Strange New Earth

"There's no way to get through," April said.

April kept the team light: Himself, five senior staff officers, four extra security guards in addition to Pagliacci – ten total.  He didn't want to alarm the Cireans, if that could be done, with numbers.  It was an away team, not an invasion force.

He had been debating methods of reaching the 'Cirean' Earth's surface.  Synergy surrounded them, best bet for stealth, his initial desire.  The runabout could traverse nearly any barrier.  But as the craft closed in, phase-cloaked, April ran simulations – more, added to Arcadia's, pre-disembarking.  Output alignment: Fruitless.  Beam-down: Potential maroon.  Scanning from the runabout did not work.  Whatever created the deflection field interfered with sensors in the same way – or so it appeared, initially.  The blockade created an impregnable detection field, down to the quantum level.

At his announcement, the crew-members around him fell silent.  The odds were against them from the start.

He should have felt angry.  His blood should have boiled; he should have been ready to pound fists through walls.  Aliens had in a sense 'abducted', displaced, his entire planet.  He was not the sole Earth-born human in Synergy.  And then it all fell on his shoulders, what to do about it.  No one said much – humbled, perhaps; he couldn't believe they didn't care.  Worse, still, they had little or no chance of success.

Instead he felt oddly and curiously detached, since Synergy sped away from Arcadia for the second time lately, in the opposite direction.  Perhaps he had waited too long.  When he went to see the Borg, he was angry.  He glanced at Haskins, in the corner of his eye in the runabout cabin; wondered what the young XO would think of what April had learned.  He had contemplated going straight back to the other Earth himself, alone.  Would it have been foolhardy?  Was this any less foolhardy?  Risking ten lives on a runabout, instead of just his own?

He should have felt angry that he had to do this, had to go to such lengths.  Starfleet had not authorized this mission, when they should have backed them.  Politics.  He made it clear to his people who came: It was his call, his decision to act.  He had considered not telling them; it made it easier to claim sole responsibility if this worked against them.  Plausible deniability.  They could not be held accountable for what they did not know.  But if he didn't, one of them would have asked, and April was not in the habit of lying.  It made their choices to go on the sortie that much more valuable, self-sacrificing, almost heroic.  Yet all of their heads would be on the chopping block if Starfleet learned of this, if this somehow went horribly awry.

Starfleet.  That should have angered him too.  Split down the middle, between Earth loyalists, mostly human ranks in Starfleet, and those who felt perhaps, just perhaps, Earth was forever out of reach.  As divided as the Federation Council.  The Council had voted; the majority opted for a peaceful solution.  Until that solution came, it was sit around and wait.  This away mission might go completely contrary to that goal.  But time was crucial.  April understood the views from each side of the issue, but Earth might not have that long.  They needed to act now, if Earth was to be saved.  If Earth could be saved.  What if it couldn't be saved?  Then what?

He should have felt angry, yet instead felt detached.  He didn't know why.  Perhaps just his businesslike nature reasserting itself; the no-nonsense approach, the need to get the job done, without time for personal feelings.

April absentmindedly fingered the long flat panel attached to his arm, then looked at it.  'ArmPADD' was the popular term.  Part of a gear set assigned to away teams on long-term assignment – teams not expected to return in the near future.  Starfleet had formed 'cadres' of such teams who traveled the wormhole network, earlier that year.  But no cadre would reach this planet by that route.  The worm-net was sealed from Sol in reaction to the displacement.  He wasn't sure what that solved, if the invaders had slipstream.  One advantage he saw was keeping unauthorized vessels from the 'new' Earth's vicinity – not an unjustified fear.  Reporters would be crawling the area in droves, if Starfleet let them in.  'Earth stolen!' – biggest story of the century.  Starfleet worried: What might provoke the so-called Cirean Covenant?

A worry April shared.

The nature of the foray necessitated extra equipment.  Like all runabouts, Synergy was stocked; how much they would need in the field remained to be determined upon arrival.  They had the basics: Phasers, communicators, tricorders.  Seated around the interior of the runabout, their uniforms sported bandoliers bearing diverse extras, whatever they felt or suspected they needed to operate outdoors.  April contemplated a portable holoprojector, a wallet-sized module easily attached to the belt which disguised the wearer as almost anything desired.  A visual deception; in concert with false emissions, it could fool basic sensors into thinking the wearer was the disguise.  But if the scanners were sophisticated, they would see through it.  He added it to his repertoire, just in case.

Haskins broke out the phasers.  Cao didn't seem to want to take his, as averse as he was to violence and confrontation, but the XO insisted.  On a team, one shared the duty of defense, for the team's sake and the individual's.  Unwillingness placed extra work on the rest of the team and made one a liability, as liable as Mala's implants if she couldn't go 'normally' without.

The trip allowed little time for introspection.  It was a short ride.  From Mars to Earth at warp speed: Seconds.  At slipstream, they would have overshot the mark by sectors and had to return.  They traveled at impulse, and it was still terse.  One-quarter light-speed, 74,833 kilometers per second.  Seventeen minutes.  Impulse served best for masking their trail, avoiding potential detection on either side, Cirean or Starfleet.  Not long for many thoughts about what they went to face.  But accustomed to thinking in different dimensions simultaneously, April couldn't help wondering: Why was he doing this?  The others had their reasons.  What was his?  He tried to distract himself, running and re-running the simulations, searching for weakness in the quantum grid generated by the blockade.  They held position beyond the interlacing grid generated by the golden ships circling the planet – supposedly, hopefully, invisible to the alien sensors.  The same data availed as previously the inescapable conclusion: "There's no way to get through without alerting them."

"So, what do we do?" Haskins asked, breaking the uncomfortable silence.

April weighed options and decided.  "We go in anyway.  Mala..."

The woman at the forward helm controls nodded and swiveled in her chair to face the viewport.

"Going in."  With or without cybernetic implants, she was a Starfleet-trained navigator.  She would never have been allowed into service, let alone near Arcadia, if she could not fly like un-enhanced pilots did, without implants.  Cao's medical report indicated a problem with her implants, yet not incapacitating.  Over-reliance on those implants could make her a liability, in her mind – if she let it.  That she was here said she was making the best of a bum deal.

The nearest of the golden ships shot past as Synergy surged forth.  Simulacra of the familiar Federation Quantum-class shapes, more compact, squatter, longer, than Arcadia.  April studied them on sensors.  Less internal volume: Less crew space.  Minimal hands – if they had any.  In the viewport, the other-Earth turned slowly, the shimmering crescent of its sunward edge thickening, expanding.  The point of no return.  Whatever sensors they used must have registered Synergy.  April tensed, awaiting warning klaxons.  Those ships were armed.  But, no alarms.  That made him worry less and more at the same time.  His recent encounter with the Borg came back in a fleeting impression of being ignored, as the Borg once ignored those they perceived harmless.  Did the 'Cireans' believe the Federation interlopers harmless?  Worse, were they harmless?

They passed the blockade, diving towards the atmosphere.  "Captain," Mala called out, and lifted her hands from the console.  Angle vector continued to weave unfolding white lines on the course screen.  "I'm not flying the runabout."

April threw a forward glance out the window at the looming planet.  "Computer, emergency lockout, Neria-alpha-four-five-seven."

"Negative compliance."

April slung himself into the seat behind Mala, hammered the console like a typist.  Finally he had to give up.  Ahead the planet expanded, turning slowly.  "So much for stealth."

She was feeling less excited than nervous to be in command of the Arcadia once again.  However she felt confident she could handle it.  This was not her first time in the big chair.  She had commanded the ship a few times during her seven, going on eight years of service, aboard the Quantum-class cruiser.  She'd even been in command during emergencies.  As the ranking officer on board, command fell to her, with the captain, first officer and most of the senior staff away.  But she often knew April would return shortly.  She had no idea when he'd be back... or if.  She warned him as she usually did, to be careful, not come back missing both arms or suffering some other devastating condition, like he usually did.  For playing it safe he sure ended up in danger a lot.  Maybe that was why he tried so hard.  He was getting better about it, since he started to walk again.  But what happened to the Starfleet regulation that stated captains had to remain on board and let first officers lead away teams?  Somehow Stephen April always found a way around it when he wanted to.  If an emergency struck this time, she couldn't be in two places at once – and with Cao off the ship, who would tend sickbay?  She wasn't worried under normal circumstances – Roberts could handle sickbay.  But an actual medical emergency, requiring a doctor...  She couldn't be in two places at once.  That new physician, Davalos, might be up to the task, but Tab did not know her very well yet, and Davalos was young.  Tab would have to figure something out.

She thought back to what she had asked the captain before he departed, with Cao, Bauval, Haskins and the others:

"What should I do if someone calls for you?"

Captain April, in a hurry, tossed off, "Make something up," on his way to the transporter room.  They had taken the Synergy, using the runabout's phase-transition properties to mask their trail from Starfleet sensors.

Tab rose and began to pace the bridge, wondering what she would say.  Hopefully no one would call.  In outbound transmissions she communicated indirectly, via automated link, avoiding voice contact which could cause problems.  If something was going to happen, she wished it would just hurry up and happen, so they could get it over with.  She thanked whatever gods or fates existed that they were not being shot at.

She was about to sit back down when she noticed a light blinking on the arm of the captain's chair.  The tactical officer informed her of an incoming hail.  They wanted to speak to the captain directly.  Tabatha turned around to face the screen.  She straightened her uniform jacket as she saw other captains do, from Captain April to the famous Captain Picard.  She wondered if maybe it helped somehow.  It didn't make her feel much better, not more confident or anything like that.  She stood with her feet apart and nodded at the viewscreen.

"On screen, Lieutenant."

The blond Vulcan officer, Vallien, touched a button and a young Hekaran's face appeared.  Tabatha didn't know who he was, but went rigid when the acting first officer, Lieutenant Celina Corgan, leaned over quickly and whispered, "Ohmigod... that's the president."  Tab guessed he would only be calling for the captain.

Tabatha was not accustomed to lying.  She prided herself on being honest, though she never hurt anyone's feelings.  She didn't want to lie to the president of the Federation, of all people.  But she viewed it as the lesser of two evils.

With a straight face she said, "I'm sorry, Mr. President.  The captain is... indisposed."

"Indisposed?" the president said, with a wary expression.

Tabatha's hands fidgeted behind her back; she nodded.  At least that was true.  More or less.

"And you are the first officer?" the president asked.

Tabatha breathed a silent sigh of relief that April had her switch uniform shirts, before he left, from teal to burgundy.  What no one knew wouldn't hurt them... not even the president.  She just hoped he didn't decide to check the ship's crew roster.

"I'm in command," she said, glad again that she wasn't actually lying.  "I'll be happy to relay a message to Captain April, if you like."

"It's urgent that I speak to Commodore April," he corrected her.

Tabatha frowned.  Commodore April?  When did that happen?

She had to think fast.  Lying was not in her nature.  Tell one lie, then that leads to another, then another...  How could she throw him off without arousing suspicion?  What would Captain April do?

She mentally snapped her fingers, thankful that April had the gift of foresight – planning for all the little things, and being ready for them.

"I'll get him.  Please stand by."  She leaned over the command chair, searching for the 'stand-by' button, tapped it and said to Vallien: "Lieutenant, do you know how to access the captain's holo-program?"

"I believe so," Vallien said, seeing what she was getting at.  The Vulcan's hands worked swiftly.

"Turn him on when he's ready," Tabatha said, and bit her lip.  She hoped this worked.

Captain April's holo-duplicate shimmered into place.  Tabatha expected him to say something like emergency medical holograms used to say, years ago – 'please state the nature of the emergency', or something like that.  But the holo-clone had access to the ship's computer logs and systems.  April had made the program to take over on the spot, fully informed.  The holo-April said, "Don't worry about a thing."  He nodded to Vallien.

The president reappeared on the screen.

"Mr. President," the holo-captain greeted the Hekaran.

"Commodore," the president said, smiling.

Tabatha looked questioningly at Corgan, then Vallien.  Commodore?  Both shrugged.

"Have you finished offloading your refugees?" the president asked the 'captain'.

"Not quite, sir."  Half-true: They were beaming the last group aboard the Ohio as they spoke.  "We should be finished by day's end."

If Tab had to stretch it out to make it true, she would.

"Please beam aboard the Galaxy at your earliest convenience," the president said.  "There are matters we must discuss."

"Understood, Mr. President."

The president ended his communication and the April hologram eyed Tabatha.  "I'm aware of the situation," he said.

"Suggestions?" Tabatha said, knowing that the holo-April's program was in fact a separate AI from the ship's computer.

Tricorder in hand, he lifted his eyes, staring at the sky, wondering how it had looked from this planet, before it came here.  He bowed his head, focused on the device.  No birds.  No insects... no animals of any kind.  He lifted his head again, gaze panning the horizon.  Not even trees.  He studied the wide-open plain.  One of the tubular structures rose, dark, far off.  Weeds, microbes, bacteria in the soil... That was about it.

It was the last thing he expected.  He had been sure, from space, that it was all somehow an illusion, a cover.  Life was full of surprises.  And now he was on a mission never once in his life, he thought he would go on.  The situation seemed ironic: Invading his own world, in a sense; aliens in their own environment.  A different Earth, but still Earth.  Most didn't understand how it could be; how this Earth could have developed.  But he knew quantum functionality, had seen it countless times.  He remembered.  All worlds were, somewhere – in one universe or another, with numbers on their side.  Every possible option, every Earth.

He had come expecting a world like his own.  Not necessarily exactly like his own, but like he had known.  A world of humans, or at least humanoids.  A world of cities, and people, and visible technology.  But it was not the world he expected.  Bare, if not barren.  Plains of yellow grass, swaying softly under gentle breeze.  Tiny rocks and pebbles.  Little else to the unaided eye, as little as what tricorders made visible.  A world of deathly quiet, featureless except for grass, for rocks, under the same blue sky.  No trees, no mountains.  Water was scarce; the great rivers on the world stolen from them were streams here, if anything at all.

"Radiation, Captain," Cao said, panning his medical tricorder over the grassy landscape.  "Low-level isotopes, all around us."

April picked up a potato-shaped rock, held it close.  The tricorder chirped and flashed confirmation.  "Harmful?"

"Prolonged exposure would be harmful, after a few days.  We will have to be inoculated."  The away team lined up; Cao moved around, administering hypodermic injections to everyone, including himself.

April wished he had brought a science officer along.  He examined readings on his own general purpose tricorder, tilting his head as Cao touched the hypo to his neck.  Radiation type and saturation indicated possible use of weapons on a planetary bombardment scale – not thermonuclear, but something more advanced.  It was just a guess.  Vegetation was scarce, animal lifeforms nonexistent.  April smacked his lips, a sudden strange taste in his mouth.  He smelled strawberries.  Must be the inoculation, he thought.  Then he thought of the black hole in the Cirean transmission.  Libra's report.  Redirected solar winds, pummeling the planet, pulled by the black hole's gravity.  Yet he knew something about black holes.  That should have been impossible.  Planets could orbit a black hole with little adverse effect.  Only at the event horizon did matter get pulled in.  The singularity would have to be very, very close to have such an effect.  Perhaps the radiation had originated from another source.

Interesting though it was, the primary focus of this information-gathering mission was to find an information storage center – to find out how they switched Earths, and if possible, how to reverse it.  However, finding information was not easy when no one would talk to you.  Finding information was not easy when there was no one to talk to you.

April led them towards the nearest sign of civilization, the tubular structure connecting horizon to horizon, part of the planetary lattice.  Twenty-eight minutes passed until they reached the structure.  It was huge, over a hundred feet high, neutral beige metallic.  Underneath it was not as smooth; they saw girders, pylons, tubes, running parallel with the structure, its entire length, disappearing into the distance.  A latent sense of power emanated from the structure, an inaudible hum which set hairs on end.  Energy spikes danced on tricorder displays.  A distribution network of some sort.  What did it supply?  The lattice reminded him of a particle collider, but with no detectable reactor.

"Radiation levels are approaching dangerous levels," Cao announced.  "I recommend departing this platform, before inoculation limit is surpassed."

"Haskins, take Pagliacci and Bauval, scout the other side," April said.  "Might be a long shot but maybe we'll find something."

Pagliacci pulled two of the guards with them, leaving two with April, Hendriksson and Cao.

On the side of the lattice whence they came, Mala said, "Captain, look."

April stood shoulder to shoulder with the flight controller, gazing at her tricorder, stepped away and pulled out his own.  Electromagnetic readings had taken a turn.  Before, none; now, everywhere.  Something was happening on the plain.  What?  Indefinable: Scans oscillated, if not randomly, then along no pattern he knew.  He looked ahead, behind, turned, walked ten meters out.  The readings didn't stop or change.  He rejoined his half of the landing party.

They watched the plain shift suddenly: The landscape fluctuated in all directions, like waves on a lake reflecting the sun.  Colors rippled into view, distant, indistinct.  Shapes appeared, flowing, murky as sand in water, dissolved, then rematerialized.  The long girder remained, solid and constant, behind them.

"April to Haskins.  Are you reading this?"  He waited: No response.  He glanced at the high-rising structure, its radiation interfering.

Supple, long-limbed and fleet.  This was the humanoid that appeared before them, moving around a single, purple-leafed tree which had similarly manifested from nowhere, in the middle of the plain, near the structure.  It... he, she?... danced around the base of the tree, snatching then releasing branches in some strange game of solitaire tag.  Coppery skin flexed over well-defined muscles, shiny like horse-hide, coated with a fine reddish down.  April glimpsed a vaguely human face and wondered if he was looking at some divergent breed of evolution, since this was an alternative Earth, or some other species entirely.

The clue to sentience was its attire.  Bright fabric – yellow, red, white, lime green, gaudy but delicately contrasted.  Bony ribs protruded on the sides, accented by the cut of the attire, a narrow vertical strip from neck to groin.  April doubted many animals dressed that well.  The body inside proved far more interesting: Elongated face on a narrow head, from top to bottom, ending in a rounded, pointy chin.  Nostrils thick, flat and far apart, eyes with oval pupils, irises ruddy brown.  April thought of an ancient Chinese statuette, or Olmec sculpture, or some mythical animal were-god, exaggerated and alive.  The humanoid moved differently than most – knees backwards-jointed, the same angle as humans' elbowed upper limbs, providing a weird gait and spring to his step.  Arms as long as the legs branched from a round, wiry torso, slightly further forward than on humans.  It reminded April of Regulans, without as many legs.

The humanoid snorted, nostrils flaring, paced back and forth in a half-circle, at a distance.  His eyes studied the group.  April couldn't read the expression, but he seemed more curious than afraid.  What did a more advanced civilization have to fear from a lesser one?  For that matter, was this... person... actually part of a more advanced civilization?  They still didn't know what the 'Cirean Covenant' was.  The term Cirean did not have to mean their race.  Perhaps several races lived here, as on his own Earth.  But then, where were they all?

April glanced sidelong at his portion of the away team, took a slow step forward.  "Hello...."

The humanoid stopped pacing and bent, almost to the soil, then held that pose.  April realized the arms could be front legs.  He might stand easily on all fours, or break into a four-legged run.  The humanoid inched forward then leapt at April.  He jumped, startled, but held his ground, with no time to do otherwise.  The humanoid snorted with a gasp through its large, flat nostrils, then leapt back before April could react.  Slower, the humanoid came towards him again, sniffing.  April licked his lips, gone dry, standing still while the stranger sniffed him, from one side then the other.  The humanoid's breath stank.  The head slid up beside his, nostrils twitching, sniffing his neck, his ears, his face.  The humanoid's expression twisted into a sneer and he retreated.  Maybe April stank, to him.

He bounded to the tree, plucked a leafy clump of twigs, returned and held it out.  Some kind of ritual greeting, perhaps.  April held his palm out, not sure whether he was supposed to take it.  Customs were wide and varied, not always clearly evident.  Taking them might have offended the creature.  But the humanoid placed them in his palm, kept one leafy clump for himself and motioned to the rest of the group, as if perhaps April should hand them out.  April looked at the clump, took part and handed the rest to Cao, not sure what to do next.  They felt real, in his grip.  Real leaves, real twigs.

"Can you speak?" April addressed the creature.

"This is not a problem," the humanoid said, surprising him with his verbal alacrity.  April realized he didn't know what he was expecting – grunts, growls or some form of primitive animal language, maybe.  The humanoid gestured.  "You will accept my happiest greetings?"

April looked at the clump of leaves in his hand.  A hundred questions poured into mind, and he wasn't sure where to start.  He said, "With pleasure."

The creature grimaced, baring blunt, round teeth in another sneer.  Herbivorous.  "You will eat?"  The eyes glanced to his hand, waiting.

April eyed the offering, traded looks with his people and shrugged.  When in Rome.  It was not like they didn't eat plants.  He touched the leaves to his lips, sniffed softly, nibbled on one.  It tasted like a leaf.  He swallowed before speaking again; talking with one's mouth full was rude in some cultures.  The stuff went down in a wet lump, rough and fibrous.  "Do you have a name?"

The humanoid uttered a repetitive, squawking sound; skin quivered around his jaw.  Laughter?  "Correct."

April waited, half-smiling.  The creature said nothing.  "May I ask what your name is?"

"Oh'ctanti'tir ec ort'it navn'."

April blinked.  "That is your name?"

The head bobbed.  "Oh'ctanti'tir."

April tried to sound it out.  "Oh..."  Raspy H, followed by a guttural pause, preceding a sound he couldn't pronounce, but tried anyway, the back of his tongue against the roof of his mouth and exhaling while trying to form an S – then, "tant-ee-tihr."

The humanoid cocked its head strangely at April's attempt.  "You are most welcome."

April wondered if he had just inadvertently thanked him for something.  He gestured at the tree.  "May I ask what you were doing, just now?"

"Bubble-string experimentation."

April gazed at the tree.  "String...?  As in, string theory?"

"Incorrect.  This is more associative.  Interpolated logic, reasoning.  Thought-shapes.  You do not see."  Obviously there was more here than they could see, more than met the eye.  The humanoid closed his.  The orbs shifted, flicking under brown eyelids.  "This music, most likable.  Such soft, sweet symphony."

April frowned, didn't know what he was talking about.  "Are you... alone, out here?"

Oh'ctanti'tir opened his eyes.  "You are here."

"I mean..."  April swept a hand over the wide-open expanse.  "Are there others, of your kind?"

"Most certainly."

"May we see them?"

"This is not my decision, Stephen Boone April."

April froze.  "You know who I am?"

"Most clearly.  We know all to know of you.  We see you, even now."

"Then... you know why we're here...?"

"Correct."

And if he knew, if they all knew, they might try to stop them.  Might very well stop them, period.  They could have already stopped them.  But then why had they been brought here?

"Can you help us?"

"This is a problem."

April waited, but got nothing.  His way of saying no?  "Who decides whether we're allowed to see your people?"

"They do, of natural order.  It is their decision.  It is my happiness to greet you."

April stroked his chin for a moment.  This being's speech did not translate as clear and comprehensible as Yort's, the self-identified 'Assigned Speaker' in the opening transmission from this planet.  He didn't know why, but the distinction was noteworthy.  Yort, whoever he was, could have better translation equipment... or perhaps spoke a different language.  Even their names were notably different – the simple sound of 'Yort' compared to the complex sophistication of Oh'ctanti'tir.  If April understood correctly – not yet guaranteed – this being came to them willingly?... with or without permission.  April tried to deduce an implied hierarchy, if there was a hierarchy.  But that didn't necessarily matter so much as just finding the information they came to find – if they could find where it was stored.  This... Oh'ctanti'tir already knew, or claimed to know, what it was they were after.  He didn't think it could be so simple as asking where it was and getting a straight answer, but gave it a shot: "If you know why we're here... where can we find the information we seek?"

"This is not my choice to share, Stephen Boone April."

The comment circled in April's mind back to where it started: Who made such a choice?  They needed to learn more, to gain a better understanding of this culture.  Yet there was little time.  "Then why were we brought here?  Who took control of our craft, and why?"

"You did desire to arrive?"

"Yes, but..."  It was difficult to come right out and say 'We wanted to come of our own volition, to take information which you might not give us.'  More difficult considering, whoever or whatever controlled the runabout could prevent its departure.  What could they do, now that they were here?  "Are we free to leave?"

"That is your choice."

"And if we choose to stay?"

The humanoid stopped munching, studying him.  "Your string is complicated."

This was beginning to get annoying.  April felt insignificant, trying to assemble puzzle pieces in his mind in a pattern that made sense, when he didn't know the picture.  But at least the 'more advanced' species was talking to the lesser.  "I don't understand."

"You would seek the light?"

"The light..."  April didn't know what that meant either.  It could mean many things.  He took the opening: "I would like to understand what the light is."

"You do not see the light."

Question, or declaration?  "Perhaps we would like to see.  If you would... help us."

"This is not my responsibility."  Oh'ctanti'tir appeared to deliberate, thoughtfully chewing on some leaves.  "Remain.  If it is agreed that education is deservable, we will be happy to extend contact."

Oh'ctanti'tir vanished, along with the tree.  Quiet resumed, across the whispering plain.  April looked around, but saw no more sign of life.