The shuttles landed in the same village that the Exeter and the Kiev had visited. No one was saying much. The scene required something, but for once, all tongues were still. The burnt houses were long cold. Rain damage had added a degree of softness to the stark destruction. However, the imagination could still see the smoke curling from the ruined village. The smell of burnt wood, and flesh was just out of touch with the senses.
       Jaume cleared his throat. Barnard grumbled.
       "OK, lets get our camp set up. That pasture area should do us fine. Liza, Greg, if you will walk the campsite and see that we are not pounding stakes into anything vital. Let's do it."

       Six hours later the fleet ratings were still finishing the final details and off loading supplies from the big shuttles. Barnard had switched to camp khakis without any signs of rank. He gathered the scientists into the mess tent for a quick briefing while the light lasted.
       "Everyone has had a look around the village?"
       People nodded around.
       Barnard laid a map of the location on the table. Tomorrow we'll set out the sensor posts and lay down a grid. We want to get the whole clearing including the village."
       Jaume pointed to the edge of the forest. "I suggest we move the stakes back into the wood a bit. Jungle grows fast, we could be missing something that used to be in the clearing."
       Barnard nodded. "Good point. We will do that then. Any questions?"
       "Yes," Said Greg, "Have we a clue as to what we are looking for?"
       "No, we don't so we look for everything. We start bright and early tomorrow. Everyone get some sleep.

       Robin covered the lamp and looked out again. She could swear that the plants were moving, and not from the wind.
       Martin watched for a moment. "What's bugging you?"
       "I think we are being watched."
       Martin tuned toward her. "Are you sure?"
       "The plants were moving, and there isn't any wind."
       Martin rolled out of bed quickly. "Light."
       Robin doused the light. Martin's hands quickly found his camera, and old friend that it was he moved the settings in the dark to the infrared spectrum. He took several shots in the indicated direction. That done he lit the monitor screen and looked. Robin looked over his shoulder at the blurred images.
       Martin caught her eye in the monitor light. "Right you are, humanoid would be my guess."
       Robin looked back out into the gloom. "I hope that alarm screen works."

       By the time Robin and Martin joined the group in the morning the grid was well under way. Starfleet ratings worked under the direction of the graduate students. Barnard was discussing tactics with Jaume. Both looked up as the reporters entered.
       "You're late."
       Martin said. We worked late. Have a look." He slid a tablet to Barnard.
       Barnard looked though the short collection of pictures. "When did you do these?"
       "Last night, from the tent."
       "infrared."
       "Yes."
       "The natives the Kiev reported."
       Robin sat. "I would assume. We didn't get good pictures."
       "We can augment the sensors and get better pictures, and from what you have just shown me, we should.
       Greg entered the hardside. "We have the grid set up. We are ready to image."
       Barnard turned to the slim Fleet officer. "Lt. Gillian, you are the sensor expert."
       She sat at the controls and fiddled a few settings, then pressed a stud. A few moments passed and the unit beeped.
       Lt. Gillian turned back to the group. "It will take a few hours to image the entire area. We might as well get lunch."
       Barnard hitched at his belt. "Great idea, lets."

       There was little talk at the team table. Robin looked at the rest eating and not saying much.
       "What about the natives?"
       Lt. Gillian said. "What about them."
       "We got pictures last night. They were watching us."
       "Admiral?"
       Barnard said around his sandwich. "That would seem to the be the indication. Martin's pictures are not 'Sol Life' quality, but they are definitely humanoids."
       Eng. Verskaro said. "Is there a danger?"
       Barnard shook his head. "I don't think so. Keep the picket informed and security on their toes. But we are not here to kill any one."
       Lt. Gillian added. "Our new weapons have a stun setting."
       Barnard perked up. "Really?"
       Lt. Gillian continued. "Yes sir. Starfleet being dedicated to peace it was deemed necessary. If we can stop violent people and not kill them, that is an improvement."
       "I certainly agree. What do you think Robin?"
       Robin looked at Barnard down the table. "I think you're trying to get my goat, you old goat. There is still the question of the natives."
       "Right. If they don't try to contact us, we don't try to contact them. We can't speak with them anyway outside of 'hello, good bye', and 'what is that.' Then we don't under stand the answers."

       Lt. Gillian looked at the scans on the monitor. The others gathered around her. "We have several points of interest. The area beside the stone building looks to be a cemetery. A lot of bodies buried in a orderly fashion."
       Jaume peered closer. "Serial burials. One body on top of another. I wonder what the reason for that was."
       Mark took a closer look. "It wasn't for a lack of space. Family members? The single bodies are buried quite deep."
       Barnard mused. "Leaving room for more on top?"
       "Ah yes, plenty of questions." Said Jaume.
       Lisa looked out at the real structure. "Do you think the stone building is a cult center?"
       Barnard answered. "It would be a good guess."
       Robin squeezed in. "Is that a burial in front of the big house?"
       Lt. Gillian increased the modification on that spot. "I would say yes, it looks like a body, but not laid out like the others."
       Jaume added. "Or buried deep."
       Barnard said. "We are looking for anomalies. Any more?"
       Lt. Gillian fiddled with the controls. "Yes, near the supposed cult center, and several along the main avenue."
       Barnard said. "Get printouts and recordings. Then reset the grid around the cemetery. Let's get some dates and numbers.

       Lt. Gillian once again had the podium over a working lunch. "The cemetery indicates that this settlement has been here at least 150 years. The oldest burials date from that long ago."
       Mark asked. "What was the most recent?"
       "Contemporary to the visit of the Exeter. We have the funeral on tape."
       Jaume added. "The consistent factors are east-west orientation. Laid on their sides facing north. Grave goods are consistent and don't seem to reflect wealth."
       Barnard asked. "What items, and any gender or professional bias?"
       Jaume answered. "Yes to the gender bias. Males, we assume, again not enough data, have a pot, a knife, and a spear or a club. Females, again assumption, have a pot, a knife, and domestic supplies."
       Mark said. "What domestic supplies?"
       Jaume continued. "Bone needles we can read. Decomposed plant and animal matter around the needles suggest sewing equipment."
       Lt. Gillian added. "The wet soil does not promote preservation. Little organic material remains."
       Barnard dabbed his chin with a napkin. "Let's get a closer look at the anomalies. I have a feeling they are the story."

       Barnard smoothed the prints out on the table. "I say we tackle that big house at the end of the avenue, the stone structure next to the cemetery, and one of the huts along the main avenue. Three pits will be stretching the available specialists to the limit.
       Greg said. "Are three pits going to teach us enough?"
       "I don't know, but we have to start somewhere. Jaume you take the big house, Liza, you take the hut and Greg, your take the cult center. Robin and Martin, you two as well as myself will work where needed. Martin is a experienced photographer. However he is not yet an archeologist, we are going to change that. Robin is at least the equal of her husband with a lens. Now our Starfleet science people are not going to be working directly with the dig. I'll assign peripheral projects as they occur. If you are not otherwise occupied, no one said you couldn't dig.

       Richard circulated among the digs as they progressed. A lot was being found, but thus far little was being learned.
       "Richard!" Called Jaume from the big house pit. "Richard, we have reached the other one."
       Barnard wiped his brow, dragged himself to his feet and made his way to the pit. There in the bottom of the digging, two feet deep was the remains of a Ceetian. Shell and bone decorations adored the huddled body.
       "Like the other two."
       "Yes, it's head as been caved in and no sign of defensive trauma."
       "Bound?"
       "No, just like the others."
       Eng. Verskaro had wandered over. "Defensive trauma, why is that important?"
       Jaume answered. "If someone tried to bash in your head with a club, and you are not bound, you are at least going to try and defend your head." Jaume threw his arms over his head in demonstration. "Defensive trauma is just that. Evidence of damage, usually to the arms caused by the same instrument that killed."
       Eng. Verskaro snarled. "I would do more than cower, I would attack."
       "You would yes. Not so everyone. But most anyone would at least defend themselves."
       "So the lack of this 'defensive trauma' means they did not? I don't think much of that."
       Barnard looked at the darkly flushed Andorian. "Ensign, the heat is getting to you. Take a break, drink something cold."
       Eng. Verskaro stopped short. "You are correct Sir, I will do so at once."
       Barnard watched him head back to camp. "Not a good place to be Andorian."
       Jaume said. "He has been short tempered."
       Barnard mopped his brow. "It's the heat. It might be best to send him back to the ship. In any case what have your found?"
       "Another like the rest, shallow grave, casual burial, fancy stuff. Blunt trauma to the head, no defensive trauma."
       "Sacrifices?"
       Jaume shook his head. "None of the logs indicate they had such practices, and all of the bodies we have found died at the same time. A month after the Exeter left."
       "Theory?"
       "I think, for some reason they killed their leaders, and their leaders let them."
       Barnard mopped at his face again. "Why? I think if we can answer why we will have what we came for."
       "Si. But bones are seldom that eloquent."

       Jaume held the floor at yet another mid day meeting. "All of the bodies we have found in anomalous graves share similar traits. They are older. They all have a high degree of ornamentation."
       Greg interrupted. "Ornaments that the assumed normal graves to not have."
       "Correct. All suffered blows to the head and indications are they did not defend themselves. All were dumped in shallow graves not in the normal burial ground. No apparent ceremony was used."
       Barnard surveyed the sour looks. "Any ideas?"
       Robin spoke slowly. "It sounds like a revolution."
       Lt. Gillian said. "What were they revolting against?"
       Robin continued. "Usually the authority being revolted against fights back. We haven't found any evidence of any fighting. Executions yes, but no fighting."
       Greg added. "And the place was burned. Who did the burning?
       Jaume said. "Do we need to survey other locations, to see if evidence of battles exists?"
       Barnard looked to Lt. Gillian. "Can your sensors do that?"
       Gillian shook her head. "It's asking a lot. Exeter indicated that this was a large settlement. Few areas had villages this size."
       Jaume said. "And the weather here has quickly made a hash of this place."
       Martin spread is arms. "People, it's a big world. Are we talking the entire population being one culture?"
       Barnard said. "With minor variation yes. The Ceteeians haven't developed ocean travel. This continent is the only one they are found on. And they are no longer populous here." Barnard scratched his neck and looked around. The evidence was plain. The reason for the evidence, that was lacking. They could dig trenches till the cows came home, and they would have no more reasons. Without cooperative natives to interpret the symbols, to tell them the meaning of the writing, they could catalog all they wanted, and not learn anything they had come to learn. Again he felt the eyes watching him from the forest. "Ladies and gents, we are learning nothing here close to the facts we want to know. I think it's time to call a halt."
       Jaume said. "We are simply giving up?"
       "No Jaume, we are going for a specialist."
       Robin said. "I thought we had every kind of specialist there was for this mission."
       "We are on the wrong mission Robin. The stuff in the dirt is not going to tell us what we came here to find out. The people that have been watching us, they have the answer."
       April said. "But they won't approach, they won't talk to us."
       "That's right Ensign. We are going to El Nanth, for a telepath."

       The Mandalay bored a warp-speed hole in the endless sky. Captain Brittian sat with Barnard over drinks in the later's cabin. "I'm, curious sir. Why El Nanth?"
       "Closer than Vulcan by 30 light years. More open telepaths as I understand it. And we've never been there."
       "It is the most distant outpost of the Federation to date. I would personally prefer closer in but if that is where the people you need are, we go."

       The great mass of the structure was unlit. Only a few navigation lights and "holes" in the Star field indicated that something was there. Builder's Station, only the "trading world" of Rigel dwarfed it in size.
       Barnard pushed the lump in his throat back down. Howard had been here. Docked at this very place on his next to last mission. Then it was a Bonaventure Ribbon. Now it was just a very long haul.
       Barnard paced to the other side of the bridge as Captain Brittian and her crew talked their way in. They were not headed for the spindle at the center, rather to one of the huge box-shaped docks to the side. The new El Nanth Starbase. The great doors irised open in a maw that dwarfed the Mandalay. Bright light spilled out as the Mandalay entered the 200 cubic kilometer bay.
       "My God." Said the Helmsman.
       Brittian snapped. "Keep your mind on your board, plenty of time to be awestruck later."
       "Aye aye Sir."
       "Easy people, lets not get splattered against the walls looking at them."
       The atmosphere in the bridge tightened up as Mandalay made her final approach to the dock. A great gaping hole in the dock side was surrounded by a bright red membrane of some kind. The tractors took hold, kissed the ship to the dock side and the opening flowed down around the hull. There was a slight shudder as the dock took a hard grip on the Mandalay.
       "Mandalay, El Nanth Control. You have hard dock, and an airtight seal on your forward hatch."
       Brittian turned to his Chief Engineer. "Chief?"
       "Confirmed, we have hard dock."
       "Thank you El Nanth. We are standing by to receive umbilicals."
       A loud thud and clang was heard through the hull.
       The Chief turned to Brittian. "We have outside power at your discretion."
       "Stand down the ship to hard dock stations. Mr. Goldberg, you can see to the crew's leave rotation. Admiral Barnard, we are here."
       Admiral Barnard hitched his uniform back into trim. "Well, no time like the present." He headed down to the ship's dock-side hatch.

       The dock was spooky. Huge nine meter ceilings and a line of the red membrane docks stretched for kilometers to service a bare handful of ships. The fleet presence was crowded into a small corner of the available space as if to derive comfort from closeness.
       A rating was waiting on the dock with some manner of antigrav car. "Admiral Barnard?"
       "That would be me son."
       "I am Chief Jones. I am to take you to Admiral Orestes sir."
       "Well." Barnard, hoisted himself into the seat. "Take away."
       A few minutes travel had them into the more man sized areas of the station. Jones stopped by yet another similar set of offices on an upper level. A plate had been affixed next to the door. "Starfleet Command." Jones got out and helped him to his feet. He led the way into the offices.
       The decor was early frontier with a dash of fantasy. Unoccupied desks had blobs on them and mushroom stools. However, those desks occupied had normal Starfleet computers and normal chairs.
       Barnard was led at last to Admiral Orestes' office. Orestes, a tall Kentauran man was at the door.
       "Come in Admiral Barnard. I truly never thought I would have the honor of meeting you sir. What brings you to El Nanth?"
       Barnard looked at the seating arrangement, two of the mushrooms. "Well, I hadn't actually planed to come here, but circumstances led me here." He sat gingerly. What he wanted was his favorite chair, not this toadstool. No sooner had his butt touched the stool than he was tossed back in to a comfortable armchair. An exact duplicate of his favorite back home. "What!" He exclaimed.
       Orestes smiled. "Meet the smart stools. The station is lousy with them.
       Barnard goggled. "Smart stools?"
       "The entire station is full of 'soft' technology. The blobs on the desks become computers, the stools your favorite chair. The natives tell me that 'soft tools' used to be everywhere too. Those have wandered off. We have looked but have yet to find any."
       "What is this place?"
       "A construction shack. Left over from building the system. That is what the natives say."
       Barnard grinned. "Ah the archeology one could do here."
       "Oh yes. We could keep a team of archeologists several thousand strong busy for several hundred years easy."
       "Would that I had several hundred years."
       Orestes smiled. "Yea, the more we move out the stranger it gets. I like it."
       Barnard sighed. "I wish I could do archeology here but, I have another mission. I came for a telepath. If I can get one."
       Orestes worried his chin. "There are telepaths in plenty. Getting one, that might not be as easy."
       "Not social?"
       "Oh no, quite the contrary, very social. They don't like starships."
       "Would it hurt to ask?"
       "No. Ask all you will, but be prepared to get a refusal."

       Barnard and Jaume looked at the reception committee. It was, different. Four legged creatures that looked like an antelope cross between a greyhound and an impala. Their markings were pretty at least. Communication was however, disquieting. The buff grey female, "Adilan" was the name he felt, "spoke" again.
       ** I understand your question Admiral Barnard, but I don't understand the why? People come to us again. Why should we seek?**
       "Well these people will not be coming here. They have no ships and the disaster that has befallen them may ensure they never leave their home world."
       **Their stories will be lost.**
       "If you want stories, you will have to go to them."
       She looked away, lost in some thoughtful manner. A tan male Teban was the image he got. **Your ships do not leave a lot of room to move.**
       **Very crowded, no place to run.** thought Gesilan
       **And the compartments have little room, there is nothing to see.**
       "Only time and technical improvement will solve the problems we have now, but the need is also now."
       Adilan got up and started to wander away. **We will let the others know your words. Each will decide for themselves.**
       Barnard and Jaume watched the retreating tails. "Well" said Jaume, "That is that."

       "Ten billion, and no takers?"
       Admiral Orestes shrugged. "It is sometimes hard to figure them out Admiral Barnard. Some times they trip over themselves to make you happy. Sometimes they ignore you."
       Barnard considered pacing, winced and thought better of it. "What about the humans here?"
       "The Ansisi? Most are telepaths to one degree or another. None of them particularly like Earth. The Federation is on probation. Again ask away."
       "I'll have to try that. One last question. Where did the Grant dock?"
       "Oh, that. Two levels down from the commercial dock on the main spindle. Right next to the Savanna."

       The dock was quiet. Savanna must be the ship present. The Grant was only present in his mind. The Savanna's hatch was open, and noises issued from within. It was the strangest ship Barnard had ever seen. It had the look of an old sublight DY-300 class, but cut down with warp drives bolted on.
       Gathering his resolve he walked in and called out. "Hello the ship."
       The noises stopped and in a moment a disheveled figure came out of a maintenance hatch.
       "Can I help you?. Admiral I think."
       "Admiral Richard Barnard." Rich offered his hand.
       The man wiped grease of his own and offered it back. "Jerry LaSaille."
       "What is this ship? If I can ask." He might as well make conversation.
       "This is the Savanna. She is a bit of a museum piece. My job is to keep it airtight."
       "How old is she?"
       "Launched 2063."
       "That Savanna?"
       "The very."
       "How did she get out here?"
       "On those warp drives and a good deal of luck."
       "Sounds like a fool's voyage."
       "A very desperate fool, and a lucky one, he made it."
       "So why you?"
       "I want to. She's a part of the local history, and while she will likely never sail again, someone needs to care."
       "So you care for an old ship?"
       Jerry caressed the nearby handrail. "I prefer to think of her as a fine lady, made old before her time."
       "Will she run?"
       "Technically, but I would want to see a full overhaul. It's been 150 years since she docked here. Things go bad, time has its toll. Everything is prototype. We are talking a good deal of reverse engineering and hand tooling to get her operational. That's a lot of resources and work. New ships are better and cheaper."
       Barnard looked at Jerry. "You don't look a hundred and seventy."
       Jerry's gaze hardened. "What makes you think I'm that old?"
       "Two things. One; why would a stranger care for an old wreck like you do. Two; The Grant had external log cameras. You haven't aged a day 'Mr. Ryan'."
       Jerry didn't relax. "Jerold Ryan LaSaille. You can get a lot of variation from that."
       "Mr. LaSaille, you have nothing to fear from this old man."
       "Old men are the dangerous ones Admiral. Young men can be predicted."
       "Do you mind if we sit down? These bones are tired and sore."
       Jerry's countenance changed at once. "Not at all." He waved into the dinky wardroom. "In here."
       Barnard sat gratefully. "Thank you."
       Jerry reached into the over head bin and took down a bottle. "If I am not mistaken you are over one hundred years of age."
       "You are not mistaken."
       He found a couple of glasses. "I should be asking why you are out here?"
       "I was tasked to solve a mystery. I came here for a telepath. So far, not much luck."
       "Bourbon Admiral?" Jerry cracked the wax seal on the bottle.
       Barnard brightened. Now you are talking. What have you got there?"
       Jerry consulted the label. "Maker's Mark, 2061"
       Barnard boggled. "One hundred and fifty year old whiskey?"
       Jerry shrugged and poured. "I'm not much of a drinker." He continued. "The Ane don't like to get involved, for the most part. They don't seem to think much of the current generation of ships either."
       "Yes, I have gotten that in spades. But I am told there are human telepaths as well?"
       "The Ansisi, yes."
       "What exactly is the mission?"
       Barnard sat for a long moment. "This is stupid."
       Jerry blinked. "Excuse me?"
       "I am on a secret mission. I'm not suppose to tell anyone the mission I am on. However, no reasonable civilian, of which I must find, is going to agree to a secret mission without knowing what the mission is."
       "I would say you have a problem."
       Barnard threw up is hands. "Only one thing for it, change the mission parameters, and tell my prospective contracts what they're in for."
       "So, what is the mission?"
       "Are you a telepath?"
       "Fact is, I am."
       "How good?"
       "I'm a 72 on the Kraith scale."
       "Damn, that is quite high for a human."
       "Not really Admiral. I am average among the telepaths you will find here."
       "Are you interested in the mission?"
       "Could be, I'd have to hear what it was."
       "I have to ask you to keep what I tell you in confidence."
       "Done."
       Barnard shifted as if looking for the right words. "I am investigating a murder. Not the murder of a person, but the murder of an entire culture"
       "Why would you need a telepath?"
       "Well, unlike the murder of an individual, this murder has left bits of the murdered alive to tell the tale."
       "And...?"
       "We can't talk to them. We never learned enough of the language, and the natives will not come out. We have been picking in the dirt. That is why I'm here, the 'indispensable' forensic archeologist."
       "You don't consider yourself indispensable however."
       "No, far from it."
       "So why are you here."
       "Because I want the answers public."
       You don't trust Starfleet to make the answers public?"
       "Mr. LaSaille, I do not need to lesson you on the tendency of hierarchical organizations towards secrecy and ass covering."
       "Since the time of Pharaoh." Barnard looked at him sharply. Jerry continued. "Which I was not present to witness."
       "How old are you?"
       "Can you keep it under your hat?"
       "Yes sir, I can."
       "I was born in 1948"
       "You lived through the Eugenics War."
       "Vietnam, the Eugenics War, Green's War. I have seen more than enough war Admiral. How did these people come to die?"
       "We don't know. The underlying fear is, that we killed them somehow."
       "We did?"
       "With kindness. The documentation is back on my ship, it's easier to show than tell."
       "Which ship?"
       "The Mandalay, in the Starfleet dock."
       "Understood. I'll see you tomorrow then 1200. I need to get this old Lady finished up."

Continued in -- Part three