Finally here with another chapter! Thanks to all those who are sticking with my slow progress. So many things are going on in my life, and I am a slow writer in any case. I know where we're going, but sometimes the road changes and detours appear. There will be more about the birds in subsequent chapters, and of course angst and hurt-comfort eventually as well. Thank you for riding along.
The Enterprise group was up before planet dawn. A somber mood seemed to affect everyone, there was none of the usual banter and the small amount of conversation was quiet and subdued.
They got ready and went to breakfast, then returned to their quarters to gather equipment. McCoy and Chapel loaded the field kit. He administered the first doses to everyone but T'Phol, and they went to the commons to wait on the crawler.
The area was deserted. Aminta night had faded into dawn. The big windows offered the entire courtyard into view. It was heavily overcast but not raining. The temperature was a few degrees below freezing and not expected to warm much during the day. McCoy glanced out the window before turning to the others.
"Remember you're not acclimated, even if you feel fine now. Everyone is on a schedule for Tri-ox boosters during the day, but just the same watch for signs of altitude sickness. If any of you start feeling bad, beam directly to the ship. Barry, protocol is hourly check-in to Enterprise." He paused, looking at each of them. "Be careful out there."
"You be careful here, Len," Uhura said. She drew him into a hug. To his surprise, Chapel also stepped forward for a quick embrace. He wasn't sure if the gesture was made as a peace offering or in pity, but he was glad to receive it either way. He did not like being at odds with his chief nurse.
"The crawler's here," Cassady announced. They gathered their equipment and moved through the double doors. T'Phol hung back as the others exited. She looked at him, not liking what she felt or saw in his eyes, the sense of resignation and sadness. She stepped close, touching his arm.
"I want to stay with you today."
He shook his head. "I'll be fine. You go to the site. Maybe you'll find something to help with the translation."
She wanted to hold him, but she hoisted the Moog instead and reluctantly followed the others. They climbed into the crawler with the crew from the compound and soon the vehicle moved forward. T'Phol looked back. McCoy stood in the entry watching them depart. She watched his lone figure until the crawler rounded a turn and the compound was out of sight.
It was an hour ride to Site Three. They were accompanied by the Rigelian team returning to the site. Beyond an initial greeting, the Rigelians had little to say. They sat together in the front of the crawler. There were several more seats, a few held a meager amount of supplies. The first bit of the journey was on smooth road surface, but most was spent lurching and bumping over rough terrain while belted to the thinly padded seats and gripping the handholds with fervor. Cassady's high spirit had returned, he seemed to enjoy the whole thing. At one point he actually whooped, prompting less than charitable glares from most of the others.
Giotto shook his head. "I don't know whether I want to be young again or not," he said to Uhura.
Cassady laughed. "At least we're out of the compound and seeing something different. You know this is fun. It's a little like balloon jumping on Siearra Ten."
Uhura huffed. "Right. With twice the gravity and half the padding." They went over an especially hard bump. "Ow!" She rubbed her hip. "That will leave a bruise."
T'Phol and Chapel were seated together in the back. T'Phol stared out the window at the passing scenery. The evergreens had given way to rocks, rough hills and grottos, dotted with thick-leaved succulents and pale lichens, a palette painted with dull greys and greens. Occasionally her sharp eyes caught a glimpse of one of the planet's rodent species scrabbling among the rocks. She did not see any sign of the birds or the other predator, the hyenas.
Chapel watched T'Phol out of the corner of her eye. She imagined neither of them had slept much the night before. She wondered if McCoy had confided to T'Phol his intent to report to M'Benga following their mission on Aminta. Somehow she doubted it, her boss was a stickler in adhering to need to know.
T'Phol turned to face her, as if aware she was being watched.
Chapel sighed. "I guess we are thinking about the same thing," she said quietly.
T'Phol glanced at the others in the front, they were talking. She pitched her voice soft and low as to not be overheard. "Very likely." She paused. "I offered to stay with him today. He sent me away."
Chapel bit at her bottom lip, a habit she hated. She immediately made herself stop.
"He promised to stay in. He will." That, at least, she could offer.
"No. That was not my concern. He is...different this morning. Disconsolate." She looked away from the solicitude she saw in Chapel's face, suppressing a sudden urge to tell her about the dreams.
Chapel also looked away. Apparently he had not told her about his decision, and she could not. They sat in separate, uneasy silences for a moment, both wrapped in different worries.
"I want to help him," T'Phol said, "but I am not sure how to proceed."
"You are helping. Just be there for him, no matter how things turn out with the birds." Chapel hesitated, the weight of confidentiality heavy against what she wanted to say. She chose her words carefully. "Doctor McCoy gives and gives, not just his medical care, he offers himself. Every single crew person is in his heart, and he feels profoundly everything that happens on this ship. We've been in deep space a long time. More than a quarter of our crew won't be coming home, not to mention all the other death and devastation we've seen out here. It's draining on us all, but especially on him. Leonard walks a difficult and lonely path, more so than any person I have ever known. He pays for it, because it's who and what he is inside, but that price is often dear."
T'Phol heard his voice saying, '...I'm not a taker, but I don't know what is left in me to give.' It came to her with unexpected force what she saw in his eyes that morning: Emptiness. She looked at Chapel, wanting to beg for reassurance, but something in the nurse's expression was forbidding and final. She turned back to the window. They didn't speak again as the Aminta landscape passed by, unseen.
Site Three, known in the log books as NPAII-3, was spread over about three acres atop a lofty plateau, a sparse collection of long, low, modern looking structures built from the ubiquitous grey and sparkly stone. Sprawling plants hugged close to the ground, their finger-like leaves seeming to claw for purchase in the rocky soil. Gravel paths ran between the sections, there was no perimeter wall. From that vantage, they could see a wide band of forest in the distance, and beyond that naked hills. It was chilly and breezy. Everyone fastened their coats tightly as they unloaded the supplies into the FSB standard quonset hut which served as the bunkhouse and office area.
After the supplies were stowed, Eaggla, the tall, thickly built Rigelian team leader, led them across the grounds to the largest building. It had once been a control center directing incoming spacecraft, he explained. He indicated the direction of the landing areas, now obscured and erased by the ravages of time and climate.
They stepped through the door. Inside it was somewhat warmer, although still chilly. The main area was circular, with cubicles divided around the perimeter. Aside from the research equipment, there was no electronic or computer gear at all, a glaring lack that Uhura questioned.
"Pillaging," Eaggla answered shortly. "Most recently around eight centuries ago. Almost all the controls and electronics of any sort, or anything else of monetary value is gone. Some sites were also heavily damaged, others remained untouched. The structures in this area are surprisingly intact, although the equipment was heavily looted. This was the primary center of activity, easily accessible. We use this building as our central station. As we recover documents and artifacts, they are staged and processed here, then shipped to the main compound at Site One. Our team is practically finished here, the material exhausted. We are preparing to close operations at this site within days. What remains of the document scans are here, if your people would like to have a look. You may use this computer station. If you require assistance, I shall be in the office, or you might find the historian in one of the adjacent buildings."
Eaggla left and Uhura turned to the rather small pile of record tapes on the counter. Giotto moved away to check in with the Enterprise. Chapel and Cassady watched for a few minutes as Uhura inserted and studied a tape and T'Phol set up the Moog. After a minute, Uhura tried another tape. T'Phol peered over her shoulder at the symbols.
"These are similar to many we saw yesterday," T'Phol remarked.
Uhura nodded. "They're the same dialect, a pre-Orion root. Apparently the Orions, or rather their ancestors, had a big interest in Aminta. The Orions were ruthless, shall we say, 'appropriaters', even then." She looked up. "It's hard to see what was so valuable here."
"Yes," Cassady said. "And why isn't it still valuable, assuming it's still here?"
"I wonder? It seems there are unanswered questions here about everything." She turned her attention back to the screen, tricorder ready. T'Phol took a seat and fed a tape into the other computer. The others walked around the large space, investigating the cubicles at the perimeter. Those were all empty, no desk or even a paper to mark their previous function.
T'Phol glanced through a couple of tapes, hoping to find something tonal, but they were the same Orion dialect, one that had already been heavily researched and had a translation protocol in place. She read a bit of the translation, but her mind was not on the task and she pushed back from the counter abruptly, causing Uhura to look up from her station.
T'Phol got to her feet. "Excuse me," she said to Uhura. "I am going to look around." She went out the door, not waiting for permission or reply. Uhura rose to go after her but Giotto was already on his way. He waved her back, fastened his coat, and followed T'Phol. Chapel crossed the room and took the recently vacated seat beside Uhura.
"What is going on here? Is everyone losing it?" Uhura rubbed her temple. "I am beginning to hate this place."
"Only beginning?" Chapel huffed forcefully. "I cannot wait to leave. Jasso and the damn birds can have it."
Giotto stepped through the door, the cold stinging his nostrils as he took a deep breath. T'Phol was walking rapidly, head down. He called to her. For a moment he thought she was not going to stop, and he knew in the thin air he did not have the breath or the stamina to catch up with her if she wouldn't. But she waited on him to reach her, then resumed walking at a slower pace. They walked together to the next building, smaller, but otherwise identical to the first on the exterior. There was no door, and they stepped inside escaping some of the cold wind. She pulled her hood back and looked into the dim room. It was almost a twin to the the other, dustier, but deserted. It was also much cooler, the windows were uncovered and the wind hissed around the empty frames.
"I was not in need of assistance. I do not intend to leave the area."
Giotto leaned his arm on the window ledge, looking out at the bare space between the buildings. "No one should be wondering here alone."
"I needed to move."
Giotto nodded. "I understand."
T'Phol looked at him, his square profile was almost a silhouette against the window light. He turned to her, his dark eyes warm and sympathetic.
"I do understand," he repeated, "but I am responsible for your safety. I take that charge seriously. And," he added with a quirk that was almost a smile, "Doc will stick needles in me if anything happens to you."
"Tending to me is a matter of self-preservation?"
Giotto nodded gravely. "Absolutely it is."
"Very well, Mister Giotto. I would not want you to suffer a pincushion effect on my behalf. Will you accompany me in a short exploration? I would like to see more buildings. Perhaps they are more exciting than these two. Or do you need to stay with the others?"
"Uhura and Cassady have phasers. I'll let them know what we're doing." He flipped his communicator open. Uhura answered immediately, sounding relieved. Giotto relayed their plan. In the background he heard Chapel.
"Barry, you have about an hour until the next tri-ox dose."
"Understood. We will remain nearby." He closed the communicator and followed T'Phol across the rocky field to the next structure. It was rectangular instead of rounded, but just as empty, without even a desk or counter. T'Phol let her eyes wander over the bare floor and walls. She turned to Giotto.
"It appears coming here was a waste of time. Empty buildings, no actual work underway, nothing new at all, the site preparing to cease operations. Arnette knew this, of course."
Giotto spread his hands. "Uhura did ask."
"I am sure this is not what she had in mind."
They stepped outside again, standing underneath the overhang. The air felt drier, the cloud cover not quite as heavy, but it was still below freezing and the wind cut. T'Phol drew her hood closer and pointed. There was another smaller building about three hundred yards down a increasing incline.
"One more?"
Giotto almost said no. Under other circumstances he could have trotted a dozen times over such terrain without excess difficulty, even in higher gravity. All security personnel had enhanced G training, but when coupled with the thin air under real conditions, he knew he was operating far under his optimum threshold. He took a deep breath and squared his shoulders.
"This will have to be the last. Afterward we will return to the others."
They traversed what appeared to have once been a path, now rutted and strewn with loose rocks that tended to slide underfoot. They picked their way carefully, arriving without mishap.
The exterior of the third building was different, not as smooth with hewn marks apparent in the stone. There was a sturdy door, made from thin grained wood that looked almost like bleached bone. The two narrow windows were covered with glass or some transparent material. T'Phol knocked. When there was no answer, she tried the knob. The door was unlocked so they stepped through. Inside the ceiling was low with barely enough room for T'Phol to stand upright.
The room was rather dim, the only light coming from the windows. It was warm as well, in fact, the warmest place T'Phol had seen so far on Aminta. She drew back her hood and unfastened her coat.
It was not empty. The shelves on the wall were stacked with tapes, papers PADDs and some old fashioned books. Two desks were arranged back to back, one held a gleaming computer terminal, glowing softly in the dimness, the other a haphazard pile of both electronic devices and papers. A small table sat under a window, spread with a lace tablecloth and flanked by two ladderback chairs. A door in the back was covered with a thick curtain.
"Hello," Giotto called. "Is anyone here?"
The curtain parted and a slight, elderly human slipped through. He stopped short, making a small harrumph sound, then crossed the room to meet them. Although he walked with a limp, he carried himself straight and his sharp, clear eyes inspected them over the spectacles perched low on his nose.
"Excuse us, Sir," Giotto said, stepping forward. "We did not mean to intrude. The other buildings were not occupied."
"Starfleet, are you?"
"Yes, Sir. I am Barry Giotto. This is Miss Grayson. We are here on a temporary assignment."
"I know why you're here. Do you?" His gaze was piercing as his eyes raked over them, settling on T'Phol. "You're not Starfleet," he stated flatly.
"No. I am a musician. Eaggla mentioned a historian. Is that you?"
His laugh was short and bitter. "Among other descriptions. You're already in. Take off your coats if you want. I was brewing some tea. Civility demands I offer you a cup."
"I would like a cup of tea. Graciousness demands I thank you," T'Phol said.
Another bark of laughter, with more sincerity and he disappeared through the curtain, returning with a laden tray. He set it carefully on the lace covered table and poured into three cups from a dainty tea pot.
T'Phol shrugged out of her coat before accepting the tea. "Thank you." She took a sip, nodding appreciatively. "It is quite good."
He snorted. "Of course it is. I've been making tea longer than both of you have been alive."
He lowered himself into a chair, motioning for Giotto and T'Phol to sit as well. His thick and wavy white hair was pulled back in a pony tail, his pale skin almost unlined.
"May we know your name?" Giotto stood, not quite at attention.
"You can call me Peggy. Have a cookie."
T'Phol sat in the chair across from him, picking up a cookie from the tray. Giotto remained standing. "You said you know why we are here," he prompted.
"I know a great many things." He frowned up at Giotto. "Are you going to sit or make me strain my neck to talk to you?" He looked across the table. "Never mind, I'd rather talk to her. She's better mannered, and she likes tea and cookies."
"Sorry, Sir." Giotto sat at a desk. The lacy table and delicate, painted porcelain seemed out of sync in the surroundings, a surreal diorama plucked from another time and place. The room was almost uncomfortably warm, he slipped out of his coat before picking up a cup.
T'Phol finished her cookie. "Do you live here?"
"Technically no. In practice, yes. The Rigelians live in a veritable freezer. I prefer to work without mittens and overcoats. I have a cot in the back room." He set his tea cup on the table and turned his attention to Giotto as if taking measure. He leaned forward suddenly. "Why do you think they call me Peggy?"
Giotto replied immediately. "I'd say because of your leg."
T'Phol blinked at the unexpected turn and looked down. Peggy's pants leg had ridden up a few inches above his shoe. The exposed area between shoe top and trouser was not covered with a sock, and was obviously wooden and not flesh.
Peggy's chuckle was surprisingly mellow and low. He glanced at T'Phol. "You may have better manners, which is remarkable for a Vulcan, but your guard is more observant. I do, indeed, have a peg leg. Antiquated, I know. I have a modern artificial limb, but wearing the peg reminds me of our Human fallibility." His laughter stopped abruptly. "Tell me, Mister Giotto, what do your observations tell you about this place and your role here?"
"Our ship delivered supplies, a medical team to cover the mandated physicals, and a linguistics team to assist in translation of certain documents."
"Bah. I didn't ask for the official line. What do you think? What does your intuition say? I know it speaks to you. Do you listen?"
"Yes. I listen." Giotto did not elaborate.
Peggy waited, then nodded. "Ship's man, a lifer they used to call them. Have you been in security your whole career?"
Giotto saw no reason to refute the little man's guess. "Yes, Sir, for thirty years."
T'Phol finished her tea and set her cup gently on the table. "May I ask how you knew he is security? That seems a remarkable deduction, particularly when arrived at within minutes with very little conversation."
"You look at things. You have to learn to see. Mister Giotto placed himself in the line of fire the instant I entered the room. His stance indicated his dominant hand was free and clear, and he stood balanced and ready to move. Notice he is sitting on the edge of the chair, ready to spring into action even now. Although he holds a tea cup, he has not taken a sip, and is, in fact, observing you for ill effects should my humble libation be tainted. But he seems also to be a judge of character. He did not stop you from partaking because he does not believe the tea to be poisoned." His pale eyes darted back to Giotto. "Am I right?"
Giotto inclined his head. "Nicely deduced." He set his tea on the table untouched.
"I would like to know why we are here," T'Phol said. "Will you tell us?"
"I thought you are here to help translate. Do you believe otherwise?"
"I do not know. There seems to be very little actual research happening, at least where we have seen. And Eaggla informs us this site is closing. Of course, it does appear empty, with the exception of your building."
"The recovered items have been packed out. There wasn't much here in the first place. This site is prominent and was heavily looted during the second wave. This was the third site opened to excavation." He peered at T'Phol over the top of his eyeglasses. "I am sure Osmond did not request a Starfleet presence. Those physicals could have been done by any doctor. I suspect someone wants to know why the work here has stagnated over the past months."
"Why has it?"
"That is an interesting question."
Giotto stood. "Excuse me, I must check in with our ship and the other part of our team." He looked at T'Phol. "We will need to head back soon." He moved to a corner with his communicator. Peggy's eyes followed him, then he turned back to T'Phol.
"A good man," he said simply. "We won't let him be late for his Tri-ox."
"No, I am sure the nurse will remind him. May we return to the interesting question?"
Peggy chuckled. "You are persistent. You are a musician, are you also a philologist? Why did Starfleet bring you, a civilian, here?"
"I am surprised you can't tell me."
Peggy huffed. "Although I have excellent observational skill, I am not a mind reader, and I have misplaced my crystal ball."
"I have synesthesia."
"A talent that might be useful when interpreting tonal records. I see." He removed his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "There are quite a few of those, but I'd be shocked if you have access to more than a small percentage. Were you issued a badge?"
At T'Phol's nod, he snorted. "That's not a pass, you understand, it's a throttle."
"What would be the purpose in restricting access to documents that are centuries old?"
"Ah. Another interesting question." He leaned back in his chair, looking at the ceiling. "Squirrels," he said. T'Phol quickly looked up, causing Peggy to laugh.
"No, not here. Squirrels, little chattering Earth rodents, what are they famous for?"
T'Phol shrugged, confused. "Bushy tails?"
Giotto returned from his calls and sat again at the desk. "Wreaking havoc?"
Peggy sighed. "They hide things, specifically nuts and acorns. There is a saying, 'to squirrel away', that's no idle quote. Information is being hidden here on Aminta. There is something here on this planet that someone is interested in hiding." He brought the legs of his chair to the floor with a thump. "I think the wrong questions are being asked. This place was once a space port, perhaps thriving would be an overstatement, but it was a bit of a trade post for this sector. Certainly Aminta received regular visits from several races over the course of three thousand years. Then all activity ceased. Not gradually. Practically overnight. One day it's business as usual. Then never again. The only visitors to the planet in the following two thousand years were two waves of raiders- the first unknown, the second most likely Orion- until the Andorians re-discovered it two years ago. A silent but catastrophic event occurred here two millennia ago. And it has been almost totally ignored."
"Our head linguist said there is some evidence that Aminta was a headquarters for pirates smuggling drugs. Could the two things be related?"
"Could they, indeed. Asking questions like that will get you demoted and removed from any real access to further research."
"Is that what happened to you?" Giotto asked.
"Yes. Ostentatiously because the job was too hard on my frail body and mind. Osmond Jasso tried to save me, but they brought in another assistant director. Arnette." He practically spat her name. "She tried to have me sent altogether off-planet, but I managed to stick to this outpost. She knows out here I am harmless, an old, wile snake, but without teeth. Thus I am allowed to stay. That was nine months ago, a time that happens to coincide with the downturn in academic output and the beginning turnover in the researchers stationed here. She is insulating the lab with her own people, and working on replacing the field teams. Those badges are her doing. There are only a handful of the original archeologists left, the Vulcan team, Eaggla, Jasso, myself. Many records have become inaccessible, they used to be in the database, now they're gone or classified. And she is gunning for Osmond, he is under siege." He paused, returning his glasses to their perch on his nose.
"This planet was a peaceful trading post for three thousand years. There is no evidence that clandestine activity was occurring until almost the end of that period. Aminta was not simply the avenue for whatever was being smuggled two thousand years ago. I believe it was the source. Apparently that something is still here, and someone wants it, badly. Badly enough to ignore planet history. Someone, or something, halted that activity once before, suddenly, completely, and without leaving a trace. If one thing is still here, it doesn't seem too much of a jump to think the other might still be around, too."
"What do you think happened here two thousand years ago?" T'Phol asked, keeping her tone as casually neutral as possible, but she could feel the blood pulsing in her head like drums.
Peggy looked at her, homing in on her uneasiness immediately. His face grew still and serious. "No one knows. There are, of course, no records subsequent to the event."
Giotto's communicator chirped before Peggy could continue. He flipped it open. "Giotto here."
"Chapel here. It's time for you to head back. Your booster is due in just a few minutes."
"Understood. We're on our way." He stood, fastening the communicator to his belt. T'Phol was already on her feet, pulling on her coat and turning toward the door. Peggy rose from his chair, he was watching T'Phol, his expression concerned. Giotto put on his own coat, fastening it against the cold.
"A pleasure to meet you, Sir," he said, extending his hand. Peggy shook it, still watching T'Phol. She turned, her hand on the door knob.
"Thank you for the tea," she said. "And the warmth. It was a welcome respite. Good afternoon, Sir." She slipped through the door.
Peggy looked at Giotto. "You are welcome to come back. I'd like to chat more with both of you."
"Thank you, Sir. Perhaps if our duties allow. Good day." He exited the little room, closing the door behind him. T'Phol was waiting for him at the foot of the incline, although he would not have been surprised if she had continued to flee straight up the hill. He walked up to her, she looked at the ground. "Why did you run?"
"You need your Tri-ox." She kicked at a rock. It went skittering across the dirt. Giotto's eyes followed as it came to rest in a rut.
"Or maybe you didn't want to hear what he might say." His tone was soft, belying the harshness of his statement.
She didn't answer.
He nodded, looking up the slope. Somehow it looked much steeper from the bottom. He sighed.
T'Phol looked up. "The appearance is worse than the reality. Come on, Barry. I will help you," she said, unexpectedly.
Giotto was not arrogant. He gladly accepted her outstretched hand, relying on her strength and stamina several times as they climbed the slope. By the time they reached the top, he was soundly out of breath. They paused for a moment to allow him time to recover a bit before joining the others in the main building.
Chapel ran the medical scanner over him, frowning. "Why didn't you come back sooner? Your oxygen sat is at ninety percent." She prepared a hypo, then another, injecting him with both.
"I was all right until we climbed a hill getting back." He breathed deeply, grateful for the new rush of oxygen.
"Well, sit down and let the Tri-ox take over. And no more excursions. What was so interesting out there, anyway?"
"We met the historian. An odd little guy, to say the least. It appears he was Jasso's assistant before Arnette. Evidently he was forced out because of his age."
"Or other factors," T'Phol put in. "He thinks there is a conspiracy here to hide certain information. He was pushed aside to facilitate that plan."
Chapel pursed her lips, obviously biting back a comment. Uhura stood, stretching her back. "What kind of information?"
Giotto answered. "Information about the drug smuggling, and the demise of the port facilities. He believes the two are connected, and the current administration is involved in some sort of scheme to withhold information and re-direct the inquiry away from Aminta's history, presumably because they want to continue where the Orions left off two thousand years ago." He shook his head. "It seems a little far-fetched, almost like paranoia, but he's persuasive. He seems to know what he's talking about. I've no doubt he is who he said he is."
"He claims Arnette is sending away the original staff and replacing the lab and field teams with her people," T'Phol said. "That seems plausible."
Cassady grunted. "On the other hand, who would want to stay here? Maybe they're jumping ship."
"I would certainly leave the first chance I got," Chapel said. "Others probably feel that way, too."
T'Phol did not reply. Uhura massaged her temples. Headaches were becoming the norm, and she doubted they were all due to thin air.
"Speaking of leaving, how long before we go back to base?" Cassady asked.
Uhura raised a brow at him. "I thought you were anxious to get out and see things."
"I was. But it's cold here, and boring. And I'm hungry."
"Eat a snack bar."
"I already did."
"Truth is, Cass, I'm cold and ready to leave, too," Uhura admitted. "This trip has not been productive at all. Not that we were making a lot of headway in the lab, but at least we had something new to work with. So far, these have all been solved dialects." She waved her hand at the record tapes. The computer screen stared balefully back at her.
"To answer your question, we have another hour or so," Giotto said to Cassady, who produced an exaggerated sigh.
Uhura turned back to the computer, plugging in another tape. Chapel ran another medical scan on Giotto, whose pulmonary function had improved and stabilized at an acceptable level. Cassady stared glumly out the window.
T'Phol turned on the Moog, passing her hand lightly over a keyboard. Almost without thinking, she started to play, a simple melody at first, adding layers as the work progressed. It was soon apparent to the others she was transcribing Piasa's song, still haunting although performed by an alien hand using an instrument from another world. Engrossed in the effort, she did not notice the door open behind her to admit a visitor, who motioned everyone to be quiet, and they all listened together. She ended as gently as she began, the notes fading into silence. She heard the slow clapping when she finished, and she turned, acknowledging Peggy with a nod.
"Bravo, my dear. An original work?" His eyes were on her, piercing and sharp.
"It is not mine."
"Hmm." He looked around the group.
Giotto stood. "This is the rest of our team, Lieutenant Uhura, Nurse Chapel, Yeoman Cassady." He paused. "This is- Peggy."
Peggy nodded to the others in turn. "My given name is Edwin Teal. But Peggy is fine."
"Edwin Teal? Author of the Teal Cypher Protocol?" Uhura's voice rose with excitement.
"Yes. Codes and cyphers were my specialty before I retired."
"I am delighted to meet you in person, Doctor Teal." She looked at the others. "The Teal protocol has formed the basis for almost all decoding programs used in the Federation in the past forty years. It's the Bible for modern decryption algorithm."
Peggy held up his hand. "I am not a god, nor do I want the job." He turned to Giotto. "Did I give you enough time to thoroughly discuss my foible?"
"Perhaps not thoroughly," Giotto said, prompting a chuckle from Peggy.
"You can always continue it later. I was rather enjoying your visit. Since you had to leave so suddenly, I thought I'd pop in up here. I am acclimated, as I am sure you all are not. Except, of course, your resident Vulcan."
He looked at the pile of record chips laying beside the computer, then at Uhura. "Those must contain the keys to open the Seven Seals and unlock the mysteries of the Cosmos?"
Uhura shook her head. "They contain nothing new. They are actually an Orion dialect that already has a translation protocol in place."
"You won't be allowed to see anything of importance, here or back at the base," Peggy said with certainty, chuffing his hands against the cold, suddenly feeling every day of his age. Chapel immediately offered him a chair, so he sat, rubbing his knee above the peg. Noting Chapel's concerned expression, he straightened with a wry smile.
"I feel the cold more every year. I don't know why I'm not on a lovely tropical planet, sucking up some alcoholic concoction served in a coconut shell adorned with a tiny parasol. I should be."
"How long have you been retired?" Uhura asked, taking the chair beside him.
"Technically, I suppose I'm not. I've stayed busy consulting and in the field since I left my Academy position almost twenty years ago. You are the linguist of the group. What area is your specialty?"
"Computational linguistics, specifically MAT and MAHT algorithmic equations."
"But you haven't found anything here to get your teeth into." At her look, he nodded. "As I said, you won't. At least not in those areas of the database where your badge will allow access. But Miss Grayson was working on something extraordinary when I walked in." He caught Cassady's wide-eyed look of surprise and saw Chapel's lips thin in disapproval. Giotto and Uhura broadcasted nothing by their mannerisms.
"That is a piece I am transcribing," T'Phol said.
"T'Phol and I are collaborating in writing code," Uhura added.
"Ah. The ethereal meets the concrete. A pairing that deserves a great deal of attention, I should think." He looked at T'Phol.
"Does your synesthesia help in that process?"
"Occasionally."
Peggy saw her reluctance to engage and relented for the moment, turning his attention to the others. "What is your ship?"
"The Enterprise," Cassady said.
"Stated proudly," Peggy said, "as you should. I am surprised Aminta merits the attention of Starfleet's finest. No matter. You are here, even if your reception was lacking enthusiasm. I assume your visit will be short-lived. Is there a contingent that will be staying behind?"
"Not from Starfleet. The Enterprise will be leaving in a few days."
"Not much time for unraveling mysteries, is it?"
Uhura's brow rose. "I was not aware we were sent on a sleuthing mission."
"It was rather a short time period to expect any breakthrough in translating new material, wouldn't you say?"
"We were in the neighborhood," Uhura said. "We sometimes serve as couriers, ferrying people and supplies from point A to point B. And there were several documents set aside for us in the lab. T'Phol had the preliminary data on those before we arrived." She gave a slight shrug. "Except for today, I would not say our time has been wasted."
Peggy smiled. "The day is not finished." He hoisted himself from his seat, grunting a little at the effort, and made his way over to the counter where T'Phol stood. He reached out, touching the polished edge of the Moog's case.
"This is a curious device. It functions as both a musical instrument and a computer?"
"It is a sound synthesizer with some limited additional computer function. It is called a Moog."
Peggy leaned forward, his eyes searching T'Phol's face. "What can you tell me about the piece you were working with earlier?"
"I twas transposing the key from its original C-sharp to G. Although Listz, Ravel, and Bach have well-known works in C-Sharp, that key does not lend itself well to performance by a woodwind ensemble."
Peggy's voice grew quiet. "You were translating?"
"No. I was transcribing."
"Transcribe; to write out in another language, transliterate?"
"In music, to arrange a composition for an instrument other than it was originally written. It is a common practice."
"For what instrument was this music originally intended?"
"Voice."
"May I inquire the source of the original?"
T'Phol hesitated, glancing at Uhura. Peggy sighed audibly.
"I suppose I cannot blame you for your reluctance," he said, "as I have undoubtedly reinforced your mistrust of anything here on Aminta."
"It's not that we don't trust you, Doctor Teal," Uhura began.
"What is your interest in this?" T'Phol interrupted. "Your initial reaction seemed one of surprised recognition. Have you heard the song before?"
Peggy regarded T'Phol with with his pale eyes, she returned his scrutiny unwaveringly.
"No. I would like to hear the original version."
T'Phol turned to the Moog without further comment and turned a dial. Piasa's song reverberated in the empty space. She let it play for a few minutes before stopping the recording. The silence seemed to echo around the stone walls and within the group.
Peggy ran a hand across his face. "I must know what that is, exactly, and how did you come across it?"
Uhura raised a brow. "I thought you recognized it. You don't know?"
"Not definitively."
"That was a song from one of the Amintian avian predators," Uhura said.
"We call them birds," added Cassady.
"How did you get this?" Peggy asked. "It certainly is not in the data base."
T'Phol closed the Moog's cover and fastened the latch before replying.
"Our physician recorded it yesterday."
"Yesterday?" Peggy's voice rose in surprise as he stared incredulously at T'Phol. He had always considered himself to be astutely clever; seldom could he recall such a feeling of sheer astonishment. "That is- remarkable. I don't know of anyone that has attempted to approach the creatures." He paused. "Not that anyone has had a reason to try. They seem wary of people. Until recently, sightings have been scarce, and from afar. I certainly have never heard one sing. Nor, I imagine, has anyone else here on Aminta."
They were interrupted by the door opening. Eaggla stuck his head far enough inside to tell them departure time was near, nodding briefly at Peggy before he withdrew. They began gathering their things. In a few minutes, Eaggla was back, announcing the crawler was waiting. They filed out, Uhura and T'Phol followed behind the others with Peggy bringing up the rear.
"Are you coming with us?" Uhura asked.
"I think not," Peggy replied. "I try to stay away from the main compound."
"Where will you go when this site shuts down?"
"I'm sure I'll find somewhere. The Vulcans are at Site Five, and rumor has it another location has been identified using drone mapping. Or," he smiled, "maybe I'll really retire and finally move to a tropical paradise. You take care in your journey, Miss Uhura."
Uhura climbed into the crawler, leaving only T'Phol and Peggy still standing in the cold wind. He spoke softly, his voice pitched for her ears only.
"You have undisclosed concerns in this matter."
"I am not alone in that account. It seems there are many secrets and hidden agendas here on Aminta. One does not have to look far to be inundated by them."
"It seems so." His eyes were on her, keen and cutting. She had an uncomfortable feeling he was dissecting her very substance, deciding what was worthy of his consideration and what might be tossed aside as lacking. Suddenly he stepped close, laying his hand on her elbow.
"Perhaps we will have the chance to speak again. I must re-evaluate my understanding of the part you and your team are playing here, and by whose direction, and I do not understand how the creatures fit in. Things are not as they appear. Beware who you trust."
"Including you?"
Peggy threw back his head in a hearty laugh that exposed a row of perfect teeth.
"Especially me, my dear. I am a acerbic, paranoid, old man with nothing left to lose. Go on now. Be careful." He watched as T'Phol boarded with the Moog. Eaggla put the crawler into gear and they started the trip back to base. His arthritis howled as he made his own slow way back to the welcoming heat of his cabin, deep in thought.
The return ride was as rough as the trip out. The light was barely waning when they pulled into the compound. They disembarked wearily, plodding into the main building, their enthusiasm for the project at an ebb.
T'Phol was disappointed that McCoy was not at the door to meet them. They passed by the clinic, which was dark and unoccupied on the way to their own area. McCoy's door was closed, she remembered his promise to take a nap. She took a minute to put the Moog on the counter and visit the bathroom. When she came out, she heard Giotto on the communicator in his own room, the others were putting away their things. Uhura came out of the bathroom and picked up a snack just as Giotto came from his room, his face grave.
"We have a situation," he said. "A security team will be arriving from the ship in a few minutes."
"Why? What's happened?" Uhura put down the protein bar she was unwrapping.
"The Vulcan authorities found the bodies of two Andorian scientists this afternoon. They were murdered. Want to guess their names?"
Uhura gasped. "Not Kelan and Vartheb?"
Giotto nodded grimly. "It appears the Andorians we carried are at the very least imposters, maybe murderers."
T'Phol opened McCoy's door, but the soft greeting on her lips froze before she uttered a sound. His bed was empty and he was not there. She threw the door open and turned to Giotto.
"We have another problem," she said, unaccustomed emotion shading her voice. "Leonard is gone."
