did not agree with her as much as she would have them all believe. Phlox stood by with his amiable grin reduced to its midpoint, far from distressed, but tempered a little compared to his usual irrepressibility.

Tell me you have good news, Doctor.

Phlox eyed Porthos suspiciously. It was not customary to allow the dog in sickbay unless a request for Phlox's veterinary services was in order—on one occasion Porthos had located Phlox's bat and spent a no doubt enjoyable ten minutes barking at the thing—but in this instance, Archer was too preoccupied to care. Phlox shook his head briskly, and replied: Well, that all depends on what you constitute good news'. If you are inquiring whether I successfully removed the nanobots from Subcommander T'Pol then yes, I have good news. However there are some complications; although they were extracted in full the chemical compound remains. She still does not seem able to speak with any reasonable coherence. Also, without an organic environment these nanobots appear to be . . . dying.

Archer felt a furry muzzle nudge his legs, and glanced down at the baleful brown eyes peering at him. He resisted the urge to tell the little dog he didn't have any cheese, and said instead, to Phlox: Dying? But they're . . .

Nanobots? I won't argue. But I have discovered they have organic components that the whole needs in order to survive. Now I realize it is your decision but until we know more about these nanobots I would recommend keeping the sample we have onboard alive.

Archer shared a glance with T'Pol that spoke far more than words could ever do. She stared serenely back. And that would entail what, exactly? he asked the doctor.

Injecting the nanobots into another living host. These beings were correct when they told you the copper base may cause damage to them. It may be partially to blame for the subcommander's more serious reaction. There should hopefully be minimal danger to any who volunteered, provided they are not Vulcan . . . and these nanobots can always be removed at a later date.

T'Pol's mouth twitched and her inanimate eyebrows tugged upward, near imperceptibly. Kyl amore t'antiduil, she attempted. Then, to make herself understood when words failed, she pointedly rolled up the sleeve of her body suit to reveal a dark smudge of bruising on her yellowish skin. She was trying, however extraordinarily, to make an unamused joke suggesting Commander Tucker as a guinea pig. He could see her grievance against Trip over those bruises coming to blows, before long.

What about Mr. Reed's side effects? Can we expect the same thing to happen to this . . . volunteer?

From my analysis of these nanobots, Captain, I can see no logical reason to assume these nanobots are even responsible for his . . . behavior. But Mr. Reed is an unusual case—he has a number of allergies and other mitigating factors which may be causing some reaction I am unaware of. Without further tests I can't be sure of that. But I feel confident that I can suggest a volunteer who should be wholly immune to any . . . problems.

Archer straightened and looked at Phlox, recognizing a more sensible suggestion when he heard one. Who did you have in mind? he asked.

Phlox's grin widened.

----------------------------

It was the air, Hoshi concluded from only the first breath, which stirred the memory from its settling of aged dust—the taste of it, leaving a thick slime on her tongue, tempting a sneeze with its persistent itch. The sound of silence, murmuring to itself.

During her language studies in college, Hoshi had often volunteered for sabbaticals with the archaeological team, grasping the rare opportunity they gave her to unearth new models for established dead languages. Though her major had been exolinguistics, paleolinguistics never ceased to capture her imagination, and those vacation digs had been if not a pleasure then an experience. She had enjoyed them but for the air that coated her lungs with the dust of centuries and left her with a hacking cough for weeks after. Whatever the institute had been like when the away team first landed, the shell of a devastated building with the air of a thousand years in its halls greeted them now.

The double doors of VISAC, or rather what they taken for VISAC on that first mission, yawned open like a maw onto blackness, and that air she had hated in college blew from the dark on a stagnant breeze, dust motes caught at the edge of the weakening evening light of the plaza.

Reed removed his communicator from the pocket of his uniform, and flipped it open with a practiced flick of the wrist. Reed to Enterprise, he said. Enterprise, this is Lieutenant Reed, come in. We've arrived at Devoli V with some unexpected results. Only static whined in the graveyard hush of the plaza. It had been the same on the shuttlepod—the transmission had either failed to go through, or else no reply could be received. They must still be out of range.

No birds singing, Hoshi murmured. Reed snapped his communicator closed and returned it to his pocket impatiently. Come again?

Nothing. Just something I learned at the academy. In the last two centuries, it was common for a pilot to describe radio silence as no dogs barking'. But my roommate and I always thought it sounded better to say birds'. No birds singing.

It sounds to me like you need to get out more, Reed tsked. Then, with him leading the way and Hoshi behind, they went inside.

----------------------------

There was water dripping somewhere in the black, a steady, dull patter, thud-thud-thud, and in the darkness, the drilling, repetitive drops whispered close, swooping past her ear. Taunting.

In the entranceway, Reed swept the yellow-white beam of the flashlight over the debris underfoot, over a tea-maker spilling its contents across the marble floor, the hardware wrenched clean from the wall and shattered in a jagged array of glass and plastic over the empty, cracked cups. Dried tea leaves of every color and aroma, churned to a fine chalky-malt gravel, crunched under their feet, sending up a bruised sour-sweet herbal scent in a pungent cloud. Hoshi shuddered.

It's like it's been abandoned for centuries, she murmured, more to herself than to Reed. How can that be?

I have an idea, he replied grimly. But it's going to sound rather bizarre if I try to tell you. Besides . . . I'm not sure I'd be able to tell you.

Try. You might find it's okay. Maybe whatever it was has worn off.

Reed shook his head, but Hoshi nodded him on. He sighed, a passing flicker of uncertainty catching in his eyes like the reflections of flames, and said: It's holographic. Well, in a sense at least. All of it . . . the institute, the two Vulcans we spoke to . . . even the weather. No doubt the captain told you about that. He caught her eyes reprovingly, looking up from beneath his eyelids in a lancing gaze that cut through the gloom to her. When he warned you that I might be going crazy? There was no reproach there, only an oddly resigned sorrow. Hoshi swallowed.

So . . . that's why it looks so old? But why, why would anyone do that? Is it a malfunction?

That, my dear Ensign, is something I couldn't tell you. Perhaps somebody doesn't want us nosing around in here. Nothing like a haunted house to turn away the faint of heart. With that, he turned, and walked on.

Hoshi nodded, and crept forward. She walked in his footsteps, watching the jut of his shoulder blades through the uniform soaked black against him along the curve of his spine, watching the perspiration trace down his neck and pool in the dark feathers of hair at its base.

Go back to the shuttlepod, Ensign, he said, suddenly.

He turned, his shoulder brushing against her as he moved in the close space, and fixed searching eyes on her. Hoshi crumpled under the gaze, the schoolgirl flush creeping back into her cheeks again. With respect, Lieutenant . . . she replied, . . . no.

You're frightened. He stated it as hard fact. Go back. What good do you think I'll be if I'm worrying about you all the time? I'm trained for this sort of thing. You're not. Now go back. That's an order.

Hoshi opened her mouth to speak; her tongue was numb, and nothing came for a terrifying moment. Like you're not, she said, in a tiny voice.

He studied her a moment, weighing up her statement. He might take it as her observing that he would still worry no matter where she was; but, perhaps, he would understand her real meaning. And be unsettled by it.

He stepped back a degree or two; the disquieting flicker had not left his tired eyes, and the worry lines had only deepened. Go back, Hoshi. His tone was softer, now. This isn't about you.

Hoshi opened her mouth to finally agree. It was then that the floor disappeared from beneath them.

----------------------------

The marble underfoot snapped from a horizontal plane to a forty-five degree angle in the space it took Hoshi to catch a breath, and both officers were tipped from their feet. Hoshi did not even have the time to scream; they plummeted down the slick surface of the slide, somersaulted by the sheer sudden force that catapulted them, tangling together in a jumble of limbs as they were swept around a corner. The tilted floor melted upward and over and met above them, sealing them in a cylindrical tube whose walls they skirted at the next sharp bend.

Hoshi forced her eyes open in time to see a hole gaping in the tunnel up ahead, and they were swept towards it like a crashing wave rushing over pebbles . . . the tunnel broke, stretching like warm taffy, dividing into a fork; one to that blackness, the other to a sweeping arc that twisted into a circle and back on itself. Hoshi felt herself forced into the second, already feeling the curve under her . . . as she looked across, she saw Reed being carried into the first.

She just had time to see the hole close behind him before the bend swept her away, and out of sight of the jaws that had swallowed the lieutenant.