Title: Lost In Darkness
Authors: Sita/T'eyla
Genre: Angst/Drama
Rating: R
Summary: When an away mission goes wrong, Trip and Malcolm find themselves in a situation that puts their friendship to the test...
Disclaimer: We don't own, we don't own, we REALLY don't own! Please don't sue... but well... oh, go ahead, we don't have any money anyway!
AN: Warning: Very angsty fic, and some violence in it, too, so if you don't like that, please don't read any further. By the way, this is no slash. Please R&R!
________
Chapter 1
Sticky liquid trickled into his eyes, blurring his vision. Malcolm raised his hand to wipe off the blood, and a moment later almost lost his balance as the guard yanked on his arm, pushing him forward.
"Move!"
Blinking furiously, Malcolm stumbled on, the sound of their boots on the concrete floor of the corridor echoing in his ears. The cut on his brow was throbbing painfully, and his head felt like it was going to burst. The sharp white light in the interrogation room had triggered a stinging pain behind his forehead, and as they came to a halt in front of the cell door, Malcolm swayed a little, a wave of dizzyness washing over him.
The guard pushed a combination of buttons on the panel beside the door and it slid open. For a moment he paused, looking Malcolm up and down, his features devoid of any expression. When Malcolm met his gaze, he had the impression of staring into a blank space, the strange pale eyes of the man blending in almost completely with his pallid white skin. It was like looking at a negative of a photo, the usual patterns of black and white reversed.
The guard released his arm, giving him a hard shove, and Malcolm stumbled into the cell, dizzyness clouding up his vision once again. The door slid shut.
"Malcolm!"
He felt a steadying hand on his arm and managed to regain his balance. Straightening up, he looked into Trip's face and almost startled at how haggard the Commander's features looked in the odd blue light of the ceiling lamp.
"What happened?"
Trip's grip was firm on his arm as he guided him over to a corner of their bare cell, helping him sit down on the cold concrete floor. Malcolm leaned back against the wall, not trusting himself to speak until the worst of the nausea had passed. Trip sat down beside him, studying him with a worried expression on his face.
"You okay?"
Malcolm nodded and swallowed, trying to get rid of the vile taste on his tongue. "I'm all right."
Trip did not seem convinced, but didn't pursue the matter any further. He shifted, leaning against the wall beside Malcolm.
"What is this place?"
Malcolm let his eyes wander over the dimly lit room. His memories of the last few hours were strangely vague, only consisting of incoherent fragments and images. He remembered walking into that bar, V'neran patrons sitting at crude wooden tables, raising indifferent eyes as they entered. This image was pretty clear to him; he even remembered some detailed features of the smoky bar room, but at that point his memory seemed to have been cut off, simply erased. The only thing he remembered afterwards was waking up in this cell, finding Trip lying unconscious on the floor beside him, their face appliances gone. And the interrogation, of course.
He shook his head slightly. "I don't know. I don't know who those people are, either, but they're not V'neran. They..."
He paused, the image of the tall, hooded figures that had surrounded him in that brightly lit room coming to his mind. They'd been talking to him, but he hadn't been able to get a glimpse of their faces, and he'd had the distinct impression they were using speaking devices, for their voices had sounded hollow and impersonal.
"... they were hiding their faces, but their build is different. They're taller."
Trip frowned. "Like the one who took you back?"
Malcolm thought of the guard's blank white face, the only one not hidden behind layers of cloth, and shook his head.
"I don't know. Maybe."
He felt something warm trickle down his brow and, raising a hand he noticed the cut on his forehead had started bleeding again. Dabbing it off with the cuff of his shirt, he saw Trip eyeing him concernedly.
"It's okay," he said, but Trip kept watching him closely, his features hardening as he took a good look at his friend for the first time since Reed had entered the cell. Malcolm realized he must be looking quite a sight, his hands and face smeared with blood, his left eye puffy and swollen shut.
"I'm okay, really."
Trip didn't seem to believe him, though. "What did they do? Did they say what they want?"
Malcolm shrugged. "Not really. The only question I fully understood was when they asked me where we're from."
Trip raised his eyebrows. "What d'ya mean, the only one you fully understood?"
"They kept asking these strange questions. Or maybe their translator didn't work right. They seemed to make no sense."
"Their translator was able to handle English?"
Malcolm frowned. He hadn't realized this before, but come to think of it, it was rather strange.
"Yes... it was able to translate their language even before I said anything. Don't know how they would have got the UT matrix, though."
Trip stared at him for a moment, thinking. "Maybe... maybe they picked up our transmission. When Enterprise contacted us, I mean."
Malcolm felt his hands grow even colder. "Then they know they've left."
He met Trip's eyes and saw his own feelings mirrored on the Commander's face. When Archer had contacted them yesterday, telling them Enterprise had received a distress call and would be leaving for a nearby system soon, they both had been reluctant to end their observation mission early, pleading with Archer to leave them behind. Archer had refused at first, but when Malcolm had assured him there was no security risk whatsoever, the V'nerans being an extraordinarily gentle and peaceful people, the Captain had reluctantly agreed.
Enterprise would be back in about ten days, of course, but at the moment it made no difference whether Enterprise was going to be back in a week or in a year. If their mysterious captors had really picked up the transmission, they knew no one was going to come for their rescue anytime soon.
"There's no other way they coulda gotten the UT matrix," Trip said finally. "They must've picked up that transmission."
Malcolm nodded. "It's no surprise either. The V'nerans haven't even developed radio yet. The transmission must have shown up on their scanners like a beacon."
Trip sat back against the wall, shaking his head. "But who are they? What're they doin' on this planet?"
"I don't know." Malcolm leaned back as well. "I don't think they're up to any good, though."
Gingerly, he touched the bruising on his cheekbone and winced as a sharp twinge of pain seared through his head. It hadn't been that bad before, but by now his left eye had started throbbing painfully, and the cut on his forehead was burning like hell. Trip looked at him, the worried expression back on his face.
"You sure nothing's broken?" he asked, and Malcolm shook his head.
"I'm fine," he repeated, forcing a reassuring smile. Trip was not to be fooled, though.
"Yeah, sure. You look like it, too." He paused. "What the hell did they do this for, anyway? You said they didn't ask any real questions, didn't you?"
Malcolm shrugged again. "Guess they were just demonstrating a bit. Trying to frighten me into doing what they want, or something. They were talking about 'cooperation' all the time, but I don't really know what they need our cooperation for."
"I don't think I want to know," Trip muttered, drawing his knees up to his chest. For a while they sat in silence, and Malcolm felt the cold radiating from the concrete floor creep into his arms and legs. He shivered, feeling the pain stinging behind his forehead worsen. The cold blue light of the ceiling lamp hurt his eyes, and he shifted, trying to find a more comfortable position. Wearily he leaned his head against the wall and closed his eyes, letting his mind drift.
A few minutes later Malcolm was fast asleep, and he never noticed when he shifted in his sleep, his head coming to rest on Trip's shoulder. Trip made no move to push him away, but simply sat there with his arms wrapped around his knees, staring into nothingness.
-###-
When the Researchers had told him it would be his job to document the subjects' activities, the Guard had given a curt affirmative as usual, not letting any of his personal sentiments show through. But he had not been very impressed.
It was not his responsibility as a guard to do this. He had never wanted to be part of their research project, not even as an observer of test subjects. His job was Security, and he didn't want to do anything else. He'd never been part of their research project before either, but now they had apparently decided they needed his services in this, and it was not his place to object to their orders.
Now, sitting in this crammed observation chamber where the only source of light was the small monitor in front of him, he felt strangely restless. He was used to being active throughout most of the day, patrolling the corridors of the Base, going through his daily Security checks that were so very familiar to him after such a long time. Being confined to this room with nothing to do made him nervous, and he wished he could be out there, doing what he was used to.
Leafing through the pages of the observation log, he re-read what he'd taken down so far and felt a surge of irritation as he contemplated the futility of what he was doing. He could not see what use these log entries would be to the Researchers, or why they would need the activities of the subjects so meticulously documented.
As he read through the entries again, he could not find one single piece of information that might be useful to the Researchers in any way.
Time: 34776
Subject 1 taken back to cell. Subject 2 seems agitated.
Conversation between Subject 1 and Subject 2:
- come to the conclusion that they are not being held by inhabitants of this planet
- Subject 2 questions Subject 1 about interrogation
- Subject 2 states that the translator matrix was probably extracted from recorded
transmission
- further conversation about irrelevant matters
Time: 34783
End conversation.
Time: 34795
Subject 1 falls asleep.
The Guard raised his head and looked back up at the screen. There hadn't been any changes since he'd last checked the monitor. Subject 1 was still sleeping, leaning against Subject 2, who sat huddled up against the wall, staring blankly into space. His face was partly turned away from the hidden camera, but all the same the Guard thought he looked worried. Frightened, maybe. He couldn't tell for sure, though; the aliens' features were so different. Their skin was of a strange hue, something between pink and light brown, and their scalps were covered in some kind of fur, which in a way made them look like V'nerans. They hadn't had any problems to pass as V'nerans either, using those face appliances the Researchers had found so fascinating. They were still wearing V'neran clothing, too.
Watching them on the monitor, the Guard wondered what these aliens had been doing on V'nera, anyway. The planet had no natural resources worth mentioning and since most of the planet's surface was covered in solid ice, mining was made almost impossible. They couldn't possibly have been spying for technology, either, since they were obviously a lot more advanced than the V'nerans. He'd done a few security scans of their ship before it had left, and had found it to be quite interesting, if not overly impressive. He couldn't see why they would mingle with the planet's population, disguising themselves as V'nerans, and he could certainly see no reason for their ship to leave them behind. But then, these people might have motivations so different that they were beyond him to understand.
A movement on the screen caught his attention. Subject 2 was pulling off his jacket, and once he had removed it, he carefully spread it over the sleeping one, then leaned back against the wall so that the other's head came to rest on his shoulder again. The Guard watched him, frowning. He'd noticed earlier that the temperature in the cell seemed to be uncomfortably low to the aliens, and now without his jacket that one must be even colder. Sure enough, a moment later the Guard saw him shiver and wondered why he would be doing such a thing, if it only meant more inconveniences for him. The Guard remembered that he'd been acting quite strangely before, asking over and over again whether the other one was "okay", clearly referring to the other alien's injuries he'd sustained during the interrogation. Apparently this species was acting on very different codes of conduct, and the Guard resigned to the fact that he probably wouldn't be able to understand them, anyway.
But it had often been that way with all the different subjects he'd seen over the years. They'd been from various species, and many of them had displayed odd behaviour of this or that kind when first captured, but when the tests began, he'd found they all reacted quite the same way in the end. It wouldn't be a lot different with these two, either, he thought, glancing back at the screen. To his surprise, he found that he was actually feeling some kind of regret at the thought of them going through the same ordeal the many others had gone through before. He did not know why he would feel that way concerning these two aliens, in particular. The tests, however, were something he had never approved of. He didn't know what kind of information exactly the Researchers were after, and although he had never asked, the tests didn't seem to lead to any enlightening results. The only result he'd ever seen were another one or two bodies for him to get rid of, but of course it was not his place to question the Researchers' motivations.
Still, watching those two sitting on the floor of the holding cell while he was fully aware of the fact that both of them would be dead in six days at the most, he felt that strange pang of regret.
He picked up his log to put down what Subject 2 had just done, then paused. Thinking about it, he doubted this particular piece of information would be of any interest to the Researchers. Putting his log back down, he leaned back in his chair and resumed watching the screen, where the two aliens sat next to each other, not moving or speaking a single word.
Chapter 2
When Trip first saw the Researchers, he knew what Malcolm had been talking about when he'd said they looked "scary". There were three of them, each one at least seven feet tall and all clad in the same pale blue laboratory coats, their faces concealed by some kind of mask or veil. The most unsettling thing about them, however, were their voices. They sounded somehow distorted, as if they were using some kind of electronic device to produce voice-like sounds.
When Trip was first brought into the interrogation room, none of them spoke to him, though, them being thoroughly occupied with comparing their notepadds, talking to each other in low voices. One of them gave the guard an absentminded wave of his hand, and he pushed Trip towards a chair that stood in the middle of the room. When Trip made no move to sit down, the guard gave him a hard shove and he lost his balance, plopping down onto the seat rather unceremoniously.
"Hey, take it easy, buddy!" Trip said indignantly. The guard's head snapped around, and although his features had that strange blankness to them, Trip thought he looked rather surprised.
He shrugged. "Well, no need to push me around like that, is there?"
The guard's eyes actually widened in astonishment, but then his face grew as indifferent as it had been before and he resumed his military stance beside the chair.
"Shut up, midget," he growled out of the corner of his mouth and Trip had the distinct impression that his voice sounded slightly amused.
Now, I don't think this is funny, Trip thought sourly, shifting on the rather uncomfortable seat of the chair.
None of the blue-clad ones had paid any attention to the short conversation, but now one of them turned around, looking at the guard who still stood at attention beside the chair.
"These observation logs are inadequate," he said, gesturing at a padd in his hand. "Next time I expect you to be more precise in your descriptions."
The guard drew himself up even straighter. "Yessir."
The man, who seemed to be some kind of supervisor, turned to the others who were still busy with their notepadds.
"Assistants, I suggest we begin the procedure," he said, and his two subordinates abandoned their padds at once, coming up beside him. With the three veiled figures looming over him, Trip felt nervousness build a knot in his guts, and the words left his mouth before he even had the chance to think about was he was saying.
"Well I don't think much of the way you treat your guests here."
He bit his tongue. For God's sake, keep your mouth shut, he thought. This isn't getting you anywhere.
Sure enough, a second later one of the assistants slapped him hard across the face.
"You are not to speak unless we ask you a question," said the supervisor, sounding like a bad imitation of Don Corleone with that raspy voice of his. Trip shook his head, trying to stop his brain from conjuring up these crazy associations.
"Okay, okay," he muttered without thinking, and a moment later his head snapped back as a fist connected with his cheekbone.
"You are not to speak unless we ask you a question."
Alright, alright, I got it, Trip thought, straightening up in his chair. He looked up at the supervisor, who was checking something on his padd. His cheek was throbbing painfully, and the longer the silence stretched, the supervisor going through his notes and the assistants standing motionless beside him, the more Trip felt his anxiety deepen.
Well, what now, he thought, feeling the urge to shout the words out loud. This was getting stranger every minute, and along with his growing nervousness Trip felt the desperate wish to talk, to ask questions that would help him understand what was going on. But he knew it would get him nowhere. Pressing his lips together to prevent himself from provoking them even further, he fixed the supervisor with a wary look, waiting for him to do or say something. The man took his time, however, scrolling through his padd, and Trip was already about to open his mouth again when he finally raised his head.
"Describe the feelings you are currently experiencing."
"Huh?" Trip said, not believing he'd heard him right. Without warning one of the assistants stepped forward, delivering a vicious blow to his stomach. Trip doubled over, pain wrenching his guts, and for a moment he thought he was going to be sick.
"Describe the feelings you are currently experiencing."
Slowly, Trip sat up, holding his stomach. He looked up at the supervisor who was scribbling something on his padd, his voice betraying no emotion whatsoever as he repeated the order.
"What..." He felt another wave of nausea, and swallowed hard to keep himself from throwing up. "What's this supposed to be? Some kind of sick psycho game?"
Fresh pain exploded in his face as the assistant hit him again. Trip felt his lip split and tasted blood on his tongue. The pain triggered a sudden fury in him and he jumped up from his chair, lunging at the assistant who took a quick step backwards. A moment later he felt the guard's hand on his arm, forcing him back down onto the chair.
"What's wrong with you people?" Trip shouted, trying to free himself from the guard's firm grip. "What do you want, anyway?"
"It's no use," the guard said. Trip startled when he heard his voice. The man hadn't spoken in a threatening tone of voice, like one would expect of a guard talking to a rebellious prisoner, but sounded almost regretful. Trip stopped wriggling and slumped back in his chair, realizing he was only wasting his energy, putting up a useless struggle. The guard was right; it was no use and would only serve to get him into even more trouble than he already was. The supervisor, who'd retreated hastily when Trip had gotten up, stepped forward again, his notepadd ready.
"Describe the feelings you are currently experiencing."
"Well, what d'ya think?" Trip spat, wiping blood off his chin. "I'm feelin' like rippin' your ugly head off and stuffin' it up your ass, if you really wanna know!"
The supervisor scribbled something on his padd, then looked back at Trip.
"Specify."
Trip stared at him for a moment, then felt a sarcastic grin tug at the corner of his mouth. "Well, I'd be happy to show ya," he said. A moment later the assistant drove a fist into his still aching stomach and Trip gave a strangled cry, doubling over on the chair. He felt bile rise up in his throat and started retching, his stomach clenching up painfully. A particularly nasty stab of pain seared through his midriff, and he threw up, bloody vomit spattering all over the clean white tiles of the floor.
From far away he heard the supervisor's voice again.
"Specify your statement."
Trip stayed as he was, his arms wrapped around his aching belly. The worst of the nausea had passed, but he knew that if he was to sit up, the pain would get much worse than it already was. Out of the corner of his eyes he saw a movement and closed his eyes tightly, his body tensing as he waited for someone to grab him and yank him upward.
"Leave me alone," he whispered. "You can see how I'm feelin'. Why can't you leave me alone?"
He felt a hand grab him by the back of his shirt, forcing him to sit up again. It felt like someone had plunged a knife into his guts and was now twisting and turning it mercilessly. Tears of pain rose in his eyes, blurring his vision and when the assistant raised his arm again to deliver another blow, Trip couldn't even find the strength to try and duck away. The man's fist crashed into his already battered face and for a moment blackness ragged his vision, making him sway on his chair.
"You are being uncooperative," the supervisor stated. "Specify your statement."
As Trip saw the assistant step forward again, arm ready to strike, he knew he couldn't take another blow like that without passing out. And although in his current state he would have welcomed any kind of obliviousness to take him away from this place, he didn't want to give in to unconsciousness just now. Who knew what they would do to him if he wasn't able to answer their questions anymore? For answers - correct answers to their sick, twisted questions - seemed to be the only thing they reacted to. Slowly he raised his eyes, arms still protectively wrapped around his waist, and forced himself to open his mouth and speak.
"I'm... I'm feelin' angry, okay?" His voice sounded hoarse, and he had to clear his throat before he could continue. "I'm angry, furious... whatever you want to call it."
The supervisor noted something on his padd, then looked up again.
"Do you feel threatened?"
Trip stared at the man, hating every single aspect of his person, from the harsh indifferent voice down to that ominous mask hiding his face. When he didn't answer immediately, the assistant came forward again, raising his hand.
"Yes!" Trip yelled, shaking with pain and fury, "yes, I do feel threatened, but I'd say you already know that, you sick asshole-"
The assistant backhanded him across the face, causing his lip to start bleeding again. Trip felt dizzyness and nausea clouding up his mind, and had to clench his teeth to stop himself from throwing up again.
"You will restrict your answers to the requested information." The supervisor tucked away his padd, crossing his arms in front of his chest. "I advise you to be more cooperative in the future. You are wasting our time, and in the upcoming tests your cooperation will be of utmost importance."
Trip took a deep breath, trying to stop his hands from shaking. Don't provoke them, he thought, don't give them the satisfaction...
The supervisor gave the guard a wave of his hand, and Trip felt a hand on his arm, pulling him upwards. He stumbled to his feet and almost fell when another wave of dizzyness washed over him. The guard's grip on his arm tightened, and he was being pulled towards the door. The supervisor and his assistants didn't pay him the slightest attention anymore, again comparing their notes, probably discussing the results of their "questioning".
The door of the interrogation room closed behind them, and Trip found himself stumbling along the same dimly lit corridor they had passed before. The supervisor's last remark about "upcoming tests" still lingered in his mind. It sounded like nothing he would want to know about, but still there was the nagging question what exactly the supervisor might have meant by it. Aware of the fact that this was probably a very stupid thing to do, Trip cleared his throat, addressing the guard, who hadn't once looked at him since they'd left the room.
"What... what exactly are those tests they were talkin' about?"
The guard didn't turn his head. "What do you think?" he said. "They're tests. You'll see soon enough."
This statement certainly didn't lessen Trip's anxiousness in any way, but he decided not to ask further. On rather unsteady legs he followed the guard through the corridor and tried not to think of what was about to come, concentrating on the prospect of being able to rest soon.
Chapter 3
The cell door opened and Malcolm, who'd been nervously pacing the small room for the last sixty minutes, stopped in his tracks and turned around. The guard stood in the doorway, holding Trip by the arm. The Commander was more hanging in the guard's grip than standing on his own feet, and when the guard gave him a slight shove, pushing him into the cell, he stumbled and would have fallen if Reed hadn't caught him.
"Commander!"
Reed put an arm around Trip's waist and guided him over to the wall, helping him sit down. Trip didn't seem able or willing to speak at the moment, drawing his knees up to his chest and closing his eyes. Malcolm experienced a sinking feeling as his eyes fell on his friend's battered face. Trip looked awful, his mouth and lips caked with dry blood, both his eyes badly bruised and swollen shut. He had his arms wrapped around his midriff, bending forward as if he were in pain.
"Trip, what happened?" Malcolm crouched beside him, laying a tentative hand on Trip's shoulder. Trip raised his head, forcing his swollen eyelids apart, and had just opened his mouth to speak when he started coughing, his body shaking violently. Moaning softly, he bent forward again, squeezing his eyes shut, and Malcolm's concern deepened as he saw the Commander's face contort in pain. Putting an arm around Trip's shoulders, he held him until the coughing subsided. Then he helped him lean back against the wall and got up.
"Wait a minute, I'll get you something to drink."
Quickly, he walked over to where he'd put the jug of water the guard had brought earlier, and poured some of the stale liquid into the plastic cup. Kneeling back down next to Trip, he helped him guide the cup to his lips and felt a surge of relief when Trip slowly, awkwardly took a sip and swallowed.
"Yes, that's right. Take it easy," he said in what he hoped to be a calming tone of voice. After Trip had taken a few more sips he seemed to have had enough, and Malcolm set the cup down on the floor.
"Feeling better now?" he asked, and Trip nodded, wiping his lip that had started bleeding again.
"Thanks Malcolm," he said, his voice sounding hoarse. Malcolm noticed that he was still sitting in a slightly awkward, hunched up position, holding his stomach as if it were hurting badly.
"Are you injured?" he asked. Trip shook his head.
"No, it's alright," he said. "I'm just a little..."
Another coughing fit racked his body and he curled up tighter, wincing in pain.
"Just a little injured," Reed stated dryly. He put a hand on Trip's arm, and noticed how tense his muscles were. "Let me take a look at it, okay?"
Trip shook his head, closing his eyes again. Malcolm studied his weary, pain-lined face, and bit his lip. Maybe Trip was hurt worse than he'd thought.
"Come on, Trip," he urged. "Don't be silly. Let me take a look at it."
When the Commander only sat there, showing no reaction at all, Reed carefully pulled away Trip's arms and lifted up his shirt. At the sight of the dark bruises and swelling on Trip's abdomen, Malcolm took in a sharp breath.
Looks like there's been some inner bleeding, he thought. What the hell did they do?
Trying to cover up his startled reaction, he let go of Trip's shirt, pulling it back down. He looked up at the Commander's face and tried to keep his voice calm as he spoke.
"What did they do?"
Trip slowly turned his head, opening his eyes again. "They kept askin' me these questions... how do I feel, do I feel threatened and so on... when I wouldn't answer they... well, they didn't like that."
Reed remembered that they'd asked him similar things when he'd been questioned, but they hadn't been very persistent, soon proceeding to taking scans of his body, poking and prodding him when they didn't get any satisfying answers to their questions. Obviously Trip hadn't been that lucky.
"Do you want to lie down?" he asked a little helplessly. Comforting people was not exactly what he was best at, and he didn't really know what to say or do to make Trip feel better.
Trip nodded wearily, and Malcolm pulled off his jacket, rolling it up and placing it on the floor.
"Come on, let me help you," he said, supporting Trip as he carefully lowered himself onto the floor, laying his head down on the makeshift pillow. Turning onto his side, Trip drew his knees up to his chest again and closed his eyes. Malcolm huddled up against the wall next to him, watching the Commander's pained features, sharply outlined by the harsh light coming from the ceiling lamp.
I wish Phlox were here, he thought. Like this, I don't even know whether his injuries are life-threatening or not.
Leaning back, he fixed a spot on the opposite wall, pondering their situation. With both of them locked up in here and Enterprise several light years away, there wasn't much he could do to help Trip. Well, nothing, actually. It wouldn't be any use to ask their captors for medical help, that much was obvious. And he himself couldn't do anything, either; he had neither a med kit nor the knowledge to treat internal injuries. His chest tightened at the thought of Trip bleeding to death here on the cold stone floor of the cell, while he had to watch, not being able to do anything.
Looking back at the Commander, Reed noticed Trip's breathing had quieted down. He wasn't moving at all and his face looked even paler than before. Frowning, Malcolm reached out and put a hand on Trip's forehead. His skin felt unusually cold and clammy, and Malcolm realized with a start that Trip was obviously about to go into shock.
He mustn't fall asleep, Malcolm thought, resisting the urge to grab Trip by the shoulder and shake him to keep him from slipping away into unconsciousness. Crouching beside Trip, he put a gentle hand onto his shoulder instead.
"Trip," he said. "Commander! Wake up!"
Trip turned his head slightly, but didn't open his eyes. Malcolm began to feel even more worried.
"Trip! Come on, wake up! You can't go to sleep now."
"Malcolm?" Trip mumbled, his eyes still closed.
Reed sighed in relief. "Thank God you're awake. Come on, open your eyes."
Trip groaned, wearily blinking up at him. "Go 'way. Lemme sleep."
Malcolm shook his head, tightening his grip on Trip's shoulder. "No, Trip, you have to stay awake now. Come on, talk to me. Tell me... tell me about movie night last Friday. What did they show?"
"You were there too." Trip closed his eyes again. "Don't need to tell you."
"Tell me about the week before then!" Malcolm felt nervousness build in the pit of his stomach as he saw just how out of it Trip seemed to be. "What did they show the Friday before?"
"Don't remember." Trip seemed close to falling asleep again, and Malcolm racked his mind, trying to think of a topic of conversation that would keep Trip awake for sure.
"Well, what about T'Pol?" he asked finally. "Do you like her?"
To his immense relief, Trip opened his eyes again. "What? Why d'ya ask?"
"Come on," Reed said, trying to give his voice a teasing tone and finding it wasn't that hard after all. "I know you fancy her."
"I don't. At least I'm not starin' at her butt all the time," Trip said, sounding definitely a lot less sleepy than before.
Reed cleared his throat. "I'm not. And you do fancy her, everyone knows you do."
"What!" For the first time since they had begun their conversation, Trip actually looked at Malcolm, a dismayed expression on his face. "They don't, do they?" Realizing what he'd just said, Trip blushed a little. "Er... I mean... what're you talkin' about?"
Satisfied at having Trip's full attention again, Reed waved him off. "Nothing. I was only joking."
Adjusting Trip's pillow, he smiled down at the Commander. "How do you feel?"
"Like somethin' crawled into my head and died." Trip sighed and coughed a few times. Reed saw him wince in pain and his smile faded.
"Do you want some more water?"
Trip nodded and Reed got up. As he poured some more water into the plastic cup, he noticed that the jug was almost empty. Dismissing the idea of taking a sip of the water himself, he handed Trip the cup and watched as the Commander propped himself up on one elbow. Trip put the cup to his lips, but then his eyes fell on Malcolm and he paused.
"You need to drink somethin', too."
Reed quickly shook his head, involuntarily licking his cracked lips. "I'm not thirsty."
Trip put the cup back down. "Me neither."
Malcolm sighed in exasperation. "Trip, you're injured. You need to drink something. Now don't be silly."
He thrust the cup back at the Commander, but Trip refused to take it. "I told you, I'm not thirsty."
Malcolm put the cup down in front of him, crossing his arms in front of his chest. "Mr. Tucker, stop being such a bloody stubborn idiot and drink that water."
Trip lay back down, deliberately turning away from the cup, and shook his head. "Not before you had somethin' to drink as well."
"Fine." Reed got up again, picking up the jug. "I'll ask that guard character if he'll get us some more."
He was already on his way to the door when Trip called him back. "Malcolm, wait."
Reed turned around and saw Trip had sat up again, looking at him with a strange expression on his face. His voice sounded subdued when he continued.
"Maybe it would be a better idea not to... attract their attention when it's not absolutely necessary."
Malcolm frowned. "Why?"
Trip didn't answer immediately, avoiding to meet his eyes. Beginning to feel slightly worried, Malcolm sat down next to him again.
"What is it, Trip?"
Trip still wouldn't look at him. "When they... when I was in that interrogation room, one of them said somethin' about 'upcomin' tests'. He said they'd need our cooperation in these tests. I asked that guard about it, but he wouldn't tell me, sayin' we'd see soon enough. I don't think this is good news, though." Finally he raised his eyes, and Reed saw the worry there. Trip's voice sounded very calm, and Malcolm knew he was trying not to let any of his feelings show through as he continued.
"I think we gotta be real careful, Malcolm."
Reed nodded, absentmindedly putting the jug back down onto the floor. Trip was right; this didn't sound good at all. He hadn't liked this talk about 'cooperation' from the start, and now, considering what these people had done to Trip, the thought of them planning to perform some kind of tests made him quite nervous, to say the least.
"I can't think what they would need our cooperation for, though," he said, looking back at Trip. "Do you think these... these questions about how we feel could have something to do with the tests?"
Trip shrugged, but Reed could see he had been thinking along the same lines. "Dunno. Maybe."
For a while they sat in silence. Reed felt restless. He hated not being able to do anything, being reduced to ducking and hoping their captors would leave them alone if they kept quiet long enough. Maybe he wasn't that good at talking to people, but he sure knew what he would do if he only had his phaser with him.
I'm the bloody Security Officer and can't do a single thing to protect my fellow officer. He jumped up and started pacing. It felt good, venting some of his frustration simply by moving a little, but his attention was still focused on what Trip had told him. It couldn't be that there was nothing they could do about this. Finally Malcolm stopped in his tracks and looked back at Trip who had his arms wrapped around his knees again, gloomily staring at the opposite wall.
"Okay. So maybe we don't know what the tests are about, but one thing we know for sure: They need us to actively take part in this, or else they wouldn't talk about cooperation all the time. They need us to participate."
Trip simply looked at him, his face more or less expressionless. "You mean we should refuse to do so."
Reed noticed the pain lines had still not disappeared from Trip's face. Suddenly feeling less confident, Malcolm sat down on the floor next to Trip and sighed.
"They wouldn't like it, of course."
"No, that they wouldn't." Trip shifted slightly, leaning back against the wall behind him. "Still, I think you're right."
Reed looked up. Trip met his gaze evenly. "It's pretty obvious these tests ain't gonna be about finding out what flavor of icecream we like best. We'll probably be better off not doin' what they want us to, even if... they won't like it. Besides..."
He trailed off, but Reed had quite a good idea of what he'd been about to say. It had something to do with not being a helpless victim if one could help it. He nodded. He had no intention of giving up that easily, either.
Neither of them spoke another word after that, but still Reed felt strangely calm, now that they had come to that decision. It was easier facing what was about to come with a clear idea of what they were going to do.
He leaned back against the wall next to Trip and closed his eyes. He knew he wouldn't be able to sleep now, but it felt like a good idea to try and think of nothing for a while.
-###-
"This is unacceptable."
The Supervisor turned away from the monitor, looking at the First Assistant who clasped his hands behind his back.
"What do you suggest we do, sir?"
The Supervisor gave no response, turning back to the screen. The Assistants came up beside him, the three of them watching the two test subjects on the screen.
From where he stood at the door, the Guard had quite a good view of the monitor, too. He saw that the small one had settled down again after pacing up and down the cell for a while. Now both aliens seemed to be sleeping or resting; they hadn't spoken to each other for quite a while now, leaning against the wall with their eyes closed. From the slow and careful way the taller one had been moving earlier, the Guard could see that he was in quite a lot of pain. When they'd watched him curl up on the cell floor before, the Supervisor had stated that Subject 2 had probably been damaged during the interrogation, advising the Second Assistant to be more careful next time. And even though the Guard had never really been able to read the Researchers' body language correctly, he still had the distinct impression that the Supervisor was a little annoyed. He had all reason to be, too. The interrogation had been less than successful, to say the least.
When the questioning had first begun, the Guard had actually felt a bit amused at the impudent behaviour of the young alien, but his amusement had soon vanished to be replaced by a feeling of slight concern when he'd seen just how relentlessly the Researchers had smothered those feeble attempts at rebellion. The alien had been hardly able to walk when he'd taken him back to the cell.
Although the Guard gave no sign that he'd heard and understood the Researchers' conversation, he of course knew what the Supervisor found to be so unacceptable. The way these two were encouraging each other in their decision to refuse any cooperation in the tests was an inconvenience the Researchers hadn't been expecting.
"It seems like we will have to take more drastic measures, sir," the Second Assistant stated, never taking his eyes off the screen. The Supervisor turned his head.
"What measures were you thinking of, Assistant?"
The Assistant crossed his arms in front of his chest. "I suggest we proceed in a similar way as we did with the last subjects."
Throwing a glance at the Supervisor who was looking at the screen again, obviously considering the Assistant's suggestion, the Guard shifted on his feet. He found himself seriously hoping that the Supervisor would decide against taking similar measures as they had done with the last subjects. Those aliens had been quite uncooperative at first, too, but when the Researchers had begun injecting them those chemical toxins, their resistance had been broken quickly, and they hadn't lasted for too long after that. Somehow, the Guard didn't like the idea of this happening to these two aliens.
After watching the monitor for a few more moments, the Supervisor picked up his padd again and turned to his Assistants.
"I do not think this is such a good idea," he said. "The subjects might be damaged even further, which would make them useless for the tests. My suggestion is that we separate them."
At these words, the Guard experienced a sudden unfamiliar surge of emotion. After watching the aliens for the last two days, he realized separating them would probably be just about as cruel as taking the "drastic measures" the Second Assistant had suggested. From listening to their conversations, he knew that they were giving each other strength, helping each other cope with the situation. Separating them would leave them without any kind of emotional support, a thing which seemed to be quite important to members of their species.
The Guard came to a decision.
"Supervisor..." he began, and the three Researchers raised their heads simultaneously, obviously quite surprised at hearing him speak.
"What is it?" the Supervisor asked.
The Guard cleared his throat.
"With all due respect, sir, I do not think it would be... advisable to separate those two aliens. It... it might only enforce their decision to refuse cooperation."
Now the Supervisor turned away from the screen so he was facing him and crossed his arms in front of his chest.
"You are forgetting your place, Guard," he said icily. "You are not to interfere with any of the researching business. I thought I made that clear before."
"Yes, sir." The Guard watched the Supervisor turn away again and felt a twinge of regret when he realized that he wouldn't be able to accomplish anything. But then, he hadn't really expected that, either. Looking back at the screen, the Guard took another glance at the two sleeping aliens, then deliberately turned his head away. Maybe it would be best not to think about it anymore.
Chapter 4
Malcolm was pacing up and down the small cell they'd put him in, the claustrophobic conditions of the room forcing him to turn around every three steps. He felt slightly nauseous, probably due to the fact that he hadn't eaten much these last few days. At one time the guard had brought them some kind of lumpy bread, but it hadn't been much, and by now the lack of food was making Reed feel dizzy and lightheaded. Still, he was too wound-up to sit still at the moment.
Yesterday the guard had come to their cell, silently motioning Reed to come with him. He'd known, of course, that this would happen eventually, but still he'd been dreading the moment when they would resume questioning them, trying to make them cooperate. He'd been both relieved and slightly confused when the guard, instead of taking him to the interrogation room, had lead him to this small cell, leaving him here and locking the door, not speaking a single word. His relief had soon turned into dismay, though, when he'd realized what this was about. Their captors had obviously chosen a new strategy and decided to keep him and Trip in different cells, and although this was not surprising, thinking about it, it had taken him by surprise all the same.
At first, it hadn't been that bad, though. He'd been worried about Trip, of course, but during those last few hours when he'd still been in the other cell, the Commander's condition had seemed to be improving. And although Reed didn't like the idea of having to leave him alone, he was quite sure that Trip, while his injuries had weakened him considerably, wouldn't be completely helpless on his own.
Then, however, the screaming had started. At first he hadn't realized what it was, his mind refusing to recognize Trip's voice, but reality had hit home soon enough when the screaming had persisted, not breaking off for quite some time. He'd tried everything he could think of to get their attention, shouting for the guard, pounding on the cell door with his fists, but there had been no reaction. After a while - to Malcolm it had seemed like hours, but it must have been less - the screaming had stopped. The sudden silence had made him feel like his insides had turned to ice. No matter how hard he'd pounded on the door, shouting, demanding to know what was going on, there had been only silence, and after some time Reed had given up, starting to pace the room like a caged animal.
As he turned around again for what seemed like the thousandth time, striding back towards the door, suddenly the walls of the small room seemed much too close, and he whirled around, slamming his fists against the wall in frustration. Along with the cold fear that had been holding him in a firm grip ever since the screaming had stopped, he felt a sudden hatred for those people who were holding them captive here, using them for that twisted research project of theirs. It was clearly part of their strategy, leaving him here to wonder whether Trip was still alive or not, and he hated them for it. In fact, if he had been able to get out of here, he wouldn't have hesitated to kill every single one of them with his bare hands.
Turning away from the wall, he resumed his pacing, clenching and unclenching his fists as he retraced the same path again and again. There was nothing, not a single thing he could do to help Trip, and even if he found some way to get out of here, it might be too late. Trip might be dead already.
The thought filled him with utter despair and fury at the same time. Flinging himself against the door, pounding the cold metal with his fists, he'd just opened his mouth to shout for the guard again, when a sudden nearby sound made him freeze.
He remained motionless, waiting for it to come again, and a moment later a high-pitched scream pierced the silence.
"Trip!" Malcolm shouted, hearing his own voice unnaturally loud in his ears. "Leave him alone! Stop it!"
He pounded on the door again, barely noticing that his hands hurt like hell, hearing his own voice and the screaming next door mingle together in one terrible sound.
"Let me out of here!"
The screaming stopped for a moment, and Malcolm stood paralyzed, his palms pressed against the cool surface of the door. Maybe they had heard him, maybe they would stop now-
A single agonized scream echoed through the silence, and Malcolm closed his eyes, resting his forehead against the door.
"Stop it," he whispered, "please, leave him alone, just stop it..."
But they didn't. The screaming went on and on, and with every minute he stood there, listening to it, Malcolm felt he was coming closer and closer to losing his mind. Not able to stand it anymore, he pushed himself away from the door and slid down the wall, sinking to the floor. He drew his legs to his chest and buried his head in his arms, trying to shut out the terrible sound.
But the screaming persisted, just as it had before, and Malcolm realized there was no getting away from it, no matter what he did.
"No," he whispered, a harsh sob rising in his throat, "no. Stop it."
Feeling tears welling up behind his closed eyelids, he curled up even tighter and never noticed when suddenly the door swished open. At the sound of a raspy voice he raised his head and saw one of the aliens standing in the doorframe, a dark silhouette against the white light of the corridor.
"You are acting irrationally," the man said, his tone bare of any emotion.
Reed got up. "What did you do to Trip?" he asked, taking a step towards the door. "What did you do to him?"
The alien took a step backwards, reaching out for something beside the door, and suddenly some kind of energy field flickered to life in the doorframe.
"You need not let this happen," he said, crossing his arms in front of his chest. "You know what you have to do to make it stop."
"What did you do to him?" Reed shouted, shaking with fury. "Tell me! What did you do?"
The man didn't move, not reacting to his anger at all. "Cooperate, and this will stop," he said. "It is your choice."
He reached for the panel, switching off the field, and the door swished shut again. Malcolm stood there for another moment, staring at the closed bulkhead. He couldn't believe that they would do this, that anyone would do this kind of thing to another person. It was indeed part of their strategy, placing him here in this cell, forcing him to witness the torture of his friend, and while he was sickened by their indifferent cruelty, he knew why they were doing this. It had probably proven quite effective in the past.
Retreating to a far corner of the cell, Malcolm curled up against the cold concrete of the wall, resting his forehead on his knees. The screaming had started again, and Malcolm covered his ears with his hands, trying to block out the sound. Despair washed over him, so overwhelming it seemed to rip his insides apart, and he closed his eyes tightly to hold back the tears. This was unbearable. The sound of Trip screaming echoed in his head no matter how hard he pressed his palms against his ears, and he felt harsh sobs racking his body.
The worst thing about this was that there was nothing he could do to stop it. If he decided to cooperate, then Trip would become useless to them, and there would be no reason for them to let him live. Worse, if he was to cooperate, it would mean breaking his promise to Trip, and Reed knew he just couldn't do this. He couldn't let him down like that, not here in this place where they were all alone, surrounded by people who treated them like laboratory subjects, refusing to see them as beings with actual thoughts and feelings. Trusting each other was the only thing they could rely on, and Malcolm knew he couldn't betray that trust.
Still, there was that terrible sound, that agonized screaming, and it just wouldn't stop. It brought images to his mind, and Reed shook his head, willing the horrible visions to go away. He couldn't stand this, he just couldn't stand this anymore. He couldn't-
-sitting in the corner of the room with his back pressed against the smooth surface of the wall, his small body shaking with fear. There are sounds, voices nearby, someone sobbing in utter despair-
"No," Malcolm whispered, shaking his head in a desperate try to keep these particular images at bay. Why did they come to his mind now of all times, he hadn't thought of that in years, he mustn't think of it now-
-covering his ears with his hands, trying to shut out the sound of Madeline crying next door. He hears his father's voice, loud and angry, and curls up against the wall even tighter.
Leave her alone, he thinks, she didn't do anything, leave her alone, she doesn't want this, why can't you stop, why can't you leave her alone-
-Malcolm buried his hands in his hair as if to rip the memory from his mind. He mustn't think of that-
-Madeline is sobbing again, speaking in a fearful voice, but he can't understand what she is saying. It sounds like a plea for help. Closing his eyes tightly, he leans his head back against the wall. He feels tears running down his cheeks, but he makes no move to wipe them off.
"I can't help you," he whispers. "He'll kill me if I try. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I can't help you"-
Tears were running down his cheeks again, and Malcolm wiped them off in an angry movement. It wasn't right, he couldn't think of that now, there'd been nothing he could do, he'd been only ten years old, after all-
He'd been a coward. A damn coward who hid in corners, who was too weak to overcome his fears, who sobbed in terror instead of helping the people who needed him-
Malcolm got up. Not this time, he thought. I won't let it happen again, I can't, not again-
Pounding his fists on the cold metal of the door, he shouted as loud as he could, his voice drowning out the screaming next door.
"I'll do it!" he yelled. "Do you hear me? Stop it! I'll cooperate!"
A moment later he heard footsteps out in the corridor, coming nearer, and slid down the door, falling to his knees. The screaming had stopped.
-###-
Trip was past the point of reacting to what was going on around him. He didn't even have the strength left to scream. Drifting in and out of consciousness, he only noticed that at some point the pain suddenly stopped. His whole body still hurt, but the unbearable, agonizing pain they had been inflicting on him was gone.
He lay there on the table where they had tied him down, drawing deep ragged breaths, and tried to focus on something, anything that might prevent him slipping away into oblivion. Giving in to the darkness that was trying to drag him away felt like a good idea, but at the same time he knew he couldn't lose consciousness just now. Something was wrong, terribly wrong, and somewhere deep down in his mind he knew what had happened, but he couldn't think of what it was. He couldn't focus.
They're gone. It was the first coherent thought that crossed his mind for quite some time, and to his surprise Trip found he still had enough energy left in him to feel relieved. When they had first brought him in here what seemed like days ago, he had felt all kinds of emotions, anger, fear, humiliation when they ripped off his shirt and tied him down on that table, but then the pain had erased them all, leaving only a deep agony-filled void in his mind. Things like dignity and courage in the face of one's enemies lost their meaning when you felt that kind of pain. He had screamed and sobbed, pleading with them to stop, but they hadn't reacted to anything he'd said or done, acting as if he wasn't there at all. Placing those white-hot rods against his side, sending sharp jolts of pain through his body using their electric zapsticks, they had shown no sign of sadistic pleasure or satisfaction at what they were doing. In fact, they had been acting as if they were working on some kind of machinery, moving swiftly and efficiently, stopping from time to time to take down some notes. They hadn't asked any questions, and at some point Trip had stopped wondering why they were doing this to him. At some point the only thing he'd been aware of was pain, a relentless mind-wrenching agony that just wouldn't stop.
And then it had been over. There had been a noise in the background, like a door swishing open, and a voice, saying words he couldn't understand. They, however, had understood. All but dropping their padds and pencils they had bustled out of the room, never giving him so much as another look.
They're gone. It's over. Slowly Trip let out another deep breath, closing his eyes. He felt burnt-out, both mentally and physically on the verge of breaking down. The only thing he really wanted to do now was sleep, let the darkness take him away, but there still was that nagging feeling that something was wrong. It seemed to have something to do with Malcolm, but Trip didn't know - or couldn't remember - what it was. He was so tired.
He lay there for quite some time, staring blankly at the white ceiling when all of a sudden the door slid open again. Trip turned his head, expecting to see they had returned, fear rising somewhere in the very back of his mind. But it wasn't them. His face as expressionless as ever, the guard entered the room, stopping in his tracks as his eyes fell on Trip. For a moment his features seemed to display some kind of emotion, but Trip was too exhausted to really notice or care. He simply watched as the guard crossed the room, bending down over him to unfasten the straps on his wrists and ankles. The guard didn't say a word, his face as stony as ever as he removed the last of the restraints, but that strange emotion was still vivid in his eyes. He looked angry.
As soon as he was free of the straps, Trip raised his hands to wipe the sweat and the blood off his face, but made no move to sit up. The guard bent down, picking up the shirt that they had thrown carelessly into one corner of the room, and returned to the table.
"Come," he said in that gruff voice of his, placing the shirt on Trip's stomach. "Put that on. We need to get going."
Trip knew it was no use arguing. Slowly, carefully he started to sit up, feeling his stomach clench painfully as he did so. Pressing his fists against his closed eyelids, he waited for the worst of the dizzyness to pass, and took a deep breath. As he opened his eyes again, he saw that the guard had walked over to the sink in one corner of the room and was now returning to the table, holding something in his hand.
"Here," he said. "drink this. It will help."
Trip stared at him for a long moment, then took the glass from the guard's hand. The cool liquid felt good on his sore throat, and although he was still feeling faintly sick, Trip took another sip of the water, then handed the glass back to the guard.
"Thanks." His voice was barely recognizable even to his own ears, sounding raspy and hoarse from hours of screaming, but the guard only nodded and put the glass down on a shelf.
"Now put your shirt on," he said. "We have to go."
Trip picked up the gray V'neran shirt and began pulling it over his head. It stung like mad as the scratchy cloth made contact with the cuts and burns on his bare chest, but Trip bit his tongue, trying not to wince as he carefully slid off the table. His legs gave way immediately, and he would have fallen if the guard hadn't caught him. Giving a small sigh, the man guided him over to a chair and pushed him down onto the seat. A small detached part of Trip's mind noticed that it was the same chair where he'd been sitting when they had first questioned him, but he dismissed the thought, too weary to concentrate on anything now. His legs felt shaky, and dizzyness clouded his vision once again.
"Rest for a moment," he heard the guard's voice from somewhere far away. "Maybe you will be able to walk on your own in a few minutes."
Trip closed his eyes, concentrating on taking slow and even breaths. Slowly, the dizzyness subsided, leaving a feeling of nausea and emptiness in its wake. Things were gradually returning into focus, and for the first time since they had left he found himself able to think straight. Malcolm... there had been something about Malcolm.
Raising his eyes, he found the guard looking down at him and decided to risk that one question.
"What..." He cleared his throat. "What about Malcolm? The other one? Where is he?"
A short flicker of emotion crossed the guard's face, then he averted his eyes.
"Come on," he said, taking Trip by the arm and pulling him to his feet. "We have to go."
The sudden movement made his head spin, and Trip stumbled slightly, feeling the guard's firm grip on his arm as they made their way towards the door.
"What about him?" he asked again, feeling something like panic rise within him. He turned his head to catch a glimpse of the guard's face, and almost startled as he saw that the man was looking at him, those pale eyes meeting his own.
"You should not ask this," the guard said, his face again devoid of any emotion. "It is not something you want to know."
At these words, Trip felt his insides grow cold, and he made an unsuccessful attempt at breaking free from the guard's grip.
"What did you do to him?" He'd wanted it to come out angry, but the only thing he could hear in his voice was the fear he felt inside. The guard, who had tightened his grip around his arm when he'd tried to get away, stopped in his tracks and turned around, now directly looking at Trip.
"Your friend decided to cooperate. It's highly improbable that you will see him again."
The guard's words came as a shock to him, even though he'd known all along something was wrong. When the guard resumed his pace, pulling him along, Trip stumbled and almost lost his balance.
"What... what will they do to him?" he asked, dreading the answer. The guard, however, didn't respond, looking straight ahead as if he hadn't heard the question at all. Along with the fear that was tightening up his chest, Trip felt anger rise within him.
"Answer me! What will they do?"
In the meantime they had arrived at the cell door and the guard punched in the door code, not reacting to his question in any way. The door opened and Trip felt himself being pushed into the cell. His legs still wouldn't support him, and he stumbled, falling to his knees. Pain seared through his stomach, but he didn't pay it any attention, turning around to face the guard.
"What will happen to Malcolm?" he asked, his voice sounding hoarse again.
"He will probably be killed in the tests," the guard said, finally meeting Trip's eyes. "You cannot change anything about it, so best try not to think about it too much."
Trip opened his mouth to ask what the hell that was supposed to mean, but the door had already slid shut. For a moment he just sat there, staring at the door, trying to grasp what the guard had just said. He knew that this was bad, that this was terrible news, but somehow his mind refused to take in the meaning of the words. He was freezing, the cold of the cell floor creeping into his arms and legs, and his whole body hurt. Even his mind hurt. Enterprise was light years away, Malcolm was as good as dead, and he was alone, but somehow Trip couldn't bring himself to feel anything but slight resignation and a weariness so overwhelming it was drowning out everything else.
Using the last remains of his strength, Trip crawled over to the wall, curling up on the floor and closing his eyes. This time when darkness came he didn't fight it, and the last thing he felt was profound relief as he slipped away into oblivion.
Chapter 5
The Guard raised his head, looking back at the screen. The alien hadn't moved for over fifteen minutes now, sitting huddled up against the wall with his eyes closed. He had wrapped himself in the blanket the Guard had brought him earlier, and appeared to be sleeping. He'd been sleeping a lot these last two days.
After taking him back to the cell two days ago, the Guard had been quite sure the alien wouldn't survive the night. When he'd come to the cell the next morning, however, to his surprise the alien had still been alive and his condition seemed to even have improved a little. By now, the Guard had the distinct impression that for this species sleep was some kind of natural cure. He had no intention of including that particular piece of information in his observation log, though. If he did, the Researchers might decide to give the alien some drugs to keep him awake, and the Guard wanted to spare him this additional ordeal. The Researchers had what they wanted, and this one was soon going to be dead, anyway. It wouldn't hurt to let him sleep a little.
Besides, the Guard was kind of glad the alien was asleep most of the times when he went into that cell. That way he didn't ask any more questions about his companion, like he'd done when the Guard had taken him back from the interrogation room two days ago. The Guard had found these questions to be quite unsettling, and considering what was going on in the Laboratory at the moment, there were no answers he could give that the alien would like to hear. The tests had been going on for quite a while, and the Guard didn't think it would be much longer now. The tests never took much longer than two days, at the most.
From the corner of his eyes he noticed a movement on the monitor and, raising his head, he saw that the alien had gotten up. Picking up the jug the Guard had brought him this morning, the alien poured some water into the plastic cup and sat back down against the wall, cradling the cup in his hands. He took a few sips, then put the cup down onto the floor next to him, pulling the blanket around his shoulders again.
Sighing, the Guard picked up his pencil to make another useless entry in his observation log - Subject 2 takes a drink of water - when suddenly the intercom beeped.
He pushed a button. "Go ahead."
The Supervisor's voice came from the small speaker on the wall.
"We need you in the Laboratory. Bring the observation log with you."
"Yes, sir."
He got up, taking one last glance at the monitor where the alien was still sitting motionless. Picking up the log, he paused, considering whether he should finish his last entry, then decided against it. It didn't matter anyway.
When he entered the Laboratory, he saw the three Researchers standing together, scrolling through their padds and comparing their notes. It looked like the tests were completed. As he noticed him standing in the door frame, the Supervisor raised his head.
"Did you bring the observation log?"
"Yes, sir."
The Guard watched as the Supervisor leafed through the pages of the log, half awaiting another rebuke for not being precise enough. The Supervisor, however, put the log aside without another word, gesturing at the back of the room.
"We are done. You can take him away now."
The Guard turned his head and for the first time he noticed the other alien, the small one, lying on the examination table, obviously unconscious. Dead, maybe.
He looked back at the Supervisor. "Is he still alive?"
"Yes," said the Supervisor, casually gathering up various padds from a nearby table. "But we don't need him anymore. You can dispose of him now."
The Guard was silent for a moment. "What about the other one?" he asked then. The Supervisor, who'd already turned back to the Assistants, looked up again.
"We won't need that one anymore, either."
The Guard walked over to the examination table and again felt that strange pang of regret and maybe even anger as his eyes fell on the alien's badly abused body. Under the various cuts and bruises the man's face was pale and sweaty, and the Guard recognized the typical look the subjects usually had to them when the tests were over and the drugs began to slowly intoxicate their metabolisms. The alien's whole upper body was covered in burn marks and lacerations, probably injuries resulting from the pain endurance tests they had been performing on him. After taking a close look at him, the Guard was surprised that the alien was actually still alive, after all. He looked back at the Researchers who were still busy discussing their notes, and suddenly felt disgusted. These people were his superiors, and the realization that he felt no respect for them whatsoever came to him almost as a surprise.
"And, what did you find out this time?" he asked, not bothering to keep the anger out of his voice. "Have you come to any enlightening conclusions already?"
The heads of the Researcher's came up abruptly at these words. The Supervisor's voice, however, was as unemotional as ever as he spoke.
"You are forgetting your place," he said. "I will not tolerate this any longer. Take this one away, and dispose of the other one, too. Now."
With these words he turned and strode towards the door. The two Assistants quickly gathered up their padds and followed him, the door swishing shut behind them. The Guard stood there for another moment, staring after them, then turned back to the examination table.
Strange, unfamiliar feelings were swirling through his mind as he set himself to unfastening the restraints on the alien's wrists and ankles. He wasn't used to this kind of thing, but lately a lot of things had happened that he wasn't used to. This place where he'd been for so many years now had changed, he himself seemed to have changed, and while he didn't completely understand what this change was all about, there was one thing he knew for sure: He wasn't willing to end any more innocent lives, not if he could help it. He'd done it before, many times, never really thinking about what he was doing, but he wasn't sure if he would be able to do it this time. He wasn't sure if he would be able to do it ever again.
Removing the last of the restraints, he picked up the seemingly lifeless body and lifted the alien onto his shoulder. He didn't really know what he was going to do now, but he'd see to that soon enough. There had to be something he could do.
Crossing the room, the Guard opened the door and left, never looking back as he strode down the corridor.
-###-
Trip took another sip of the water and put the cup back down on the floor. The vile taste on his tongue was still there - somehow he couldn't seem to get rid of it - but still the cool liquid felt good in his aching throat.
Pulling the blanket tighter around his shoulders, Trip closed his eyes and leaned back against the wall. He wished he could go back to sleep again, but at the same time knew he wouldn't be able to do so. He'd been sleeping for what seemed like days, only waking up for short periods of time, but now his mind wouldn't let him escape into oblivion anymore. His body was slowly healing, and while he still felt quite weak, he was at least able to walk again.
The guard had come to the cell a few times to bring him water and some more of that lumpy bread. Last time he'd even given him that blanket, dropping it onto the floor before he left without another word. Actually he'd never said anything at all, ignoring Trip's urging questions about Malcolm, not meeting his eyes as Trip demanded to know what was going on.
At times, Trip felt he was coming very close to losing it completely. Being locked up in this bare cell with nobody to talk to, left with nothing to do but wonder whether Malcolm was still alive or not was driving him crazy. He didn't understand what was going on or why Malcolm would suddenly decide to cooperate in these tests. Maybe they were lying, maybe they had killed him already and this was just another one of their perverted psycho games...
Of course he's not dead, the small, desperately optimistic voice in his head spoke up, but by now it had taken on a slightly weary undertone. Of course he's not. And you're gonna get out of this. Both of you.
Somewhere deep down in his mind Trip knew that this wasn't true, that Malcolm was probably dead by now and that neither of them had much of a chance of ever getting away from here again. But he couldn't accept it just like that. If Malcolm was dead, then that would mean he was all alone in this place, and Trip knew he wouldn't be able to stand that. So he kept listening to that optimistic voice, even though it sounded rather strained by now. Every time his mind turned to what they might be doing to Malcolm at the moment, Trip forced the thought away. Not thinking of it had been quite easy before, when he'd been sleeping all the time, but now that didn't work any more. He hated himself for doing this, for just pushing away these thoughts, but if he was to give in to these dark images, he knew he would lose his sanity completely. It was as simple as that.
Trip shifted and felt that dull pain in the pit of his stomach flaring up again. It wasn't as bad as it had been some time ago, but it still hurt like hell when he moved too quickly. Giving up his hopes of catching some sleep any time soon, Trip opened his eyes again and reached out, groping for the cup. Although he'd been drinking as much of that water as he could get, his throat still felt sore and parched, as if he'd caught a cold.
Clumsily, Trip poured himself some water and had just set the cup to his lips when a sound outside in the corridor made him freeze. Footsteps, coming nearer. Putting down the cup, Trip got up. This time he would make that guard tell him what was going on, he'd make him answer his questions-
The door slid open. Trip's eyes fell on the guard standing in the doorway, and he'd already opened his mouth to speak when he noticed something big slung over the guard's shoulder.
"Malcolm!"
Trip took a step forward, but stopped in his tracks when the guard raised his hand, pointing a weapon at him.
"Stay back," he said and there was something to his voice that made Trip comply. He stayed where he was, his heart pounding in his chest as he met the guard's eyes.
"Is... is he alive?" he asked, his voice cracking as he spoke. The guard motioned with his gun, ignoring the question.
"Come," he said, but Trip didn't move.
"Is he alive?"
"Yes," the guard said, impatiently waving the gun. "Come now. We have to go."
Hearing the guard's curt reply, Trip felt a relief so deep it came like a shock to him. He realized that despite his forced optimism he'd been almost sure that he'd never see Malcolm again. For a moment he just stood there, and the guard motioned with his weapon again.
"Come," he said, sounding quite urgent. "We have to go."
"Where are you takin' us?" Trip asked, and shrank back as the guard took a sudden step forward, shoving the weapon into his face.
"It would be better for you to just come with me," he said quietly, and after another moment Trip reluctantly complied, slowly walking towards the door.
"Take the blanket with you," the guard said. Trip looked up in surprise, then turned around and picked up the blanket that was lying in a tangled heap on the floor by the wall.
"Why?"
The guard motioned him to the door. "You ask too many questions. Now come."
Trip stepped out onto the corridor, casting a worried glance at Malcolm's still body as he passed the guard. He felt the barrel of the gun in his back, pushing him forward, and walked faster. Walking along that dimly lit corridor that was quite familiar to him by now, Trip pressed the bundled up blanket against his chest, an uneasy feeling rising within him. This couldn't mean any good. It was quite obvious that the tests were over, and judging by the way these people had been treating them so far, the only thing left to do now was to get rid of them. But if that guard was really taking him away to kill him, why hadn't he just shot him in the cell, and why had he bothered to bring Malcolm with him? And why on earth would he want him to take that blanket with him?
The uneasy feeling he'd experienced before deepened, and Trip half-turned his head, trying to get a glimpse of the guard's face.
"Where are you takin' us?" he asked again and stumbled as the guard shoved the weapon in his back.
"Shut up."
The corridor made a sharp turn, and as they walked along a narrow hallway, passing countless of those gray metal bulkheads, Trip briefly considered just trying to run for it. Then, however, he decided against it. The guard would shoot him for sure, and even if he managed to get away, Trip felt he couldn't leave Malcolm.
The corridor came to a sudden end and Trip found himself standing in front of a door, which, unlike the others, was painted in a pale red colour. He turned around to the guard and saw him punching in a code on a panel beside the door.
All of a sudden, the bulkhead in front of him slid aside, and Trip took a startled step backwards as a cold gust of wind hit him in the face.
"Move."
He felt the guard push him again and stepped outside, the cold wind making his eyes water. First, he saw nothing but a blinding whiteness all around him, feeling his feet sink ankle-deep into snow. Blinking, he tried to clear his vision and slowly things came into focus. They were standing just outside a huge one-store building whose gray concrete walls were half hidden behind a large snowdrift. There was nothing but snow and ice as far as he could see, a white plain stretching in all directions. At the horizon the whiteness seemed to merge with the grey of the sky. Trip turned back to the guard who had followed him outside.
"What now?" he asked, trying to keep the nervousness out of his voice. "Is this supposed to be part of your tests? Freezin' us to death?"
The guard regarded him for a long moment. "These are not my tests," he said then. Bending forward, he released Malcolm and Reed slid off his shoulder, dropping into the snow rather unceremoniously. Immediately, Trip got to his knees beside him and drew in a sharp breath as he took a close look at his friend for the first time. Reed's shirt was gone, and Trip could see the numerous injuries that covered his face and upper body. What caught his attention, though, was the thin film of sweat on Reed's brow and his irregular, shallow breathing. It almost looked like he was under the influence of some kind of drug that was causing these symptoms. Feeling hot fury rise within him, Trip looked up at the guard.
"Why did you do this to him? What has he done to you-"
"I did not do this," the guard said, his voice not betraying any emotions. Trip got up.
"Look, I don't care who did this! What I know is that your people abducted us, tortured us just for the fun of it, and now you decide you had enough of us, kickin' us out here to let us freeze to death! What the hell do you want, anyway?"
Instead of pointing his weapon at him like Trip had expected he would, the guard simply stood there, looking at him with a rather strange expression on his face.
"I have orders to kill you," he said and Trip who'd just opened his mouth to say something more, closed it shut.
"But I will not do this," the guard continued. "I do not approve of what the Researchers are doing. You will have to go now, though."
Trip stared at him. "Go where?"
"There is a town several miles due east of here," the guard said. "That way."
Trip looked in the direction in which the guard was pointing, but he couldn't make out anything in the snowstorm that was raging over the white plain. By now he was shivering uncontrollably in the biting cold wind, and his feet felt as if they were slowly turning to ice.
"We're not gonna make it," he said. "Malcolm's injured, and I can't carry him. He'll freeze."
The guard simply looked at him, and Trip realized he was wasting his breath, arguing with that man. Kneeling back down beside Malcolm, he was just about to wrap the blanket around Reed's bare shoulders, when something landed in the snow next to him. Trip picked up the small bundle and realized it was a shirt and a jacket. Malcolm's jacket. He looked up at the guard who gestured at Reed.
"You had better get him dressed," he said, his voice as expressionless as ever. "It is quite cold, and he is very weak."
Trip watched him for a moment, trying to read what was going on behind that blank features. The man actually seemed to be trying to help, but Trip could think of no reason why he would do so. Maybe all of this was just another one of their cruel tests, to try and see how far they would get out here...
"Why are you doin' this?" he asked, lifting Malcolm's upper body off the ground, starting to pull the shirt over his head. The guard didn't answer, and Trip looked up again.
"Why are you doin' this? Why would you try to help us?"
The guard stared at him for another moment, then looked away. "I told you, I do not approve of what they are doing."
Trip closed the zipper on Malcolm's jacket and paused. Reed's skin still had that waxen look to it, and despite the cold he wasn't shivering at all. He looked dead.
"You have to go now."
Trip raised his eyes and saw the guard throwing a glance over his shoulder at the building.
"They must not get suspicious. You have to hurry."
Trip got up. "Look," he said, "this is crazy. He's not gonna make it. You can't leave us out here. He'll die."
When the guard simply ignored him, turning around and walking back to the building, Trip felt a sudden panic tighten up his chest. He couldn't do this, he couldn't just leave them here, they'd freeze-
Quickly catching up with the guard, he grabbed him by the arm.
"You can't do this!" he said, his voice hoarse with fear. "Please don't do this, we'll freeze out here-"
The guard pushed him away, and Trip stumbled, landing in the snow.
"Go now," the guard repeated. "Try to reach that town."
Trip scrambled to his feet. "Please," he said desperately, "don't you see? This won't work, I can't carry him that far. Can't you... can't you hide us in there somewhere-"
"I cannot help you," the guard said. In the meantime he had reached the building, and stepped inside, turning around to take one last glance at Trip. "Go now."
The door slid shut. Trip stared at the closed bulkhead for a moment, not believing this was actually happening. Maybe this really was another test, maybe they wanted to see how he'd react to this kind of thing-
Deep down in his mind, though, Trip knew this wasn't true. This was for real, and there was no way he was going to get out of it. Pounding the door with his fists, he began to shout, not stopping even as his voice started to fail.
"Hey! Hey!! Let me in! You can't do this! Please, we'll die out here! Let us in!"
There was no reaction, the only sound being the whistling of the wind over the plain. After a while, Trip gave up and dropped his hands to his sides in frustration and utter despair. It was no use. Slowly turning around, he walked back to where Malcolm lay and crouched beside him on the ground. Reed's lips had a slight blue tinge to them by now, but he still wasn't shivering or showing any kind of reaction that would tell Trip that he was actually still alive. With fingers that were stiff from the cold, Trip felt for a pulse, and for one agonized moment he wasn't able to find one. Then, however, he detected a weak, unsteady heartbeat, and briefly closed his eyes in relief.
The fact that Malcolm was still alive somehow gave him the strength to push away the weariness that had crept into his mind. The thought of simply lying down in the snow and giving up hadn't felt all wrong a minute ago, but now Trip knew he couldn't do this. He had to at least try and get Malcolm out of the cold. He couldn't just let him freeze to death here.
Trip picked up the blanket that was lying crumpled up nearby on the ground and shook the snow off it. Carefully, he began to wrap Malcolm in the blanket, then put his arms around Reed's upper body and tried to lift him onto his shoulder. Malcolm was heavier than he had expected, and as Trip tried to straighten up with the heavy weight on his shoulder, he slipped and lost his balance. Pain flared up in his stomach as he crashed into the snow, and Reed slid off his shoulder, landing face-down in the snow as well. Gritting his teeth as the waves of pain slowly subsided, Trip got up again and once more tried to lift Malcolm onto his shoulder. This time he succeeded, and although his legs felt as if they were going to give way under him any moment, he somehow managed to stay on his feet. Taking a careful step forwards, Trip found to his surprise that moving with the additional weight on his shoulder was actually easier than he'd expected it to be. Slowly making his way through the snow, he set off in the direction in which the guard had pointed earlier. He knew they weren't going to make it, but felt he had to at least try. There wasn't much else he could do anyway. In a way, he almost felt relieved to finally get away from this place. And maybe, just maybe he would be able to reach that town after all.
-###-
As the door slid shut behind him, the Guard paused for a moment. This was not what he had expected. Actually, when he'd decided to disobey the Researcher's explicit orders to kill those aliens, he hadn't thought much about how the aliens themselves would react.
He'd certainly not expected them to pound on the door, begging him to let them in again. He'd decided not to end any innocent lives anymore if there was another possibility, but by now he began to wonder if there actually was one. The alien was right, it was only a matter of time until they'd die out there. They had no chance.
The Guard felt profoundly confused, a feeling he'd never experienced before. He knew his decision not to kill them had been right - it was wrong to kill innocent, helpless people, wasn't it? - and he couldn't understand why he would experience that unsettling nagging feeling in the back of his mind that he'd still done something wrong. Would it have been better to shoot them, to just get over with it instead of sending them out there, leaving them to die a slow, agonized death in the snow? But he'd decided he wouldn't kill anymore. The Researchers were used to killing without a second thought, throwing away the bodies of their "subjects" as if they were mere rubbish to be disposed of, not living beings. And he didn't want to be like them. He couldn't follow their orders anymore.
But he hadn't expected the people whose lives he intended to spare to start arguing with him, to ask him what he expected them to do now. As he remembered the panic in the eyes of the young alien when he'd realized that the Guard was going to leave them out there, he felt guilty. He'd told him to try and reach a town several miles away from here, but of course there was no town. There was nothing but snow and ice for hundreds of miles, and no place to find shelter. They were going to die.
Pushing the thought away, the Guard walked down the corridor, trying to concentrate on the matters at hand. He had to clean out the holding cell, disinfect it so it would be ready when the next subjects arrived. New subjects for the Researchers to perform their tests on. Subjects that would become useless after a few days, that he would have to get rid of in the end-
No. The Guard forced the matter out of his mind, and had he been human, he would have shook his head to make these thoughts go away. Better not think about it anymore.
Chapter 6
; .; ; .; ; .; ; .; ; .; ; .; ; .; ; .; ;Trip didn't know whether he was still walking in the right direction. He didn't even know if he was still walking in any direction; at times it felt like he wasn't moving at all. It was getting dark by now, and the wind seemed to be blowing with even more force than before. Most of the time Trip couldn't even see his feet, snow being blown into his face and his eyes watering in the biting cold. The tears on his cheeks were frozen already, but Trip didn't really notice. He'd lost all feeling in most parts of his body and while he sometimes wasn't even aware of his surroundings anymore, he somehow still found the strength to keep moving. The weight of Malcolm's body on his shoulder hadn't lessened, but by now, Trip didn't think about it anymore.
It was getting increasingly harder to focus on anything but moving, raising his feet and setting them down again. His mind was empty, and the only thing he was actually aware of was the relentless cold, the biting sensation of the icy air in his lungs and the pain in his stomach that was getting worse and worse. Again, it felt like someone had stabbed him and was now driving the knife deeper into his insides with every step he took.
Trip didn't know how many hours had passed since the guard had kicked them out, and he didn't care, either. He knew, though, that this would soon come to an end, one way or the other. While he hadn't yet reached the point of consciously yielding to the weariness that was clouding up his mind, he felt that soon he would have no other choice anymore.
The pain had gotten almost unbearable, and by now it wasn't only the cold wind that made his eyes water. Trip squinted them shut, trying to blink away the tears, and that moment he stumbled, letting go of Malcolm in a desperate try to keep his balance. Reed slipped off his shoulder, and with the heavy weight suddenly gone, Trip lost his balance completely and crashed into the snow, almost blacking out as fresh pain wrenched his guts. For a moment or two he simply lay there, holding his stomach, waiting for the pain to pass. Snow was seeping through his clothes, and the cold was getting worse, but all the same it was a relief, simply lying there, not having to move or carry that weight anymore.
When the worst of the pain had subsided, Trip carefully sat up again, looking over to where Reed was lying motionless. The feeling in his legs was completely gone by now, leaving them numb and frozen, but still Trip knew he had to try and keep going. He couldn't let Malcolm freeze to death there in the snow.
He's dead already. The small voice in the back of his mind didn't sound at all optimistic anymore; now it had taken on a spiteful tone, as if his own mind were turning against him, trying to make him surrender to the temptation of simply giving up.
"He's not," Trip mumbled, awkwardly getting to his feet and stumbling over to where Malcolm lay. "What the hell are you talkin' about, anyway? Of course he's not dead."
Realizing what he was doing, Trip shook his head, fighting to force his confused thoughts back into order again.
Talking to people who aren't there, he thought. Seems like I'm really losing it.
If he wanted to know if Malcolm was still alive, then he had to check his pulse, not listen to crazy voices talking rubbish inside his head. Trying to focus his attention only on that one simple task, Trip got to his knees beside Reed's still form, taking him by the shoulder and rolling him onto his back. In the light of V'nera's small moon, Malcolm's drawn features seemed to have a corpse-like look to them, and when Trip put a hand to his neck to feel the pulse, Reed's skin felt icy under his fingers. Like the skin of a-
"No, you're wrong. He's not dead."
Realizing that with his numb fingers he wouldn't be able to feel anything, Trip rubbed his hands to reanimate the blood circulation, blowing on his fingers to get them warm again.
"He's not dead."
He repeated the words like a mantra as he frantically searched for a pulse, and when he finally detected a weak throbbing under his fingers, Trip felt not only relief, but also something like triumph rise within him.
"See?" he said. "I told you, he's not dead."
The voice, however, remained silent, a sneering malicious silence that made the hair on his neck stand on end. But Malcolm wasn't dead, was he? He'd felt a pulse, after all. He couldn't be dead.
"Well, fuck you. He is not dead," Trip mumbled, wrapping the blanket around Malcolm's shoulders again. They needed to get going.
Slowly getting to his feet, Trip bent down to lift Malcolm onto his shoulder again. He succeeded in getting him off the ground, but as he tried to straighten up, pain exploded in his stomach and drove him to his knees again. Reed slid off his shoulder, but Trip managed to catch him in the last moment before he hit the ground.
You're too weak to carry him, the voice spoke up again, sounding quite pleased. Just leave him here. He's dead, anyway.
"No!" Trip got up again. "Shut up! I won't leave him!"
He wrapped his arms around Malcolm's upper body again, but this time he didn't even manage to lift him onto his shoulder. Trip fell to his knees, panting, pain stabbing his guts. Reed was hanging in his arms like a dead weight, and he realized that he wouldn't be able to carry him any further. He simply didn't have the strength left to do so.
I told you. You can't carry him.
"Doesn't mean I'm gonna leave him, though," Trip said defiantly. "Whatever you say, I'm not gonna leave him behind!"
Settling down in the snow, Trip pulled the blanket off Reed's shoulders and wrapped it around them both. He'd just sit here and rest for a while until he was able to get going again.
"Well, Mr. Reed," he said, "here we go again. It's cold, we're freezin'... only this time we don't have to worry about runnin' out of air. There's plenty of air all around."
He suddenly felt the mad urge to laugh. There were few things he'd found less funny in his whole life, but still he felt like laughing out loud.
"And we don't have any bourbon either," he said. "Pity. I could use some now."
Trip fell silent for a moment. The pain in his stomach had reduced to a dull throbbing, and it felt as if the wind had lost some of its biting edge. He was actually getting warmer.
"You know, Malcolm," he said, "I never apologized for what I said back then on the shuttlepod. When I called you the grim reaper, remember? I know I really hurt you, sayin' that. See, I didn't really know you then. I thought you were that repressed, paranoid guy who was so fixated by death that he wouldn't admit that there was even the slightest chance of gettin' out of this alive. I never knew..."
He broke off. Then, he hadn't known the man who had pointed a phaser at him to keep him from killing himself. Who hadn't hesitated to join him in exploring that alien space station only to be given a dressing down by Captain Archer afterwards. Who had gone bar-hopping with him on Risa, who never stopped teasing him about T'Pol and who had accompanied him when he'd stood at the edge of the smoldering hole that was all that remained of his former home, the place where his sister had died. The man who had become one of his closest friends and who had now sacrificed himself to save Trip's life.
"I just wanted to thank you for savin' my life," Trip said. "You shouldn't have done this, but it's no use tellin' you that, is it? You would have done it, anyway."
He blinked a few times, trying to get rid of the tears that were blurring his vision, cursing the damn wind that made his eyes water all the time.
"I'd never thought it would end like this," he said. "Not like this, not at the hands of people like them. It doesn't... it doesn't seem right..."
Trip heard his own words echo in his ears, but only after a moment realized what he was saying. He shook his head. This was crazy, they weren't dead yet, he was still alive and Malcolm was, too...
"We're not dead yet."
As if to reassure himself of that fact, Trip raised a stiff numb hand to feel the pulse on Malcolm's neck again. He couldn't find one and flexed his fingers to get some feeling back into them, then tried again. Again, he wasn't able to detect a heartbeat and felt panic rise at the back of his mind. Forcing himself to concentrate, he once more pressed his fingers against Reed's cold skin, but there was no pulse. Fear gripping his insides, Trip bent down and put his ear to Malcolm's mouth to hear whether he was still breathing. First he couldn't hear anything but the blowing of the wind and the sound of his own blood pounding in his ears, and held his breath, listening with desperate concentration.
But there was nothing. Malcolm wasn't breathing anymore. Straightening up, Trip grabbed Reed by the shoulders and shook him, not wanting to believe this was happening, that the voice had been right.
"Malcolm! Come on, Malcolm! You can't be dead, you can't do this to me! Malcolm!"
Looking at Reed's still face, Trip felt a sob rising in his throat.
"Please no... Malcolm..."
But there was no reaction and even the voice in his mind kept silent. This all-embracing silence was worse than everything else, and overcome with grief, Trip pulled Reed's lifeless body closer and wept brokenly.
Chapter 7
Captain's Log, Supplemental:
After finishing the repairs on the Tellarite freighter whose distress call we received five days ago, we are now on our way back to planet V'nera, where we're going to pick up Lieutenant Reed and Commander Tucker. By now, they should have gathered enough data about the V'neran culture to keep Science Department busy for weeks. Fortunately, the repairs didn't take as long as we expected, and so we are able to return to V'nera five days early.
I wasn't too happy with my decision to leave Trip and Malcolm behind, but all the same, I'm sure this time everything went smoothly. Lieutenant Reed assured me that the V'nerans are a very peaceful people, and when Malcolm says there are no security risks involved, then I believe him. The V'nerans seem to have a very complex and fascinating social structure, and T'Pol is already looking forward to evaluating the data.
T'Pol looked up from her station, glancing at Archer who'd just shut off the log recorder.
"I am expecting the data with some interest, Captain," she said coolly. "I am not looking forward to it."
Archer bit back a grin. "Yeah, sure. Wasn't it you who asked me yesterday if we could increase speed a little so we'd be there a few hours earlier?"
T'Pol raised an eyebrow. "I was merely suggesting we try to reach V'nera as fast as we can to minimize the period of time the away team is without possibility to contact the ship."
Archer turned his chair so he faced his Science Officer, a malicious grin spreading on his face. He was definitely feeling evil today.
"Looking forward to seeing Commander Tucker again, are you?"
T'Pol's other eyebrow shot up as well.
"Captain?" she asked and he'd just opened his mouth to give a smart reply when he was interrupted by Travis' voice.
"Sir, we're reaching V'nera."
Archer turned back to the main screen and his eyes fell on the pale blue sphere hanging before them in the darkness of space, growing steadily bigger as they approached.
"Bring us into standard orbit, Travis," he said, getting up. "Hoshi, hail them."
"Yes, sir."
Archer watched Hoshi press a few buttons on her console and felt a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Somehow, he was in a really good mood today. The repairs had gone smoothly, and the fact that he would soon be able to have all his senior officers back on board again was another plus for the day. Archer was just trying to think of a way to tell Trip that they'd left his last CO2 filter with the Tellarites when Hoshi's voice startled him out of his thoughts.
"Captain, they're not responding."
Archer raised his head. "Can you pick up the signature of their communicators?"
Hoshi shook her head. "No, I'm not picking up anything, sir."
Walking over to her station, Archer bent down over the displays as well. "What about shuttlepod 1?"
Hoshi ran another scan of the surface, then looked up at Archer. "It's still where it was when we left orbit five days ago."
Archer straightened up again. "Keep trying to reach them."
"Aye, sir."
"Captain." T'Pol's voice sounded unusually urgent, and Archer turned around.
"What is it?"
"I am picking up two human bio signs four hundred miles east of the landing site," she said, looking up at Archer with a very grave expression on her face. "They are getting weaker."
Archer stared at her for a moment, his high spirits completely gone by now, replaced by a worried feeling that was increasing with every minute.
"Four hundred miles from the landing site?" he asked incredulously. "Where are they?"
T'Pol checked her scanners again. "They are not near any settlement or town; in fact, there are no other bio signs anywhere near them." She raised her eyes. "Captain, we have to hurry."
Archer nodded curtly. "Hoshi, tell Phlox to meet us in shuttlebay one. You have the bridge. T'Pol, Travis..."
Without another look at any of his officers, Archer strode towards the turbolift. T'Pol and Travis followed him, neither of them speaking a word as they entered the turbolift, setting off for the shuttlebay.
-###-
Archer glanced out of the shuttle window, but he couldn't make out anything in the snowstorm that was raging over the frozen wasteland of planet V'nera. It was completely dark outside and Archer was quite glad they had taken Travis along, for Ensign Mayweather was probably the only person aboard Enterprise who was able to pilot a shuttlepod safely through this kind of blizzard.
As he looked out into the stormy night, he thought of Trip and Malcolm somewhere down there, surrounded by nothing but snow and ice. How on earth did they come to be here in the middle of nowhere, several hundred miles away from their shuttlepod? Archer shook his head, not able to come up with any explanation that made sense.
He raised his eyes and glanced over at T'Pol who was bent over the scanner controls, tapping away at the console with a concentrated expression on her face.
"Anything new?" he asked, and she looked up, her voice betraying even less emotion than usual as she answered.
"No, Captain. I am still picking up two bio signs, but..."
Archer straightened up in his chair. "But what?"
T'Pol hesitated. "I am not entirely sure the data is correct. The scan results might have been altered by the storm outside-"
"What is it, T'Pol?" Archer interrupted her. She met his eyes, and he heard the tension in her voice as she spoke.
"One of them is rapidly weakening. It..." She glanced down at the display again. "It is gone."
Archer felt a hard knot forming in his chest. "It's gone?" he asked. From the corner of his eyes he saw Travis turning his head sharply at these words, looking at T'Pol as well. She pressed a few buttons on the console, avoiding to meet their eyes.
"The scanners are picking up only one life sign at the moment, but as I said, the data might be incorrect. The storm-"
Archer got up from his seat. "Get us down there, Travis. Maximum speed."
"I'll do my best, sir."
Travis turned back to the helm, his fingers flying over the console, and a moment later the shuttle gave a sharp lurch as it accelerated on its descending course. Archer sat back down in his seat, gripping the armrests of his chair so hard his knuckles turned white. He prayed that T'Pol was right, that the shuttle scanners weren't working properly due to the atmospheric interferences, but somehow he doubted this was the case.
Suddenly he felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up, meeting Dr. Phlox' eyes. The Denobulan was smiling as he always did, but at the moment it was definitely a very subdued smile.
"Captain," he said quietly, "even if the scanners are not able to pick up a life sign anymore, this does not necessarily mean the person in question has died. Sometimes the vital functions are simply too weak to be picked up from a greater distance."
Archer nodded, forcing a slight smile. "Thanks, doc."
Travis voice came from the direction of the helm. "Doc, I think you want to sit down now. We're approaching the surface and it's gonna be quite a rough landing."
The shuttle was jerking harder now, and as Archer looked out the main window, he saw the snow-covered surface rapidly rushing towards them. A second before they hit the ground, Travis pulled the shuttle's snout up. The pod made contact with the surface, and they were almost thrown out of their seats as it slithered along on the uneven ground. Travis operated the controls with skilled movements, and after a moment the shuttle came to a halt.
T'Pol turned around in her seat.
"Captain, we are about a hundred feet away from the life sign's coordinates."
Archer got up again.
"Travis, you stay with the shuttle. Be ready to start as soon as we return. T'Pol, Phlox, you come with me."
T'Pol picked up her hand scanner and followed Phlox who had grabbed his med kit and was already on his way to the hatch. Archer opened one of the storage compartments and got out a flashlight.
"Let's get going."
As he opened the hatch, a cold gust of wind hit him in the face, and he squinted his eyes shut, hearing the snow crunch under his boots as he climbed out of the shuttle. He held the flashlight up for T'Pol and Phlox as they got out as well, then gestured for T'Pol to lead the way. Without another word she set off into the night, never taking her eyes off the display of her scanner.
Phlox and Archer followed, pulling their jackets tighter around their shoulders against the biting cold. Despite the flashlight Archer couldn't make out much of their surroundings, the snowstorm making it almost impossible to see anything beyond a distance of a few feet. He stayed as close behind Phlox and T'Pol as possible, pointing the flashlight ahead, but there was nothing but snow and ice as far as he could see. A moment later T'Pol raised her eyes from her scanner.
"Captain, I am now picking up two life signs again, about forty feet ahead."
Quickening his pace, Archer came up beside her, checking on the display himself. There were indeed two life signs, weak though, but definitely two human bio signs. Archer briefly closed his eyes in relief.
"There," said T'Pol, pointing into the darkness, and Archer brushed past her, holding up the flashlight as he set off in a run. First, he couldn't see anything, but then his eyes fell on a dark shape in the snow a few feet away from him.
"Doctor!"
Immediately, Phlox was at his side. Archer crouched down in the snow and raised the flashlight, feeling his heart sink at the sight. Trip was half-sitting, half-lying on the frozen ground, slumped forward over Malcolm's still form, cradling the Lieutenant in his arms. There was some kind of blanket around his shoulders, as if Trip had wrapped it around them both in a desperate try to keep the cold away. Archer pushed it aside, holding up the flashlight to be able to get a better look at their faces, and took in a sharp breath. Both Trip and Malcolm looked terribly thin and wasted, their faces covered in dirt and dried blood. Their beards had grown, and as Archer looked closer, he could make out various cuts and bruises on their faces, some of which were already healing again.
Phlox looked up from his scanner, meeting Archer's eyes with a worried expression on his face.
"Captain, we need to get them to sickbay. Their condition is critical, and especially Lieutenant Reed needs immediate medical attention. To be quite honest, I'm not even sure if we'll be able to get him back to the ship in time."
"Is it advisable to use the transporter, doctor?" T'Pol asked, and Phlox looked up at her.
"No, in their current condition it might actually kill them if we beam them back to the ship."
Tucking away his med scanner, he pulled out a hypospray.
"This will stabilize their condition, but we need to hurry."
Archer got up. "We need to take them back to the shuttle."
Without another word T'Pol bent down and carefully pulled Reed away from Trip, gently lowering him onto the ground. Then she picked up Trip's seemingly lifeless body and straightened up again, apparently unaffected by the weight.
When Archer lifted Malcolm off the ground, following T'Pol who was already on her way back to the shuttle, he realized with dismay that the Lieutenant seemed to have lost a great amount of weight. Walking faster, he caught up with T'Pol who had almost reached the shuttle by now.
Travis was standing in the hatch, a rather worried expression appearing on his face as he watched them approach. He didn't say a word, though, but simply took Reed from Archer, carrying him over to one of the rear benches while Archer climbed in through the hatch. Phlox followed, helping T'Pol carry Trip to the other bench, then opened his med kit and took out another hypospray.
Archer closed the hatch. "Get us back to the ship, Travis," he said. "Hurry."
"Aye, sir."
A moment later Archer felt the pod lift off the ground. Retreating to the rear part of the shuttle, he crouched down beside Phlox who was running his med scanner over Reed's body again.
"Will he make it, doc?" he asked, feeling his insides contract as he took another look at Malcolm. In the harsh light of the shuttle lamps, Reed's features looked even more drawn and haggard, and for about the hundredth time since they had picked up those bio signs Archer found himself wondering what the hell had happened. Phlox finished with his scans and picked up another hypospray, pressing it against Reed's neck.
"I don't know, Captain," he said. "I detected some strange substances in his blood which seem to be impairing his vital functions. I'm trying to stabilize him, but I need to run a more detailed analysis of these substances before I can come up with a diagnosis."
Archer had just opened his mouth to ask another question, when T'Pol spoke up from behind.
"Doctor, I have finished my scans of Commander Tucker. His condition seems to have stabilized, but he is suffering from internal injuries. It looks like there has been some bleeding around the peritoneum."
Phlox turned around, taking the medscanner from her outstretched hand. Checking the small display, he nodded in acknowledgement.
"I'll have to operate on him as soon as we get back to the ship." Running his scanner over Malcolm once again, he let out a deep breath. "He's stable. We were just in time, though. A few minutes later and there would have been nothing I could have done for him."
He turned back to Archer. "Captain, please contact the ship and tell them to have a med team stand by in the shuttle bay."
Nodding curtly, Archer got up. Phlox didn't waste any time, but went over to Trip's side, pulling another hypospray from his med kit.
Sitting down in front of the comm, Archer looked out the main window and saw that the shuttle had already left the planet's atmosphere, approaching Enterprise. He initiated the hailing frequency.
"Archer to Enterprise."
"Captain." Hoshi's voice came from the speaker. "Did you find them?"
"Yes, but they're in a critical condition. Have Ensign Cutler send a med team to shuttle bay one."
"Aye sir."
Her worried tone of voice told Archer that she'd have liked to ask a few more question, but being the ever-professional comm officer that she was, Hoshi simply cut the connection without another word.
Archer looked out the front window again. By now, they were near enough for him to be able to read the black lettering on the shuttle bay's doors, and Archer felt the knot of fear in his chest loosen a bit. At least they had been able to get both Trip and Malcolm back to the ship alive. And while he still couldn't get his mind off the question of what had happened down there on that planet, the only thing Archer really cared about at the moment was getting his officers back to safety. That was the only thing that counted right now.
Chapter 8
Three hours later Archer was on his way to sickbay, feeling rather nervous at the thought of what might await him there. When the med team had taken Trip and Malcolm away after they'd returned from the planet, Phlox had told him he'd contact him as soon as he'd finished the operation on Trip, making it quite clear that Archer would only be in the way in sickbay now.
Archer hadn't liked staying behind, not at all, but he had seen Phlox' point all the same, and had followed T'Pol to the bridge instead. Telling her to run some scans of the planet's surface to try and see if she could find anything unusual down there, he'd retreated to his ready room, leaving it to T'Pol to explain to Hoshi what had happened.
What they'd found down there on that planet had shaken him up to the core. When they'd returned to V'nera, Archer had expected to find his officers sound and healthy, eager to get back to the ship to evaluate the data they had gathered. Of course, there was a risk to every away mission, but this time Archer had been quite confident that everything would go smoothly. Up until the moment they'd left orbit five days ago, there had been no complications at all, and in the face of Trip's and Malcolm's enthusiasm about that observation mission Archer had felt almost obliged to give in and let them behind. The V'nerans were not a hostile people, after all.
And Archer still couldn't understand what had happened. He didn't understand why Malcolm and Trip had been fourhundred miles away from their shuttlepod or any inhabited settlement, how they'd sustained all those injuries and where the strange substances in Malcolm's blood came from.
He didn't understand any of these things, but he had every intention of finding out about them. And soon.
Archer pressed the panel on the wall, and the big double doors of sickbay slid aside. Phlox was standing next to a bio bed on the other side of the room. When Archer entered, he raised his head.
"Ah, Captain." The Denobulan wasn't wearing his usual smile and his voice sounded rather subdued as he spoke. "You'll be glad to hear that Commander Tucker will survive. He is suffering from severe hypothermia, and the operation has weakened him considerably, but he'll pull through."
Quickly, Archer crossed the room, coming to stand next to the bio bed as well. In the bright light of the sick bay lamps Trip was even paler and weaker-looking than before. His face seemed sunken, his cheekbones prominent, and there were dark smudges under his eyes that told Archer his friend had reached the point of total physical exhaustion. As his eyes fell on the bruises on Trip's face, some of which were already fading, Archer felt his chest contract. He knew that Trip wasn't going to die, but something in him still refused to feel relieved. Trip looked so... fragile, lying in that bed, surrounded by all the medical equipment.
Archer raised his head, meeting Phlox' eyes. "Will he... will he be okay?"
Phlox nodded. "There will be no permanent damage. He's been lucky, though. Without medical treatment the Commander wouldn't have survived much longer."
Archer looked back down at Trip. "What about Malcolm?"
Phlox sighed. "He's on life support in the IC Unit. The computer is still working on the analysis of those substances in his blood."
"Will he survive?" Archer urged. Phlox pressed a few buttons on the monitor above Trip's bed, avoiding to meet the Captain's eyes.
"I cannot say yet. He seems to have lapsed into a coma-like state, probably induced by the chemicals he's been injected with."
Archer bit his lip. "Are you saying someone... someone did this on purpose? That someone injected him with these substances?"
Phlox looked back at him, his usually kind features hardening with anger as he continued. "Captain, it is quite obvious that Lieutenant Reed and Commander Tucker have been tortured. Not only once, but several times during the last five days. Their injuries show certain... deliberate patterns..."
Phlox trailed off. Archer stared at him, seeing his own feelings mirrored on the doctor's face. He had suspected this all along, but now that he heard his suspicion being confirmed, it still came like a shock to him.
"The V'nerans?" he asked, his voice sounding hoarse. Phlox shook his head.
"The substances that I detected in Lieutenant Reed's blood are of synthetic origin. The V'nerans have not yet reached the level of technological development to synthesize these kind of chemicals."
"But who was it then?" Archer started to pace. "We scanned the planet. There is no one else down there."
"I can't tell you that, Captain. The only thing I can say for sure is that they have to be quite advanced to be able to resequence these kind of toxins." Phlox turned back to the bed, readjusting the tube that was attached to Trip's left arm. "I am sure T'Pol's scans will shed some light on that matter, though. At the moment, the only thing we can do is wait and see." He looked up at Archer. "Captain, when was the last time you had something to eat?"
Archer shook his head. "Thanks doc, but I'm not hungry at the moment. I'll stay here until-"
Phlox interrupted him. "Captain, it will be at least five hours until Commander Tucker wakes up. I suggest you go and eat something, and maybe lie down for a while. I'll contact you immediately if there are any changes."
Archer knew he would neither be eating nor sleeping anytime soon, but all the same he realized it would do no good, staying here breathing down Phlox' neck while the doctor was trying to find a way to help Trip and Malcolm.
He was already on his way to the door, when something came to his mind and he stopped in his tracks, looking back at Phlox once again.
"If you find out anything about those substances, doc, then please notify me immediately."
Phlox nodded. "Of course, Captain."
The doors slid shut behind him, and Archer headed down the corridor towards the turbolift. His determination to find out what exactly had happened had even grown during his short visit to sickbay, and Archer knew he had to find the people who had done this. Two of his officers had been tortured, had almost died, and Archer had no intention of letting whoever was responsible for this get away with it. Pressing the panel to call the turbolift, Archer decided to pay another visit to the bridge. Maybe T'Pol had been able to find out something new in the meantime.
-###-
At a distance, there was a noise, a faint but persistent beeping that penetrated the silence around him, bringing his reluctant mind slowly back to consciousness. The first thing Trip noted was that he was warm again, warm and actually comfortable. The pain was gone.
When he opened his eyes, there was a sudden onslaught of bright light and he blinked, turning his head away. After a moment his eyes adjusted to the light, and around him things gradually began to take shape. He seemed to be somewhere he knew, surrounded by some kind of equipment whose small lights flashed steadily, each blink accompanied by a faint bleep. Sickbay. He was lying in a bed in sickbay, the white curtains surrounding the bed hiding the rest of the room from view.
Trip blinked again, trying to drive away the haze that was clouding his vision, but still, he found he somehow couldn't seem to focus. He felt drowsy, his brain refusing to formulate clear thoughts, and as Trip struggled to concentrate on the fleeting images and incoherent fragments of memories that were flitting through his mind, a dull pain began to throb behind his forehead, and he gave up, simply letting his thoughts drift. Distantly, he was aware of an uneasy feeling at the very edge of his consciousness, but he couldn't seem to focus on it as he couldn't seem to focus on anything right now, and so he simply let it go.
Closing his eyes again, Trip savoured the feeling of warmth and not being in pain, something he didn't seem to have felt in a very long time. Just as he was about to slip back into slumber, there was the sound of footsteps coming nearer and a rustling of the curtains being drawn aside. Trip's eyes flew open and he tensed, feeling a sudden surge of terror as he saw a dark shape bending down over him. They'd come back-
"Commander?"
He heard a soft tone, not the harsh raspy voice he'd been expecting, and slowly realized that this was not one of them. It was someone he knew.
"Commander Tucker? Can you hear me?"
Trip blinked a few times, and the face came into focus. Phlox was looking down at him, his eyebrows drawn together in a worried frown. Trip opened his mouth to say something, but no sound came out, and he cleared his throat, trying again.
"Doc... what... "
Now Phlox' lips curved up in a smile, and he took a quick glance at the monitor above Trip's head, nodding in satisfaction.
"It's alright, Commander. You're in sickbay." Phlox paused, looking at the monitor again. "How do you feel?"
Trip shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. "What happened?"
The doctor was still smiling at him, speaking in a calming tone of voice as he answered. "We found you just in time down on that planet. You had us quite scared there for a few hours, but I'm sure you're going to be just fine. The Captain will be glad to hear you're awake, he's been quite worried about you. If you'll excuse me for a moment, Commander..."
Pushing the white curtains back into place, Phlox walked off. Trip stared after him, the meaning of what he'd just heard slowly sinking in. They'd been down on that planet. And they'd found them. Enterprise had found them. They were safe, both he and Malcolm...
Malcolm. Trip's memories fell back into place and the one thing he'd known all along but hadn't been able to grasp until now came back to his mind. Malcolm was dead. He'd died down there in the snow while Trip had been holding him, down there in that cold place and the darkness...
Trip closed his eyes, trying to make the memory go away, at the same time feeling an overwhelming despair rise within him. They'd come too late, too late to save them both, and now Malcolm was dead, for he, Trip, hadn't been able to keep him alive long enough. He'd tried, he'd really tried to keep him warm, to carry him as far as he could, but in the end he simply hadn't had the strength left to keep going. And so Malcolm had died and he was here, back on Enterprise, safe-
Swallowing hard past the lump in his throat, Trip felt something hot rise behind his closed eyelids. He knew that there was no way to escape this, but at the moment he felt he just couldn't stand these thoughts. He wished he could go back to sleep, simply think of nothing, and at the same time knew it would still be there when he woke up. Malcolm would still be dead.
Hearing the curtain being pushed aside again, Trip opened his eyes. There was Jon, a smile spreading on his face as he came up beside the bed.
"Trip! How're you feeling?"
Trip opened his mouth, but couldn't speak. His throat constricted, and he felt something warm running down his temples as he blinked to clear his vision.
"Jon..."
Archer's face changed, taking on a worried expression, and Trip felt Jon's hand close around his as Archer stepped up closer.
"You okay, Trip?" he asked, and Trip turned his head away, not able to look at Jon at the moment. He felt a sob rise in his throat and gritted his teeth. He didn't want to cry now.
"Is he alright, Phlox?" he heard Archer's voice say. Closing his eyes shut, he tried to hold back the tears that were burning there. Phlox' voice sounded subdued as he answered.
"He's probably still a little confused, Captain, due to the medications I gave him. He seemed to be quite out of it when I talked to him before, so we might just have to give him a little time."
Trip felt Archer give his hand a slight squeeze.
"Hey, Trip, it's okay," he heard him say quietly. "Come on, look at me. Everything's okay now."
Slowly, Trip turned his head, not caring anymore if Archer saw his tears.
"I tried," he said, hearing his voice crack as he spoke. "I tried, but it was so cold, and I just couldn't go on... I'm so sorry..."
Archer's eyebrows drew together. "What did you try?"
"Malcolm... I tried to get him out of the cold, but there was just nowhere to go to, and then I fell..."
Archer frowned down at him, but then something like understanding dawned on his face. Squeezing his hand even tighter, he put a hand to Trip's shoulder.
"Trip," he said gently, "Malcolm's not dead. Do you hear me? He's alive."
Trip stared at him for a moment, then shook his head. "He wasn't... he wasn't breathin' anymore. I couldn't feel a pulse."
"Dr. Phlox found some kind of drug in his blood that has been impairing his vital functions. At first we couldn't even pick up his bio sign on the scanners, but he's alive. Malcolm's not dead."
Trip tried to grasp the meaning of what Archer was telling him, but found that he somehow just couldn't. It was simply too much, and even though he knew that he was supposed to be relieved now, happy or ecstatic or anything, he only felt fresh tears forming in his eyes and turned his head away again. Archer had said Malcolm wasn't dead, but how could that be? Malcolm had died down there, he had stopped breathing, and even if what Archer was saying were true, then why hadn't Trip noticed? He didn't know what to think or feel anymore, and the only thing he really wanted to do now was simply close his eyes and make it all go away.
A warm hand settled on his shoulder, shaking him gently.
"Trip, do you understand what I'm saying?" Archer was beginning to sound worried. Trip kept his eyes closed and concentrated only on taking slow and even breaths, trying to get a grip on himself.
Malcolm's not dead, he told himself, he's not. Jon said so, and why would he lie to me? We made it back to Enterprise, both of us. He's not dead.
"Captain," he heard Phlox' voice, "I believe Commander Tucker is not quite up to this kind of conversation yet. He probably doesn't understand what you're saying, and I don't think it's advisable to upset him any further. Your questions will have to wait."
"I need to talk to him, doctor," Archer said. "I need to know what happened. Can't you give him something..."
Before Phlox could answer, Trip turned his head, opening his eyes again. There were still all those confused thoughts and feelings swirling through his mind, but at least he was finally able to keep these stupid tears at bay.
"No," he said, "that's okay. I'm fine, don't need any more medications." He swallowed, looking up at Archer. "So... so Malcolm's really not dead?"
"No, he's not." Smiling, Archer took a seat on the edge of the bed. "He's in the IC Unit at the moment. Dr. Phlox is taking good care of him." He paused, studying Trip's face, and some of the worry returned into his voice as he continued. "So... how do you feel?"
Trip made a faint attempt at a shrug. "Okay. A little tired, I guess."
Jon's expression told him that the Captain didn't believe him for one second, but all the same Archer nodded, giving him a slight smile.
"That's good to hear. It's really good to have you back, Trip. You had me quite worried there for a few hours."
"It's good to be back," Trip said quietly. For a while there was silence, only interrupted by the beeping of the monitors. Finally Archer spoke up again.
"Trip," he began hesitantly, "I know I should wait asking you this, but... I need to know what happened."
Trip looked away again. He'd known Jon would ask this, but he didn't really know what to tell him. There were all those fragmented memories in his mind, voices and images, but they were strangely blurred, like scenes of a dream you recall clearly only for a few seconds after waking up, and which then quickly fade away, leaving but a faint impression of what was in your mind only a few moments ago.
"There... there were these people... I don't know who they were. They were not V'nerans. They... I don't exactly remember. Suddenly we woke up in that place, that cell..."
He trailed off. Archer shifted on the edge of the bed. "What happened then?"
"They..." Trip hesitated. He knew that if he was to go on, all the blurred fragments would merge together again, bringing back the exact memories of what had happened, and he was afraid of that. Still, Jon had to know.
"They wanted to perform some kind of tests on us. They... they said they needed our cooperation..."
Again, he couldn't go on. He remembered now, he remembered how he'd felt when the guard had taken him back to the cell, when he'd told him that Malcolm had decided to cooperate. But there were no words to express these kind of things, and so he simply shrugged, shaking his head a little. Archer put a hand on his arm.
"It's alright, Trip. We don't have to talk about that now. Do you remember how you came to be out there?"
Trip nodded slowly. "At some point Malcolm... he decided to cooperate. When... when they were done, that guard... he said he had orders to kill us, but wouldn't do it. He just left us out there, tellin' us to try and reach that town..."
Archer frowned. "What town?"
"He said there was..." Trip broke off, suddenly feeling very tired. He met Archer's eyes. "There is no town, is there?"
Archer shook his head. "No. T'Pol's still scanning the area, but I know for sure that you were not near any town or settlement." He paused. "This place... do you know if it was underground or something?"
"No..." Trip frowned. "I think it was some kinda building... it was pretty big. There were these endless corridors with all those doors... but it wasn't underground. I saw it when that guard kicked us out."
"Are you sure?" Archer asked, but when he opened his mouth to continue, the curtain was being pulled aside again, and Phlox appeared, a disapproving frown on his face.
"Captain," he said reproachfully. "I told you Commander Tucker isn't up to your questions yet. I must insist that you go now. The Commander needs to rest."
"Of course." Archer got up, patting Trip on the shoulder. "Well then, see you later, old buddy. I'll be back soon."
Trip nodded, watching drowsily as Phlox put a hand to Jon's arm, all but dragging him away from the bed. The curtain slid back into place. Shifting slightly, Trip let out a small sigh. He'd never felt so tired in his whole life, and while talking to Archer had brought up quite a few memories he'd rather have kept suppressed a while longer, his mind simply refused to deal with them now. He knew that Malcolm wasn't dead, and that was enough for the moment. The rest would have to wait.
Closing his eyes, Trip allowed his mind to slip back into oblivion, and the last thing he knew before he fell asleep was the reassuring beeping sound of the instruments that told him he was in sickbay, on Enterprise. Safe.
-###-
"Really Captain." Phlox still sounded rather disgruntled. "You could have shown a little more consideration for Commander Tucker's condition. He just woke up from a major operation, after all."
"I know that." Archer felt slightly guilty at the doctor's words, but at the same time knew he'd had no other choice than bothering Trip with these questions. He had to find out what had happened. Following Phlox over to the counter, he threw a glance at the computer screen that displayed the current status of the analysis Phlox was running of those substances he'd found in Malcolm's blood.
"Anything new?" he asked. Phlox pressed a few buttons, frowning at the screen.
"The analysis is almost completed. I'm quite confident that after a few more scans I'll be able to begin filtering Lieutenant Reed's blood."
Archer bit his lip. "So he's going to make it?"
Phlox took another look at the screen. "The odds are definitely in his favour. These are chemical toxins, not very complex in their structure, so they should be quite easy to extract. With a little luck, I'll have completed the procedure in less than forty-eight hours."
Archer let out a sigh of relief. This was better news than he had expected, and he felt the worry that was weighing down on his mind lessen a bit. At least he knew now that both of his officers were going to make it.
"Well doc," he said, "I'll be on the bridge. Please call me if there are any changes."
Phlox nodded absentmindedly, his attention focused on the screen again. Taking one last glance at Trip's bio bed that was now hidden from view by the white curtains, Archer turned to go.
As he headed down the corridor towards the turbolift, he thought about the things Trip had told him. There was something fishy about the whole business. Who were these mysterious "people", as Trip had called them, and what kind of tests had they been performing? Remembering the look of fear on Trip's face when he'd mentioned those tests, Archer felt a sudden surge of anger. No matter who those people were, if he ever got hold of them they would need a damn good reason for him not to just blast them off the surface of that planet. Or wherever they were hiding.
Pushing these thoughts away, Archer was just reaching out for the panel beside the turbolift door when the bulkhead slid aside.
"Captain." T'Pol stepped out onto the corridor, an eyebrow raised. "I was just on my way to see you about the results of my scans."
"Are you done?" Archer raised an eyebrow, matching T'Pol's expression. "Why didn't you call me over the comm?"
T'Pol clasped her hands behind her back. "I... thought I'd also pay a visit to sickbay to inform myself about the condition of Lieutenant Reed and Commander Tucker."
Archer felt a smile tug at the corner of his mouth. "Ah. Well, they are not in immediate danger anymore, and Phlox informed me that he'll probably be able to extract those toxins from Malcolm's blood. I just talked to Trip, and he told me a little about what happened. He said something about a place where they were being held..."
"What kind of place?" T'Pol looked at him with a rather strange expression on her face. Archer frowned.
"Trip mentioned a building of some kind, a pretty big building, he said, not too far from where we found them."
The strange expression on T'Pol's face didn't change. "Captain, you might want to take a look at these scan results."
She handed him a padd and Archer scrolled through the data displayed on the small screen. His eyebrows drew together and he looked up at T'Pol again, shaking his head.
"This can't be," he said. "They must be using some kind of cloaking device or something..."
T'Pol took the padd back from him. "No, Captain. I have thoroughly scanned the area above and under the surface. In a plain terrain like this, any kind of power-driven device would cause energetic fluctuations which would show on the scanners." She raised an eyebrow. "There is nothing down there, Captain."
Chapter 9
Medical Log, Supplemental, Chief Medical Officer Phlox:
It is now three days ago that I have successfully completed the filtering of Lieutenant Reed's blood, and his condition has been improving ever since. After removing the substances from his system, I began administering medication at regular intervals to restore his metabolism and fight the aftereffects of the toxins he's been injected with. His body is responding well to the treatment and he even woke up a few times during the last three days, but as a side-effect of the sedatives he has never been fully lucid yet. I started backing down his medication yesterday, so he should be returning to full consciousness soon.
I have gained the impression, though, that Lieutenant Reed has suffered some kind of psychological trauma; during his waking periods he seemed quite agitated, but I cannot tell for sure what is causing this state of anxiety. Additionally I have noticed a certain restlessness in his sleep. He seems to be having nightmares.
Commander Tucker is recovering nicely from the operation, but I've decided to keep him here for another six or seven days of observation. He is still suffering from the aftereffects of hypothermia and malnutrition, but I trust that he'll be ready to be released from sickbay in one week at the most. Even so, he has not been talking to anyone about what happened to him and Mr. Reed, and I think it will be quite a while until he is physically and emotionally ready to return to full duties.
Trip turned over on his bio bed, trying to find a comfortable position. His eyes fell on the padd that was lying on the nightstand, and for a moment he considered picking it up and reading a few more chapters of that novel Jon had brought him yesterday, but then decided against it. Reading always triggered a dull pain behind his eyes, and if Phlox caught him with that padd again when he came back from mess hall later, he was sure to go off the deep end this time. The doctor's idea of "getting some rest" seemed to exclude any kind of activity except lying motionless on a bio bed staring at the ceiling, and while Trip was still feeling a little under the weather, he was getting kind of annoyed by the doctor's constant hovering. Besides, he didn't really want to read that book anyway. It was some sort of crime novel and while Trip usually liked these kind of stories, now he found it to be kind of silly. It seemed stupid, reading a two hundred pages about how exactly some detective found out who murdered a person who never really appeared in the story, and who, thinking about it, didn't even really exist.
Trip let out a small sigh, adjusting his pillow and rolling onto his back again. Turning his head, he looked over to the bio bed where Malcolm lay. The curtains were drawn half-way shut, and so he could only see part of the blanket Reed was covered with, but Trip didn't have to see him to know that he was still sleeping. Phlox had said Malcolm's condition was improving, but Trip hadn't really noticed any changes in the time since Phlox had moved Reed from the IC Unit to over here three days ago. Sure, he'd woken up a couple of times, but then he had not recognized any of his surroundings, talking in a fearful voice to people who weren't there. Phlox hadn't been able to make any sense of what he was saying, but Trip thought he had a pretty good idea of whom Malcolm was talking to.
At the moment, however, Malcolm seemed to be sleeping peacefully. This was kind of surprising, actually, for Reed had not been resting quietly these last few days, tossing and turning, sometimes talking in his sleep. Trip wished he were able to help him somehow, but the only thing he could think of was waking him up, and that didn't make much of a difference.
Turning his head, Trip looked back at the ceiling and sighed again. He found himself half-wishing that Phlox would return so he could watch him fuss around in sickbay feeding his various pets and creatures, which would definitely be more interesting than lying here counting the cracks in the ceiling.
Trip was just reaching out for the padd, deciding that maybe reading a few pages wasn't such a bad idea after all, when a sound from across the room made him stop in his tracks. Raising his eyes, he saw that Malcolm was moving restlessly on the bed again. Propping himself up on one elbow, Trip saw the blankets shift and a moment later he heard a small noise, something like a moan.
"No." Malcolm's voice sounded strained, as if he were having trouble breathing. "No, please... I can't..."
He fell silent, and Trip held his breath, listening, hoping the nightmare had vanished again. Reed was quiet for a few moments, and Trip was already about to lie back down when Malcolm began to talk anew.
"Please... please don't... I told you already, why can't you stop... please, no..."
There was a despair to Malcolm's voice that chilled Trip to the very core, and he got up. He couldn't stand listening to this, and even though it would probably be no use, he had to at least try and wake him up. The sickbay floor was cold under his bare feet as he crossed the short distance to Malcolm's bio bed, and as he pushed the curtain aside, he saw that Reed's hands were clenched to fists and there was a thin film of sweat on his pale face. Just as Trip watched, Malcolm began to turn his head from side to side, grimacing as if he were in pain.
"No, don't do that," he whispered hoarsely, "please, don't do that-"
Trip grabbed him by the shoulders.
"Malcolm!" he said, hearing some of that despair creep into his own voice. "Malcolm, wake up!"
"No!" Malcolm tried to pull away from his touch, but Trip tightened his grip on Reed's shoulders, shaking him a little.
"Come on, wake up!"
Malcolm's eyes flew open, and Trip saw the terror there. Reed's breathing was coming in short, ragged gasps, and again he tried to free himself, shaking his head.
"No... what..."
"Malcolm!" Releasing Reed's shoulders, Trip put a hand over one of Malcolm's clenched fists. "It's okay. It's me, Trip. No one's tryin' to hurt you."
Slowly, Reed's breathing quieted down, and he blinked a few times. When he opened his eyes again, the wild look in them was gone, and he gradually seemed to become aware of his surroundings, his eyes coming to rest on Trip.
"What..."
Trip smiled down at him, feeling something like excitement at the very back of his mind as he realized that Malcolm was actually looking at him, apparently aware of his presence.
"It's alright, Malcolm. Everything's okay. It was just a dream."
Reed blinked again, and his eyebrows drew together in confusion. "Trip?"
"Yes, it's me."
Malcolm swallowed a few times, his frown deepening. "How... how did I get to be here?"
Trip took a seat on the edge of the bed. "They found us. Enterprise got back to V'nera five days early, and they found us just in time."
Reed shook his head. "I... I can't remember... how long ago was that?"
"A few days." Trip noticed that Malcolm's eyes still had a slightly hazy look to them, but he seemed to have no problems understanding what Trip was telling him. It was strange, sitting here having this conversation. During these last few days, Reed had shown no sign of being aware of anything that was going on around him, and Trip had begun to doubt he would ever return to the world of the living again.
Even so, Malcolm still seemed to have a little trouble focusing, and as Trip was watching he saw him grimace ever so slightly.
"How d'you feel?" he asked and Reed blinked again, as if trying to clear his thoughts.
"Thirsty," he said then, and Trip smiled a little.
"Wait a minute," he said, getting up from the bio bed. "I'll get you somethin'."
When he returned, carrying a glass of water, he saw that Reed was trying to sit up, awkwardly propping himself up on one elbow. Coming up beside the bed, Trip put his hand to Reed's back, supporting him, and helped him guide the glass to his lips. Closing his eyes, Reed took a few careful sips. Trip noticed that Malcolm seemed to have trouble swallowing and remembered the occasion a few days ago when he himself had for the first time been allowed to eat some soup after days of intravenous feeding. The hot liquid had made his sore throat burn, and he'd only eaten half of it, feeling rather sick afterwards.
After he'd taken a few more sips, Malcolm seemed to have had enough, and Trip put the glass down on the nightstand, helping Reed lie back down on the bio bed again.
"Feelin' better now?" he asked, sitting back down on the edge of the bed.
Reed nodded, closing his eyes again. "Thanks." He let out a deep breath. "God, I'm tired."
Trip studied his weary features, noticing the dark areas under Malcolm's eyes. Up close, Reed looked even worse, his face pale and waxy, his cheeks hollow and sunken in.
He looks ill, Trip thought, feeling a surge of compassion. No, not ill. He looks wasted.
Straightening the blankets, he smiled at Malcolm who had opened his eyes again. "Well, why don't you go back to sleep. I'll tell Phlox you woke up."
Malcolm looked away. "No, I think I'd rather stay awake for a while."
Noting a tense undertone in Reed's voice, Trip frowned. "What is it?"
"I... " Malcolm hesitated. "I don't want to go to sleep. It... it keeps coming back..."
"What keeps comin' back?"
Malcolm swallowed. "When I dream... I'm back in that... that place..."
Now there was barely controlled fear in Malcolm's voice, and Trip found himself feeling a little helpless. He realized there was no way for Malcolm to escape these memories, and again wished he could do something to help his friend. Shifting slightly on the edge of the bed, Trip closed his fingers over Malcolm's hand. Reed's skin felt cold to his touch.
"Would it help if I stayed?" he asked quietly. Malcolm turned his head to look at him, and something like gratitude shone in his eyes as he answered.
"If you... if you don't mind," he said, sounding a little embarrassed. Trip nodded, squeezing Malcolm's hand a little.
"That's alright," he said. "I'll stay."
He watched as Malcolm closed his eyes again, shifting to find a more comfortable position. After a while, Malcolm's features began to relax and his breathing quieted down. Trip watched him closely, half expecting that the nightmares would return, but Malcolm slept on peacefully, never once moving or making a sound.
Trip had been sitting there for quite some time when he heard the sickbay doors swish open and footsteps coming nearer. A moment later the curtain was being pushed aside, and Phlox appeared, raising his eyebrows in surprise as he saw Trip sitting there.
"Commander?" he asked, and was just about to continue, probably preparing to launch into another lecture on how important it was for patients to stay in bed, when Trip interrupted him.
"He woke up again."
Phlox checked the monitor above Reed's head, then glanced at Trip.
"Was there any sign of recognition when he saw you?"
Trip smiled a little. "I'd say so. I talked to him for quite a while before he fell asleep again."
Phlox blinked. "Really?" he said, looking down at Malcolm who was resting quietly. "Well, that's good news, isn't it?" He gave Trip a slight smile, then set himself to the task of changing the dropper bottle on the drip beside Malcolm's bed. "Did he still seem that agitated when he spoke to you?"
"No, not really. He was havin' those nightmares again, and so I woke him up. At first he didn't know where he was, but then he calmed down and I was able to talk to him a little. He drank some water, too."
"The Captain will be glad to hear that." Phlox finished hooking up the new bottle, then turned back to Trip. "Well, Commander, all the same I must insist that you go back to bed now. We don't want you to catch a cold, hm?"
Trip shook his head. "I'd rather stay here, doc. Malcolm asked me to and I think he's not dreamin' as much when there's somebody with him."
Instead of starting another argument like Trip had expected him to, Phlox only raised his eyebrows and walked over to one of the cupboards, pulling out a blanket.
"Here," he said, handing it to Trip, "take this. We are only just recovering from hypothermia, remember?"
"Never noticed you sufferin' from hypothermia, doc," Trip muttered, wrapping the blanket around his shoulders.
"Excuse me?"
Trip shook his head. "Nothin'."
Phlox took another glance at the monitor above Malcolm's bed. "Very well, Commander. You'll have to excuse me now, I still got some work to do in the science lab. Don't stay up for too long, though, hm? You mustn't exhaust yourself."
"Alright, doctor," Trip said, holding back a sigh. Phlox nodded in satisfaction, gathering up a few padds.
"Well, I trust you won't. I'll be off, then."
Trip watched as the sickbay doors slid shut behind him, then turned back to Malcolm, who was still fast asleep. For a moment something like a frown crossed Reed's face, and he turned his head to one side, shifting slightly. Trip took his hand again.
"It's alright, Malcolm," he said. "I won't go away."
And he stayed.
-###-
"Trip?"
Reed's quiet voice startled him out of his thoughts, and Trip raised his head. Malcolm had been sleeping soundly for several hours now, without any sign of the restless tossing and turning that had accompanied his sleeping periods before. Even though Trip had almost nodded off a few times himself, he had never once left Malcolm's side while Reed had been resting, sitting where he was now, trying to ignore the dull ache that was building in the small of his back.
"Sleep well?" he asked, smiling a little. Reed briefly closed his eyes and opened them again, obviously trying to blink off the last remnants of slumber.
"You were here all the time?" he asked. "How long was I asleep?" he added as an afterthought. Trip shifted a little on the bed.
"Oh... quite some time. How're you feelin'?"
Reed stifled a yawn. "Better. Headache's gone." He let his eyes wander across the room. "Where's Phlox?"
"He's been here coupla times, but he's got work to do in the science lab." Trip sighed. "And I hope he stays there for a while. When he's here, he's always badgerin' me to get back to bed."
Reed smiled a little. "Thanks for staying, Trip." He paused. "How are you feeling, by the way?"
Trip shrugged. "I'm alright. Doc says I'm recoverin' nicely."
There was silence for a while. Trip found that he still felt strange, sitting here talking to Malcolm, joking about Phlox' lectures as if there'd never been a time when he'd thought his friend to be dead, when he'd thought he himself would die in only a few hours. He remembered how he'd felt down there on that planet, walking through the snowstorm, the weight of Malcolm's body making his every step an effort of its own. Deep down in his mind he had known they had no chance of survival, but he'd walked on anyway. Maybe it had only been some crazy part of him that had kept him going down there, a part of his mind which had refused to accept that they had no chance, that Malcolm had no chance, but whatever it had been, Trip was glad for it. Maybe it had made a difference, after all.
And Malcolm had done the same thing for him. For some reason he'd decided to let these people do this to him, and Trip could only guess what Reed had gone through after the guard had taken him, Trip, back to that cell. Trip had been sure he would never even see Malcolm again. And now they were sitting here, talking to each other like none of it had ever happened.
"Malcolm..." he began hesitantly, "can I ask you somethin'?"
Malcolm met his eyes. "Sure," he said, and Trip paused for a moment, trying to find the right words.
"Do you... do you remember, back in that place, when you told them you... when you agreed to cooperate?"
Malcolm was watching him with a rather wary expression in his eyes, as if he was afraid of what Trip might be saying next. Trip continued.
"Why... why did you do this?"
Reed turned his head away, but Trip saw a flicker of pain in his eyes before he averted his face. Malcolm gave no answer, simply shaking his head, and Trip put a hand on his arm.
"Malcolm. We need to talk about this. Why did you do this?"
"Trip... " Malcolm's voice cracked. "I can't... I can't talk about that now."
Trip knew it would probably be better to just leave it alone for the moment, but at the same time realized that these were things that needed to be said, and soon. For if they were to continue to act like nothing had happened, both of them trying to push it all away, the situation would only get worse and worse until there would be nothing left but a great silence between them. And he couldn't let that happen.
"We have to talk about it," he repeated, and felt the muscles in Reed's arm tense. Malcolm shook his head again.
"No, Trip, I can't. Not now-"
"Malcolm." Trip didn't let go of him even as Reed tried to pull away. "I know it's hard, but... if we don't talk about it now, it'll only get harder with every day. I need to know what happened. Why did you agree to cooperate, why did you-"
"I heard you screaming."
The words startled Trip into silence. He stared at Malcolm who had turned his head and was now looking at him again. In the light of the ceiling lamps Reed's eyes seemed overly bright as he continued.
"It was shortly after they'd taken me to that other cell... it was very close to the room where they... to that interrogation room. I heard you. While they were... you were screaming all the time, and I heard you."
Reed closed his eyes, and Trip sat there on the edge of the bed, frozen with shock. The memories he'd been desperately avoiding all this time came back full force, and he remembered the pain, that terrible agony and the feeling of being completely alone-
"It was... " Reed's voice was barely audible as he continued. "I just couldn't stand it, I just couldn't. The screaming... it just didn't stop and then I remembered..."
He broke off and Trip raised his head. "What did you remember?"
Malcolm opened his eyes again, looking at Trip as if he was only just now becoming aware of his presence. Then he shook his head.
"Nothing."
Trip saw the pain in his eyes and realized that there was something more to this, something that had made the situation so unbearable to Malcolm that it had finally broken him in the end. Tightening his grip on Reed's arm, Trip swallowed.
"What is it, Malcolm?" he asked hoarsely. "What did you remember?"
Reed averted his eyes, but Trip saw the tears in them all the same. "Don't ask, Trip, okay?" he whispered, his voice cracking as he spoke. "Don't ask me this, I... I can't handle that right now. It's just that... many years ago, there was someone I should have helped but didn't... I couldn't. When I... when I heard you screaming, I knew I just couldn't let it happen again."
Trip felt tears rise in his eyes, and without thinking about it, he pulled Malcolm into a hug, holding him tightly as Reed buried his face in his shoulder, sobbing in utter defeat. Tears were streaming down his own cheeks now as well, but Trip made no move to wipe them off, rocking Malcolm in his arms.
"We made it," he whispered. "You hear me? We made it."
Between the sobs that were racking his body, Trip felt Malcolm nod against his shoulder and pulled him closer.
"It's over." Trip kept speaking in a calming tone, feeling Malcolm's body slowly relax against his own. "It's all over, no one's gonna hurt you here. We're safe."
Trip listened to his own words echo in his ears and savoured the feeling of knowing that they were actually true. They were safe. They had made it. And Malcolm was not dead.
"I'm so glad you survived... down on that planet, I thought you were dead, you weren't breathin' anymore and I thought you had died, out there in the snow..."
He felt Reed stir in his arms, and as he carefully let go of him, he saw that Malcolm's tears were subsiding. Reed sat back a little, wiping his cheeks, and Trip leaned forward, picking up a box of kleenex from the nightstand.
"Here," he said, handing one of the tissues to Malcolm. Reed palmed away another tear, then took the kleenex from Trip and blew his nose rather noisily.
"Sorry," he mumbled, reaching out to get himself another tissue. "I didn't mean to..."
"That's okay," Trip said quickly. There was a moment of silence, and Trip lowered his eyes, looking down at the box of kleenex in his hands, trying to get his upset feelings under control again. He felt kind of embarrassed; when he'd insisted on having this talk his intention had been to give Malcolm a chance to talk about what was troubling him and not to add to his distress by falling to pieces like that. These last few days however he'd often found himself on the verge of tears at the most irrelevant of occasions, and now that he had finally given in to the urge to let it all come out, Trip realized that he was actually feeling better.
"Trip?"
He raised his head and saw Malcolm looking at him, his eyebrows drawn together in a slight frown.
"You said something about being out there in the snow. What..."
Trip sighed. "Yeah, well. You haven't heard about that yet, I forgot." He hesitated. "It's not a very nice story, you know."
"Tell me anyway."
Absentmindedly, Trip pulled another kleenex from the box, plucking it apart as he spoke.
"When... when the tests were over, that guard brought you to my cell, tellin' me to follow him. He said they'd ordered him to kill us, but he wouldn't do it... I don't know why. He took me outside, and there was nothin' but snow and ice all around, and it was gettin' dark. He told me to take you and try to reach a town he said was there... but there was no town. I... I tried to get as far as I could, but at some point I... I simply couldn't go on."
Trip looked up and saw Malcolm watching him, his eyes wide. "You know, it was so cold, and I felt like I was losin' my mind, and then you stopped breathin' and I... I..."
Trip averted his eyes, clenching his fists around the torn-up remains of the tissue, desperately trying to hold back the tears that were rising in his throat again. Damn, would there ever be a time when he would be able to stop crying about this whole rotten business?
He felt a warm hand coming to rest on his shoulder. Turning his head, he met Malcolm's eyes and saw a silent understanding in them that helped him get a grip on himself.
"Trip," Reed said quietly, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I broke my promise, and I'm sorry you had to go through all of this..."
"Me?" Trip let out a small, humourless laugh. "I'm not the one havin' nightmares."
Malcolm looked away. Trip saw the muscles in his jaw work and remembered the helpless fear in Reed's voice as he'd been talking in his sleep earlier. He couldn't begin to imagine what kind of memories it were that were haunting his friend, and while part of him didn't really want to know, either, he felt he had to ask anyway.
"Malcolm..." he began hesitantly, "d'you want to talk about what happened? You know, after... after you said you'd cooperate?"
Malcolm turned his head but didn't look at him, staring down at his hands. For a moment, Trip saw a flicker of something cross Malcolm's face, something like shock or just plain terror, but when he met Trip's eyes again, his features were expressionless.
"I don't remember," he said, and there was something final to his tone so that Trip didn't ask any further. It was clear that Malcolm wasn't willing to talk about that now, and Trip had a feeling that he wouldn't be anytime soon. Maybe never.
After a while, Trip spoke up again. "You know, Jon told me earlier we're leavin' orbit today," he said. "He says it's no use lookin' any further. T'Pol took a million scans of that planet over the last few days, and Jon and Travis even went down with a shuttle coupla times. But they couldn't find anything."
"They can't find them?" Reed asked. There was something strange to his tone, something more like weariness rather than surprise, and Trip turned his head, looking at him. Malcolm's face was still as expressionless as it had been before.
"No," Trip said. "They're not there."
Malcolm gave a small sigh, rubbing a hand over his face. "Maybe that's just as well."
Trip frowned, but as he saw the exhausted look on Reed's face, he decided not to pursue the matter at the moment. Malcolm had been with these people for quite some time, and maybe he'd seen things that would shed some light on why they weren't able to find anything down there, but Trip would be damned if he was going to bother Malcolm with these questions now.
Watching Reed lie back down on his pillow, Trip noticed that he was still holding the crumpled-up remains of the kleenex in his hand. By now, they had almost dissolved in his palm and were soaked with sweat. Shoving them into his pajama pocket, Trip bent down and retrieved his blanket that had fallen to the floor earlier. Wrapping it around his shoulders, he glanced back at Malcolm and noticed that Reed was barely able to keep his eyes open anymore.
"Go on back to sleep," he said, smiling a little. "Doc'll have my head if he sees that I'm still keepin' you awake."
Malcolm half-opened his eyes again, and Trip closed his fingers around Reed's hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "Don't worry," he said. "I'll stay here till you're asleep."
Reed opened his mouth to protest, but Trip simply shook his head, and Malcolm, obviously too weary to argue, settled back down on the pillow, closing his eyes again.
It took Malcolm only a few minutes to fall asleep, but all the same Trip stayed for another half an hour until he was absolutely sure that this time Reed's sleep wouldn't be disturbed by any nightmares. Then he carefully slid off the bio bed, pushing the curtains back into place before he returned to his own bed. He hadn't really noticed just how tired he was until he lay down, but when he rested his head on his pillow, he felt his eyes droop almost immediately.
A few moments later he'd slipped into a deep slumber, sleeping soundly and peacefully for the first time since Enterprise had found them on that planet almost a week ago.
--
EPILOGUE
Reed was sitting at a table in the mess hall, cradling a cup of lukewarm mint tea in his hands. The tea had been hot when he'd taken it from the resequencer an hour ago, but since Malcolm wasn't thirsty, he didn't really care if it was growing cold. In the end, he knew he would only dump it in the waste recycler again like he'd done on all the previous nights he'd been sitting here these last two months.
He didn't really know why he always came to the mess hall when he couldn't sleep. Somehow, when he woke from these nightmares, his dark quarters always seemed strangely depressing to him, and most of the times he found his racing pulse wouldn't slow down until he got out of bed and left that room, wandering restlessly through Enterprise's corridors. After a while, he always ended up in the mess hall, sitting down at the same table each night, in front of him a cup of tea he knew he wouldn't drink anyway. In a way, the mess hall seemed to be neutral ground, a place where you came with a purpose, where no one expected you to do anything but get yourself some food or a drink and sit down at a table. If you did that, people left you alone, thinking you only left your quarters for a midnight snack, and didn't ask any awkward questions you couldn't answer anyway. What exactly were you supposed to tell people who asked you how you were feeling, or if you enjoyed being back on duty, or if you'd liked the movie they'd shown last Friday on movie night? You could either lie to them, say what they wanted to hear, or... well, thinking about it, that actually was the only option. Lately, Malcolm had begun to doubt a number of things he'd taken for granted all his life, but one thing he knew for sure: He wasn't going to tell anybody about what he kept seeing in those nightmares, those horrible visions that had been haunting his sleep ever since Enterprise had found them on that planet two months ago. Actually, he couldn't tell anybody either, since he didn't really know what he was seeing, anyway. He knew it was dark in that place, and he knew he was running, running away from something or somebody, but that was about it. It was a terrible place, cold and strangely out of perspective, and you had the impression of running downhill although you saw the ground was sloping upwards. He knew there had been a time when he'd actually been there, not only in his dreams, but that wasn't something he wanted to think about. And so he came to the mess hall almost every night, not drinking his tea and staring out at the stars.
Sometimes when he was here, Trip would come, silently joining him at the table and nursing a drink of his own. They never talked much at these occasions, simply sitting there, sharing a silence they both welcomed and needed. These last two months, Malcolm hadn't really felt the need to talk to anyone, but anyone except Trip seemed to be uncomfortable when he only sat there, making no contributions of his own to the small talk the others were so desperately trying to keep up. Most people seemed to take on a slightly subdued air when either he or Trip were around, careful not to put their foot in it by laughing or joking, and at the same time trying to treat them as if nothing had changed. And while neither he nor Trip took offense at anyone having a good time - hell, Malcolm desperately hoped there would come a time when he himself would be able to laugh and joke again without having to force the smile on his face - it was very straining, having to endure those concerned looks and whispered comments all the time. So Trip and he kept together most of the time, sitting at their table in the mess hall, stabbing their food, isolated from the crew who maybe even felt secretly relieved at not having to keep them company. It made him sad, being an outsider again after he'd started to feel so comfortable with the people on this ship, but Malcolm didn't really know what he was supposed to do to make things like they had been before. He couldn't simply forget about the whole thing and act like nothing ever happened... he just couldn't. He knew that if he did, it would only be a fake. And even though the Reeds were usually quite good at pretending, during the last few years Malcolm had gotten so used to not having to feign any of his feelings that he wasn't even sure if he would be able to do so again. At times, a helpless fury took hold of him when he thought of those people back on that planet and what they'd done to his life. And come to think of it, to the life of his best friend as well, for Trip, who used to be the center of attention at any kind of social event, was as isolated now as he was.
Suddenly Malcolm heard the door swishing open and raised his head. Trip came in, but at first he didn't acknowledge Reed's presence, walking over to the resequencer and ordering his usual glass of cold milk. Taking the glass, Trip stood there for a moment, looking as if he didn't really know what to do next. Then his eyes fell on Reed sitting there and he crossed the mess hall, setting his glass down on the table.
"Hey, Malcolm."
Reed gave a small nod, and Trip took a seat across from him. For a while neither of them spoke a word, both of them staring down at their drinks. In a way, Malcolm found he was feeling kind of relieved that Trip had come. Although he didn't want to talk, sitting all alone in the dark wasn't going to make him feel any better either.
When after a while Trip spoke up again, Malcolm almost startled.
"Malcolm," Trip said quietly, "aren't you gettin' kind of tired of this whole business?"
Reed looked up, but didn't say anything. He knew, of course, what Trip was talking about, and yes, he was indeed tired of the whole thing, but what use would it be saying so? It wouldn't change anything about their situation.
"You know," he said after a while when the silence was getting awkward, "I am, but... I just can't forget about what happened either. It's... it's there all the time... I'm sure you know what I mean."
Trip nodded. "I know what you mean, but..." He hesitated. "I just can't stand this anymore. I hate thinkin' about it all the time, and I hate the others treatin' us like... like we're traumatized or somethin'..."
Reed let out a bitter laugh. "Aren't we?"
"No, we're not!" Trip got up and started to pace. "Maybe I can't forget about the whole thing, but I'll be damned if I let it ruin my life! Don't you see, this was over two months ago, and nothing's changed. We're still sittin' here every night and people still aren't talkin' to us..."
"I know!" Reed noticed he had raised his voice as well, and took a deep breath before he continued. "I know, Trip, but I... I can't just act as if nothing had happened, as if I didn't wake up from these nightmares every night only to come here and sit here, wishing I could go back to sleep..."
Trip had stopped in his tracks and was now looking at him with a rather strange expression on his face. Malcolm half-expected him to get angry, to shout back at him, but Trip only returned to the table, sitting down heavily on his chair. For a while neither of them spoke a word, and Malcolm began to feel sorry for the way he had lashed out at Trip. He hadn't really intended to, the words had just come out somehow, and now he found he felt kind of ashamed. After all, Trip had memories of his own he had to deal with and didn't need Malcolm starting an argument with him when he was only trying to find a way to get on with his life.
"Look, Trip..." Reed began after a while. "I'm sorry I shouted at you. It's just that... you know, sometimes I'm afraid they're still out there somewhere. That... that it could happen again, any time..." He swallowed. "I know Captain Archer says they're probably using some kind of sophisticated cloaking device, but I don't think so. I think they're just not there anymore... " He trailed off. Trip was looking at him, and Reed saw his own feelings mirrored on the Commander's face. After a moment Trip averted his eyes, staring into his glass.
"You know, Malcolm, sometimes... I know that probably sounds stupid, but sometimes I think they weren't even real people. I don't know why, but... "
Reed nodded. "Doesn't sound stupid at all," he said quietly. Silence followed, and Malcolm was glad Trip didn't pursue the matter, for that wasn't something he wanted to talk about. The images were there, always present in his mind, and he didn't want to acknowledge their presence by talking about them. Maybe it was really time to just let it go, or at least try to do so.
Coming to a decision, he got up. "I think I'll go back to bed," he said, picking up his tea which had grown completely cold by now. "See you tomorrow."
He was already on his way to the door when Trip called him back.
"Malcolm, wait."
Reed turned around.
"Maybe this isn't the best time to ask," Trip said, getting up as well, "but Hoshi told me today she was plannin' a party for Jon... you know, his birthday's comin' up next week. She said she could use some help organizin' it."
He met Reed's eyes, and for the first time in days Malcolm saw something like a smile cross Trip's face. "Well, what d'you say?"
Malcolm didn't answer immediately. He felt strange. He wouldn't have thought it, but talking to Trip, voicing his fears that had been keeping him awake all those weeks, had actually loosened something within him instead of making him feel even worse like he'd expected it would. Reed realized that he actually felt a genuine interest in that party, an interest which he didn't have to fake. With some kind of startled surprise Malcolm became aware of the fact that he wanted to participate, to take part in everyday life on Enterprise even though his sleep might still be haunted by those nightmares. Trip had been right. They mustn't let this keep them down forever, they had to move on with their lives. And they would get through this together. Malcolm knew that someday they would be able to leave the darkness behind, no matter how much time and effort it took. And maybe helping Hoshi organizing that party would be a good way to start.
"Sounds good," Malcolm said, feeling a slight smile tug at the corner of his mouth. "So, have you got any plans yet?"
Trip's grin widened. "You bet."
The End