Giotto held the door for McCoy and then followed him inside. The others, except for Chapel and T'Phol, crowded around him as he entered, full of questions. Chapel hung back because she was well familiar with his difficult case doctor mode, and knew he would need to decompress before he would articulate his thoughts fully. T'Phol was still stung by rebuke, although she could not admit it, and resisting the notion of not belonging to the group, a feeling she knew well since she could remember. Then his eyes met hers, warm and gentle and lit with a special happiness, and she felt foolish. She looked away.

"All right," McCoy said, holding up his hand. "I will tell you about it in a few minutes. Let me clean up, get settled down and check in with the Enterprise. And get a cup of coffee." He went into the bathroom and washed his hands thoroughly. When he emerged, Chapel stepped up with a steaming cup ready. He thanked her and went into his sleeping quarters, closing the door behind him.

He shrugged out of his coat and threw it on the bed, then dropped into the desk chair and ran a hand over his face. What he knew changed things. The creatures were not only intelligent, they were sentient. Aminta belonged to them. Somehow he knew they were not pleased with the activity on their world, and their disapproval was growing. He sipped his coffee for a minute, then opened his communicator.

It took a minute for Kirk to get on. He relayed the events of the afternoon and his conclusion. Kirk was silent for a bit. McCoy knew he was considering the ramifications as well as the complications this caused for not only their mission, but the future of the scientific research and the team already on the planet.

When Kirk spoke, it was not what he expected to hear.

"I thought I asked you not to take risks."

"It wasn't that much of a risk. I treat new species often enough."

"You had no way to know they'd be docile. They could have ripped your throat out. And still might. Maybe you should come back and let Doctor M'Benga do those physicals."

McCoy felt the threat wasn't quite serious, so he waited without saying anything. On the other end, he heard Kirk sigh.

"You seem to have some sort of interest in these creatures outside the scientific realm. Everything you've just told me is subjective. You can't prove these creatures are sentient because they sang. Lots of creatures can mimic language."

"Jim, this was not 'Polly wants a cracker.'"

"If you couldn't understand the singing, how do you communicate? Are you in contact with them telepathically?"

McCoy thought of the night terror and the assurance he felt that he could read their attitude accurately. "Well, no. Not exactly."

"What exactly is it, then? What makes you so certain they're more than just an intelligent animal?"

"Oh, come on, Jim. We're all 'just' an intelligent animal. Their actions were considered. They communicated with each other. They knew I was trying to help and facilitated my examination. I recorded the entire thing on the tricorder."

"That's a start, at least. Forward those recordings to the science lab."

"I will, but our best linguist is right here. And T'Phol interprets music as language."

"Fine. Have them take a look at what you've got."

"I plan on it."

"If these creatures are sentient, we need proof. And I doubt the planet administration will cooperate with any effort to find out more. Plus I am not authorized to open an inquiry. Any official investigation would have to be authorized by the FSB. I could request to open an inquiry through channels, but without some concrete evidence..."

"Understood, Captain."

"Keep me informed. And no more unnecessary risk-taking. I mean it, I'll bring you back."

"Nothing unnecessary. Yes, Sir. McCoy out."

Necessary, McCoy thought, was in the eye of the beholder.


He finished his coffee, staring out the window into the gathering dark. There were a few breaks in the cloud cover that had been mostly solid all day. There was still enough light to see to the perimeter fence. No bent shapes were roosting there. Did they roost? Where did they live? How did they run their society? He logged on to the computer on his desk, but something stopped him from doing a search, a paranoia he had never before possessed. He wondered if they were being monitored and their movements tracked. He took the badge from his pocket and laid it on the desk. Then he turned on the tricorder and began reviewing his medical scan and recording.

Engrossed in his study, he didn't hear the knock at his door the first or second time. Finally Uhura opened the door and peeked in.

"Are you all right? You've been in here well over an hour now."

He looked up, surprised. Outside it was totally dark except for the compound lighting.

"Come on in. I need your help. Can you send this recording on an encoded link to the Enterprise?"

Uhura raised a brow but didn't question him. "Yes."

He gave the tricorder to her. It took a minute to make the adjustment. She opened her communicator, arranged the piggy-back transmission, and handed it back to him.

"All done." Her communicator chirped. "Transmission received."

He scrubbed at his eyes and leaned back in his chair.

"Tell me what's going on."

"I'm not sure myself. I'll tell what I can to everyone in a minute. How do you feel about translating some musical language? Do you have a universal translator with you?"

"I can get one. And we've begun work already on translating several pieces, but I think you're talking about something different."

McCoy switched the tricorder on, found a mark, and turned the screen so they both could see. Uhura watched in silence until he paused the recording. "There's a lot more," he said. "I recorded it all. You can watch the whole thing later."

"I'll need to make a copy. T'Phol will need another for the Moog." She paused. "Assuming this is speech, the universal translator does a very poor job with musical language. Tomorrow I'll run it through the database and compare with languages already on file."

"I'd rather the Aminta scientists know nothing about this."

"I won't mention it. They all work independently, so I doubt anyone would notice anyway. They're rather protective of their projects. Fortunately, few of them are working on the tonal records. T'Phol and I pretty much have that to ourselves."

He looked down. "Did you have to stop T'Phol from following me?"

"Yes, but she acquiesced when I told her she had to obey your order."

"She's still upset. I'll talk to her."

"Be easy on her. She's probably never heard your real bark before. It must be difficult when your new lover is suddenly your CO. Especially when you're not even in Starfleet. "

McCoy looked up, blushing. "She told you?"

Uhura smiled. "No."

"Evidently it complicates things." He raked a hand through his hair.

"You're always complicated." She held out her hand. "Come on, tell us about your little adventure. Then I want us all to have an outing."

"An outing? Are you crazy?"

"Crazy seems to run in our group, wouldn't you agree?"

He grinned and let her pull him up from his chair.


The others were sitting around in the lounge area. Everyone looked up when they entered. He perched on the arm of T'Phol's chair.

"Here is what happened this afternoon." He launched into the tale, shortening it to the essential elements. He did not tell about his panic or his feeling of mental communication. He finished and surveyed the faces for reaction. Giotto looked at him, shaking his head.

"I thought you were going to be killed," he said softly. "Everything seemed calm, then they suddenly flared and postured. When you were singing to them, I had aimed my phaser and was actually putting pressure on the trigger when that big one backed down."

"Thank you for not firing. Recovering from heavy stun is a bitch."

"Well, it was close. Recovering from a slit throat is probably worse." Giotto's strong, square face was uncommonly thoughtful. "You know," he added, "I think they were waiting specifically for you when you were in the clinic. They came right to you at first."

"Are they unpredictable? What set them off?" Chapel asked.

"Maybe I approached too quickly," McCoy said smoothly. "They settled down when they realized I wasn't going to hurt them." He was aware of the sets of eyes sharply on him, but no one questioned him further.

"I think these beings are sentient. Empirical evidence suggests it," he continued. "But at this point our hands are tied. I am hoping that Uhura and T'Phol can translate their sounds into language so we have some proof. I don't want anyone on Aminta involved, especially not Jasso or any of his people." He looked around the room. "Just to be clear, I don't want any of you trying to make contact with the creatures. I am pretty sure they won't hurt me, at least these two. I am also sure they could kill with one swipe, those talons are huge and sharp. They're muscular and strong. And their beaks are lined with some respectable teeth. Stay away from them."

"Do you plan to stay away from them, too?" T'Phol's tone was mild, but to him it seemed like the gauntlet thrown.

"I don't know," he answered honestly. "That's my decision to be made at another time and not for discussion or debate. But now I think Uhura has something to tell us."

Uhura jumped in quickly. "Yes, I do. According to the people we worked with today, Aminta has an amazing night sky, at least when it's visible. They have a large count of meteors almost all the time, the planet orbits in a dust belt. But tonight the planet is passing through a thick part of the cloud, and there will be a meteor storm. It is cloudy here much of the time, but there will be clearing for a couple of hours and probably the only window of opportunity for observation. There is no moon to hamper the viewing. The lights are fewer on our end of the compound, so we can find shade and enjoy the show. It's just below freezing now, but it will get colder later."

Everyone was enthusiastic about the prospect of a meteor storm, even in the cold and thin air. McCoy got his medikit and injected everyone with tri-ox and acetazolamide, except T'Phol, whose Vulcan physiology didn't need the help. They put on coats and gloves and pulled the hoods close.

"Y'all stay close by," McCoy said. "I'll be out in a minute." He caught T'Phol's arm. "Stay with me, please," he said quietly as the others left through the double pressure doors. When they were out, he turned her to him.

"I upset you. Let's get this fixed before it becomes a big thing between us."

"Vulcans do not get upset."

"Put whatever label on it that you wish. You didn't like it when I ordered the group to stay in. You argued with and were prepared to disobey that order."

"I am not a member of Starfleet."

"You're a civilian, but embedded within a Federation special operation. You are under Starfleet's protection, and hence under mine. I realize now I should've gone over this with you before we landed. This is what happens when your commander is not frequently at the helm. It simply didn't occur to me that this would come up."

He paused, then spoke slower, and with emphasis. "If I give an order, or any one of us from the Enterprise, I need to know you'll obey. It's not just your safety at stake. At any time life and death could hang on one person's actions, not only for the individual, but for the group or other members of the group. We are experienced in these types of situations. You are not. And arguing in the face of an order undermines my authority."

"You use a different set of operatives for you than for others. It was just as dangerous for you as it would have been for me. Giotto was out there. More help is better than less, is it not?"

"You're wrong," McCoy said quietly. "I needed every bit of concentration that I could muster. I couldn't afford the distraction of worrying about anyone's safety but my own. Diversion of my attention could have been fatal. Giotto is a thirty year veteran in security. He didn't get there by being impulsive or reckless. He's trained, experienced, and steady as a rock, unflappable. And he had phaser two. I didn't give him a second thought once I was out there. You," he added gently, "would have been a distraction for both Giotto and me."

He saw that hit home. She looked away for a minute, then met his eyes. "I apologize. I did not understand. It was not my intention to undermine you or put anyone at risk."

"I know. Do I have your promise, then?"

"Yes."

"Thank you." He rested his forehead against her shoulder, then straightened. "Let's go see the meteor storm."


They stepped outside. The others were around the corner standing in the shade of the building. Beyond the sphere of the artificial lighting, the scape was dark except for some patches of luminescence outside the compound making the ground glow faintly green.

The cloud cover was clearing. Overhead the night was velvet strewn with thousands of stars in alien constellations. Long streaks stretched across the zenith as the many dust particles hurtled to meet their fate. McCoy had seen some fairly active meteor showers, but nothing from his experience compared with the show on Aminta. He tried to count for a while, but soon gave up and simply watched as they streaked across, some faint, others like firebrands marking the births and deaths of kings. T'Phol moved closer to him and he pulled her into the circle of his arms.

There was little talking, and except for the occasional small gasp or soft exclamation it was quiet. The meteors were bright enough to silhouette forms against their backdrop. Occasionally someone would point out a particularly colorful or bright trail.

After a time wispy clouds began to appear, rapidly followed by heavier cover. McCoy stood with his face upturned until it was all overcast overhead and the stars and the storm lay hidden beyond a featureless black palette. He imagined somewhere out there a group of creatures trilling with soft voices. T'Phol was solid against his side. He kissed her in the dark, their faces cold against each other, and for a moment he felt content.

All filed back inside, still quietly awed. They hung up coats and gathered again in the living area.

"Thank you for suggesting this," Chapel said to Uhura.

"It seemed like a once in a lifetime chance. I didn't want to miss it."

"I am glad we didn't," said Cassady. "But what time is dinner?"

Everyone chuckled.

"Let's go get a bite," McCoy said. "Remember, light meals, carbs, hydration."

They went to the galley together. As it turned out, no one except for T'Phol and Cassady had much of an appetite. The galley had food synthesizers and some fresh food, including fruits, cereals, and snack bars. McCoy insisted that everyone get a tall glass of water. They took seats in the long hall. The sconces were lit along the walls, casting pools of light and shadow. Another table was occupied by the three Rigelians, who soon finished and departed, leaving the room solely to the Enterprise people.

McCoy nibbled at an apple while he watched the others eat. T'Phol seemed to have a constant appetite and was unaffected by the thin air. Cassady was the only one of their group who was eating like he was hungry. The others, particularly Giotto, were picking at their food with varying degrees of indifference. McCoy made a mental note to check him when they got back to their rooms.

They finished the meal and headed back to their quarters. Uhura and T'Phol made a detour to the linguistics lab. McCoy was not at all surprised when Giotto excused himself immediately and went to his room. He got his medikit and knocked at his door.

Giotto was sitting dejectedly on his bed, head in hands.

"Gonna try to ride it out, Barry?" McCoy passed the scanner over him.

Giotto made a half-hearted attempt at a chuckle. "I'm supposed to be tough."

McCoy studied the readout and took a hypo from the kit. "Thin air is tougher. Altitude sickness take a few hours to kick in. Everyone is starting to feel it except T'Phol and maybe Cass, although after while he may regret that big meal he just ate. You and I were outside longer. I'm giving you something for the headache and nausea." The hypo hissed against Giotto's shoulder.

"You have no sign of pulmonary or cerebral edema. That shot will probably make you sleepy. Chances are you'll feel better in the morning. If you feel worse during the night, call me. I'll check on you before I go to bed."

"Thanks, Doc."

McCoy patted his shoulder. "Get some rest." He closed the door quietly behind him and joined Chapel and Cassady.

"They're not back yet? How are you two feeling?"

Cassady looked up from the game he was playing. "I'm fine," he said around a mouth full of energy bar. "T'Phol wanted her Moog. The thing's heavy, but she carries it." He took another bite and went back to blasting Klingons. McCoy shook his head.

Chapel had changed into sweats and was curled in an armchair sipping tea. "How's Barry?"

"He's not feeling too great. I gave him the standard tazocap cocktail." He looked at her with his clinician's eye. "You're a little pallid yourself."

"I'm all right, just a headache. No nausea or other symptoms. I took OTC."

Uhura and T'Phol returned. As Cassady had said, T'Phol was carrying the Moog. She hoisted it onto a table and unlatched the cover. Uhura went into her room and reappeared with her tricorder. She looked at McCoy. "Let's have yours, too."

He retrieved it from his desk, then went back to change into sweats himself. Their area had a beverage synthesizer, so he got a water, draped himself over the end of the sofa and watched them set up the Moog.

"Where's Barry?" Uhura asked.

"He went to bed not feeling well. How 'bout you? Headache? Nausea?"

Uhura seesawed her hand. "Not really, just tired and generally yukky."

McCoy lifted an eyebrow. "I'll have to add yukky to my list of symptoms."

"Malaise, then. Would you like that in fourteen different languages?"

McCoy chuckled. "Is that how many you speak?"

"No. I have a UFP Translator Certificate in that many. I can talk conversationally in twice that, and know enough to ask where the bathroom is in a few more."

"Polyglotish showoff."

"It's called hyperpolyglot, viisastelija."

"Viisastelija?"

"Smart ass, in Finnish," Uhura said. "It sounds a lot nicer pronounced with your Southern accent."

Cassady laughed, then scowled. "You made me waste a photon torpedo."

"Child."

T'Phol attached McCoy's tricorder to the Moog and put on headphones, listening intently. She closed her eyes in concentration as she often did when playing. McCoy wondered if she was seeking a Tap, or if that even worked with a recording. Then she watched the recording with rapt attention, hardly even blinking.

Finally she laid the headphones aside and removed the tricorder. Her eyes were on McCoy,thoughtful and questioning. He resisted the impulse to demand her thoughts immediately.

"Listen to this." She touched a switch and McCoy's voice sang Blackbird. "You sang in the key of G. Here is the creature's rendition." The layered voice sounded fuller and more melodic on the recording than McCoy remembered.

"There must be multiple chambers in its voice box, or whatever anatomical structure is producing the sound. It is singing the melody line, along with baritone and bass. And it has embellished with several additional new chords and many instances of grace notes, mordents and trills. All of this while transcribing the song into E Minor."

"Is it language?"

"When considered with the entire recording, I would say the song portion is elaborate mimicry, but executed with a purpose. Perhaps reproduction is a more suitable term. The other sounds they make, although not as intricate as the singing, more closely resemble speech patterns. But either way, this is rather incredible.

"Doctor McCoy sang the melody line. In the first verse, his voice was not steady, it wavered and had a slightly off pitch note or two, which is understandable given the circumstances. The creature transcribed an entire perfect score in a twenty-four second time span, and then sang in flawless three part harmony. It recognized lyrical mistakes and corrected them. One thing is certain. Whatever these creatures may be, this one, at least, is a composer of extraordinary skill. It will be interesting to compare its version to the original Beatles work."

"So if I went out there and said 'Da-da-da DAH', would they write Mozart's Fifth Symphony?" Cassady had laid his game aside.

"Beethoven's. That would be an interesting exercise. Surely they compose songs for themselves. I would love to hear them." She looked at McCoy. "I agree that the creatures possess high intelligence. I do not know if they understood your words, or responded to your tone, but there can be no doubt they cooperated with your examination far more than a wild beast would have."

"But what about their language? Can you translate it?" McCoy hoped he didn't sound as anxious as he felt.

"If it is primarily linguistic, more than likely. It may turn out to be a study of accidence in tonality."

"And we have not had the chance to compare with our linguistics base," Uhura said. "We have no interface outside of the lab."

"Or it may have telepathic components which are out of reach for traditional methods."

"Telepathic?" Uhura's brow creased.

McCoy looked back and forth between them, curbing his impatience and frustration, not wanting to escalate a discussion about their possible telepathic ability.

"Are the facilities here as good as those aboard the Enterprise?" he asked.

"Except for ease of access, and the unknown security factor, they both tap into essentially the same data bank in straight linguistics. We have far more information on coding and encryption, of course."

"So you and T'Phol should be able to work with it here without alerting the other scientists."

Chapel watched the conversation, hearing his anxiety and struggling to understand why. McCoy was sometimes prone to indulge in pet projects, but this sudden interest in the bird creatures seemed odd and bordering on obsessive.

"Yes, we can work on the translation, but I cannot know how secret our research will remain. There's another problem." Uhura hesitated. "We don't have much to work from. If the database doesn't have something in the proto-family, we may not have enough for MAHT algorithm."

Chapel closed her eyes in weary trepidation, knowing he would not be dissuaded from trying to gather more sample 'speech'. She was afraid of the creatures, afraid for him.

"You'll try?" McCoy looked from Uhura to T'Phol.

"Yes," Uhura said. "Tomorrow we'll access and cross-reference the database."

T'Phol nodded. "Of course." She closed the Moog and went into her room for a sweater, then joined McCoy on the couch. She sat toward the edge, but he pulled her next to his side. "Is this allowed?" she whispered, settling gratefully into his warmth.

"It's not like they don't already know," he said quietly.

Uhura sat in the chair closest to them with a PADD and McCoy's tricorder.. She transferred the recording, then listened on earphones. When she finished, the room was quiet. Cass was reading, either the Klingons were vanquished or he was out of torpedoes, and Chapel appeared to be dozing.

McCoy felt his own eyes getting heavy. He relaxed, folding T'Phol's hand in his and closed his eyes.

Uhura made a few notes before putting her work away, rubbing her forehead and resting her head against the back of the chair. She watched McCoy and T'Phol from under her lashes, somewhat surprised at his outward display of affection. Not that he wasn't demonstrative, he was a toucher, a hugger. Ever the courtly southern gentleman, his flirtations were elegant and refined. She was on the receiving end of a lot of that and she reciprocated in kind, knowing they were, at the root of their relationship, dear friends, and any quasi-sexual undertones were safe in his keeping.

He was quiet about his personal life. She knew vaguely of the bitter divorce in his past, but she was aware of only two relationships since he joined the Enterprise. Neither was long-lived. Her best friend, Janice Rand,who had known practically everything that happened aboard the ship, told her about Tonia Barrows. It was Janice's frosty opinion that Yeoman Barrows was marking time waiting for her reassignment and McCoy was just one handy diversion among others. Uhura never told him that she knew about Barrows. If he pined following her departure, he never let it show.

And the priestess of the Fabrini. Natira. He told Uhura her name when he was recuperating from xenopolycythemia and its cure. In a moment of self-reproach he told her a bit of the story, angry at himself for using her because he thought he was dying. Privately, Uhura wondered who was using whom. He never spoke of it again with her, even following the Enterprise's visit to New Fabrina, but she had a feeling he still carried that guilt.

Uhura considered the young woman sitting close to him. At first glance it seemed like an unlikely pairing, her Vulcan restraint versus his barely under-the-surface emotional stew. But T'Phol, although reserved, was not stoic, and McCoy was uncommonly perceptive. There was some part of that story she didn't know, an underlying puzzle piece was missing. Uhura was sure he had anticipated her arrival, even though he was unfamiliar with her as an entertainer. T'Phol obviously had a crush on him from the beginning, and McCoy, the reticent and private man who kept almost everyone at a distance, inexplicably gravitated toward that attraction, facilitating and nurturing its growth. Uhura knew he was chronically lonely and currently going through what he called a 'bad patch'. The new romance seemed to have halted his downward spiral into moroseness and withdrawal, at least for a time. She wondered how intertwined the relationship had become with his mental state and what devastation or salvation might lie in store when it was time for the mission to end and T'Phol returned to Vulcan.

Uhura put away the tricorder and went to her room to change. When she returned, she thought McCoy was napping, but he spoke without opening his eyes.

"Get something to drink while you're up. Are you still feeling yukky?"

She got a glass of water and pulled a chair closer.

"A little. Its not bad, really."

He opened his eyes, looking at her closely, then nodded. "I'll give you something at bedtime." His eyes sought the clock. "What time is it anyway?"

"It says eighteen two." Uhura took a few sips and set her glass down. "Almost ten hours until daylight and hour one." She paused. "Len, I have an important question."

McCoy met her eyes evenly. "You'd better ask it, then."

"How are you communicating with these creatures?"

Beside him, T'Phol was very still.

When he didn't answer, Uhura leaned closer. "I watched the recording." She spoke quietly, but there was real insistence in her tone, as if she expected a real answer. "You talked and sang, and they both cooperated. You acted as though you understood them. They seemed to understand you."

"I don't know," McCoy finally said. "I just had a feeling they're intelligent. They don't act like a wild animal. Or a domesticated one, for that matter."

"Something else is going on here, isn't there? Somehow I don't think you've told us the whole story. There must be more."

"Yes, there is," Chapel had quietly crossed the room and took a seat beside T'Phol on the couch. "At the clinic this afternoon you knew they were there to see you. They ignored Giotto, but as soon as you appeared the one you call Piasa came right to the window. They were waiting for you, and you were not surprised at all."

Uhura stared. "On the tape, you said Piasa had been in your brain before. What did you mean? Are you in communication with it telepathically?"

"I can't answer all those questions. I don't understand it either."

Uhura sighed. "If we are to prove they are sentient, it would be immensely helpful to know how they communicate."

"I can't tell you what I don't know." McCoy's voice carried a bit of heat.

"Then tell us what you do know." Uhura rubbed her temple, feeling rankled herself. "This is not the time for secrets."

"OK." McCoy stood and spoke with no trace of the south, biting each syllable, and using his hands for emphasis. "I do think I understand them, at least on some superficial level. I do not know why or how. I get a sense of empathy from them rather than telepathy. As far as I can tell, I am not speaking with them using telepathy. They do not talk to me inside my head, or at least I am not aware of it. I had a strong feeling they were not going to harm me, and they did not." He paused. "Maybe they sent me that feeling as a message. Maybe I imagined it, or indulged in wishful thinking. The outcome was the same."

He reached for his glass and finished the water, looking at Uhura and Chapel as the hardness fell away from his features. "Does that help? It's all I have for now."

"I'm not trying to make this difficult for you. We all want the same thing here," Uhura said. "We need to be on the same page. There's not much time to solve this puzzle."

"I know." He ran a hand through his hair. "I know, and it's damned frustrating."

"Maybe our investigation tomorrow will bear fruit," Uhura said gently. "T'Phol and I will do everything we can to decipher their language."

"If it is language," Chapel said. "Please be careful, Doctor McCoy."

McCoy looked at Chapel with sudden comprehension. "You're afraid of them, aren't you? I don't need to be."

"For a pessimist, you're being exceptionally optimistic," she retorted. "I hope these creatures share your utopian outlook." She stood, hugging her arms to her chest. "I'm chilly, I have a headache, and I'm going to bed. Good night, everyone."

"Hang on a minute." McCoy reached for a scanner and his medical tricorder. "Everyone gets the once-over before bed."

He did Chapel first, looking at her readings and palmed the scanner.

"I told you I was fine," she said.

"Why don't you let me give you something for the headache? There's no need for you to suffer because you're irritated with me." His mouth quirked in a smile.

She shook her head. "I'm not irritated." At his look, she had to smile herself. "It's not all irritation," she amended. "It's mostly concern for your hide. And your vital organs. Fine, give me the shot."

Uhura gladly accepted the hypo. Cassady claimed he felt just fine, but McCoy ran a scan on him. "Come and get me if your stomach hurts later. And no more snacks tonight."

Cassady grinned. "OK, Doc, whatever you say."

McCoy chuckled. "You have the constitution of a buzzard."

"Isn't that supposed to be a horse?"

"Horses in reality have sensitive digestive systems, prone to all sorts of problems and upsets, particularly torsion and colic. Turkey vultures can eat almost anything at any stage of decomposition. Their GI tracts are very acidic, and laden with prolific and numerous types of toxic bacteria that would kill you or me, and are present in some numbers on their exterior as well. So don't try to kiss one."

Cassady stared at him, eyes wide. McCoy patted his arm. "Call me if you need me."

'Yes, Sir." He picked up his game and went to his room, closing the door softly behind him. McCoy turned to T'Phol. "Your turn."

She raised a brow. "Unnecessary, but your prerogative."

"Thank you." He expected no problems and found none. "You're A-one, as expected."

"I am accustomed to the thinner atmosphere." She paused, they were alone. "May we speak?"

"Of course. Let me check on Barry first, then I'm yours."


Giotto was sleeping. McCoy took a reading and was satisfied. By the time he finished and went to the bathroom, T'Phol had changed into night clothes and a thick robe, and had a blanket as well. He dimmed the lighting and joined her on the couch. She threw the blanket over them both, snuggling close to share his warmth. They sat in silence for a few minutes. She rubbed his neck, a gesture that conversely could be relaxing or arousing. McCoy reached for her free hand and ran his thumb over her radial process, gently feeling the shape of the bone, drawing triangles around it.

"What did you want to talk about?"

"I am not sure you will want to discuss it."

"Try me." He rested his head against her shoulder.

"It concerns your interaction with the creatures."

McCoy halted his motion for a second, then resumed. "I've already been over that."

"Yes. And you undoubtedly told some of the truth. I have a different question."

"What?"

"Why did you panic? Please do not say you moved too quickly and frightened them. That was not the sequence of events. You panicked first, and the birds reacted to your sudden alarm. That much is clear.

"There is another element to consider here as well." T'Phol continued. "From the accounts we have heard from you, Nurse Chapel, and Officer Giotto, we must infer they came to you specifically to get help. Such an action might perhaps be explained by your aura of healing, particularly if they are extremely psi aware. But why did Piasa approach you the first time, in Jasso's office? If they are receiving or sending telepathic or empathic impressions, they must have powerful minds. Yet I sense no more of their mental presence than with anyone else here. And Jasso thinks they are wild animals. Why haven't they communicated with the scientists already here?"

"I have an aura?"

"To use the inaccurate Terran term, yes, and it is pronounced. But stop trying to re-direct." T'Phol removed her hand from his neck and regarded him steadily, patiently.

McCoy was quiet for a moment, then he straightened to face her.

"Thank you for not asking this in front of everyone."

"So there is something hidden in your interactions with the birds."

"It's hard to explain and make it seem like I'm still sane."

T'Phol reached for his hands. "It is your turn to try me."

He held her gaze, then nodded.

"You remember my night terror?"

"I shall never forget," she said solemnly.

"They were there." He closed his eyes briefly, as the foreboding still lurking at the edge of his memory returned in full force.

He sensed T'Phol's still and focused attention, but she was silent, waiting for him to continue.

"I was in the woods, bare trees like clawing fingers, sky like boiling lead." His hands tightened around hers and he opened his eyes. His pupils were wide.

"The wind was cold, I was shivering. I think I was lost. I was hiding from something, I don't know what. Something dangerous. I was hiding, but hiding was useless. I knew they were coming for me."

His voice dropped to a whisper so low she strained to hear.

"I knew when they found me something bad would happen, something worse than death." He shivered. "Then I smelled an odor born on the wind, sharp, acrid, bitter. After that I came to, and you were there."

He swallowed, then continued. "It's true, Piasa came looking for me. I don't know how or why, but I understood he had come to find me, he needed me. I knew he wouldn't hurt me. When I went out to meet them, everything was going fine until I got close enough to smell them. The same odor in my terror, no mistaking it. And yes, I am ashamed to say I panicked. I started singing 'Blackbird', it came into my mind and I sang." He cleared his throat. "Piasa didn't understand my sudden fear, it scared him and Little Birdie. It startled and frightened them, but neither attacked. Neither attacked. They curbed their fear and waited without a primal response."

He realized how tightly he was squeezing her hands and loosened his grip, gently rubbing instead. "I realize now how turned around my interpretation was. That smell didn't represent the danger, it wasn't the reason I was hiding. Piasa was there to protect me. Now I understand."

"How could they be connected with your night terror? Have you ever dreamed of them before?"

"I don't always remember details. But I'm sure never before."

"Why did you not tell Uhura and Chapel? Are you afraid they will not believe you?"

"Maybe I'm afraid they will. No one needs to be aware of this insanity but me, at least not yet."

"I do not understand your reluctance. What you describe is not insanity. I believe it is a form of communication."

He looked at her gravely. "It's not just the birds. No one knows about my night terrors. It's something of an abnormality for them to continue in adulthood. There would be all sorts of testing and reports to be made, and inquiries concerning my mental health, which is probably already rated in some circles as precarious at best. They would probably want to treat it medically, with pharmaceuticals. Would you want to trust your life to a surgeon who has such vivid nightmarish events that his sleep is disrupted, or worse, who dreams of things, then believes they've come to pass? That's the stuff from which madness is built."

"I disagree. Have previous terrors been like this? Have you ever felt your dream was a portend or the subject matter was coming to life?"

McCoy shook his head. "Not like this, no."

T'Phol withdrew a hand from his grasp and worried at the thumbnail with her teeth as she thought.

"The question here might be what makes this particular terror different from those in the past" she mused aloud. "What was different? Proximity to Aminta. You were sleep deprived. You played guitar and sang earlier in the evening, activities you normally kept hidden. You had breathed a toxic agent just two days earlier and had taken many medications. You were in physical contact with a telepathic species."

"Could it be that somehow your telepathic ability amplified a message that I otherwise could not have received?"

T'Phol hesitated, looking inward. "I do not think so," she finally said. "I am not a particularly strong telepath. I have neither recollection of your dream nor residual memory artifact that would indicate such an event had occurred without my cognizance. The answer must lie elsewhere. They are musical. Perhaps that is the catalyst. Possibly lack of sleep opened a conduit in your mind."

"If being musical was the deciding factor, they'd be talking to you instead of me, don't you think? And I'm a doctor. Sleep deprivation is a common state. That was certainly nothing new."

"What about the medications you were given?"

McCoy shrugged. "Nothing unusual there, steroids, bronchodilators." He stopped abruptly. "Nothing out of the ordinary in the treatment, but the defkato was certainly unusual. In fact, I spent some time studying the components, but not in the lab. The medical lab ran the usual tests, which normally are sufficiently thorough, but something kept nagging at me There are some unknown elements that on the surface appear to be botanical in nature. Other things took priority so I didn't get a chance to follow through."

He rubbed the bridge of his nose, fighting a headache, whether from the atmosphere or his tension he couldn't have said.

"I'll make a call to the Enterprise this evening and ask M'Benga to have the science department throw everything they have at it. Then I'm taking something for this headache and going to bed. I can't think about this any more tonight." He pulled T'Phol close. "Thank you for believing in me."

She leaned into him. "Of course I believe in you. I do have one last question, if I may."

He huffed into her shoulder. "One more."

"Why do you call the creature Piasa? Did it tell you its name? Can you tell whether it is male or female?"

McCoy chuckled, looking up. "That was three questions. I don't know their gender for sure. I haven't run the readings through a bio-comp, but I get a feeling they're both male. I also have a specimen to send to the ship that will give us their genetic code.

"He did not tell me his name. Piasa came immediately to my mind the first time I saw him. Piasa was a fearsome man-eating bird creature in prehistoric Native American legend. The original petroglyph was destroyed, but from drawings we know it depicted a creature much like the ones here. Piasa in legend was larger, big enough to carry off a warrior."

"Let us hope the Amintian counterpart is not so inclined."

"If I'm right about their sentience, and I know I am, Aminta belongs to them and the Federation will have to open diplomatic contact to be allowed to continue their work here. That's one reason it's so important to be able to communicate with them."

T'Phol laid her hand against his cheek. "I will do everything I can to discover their language. But please take extra precaution for your safety."

"I told you they won't hurt me."

"I was not referring to Piasa. Your terror indicated an extreme danger to you, perhaps to us all. If it was indeed some form of communication or warning, and the birds are not the thing you were fearing, the real peril may still await, hidden."

"I'll be careful." He captured her hand and kissed the palm, then her mouth before letting go. "I'm contacting M'Benga and beaming up the specimen I collected earlier." He paused. "As much as I'd prefer to have you with me, I'm saying goodnight now. Command decorum and all that."

"I understand. Goodnight, Leonard." T'Phol hugged him close for a minute, then gathered the blanket and went to her room.

McCoy watched until her door closed, then went to his own room. He made the call to M'Benga, who had the talon specimen beamed aboard. He ran the scanner over himself before taking a pill for his headache,and left his door slightly ajar in case any of his people needed him during the night. The room seemed chilly, so he slid into bed and covered with blankets. He mused for a moment on how quickly he had become accustomed to having T'Phol next to him. His bed seemed empty and cold, as it had for years, but somehow it was even emptier and colder. He turned on his side, banished the thoughts of time ticking away and eventually slept.