section7mfu | Of Desert Sands and Zebra Finches (What's My Line 2/4)

(This is technically a continuation of Monday's piece but can be read independently of it. Also, I work with zebra finches at grad school and actually asked my research adviser if this was a plausible scenario; he said it definitely was)

Illya was certain that he could take no more of the desert heat. From New Zealand, they had made their way to Australia. Though it had seemed as though they had eluded THRUSH and would be ready to take a public flight back to U.N.C.L.E. New Delhi, THRUSH had managed to track them down again—and had chased them into the unforgiving Outback. They’d been on the run again, but, unlike New Zealand, with its pleasant expanses of gorgeous lands and enough freshwater streams to keep them hydrated, the red earth of the Outback was merciless. And for someone like Illya, who had been used to cold climates all of his life, he was certain that he would meet his end by heat exhaustion.

He had already gotten past the point of being able to walk; Napoleon was carrying him piggyback now as they searched desperately for one of the cattle ranches or watering holes that dotted the desert’s vast expanse. What little water they had been carrying in their canteens was now reduced to a few sips; Illya had drunk the lion’s share at Napoleon’s insistence—the Russian was clearly taking the heat worse, and the American had made it a point to make sure that he was staying hydrated.

“Illya?”

“Mm?”

“You should have some more water now.”

“My canteen is empty,” Illya sighed. There was one solution to their conundrum, but he knew Napoleon would never go for it. Still, he had to ask… “You know, Napoleon, perhaps it would be best if you were to leave me here and find help yourself.”

“I wouldn’t leave you even if you had a dozen canteens full of water,” Napoleon insisted. “Here, take my canteen—there’s a little bit left. You drink it.”

“No!” Illya exclaimed, and then cringed as his head pounded. “You’re the one exerting yourself—you need the water!”

“I don’t want to argue about that,” Napoleon insisted, deciding that this called for pulling rank. “I’m the senior agent—”

“That doesn’t make you immune to heat exhaustion!”

“Illya,” Napoleon said, sternly. “Drink.”

Illya took the canteen from Napoleon, but hesitated before beginning to drink from it.

“Illya, did you hear me?” Napoleon said.

“I did, but… listen!”

“…What am I supposed to be listening to?” Napoleon asked, scowling slightly as he strained to hear what was going on. “All I hear are some loud birds.”

“Exactly, Napoleon—those are zebra finches! Their colonies are always near water sources!”

The American exhaled in relief.

“Okay,” he said. “I’ll follow the sound of the birds. But you drink that water in the canteen right now.”

Illya obeyed, but he did leave one sip of water just in case the birds ended up being farther away than first thought. It turned out that he had been right the first time, however, and soon, both he and Napoleon were quenching their thirst at a watering hole, surrounded by a flock of curious, garrulous finches that were observing the humans with interest from some nearby shrubs.

As for Illya and Napoleon, they rested and refreshed themselves, the water restoring their strength and keeping them cool again. They would wait for the sun to sink lower in the sky before going on the run again. For now, they would rest in the company of the finches—and each other.