Quinn turned to the crowd and shouted, "Everybody back to bed or to their post—right now! MacArthur'll be here in the morning. Break it up. Lee, take him up to the cave and have a look at his shoulder." The crowd fell away, but not before they had all hugged the corporal or at least slapped him on the back. MacArthur climbed to the cave, following Lee to her sickbay. Shannon followed, firing questions, but Quinn interceded and suggested questions wait until morning. Shannon and Quinn stayed on the terrace and conferred in low but obviously heated tones. Rennault, injuries on the mend, walked by MacArthur on his way to his sleeping bag. They exchanged greetings. That is when MacArthur noticed the other patient.

"What in the—what's that?" MacArthur asked, peering into the shadows. Lee had set Tonto off by himself. Fenstermacher walked up to the animal, smiling stupidly.

"Leslie had my baby," Fenstermacher yawned.

"Joke's getting old, Winfried!" Lee said with great suffering. "It's an animal we found next to the lake after the earthquake. We had a tidal wave. It washed onto the rocks and broke its arm. Did you feel the earthquake, Mac?"

MacArthur walked slowly over to the creature's bed. "Yeah," he said, studying the beast. It blatantly returned his stare, blinking rhythmically.

"Why didn't you let it go?" MacArthur asked, looking down at Lee.

"It's an animal. It's got a broken arm. It would have rebroken the bone and probably died," she answered. "It's done real well, and it can leave if it wants to. It stays here, almost as if it knows we're helping it. We named him Tonto."

MacArthur returned his attention to the ugly animal and gave it a wink. The animal stared back impassively. MacArthur scratched his sunburned nose and walked over to where Lee had laid out a sleeping bag. A night's sleep sounded inviting, maybe more so than food. Lee followed him, brandishing a flashlight. MacArthur looked up to see the animal intently observing. Fenstermacher grumbled something, and the creature shifted its gaze.

"Lee called you Winfried!" MacArthur suddenly said, watching the animal. "Nah, Fenstermacher, your name ain't really Winfried, is it?"

Lee said, "Oops," and started peeling back MacArthur's jumpsuit.

Fenstermacher sat up in his sleeping bag and glared. "Thanks, Les," he grumbled. "Yeah. Winfried. So what?" he challenged.

"Nice name," MacArthur replied. The animal followed the conversation. "Goes with Fenstermacher." Fenstermacher snarled a superb string of expletives and rolled over, his back to the others.

"Looks good. You look real…" Lee said, strong hands working the muscles around the wound.

"She says that to everyone," Fenstermacher mumbled from the corner.

Lee was quiet, looking at his shoulder from several angles.

"Sutures!" Lee said loudly and abruptly. "What happened to you?" she asked. "Who took care of you? These sutures are professional."

MacArthur looked at his shoulder. Their curiosity piqued by Lee's outburst, Quinn and Shannon also walked over.

"Don't know," he said. "One minute Chastain's carrying me, and the next I wake up blindfolded, in a warm place. Couple of days later—who knows—I wake up again. My pistol and knife are gone, but I'm alive, and my infected shoulder is almost healed." MacArthur stopped and looked from face to face.

"That's the story," he continued. "That's all there is. Chastain should have told you about everything else. I nearly got us killed in the river. Oh—and the valley! The valley! We found a valley with a big lake full of fish and ducks and big otters. We saw little deer and bears and something that looked like an elk—"

Quinn picked up a bowl. "We were going to wait until tomorrow to show you these," he said soberly. "Someone gave water and honey, real honey, to Chastain the day he lost you. "Lee, give him the vial."

Lee handed MacArthur a glazed ceramic tube.

"Taste it!" Quinn ordered.

"Honey? I've heard of honey, I think. What is it?" MacArthur asked.

"A food made by bugs—real bugs—honeybees," Lee said. "There used to be a lot of them on Earth. Still have bees, I guess, but no honeybees."

"There're still some left," Quinn said. "A luxury of the rich."

MacArthur pulled out the stopper and tentatively tipped the container over. A drop oozed onto his finger. He touched it to his mouth and immediately knew he wanted more. His saliva glands welled warmly around his tongue. Quinn took the vial and handed him a chipped bowl.

"Is this familiar?" Quinn asked.

MacArthur felt a wave of fatigue wash over him.

"Sorry, Commander," MacArthur replied. "Nothing. I don't recall being fed or drinking anything. They kept me blindfolded and, uh…drugged, I think. I slept a lot—almost the whole time. I remember whistling."

"Whistling!" Shannon exclaimed.

"Yeah," MacArthur replied. He sat erect, his memories holding fatigue at bay. "Funny thing. After I laid there for a long time I thought I could hear them talking, only their talking was real high-pitched, like whistling, only higher even. I, ah…started whistling at them. They whistled back."

"Whistling!" Quinn said, looking at Shannon and Lee. "Whistling! Seems we've heard whistling around here, too."

MacArthur looked at the animal. It stared back. Quinn related the events of the night they were visited by Tonto' s friends and of the whistling sounds thought to be communication. MacArthur listened to the story and pondered. Then he stood and walked over to the animal. The ugly beast stared up fearlessly. MacArthur licked his lips and softly whistled the first five notes of the sing-song ditty: "shave and a haircut." The animal registered the sounds with a start, its expression clearly revealing it was analyzing the sounds. MacArthur whistled the same five notes. Fenstermacher moved, standing as if to provide the answer. MacArthur waved him down. The animal watched the movements and gestures, glancing briefly at Fenstermacher. It returned its unwavering attention to the man standing over him, and MacArthur whistled the ditty again and waited. He was about to do it again, when the animal opened its mouth just enough to show a jagged line of teeth. It shrilled sharply—two short notes.

"Two bits!" Fenstermacher shouted.

MacArthur awoke and could not remember. He looked about the cave and saw Fenstermacher sitting next to the fire. A murky grayness filtered into the cave.

"Fensterma—Winfried! What time is it?" he groaned, forcing open sleep-crusted eyes. He remembered the animal and turned to look at it. It was staring at him.

Fenstermacher glanced out at the foggy morning. "About a half hour to sunrise, gruntface. It's hard to tell, it's so foggy out," he replied.

MacArthur stretched. "Then I haven't been asleep very long."

Fenstermacher laughed. "You lost a whole day, jarbrains. You've been asleep through all four watches and then some."

MacArthur shook the stiffness from his good shoulder; he must have lain on it the whole night. He coughed, trying to wet his cotton-dry mouth. "I believe you," he mumbled as he rolled out of his bag, unsteadily putting his legs beneath him. His body ached with the accumulation of abuse.

"Quinn and Shannon want to see you. I'm supposed to go get 'em," Fenstermacher said. MacArthur heard footsteps and turned to see Lieutenant Buccari materialize from the mists.

"Well…go get them," Buccari ordered. Fenstermacher smiled and flipped an exaggerated salute as he trotted into the fog.

"Good morning, Corporal," Buccari said. "You've had a good sleep." She walked to the animal and held out a finger. The beast reached out and eagerly clasped it, emitting a delighted squeak. Buccari smiled, her green eyes sparkled. Her perfect features were framed by a five-day auburn stubble. MacArthur was enchanted.