T'Phol's progress had slowed considerably as the road began to climb and the smooth surface gave way to buckles and creases. Still the trip to Site Three on foot would take less than the hour it had taken in the crawler. Her eye physiology was Vulcan, the retinal mosaic containing more structures, the rhodopsin sensitive to a wider spectrum than that of a Human. She could see enough to navigate the uneven road surface, and though she was no athlete, she was nimble and sure footed. A fine mist hung in the cold air, she could feel the weight of moisture on her lashes as she moved forward. In the quiet, she heard only her own pulse and the sound she made in passing.

She had picked up a suitably sized hiking stick while still in the wooded area and was finding it useful as she scrambled up a particularly rough patch, pausing at the top for a moment. The evergreens framed the lower lying area in black, but she could discern the glow reflecting from the compound lights onto the low clouds. To her left, the rocky hills rose above the road, dotted with prickly shrubs and tenacious vines. The right looked out over a plain pockmarked with small pools and scattered with faint patches of bioluminescence, whether plant or animal she did not know. That view was somehow unsettling, she turned her eyes back to the road ahead. She pressed ahead for a few minutes then stopped, senses alert. Straining to hear, her eyes swept across both sides of the road. She saw nothing, but remembered Chapel mentioning there were dangerous predators on Aminta other than the birds. After a minute of silence, she continued ahead, stopping to listen between every few steps. Soon she was certain she could hear movement somewhere on the rocky hillside above, and on the road behind her. She realized she was being stalked and she had no weapon other than the stick which she gripped firmly. She looked around, but there were no trees she could climb, no handy cave in which to hide or mount a defense. She positioned herself with a rock face at her back and a thorny shrub flanking her left, picked up a good sized rock, peered into the darkness, and listened.

She heard a soft yip or two, soon she could see their dark shapes emerge from the deeper darkness. She counted five, but had no idea how many might be out of sight. They were not as large as her imagination and fear made them, about the size of a Border Collie on Earth, but with longer legs and sharp fangs. They were closing in slowly, she could hear the huff huff of their breathing as they approached, along with some sort of low hum just at the edge of hearing. The hyenas advanced until they were within six meters, growling almost inaudibly, hackles rising as the hum grew. T'Phol grasped the rock, adjusting her grip and suddenly threw hard at the creature in the lead. She heard a crack as the rock made contact and the creature let out a screaming yelp as it hit the ground. She quickly threw another which missed its intended target, but rather than scatter, they began moving in. She picked up another rock, hefting the stick in her other hand. The growling was in the open, low and ominous, their eyes gleamed yellow as they got closer. Reflected light, T'Phol realized as the humming grew louder. She threw the rock as the first one jumped, then swung her stick like a bat, making solid contact with it as another seized her arm. She drew back the stick, but couldn't get an angle to strike again.

"This is not how it ends!" she screamed, gouging at a yellow eye as she smelled the fetid breath in her face. She lost her balance, hitting the ground hard, losing her breath. She kicked hard at the animal on top of her, her gloved hands around its throat holding the fangs at bay. Her arms trembled with the effort and she realized her vision was growing dark and her head was humming loudly, then everything seemed to go silent.

The night was sliced by bright blinding light, again, and a third time. She felt a weight on her chest and struggled to breathe. Then the burden was off and she gulped air in great droughts. She tried to sit, but a hand pushed her back down.

"Let me check you for injury. Did you hit your head?" She squinted as a light shone in her face, her hood was pushed back, and her head was turned to each side.

"I do not think so," T'Phol gasped.

"No blood anyway. Here, see if you can sit up."

She sat, leaning against the rock, catching her breath while Peggy examined her neck and then peeled back the torn layers of her coat and shirt sleeves where the creature had latched onto her arm.

"Do you think you can stand now? We need to get out of the cold and attend to your wounds. And," he added, "these things are usually in bigger packs. There may be more nearby." He looked at the dead animal he had kicked off T'Phol. Its lips were drawn back in a snarl, teeth gleaming in the meager illumination from his flashlight, the last expression it would ever have.

T'Phol nodded. Peggy got to his feet with some effort and offered his hand, but she managed to stand without assistance. She quickly found her ankle was tender, but she was able to hobble to his travel pod, glad to climb in and shut the door. She leaned back in the seat as he climbed in and started the vehicle. He turned to look at her.

"You were heading my way."

"Yes."

He nodded and turned the pod back toward Site Three


They entered the warmth of Peggy's cabin. T'Phol sank into a chair, closing her eyes and forcing her muscles to relax. Peggy removed his gloves and hung his coat before turning to her.

"Take off your coat, my dear, and let's have a look at that arm."

She complied, laying the tricorder on the table, slipping out of the coat and both long-sleeved shirts, leaving only her t-shirt. There was a large, ugly bruise in shades of green, with a broken line of skin forming a V around her upper arm. Despite the warmth of the room, she shivered. Peggy fetched a first aid kit and began cleaning the wound, applying an antibiotic and a light bandage. He stepped into the back room, carrying her coat and shirts and the kit, returning in a few moments with two cups of tea, in mugs rather than dainty porcelain, and a thick shirt. He set the cups on the table and offered T'Phol the shirt. She took it gratefully. Although the sleeves were too short, it fit well enough and she picked up her tea, curving her cold fingers around the welcome heat. Peggy took the chair across from her, studying her intently.

"Well," he said suddenly, "you are incredibly lucky to be alive. That was foolish, leaving the compound at night, alone,unarmed, and on foot. Or perhaps you make a habit of running away?"

"Thank you for rescuing me. I failed to consider predators until it was too late." T'Phol was relieved the shakiness she felt inside did not show in her voice.

"You are quite welcome. It is fortunate I had a phaser with me." He almost smiled. "You made a fair accounting for yourself, you managed to incapacitate one of them. Not a small feat for a musician unaccustomed to combat. Of course, the others would have killed you. Your friends would have found nothing but gnawed bones." His humor disappeared. "That is, after they noticed you were missing and started a search. You left the compound in secrecy. You were on your way to see me."

"Apparently you were headed to the compound yourself."

"Tell me what happened."

Peggy listened without comment until T'Phol finished. "Why would your doctor go looking for the bird creatures? Scientific interest? Feather collecting? Why is everyone assuming that's where he went?" He leaned forward. "There is more to this, as I said before. So you don't believe he went to find birds? Where is he?"

"I do not know. He would never have left unless he thought a patient needed him."

"Do you think he's somewhere treating a patient?"

"No. He would have his communicator and be in contact with the team. But someone could have lured him away with such a falsehood. He is a doctor above all else."

Peggy got up, taking their empty cups. He returned in a few minutes with more tea and a small bag which was closed with a drawstring. He handed her a cup and put the bag on the desk and sat with his own cup. His head tilted as he looked at her. The close scrutiny made her faintly uneasy. She looked away, sipping her tea to hide her discomfort and found herself stifling an unexpected yawn.

Peggy noticed and smiled. "Your Vulcan version of adrenalin is wearing off. Why would someone want to lure Doctor McCoy away?"

T'Phol looked at his face, his enigmatic half smile. She had been prepared to tell him everything about Leonard's interaction with the birds, including the dreams. Instead she said, "I do not know."

"The real question is what does he know? How did he get that recording? I would like to hear it again."

"I do not have the Moog."

Peggy opened the drawstring bag, extracting a computer chip. He spoke softly, but firmly as if he had come to a hard decision.

"I think you will find this interesting." He plugged the tape into the terminal on his desk.

For a moment there was a static hum, then an uncomfortable screech and a few frantic words, followed by sounds that were undoubtedly birdsong, but like none she had previously heard. Multiple voices were singing in unison, the timbre strident, discordant, powerful. She wanted to cover her ears to make it stop. It went on for a scant minute before fading into carrier wave noise. When it finished, Peggy reached out and hit the eject button. He held the tape with two fingers, spinning it slowly. T'Phol watched it turn around, going in and out of focus.

"What is that? she asked. Her voice felt rusty, unused.

"That recording was recovered from an Orion spaceship wreckage site three hundred kilometers from here. As far as I am aware, this fragment is the only auditory evidence of its kind. No one else on Aminta is aware of its existence. I have spent quite a bit of time thinking about that tape, attempting a translation, pondering the source, weighing the possibilities. You asked me what happened here two thousand years ago." He tapped his forefinger against the disc. "I think this happened. I think Doctor McCoy knows something about it. Would you care to discuss it?"

T'Phol blinked, willing her eyes and brain to focus. She realized she was in trouble.

"I do not know anything about it." The words slurred, her tongue felt swollen in her mouth as the room spun about her.

"Perhaps it will come to you later," Peggy said softly as her eyes rolled in her head and she slumped in the chair.

A figure emerged from the back room. "Took you long enough," he grumbled.

Peggy shrugged. "I underestimated the amount it would take to put her under. Vulcan physiology is tough. You'll have to carry her, And someone needs to clean up the mess in the road just after the rise."

He grunted as he lifted T'Phol and hung her over his shoulders in a dead man carry. Peggy followed him out, pausing to grab her clothing. She was dumped unceremoniously in the back of the pod. It was quick work to tie her hands and feet, but Peggy stopped him from gagging her.

"I have no idea how the drugs will affect her. She may vomit when she comes to and aspirate. We want her alive and unharmed." Peggy threw her coat and shirts in, and the other covered it all with a tarp. He watched as the pod climbed the hill without lights, and silently set toward its destination. When it was out of sight, he went back inside, washed the dishes and tidied. The tape went back into its pouch and into the hiding place where it was kept. He sat with the tricorder, opened a link and downloaded its contents onto his computer. Then he disassembled the tricorder and fed the pieces one at a time into the garbage incinerator, followed by the first aid kit and finally T'Phol's bag and its contents. He watched until the light flashed to indicate the job was complete.

He stood staring long after the light went out, feeling as empty as the disposal.