The Miles That Lay Ahead- Chapter 12

The Miles That Lay Ahead

by Gabi

Genre: Action/Adventure/Angst
Rating: PG-13 (one or two chapters will be rated R later on)

Disclaimer: I guess I own the aliens in this story, the friendly as well as the unfriendly ones, but unfortunately none of the Enterprise staff.

~~~~~~

Chapter 12

Trip woke up to the first light of dawn coming through he shattered window and the still open hatch. He yawned and blinked to get rid of the tiredness. He was scared to try and move his arms and legs. What if he couldn't? He wouldn't be surprised if his muscles refused to move. At least they weren't trembling, which was always a good sign. Trip moved his fingers, his hands, then his arms and finally let out a sigh of relief. "Thank you," he muttered to no one in particular and sat up. It took him some effort, but he was feeling less weak than he had been the evening before.

"Malcolm?" he called to the other bench. "Hey, Lieutenant, you were supposed to wake me."

He got no answer. Trip frowned. It was strange for Malcolm not to react; usually the lieutenant stayed alert even in his sleep.

Trip shoved his legs over the side of the bunk and slid to the floor. Using his elbows, he pulled himself over to the bunk where Malcolm lay sleeping. When he sat up, he heard Malcolm mumble indistinctly in his sleep. Reed's face was hot and when Trip lay a hand on his forehead Malcolm turned his head to one side, letting out a small moan.

Trip bit his lips. Malcolm's fever was running dangerously high as his body tried to fight the infection in his hands.

Trip leaned forward so he could reach the medkit. He could inject Malcolm with some more of the fever reducer, but that wasn't going to take care of the problem. Malcolm needed a doctor, and soon, or the infection was going to kill him. Deeply worried, Trip took a closer look at Malcolm's hands. He could smell the gangrene that was festering in the dying tissue. Trip supposed it was too late even for Phlox to save these hands. He knew that there was going to be a time when he would be able to walk again but what would Malcolm do if Phlox had to amputate both his hands? It was an unnerving image; Malcolm Reed without his hands, always having to rely on other people's help.

Checking the dirty bandages, Trip swallowed dryly. He knew he had to try and change them. If they were full of sand and dirt they would cause more damage than anything else. Knowing this was going to be a difficult task, Trip opened the medkit and injected Malcolm with the fever reducer and the last dose of antibiotics that was in the medkit, then unwrapped the bandage on Malcolm's right hand. As he had expected, it stuck to the weeping wound, and it seemed impossible to get it off without any water to soak it first. Trip was scared to just peel off the bandage. Who knew what else he would be peeling off if he did. He licked his lips and took a deep breath. He had started this, and now he had to bring it to an end. Millimeter by millimeter he peeled off the bandage, thanking the universe that Malcolm was unconscious. The palm and some fingers had started to bleed, but Trip didn't know whether this was a good sign or not. At least some parts of Malcolm's hands still seemed to be supplied with blood. Trip got sick from the smell and when finally the gangrenous hand lay before him his stomach lurched, and Trip was glad it was empty. "Get a grip," he murmured. "This is only Malcolm's hand." But this rotting black claw no longer looked like anything that had once belonged to a human body. If he could only help Malcolm somehow. Trip rummaged through the medkit, but except for bandages he couldn't find anything useful. He couldn't even remove the sand that had seeped into the wounds. Carefully, he dabbed the pus off as well as he could, fighting the urge to vomit as he did so. When finally the hand was covered with a clean bandage once again, Trip closed his eyes for a moment and sighed deeply. But there was still the other hand left.

When Trip removed the bandage on the left hand, Malcolm opened his eyes and groaned. "What are you doing?" he asked and inhaled sharply.

"Bandagin' your hands. I'm sorry I woke you up. Does it hurt very badly?"

Malcolm looked at his hand where the last layer of the bandage was still attached. He gave no answer but Trip noticed that his breathing was going rather shallow.

"I have to finish this now," he said regretfully. "But I can inject you with another painkiller if you like."

"It's the last one, isn't it?"

"Yep."

"The last dose is still working a little. I just want it when I really need it. Who knows how long we're going to be stuck here."

"But this will be very painful."

"I'll be fine," Malcolm said stubbornly, gritting his teeth when Trip peeled off the bandage. Tears sprang from his eyes but no sound came over his lips.

"Don't be so damn brave, Mal," Trip said. "I'm sure this hurts like hell."

Malcolm didn't answer, silently watching what Trip was doing. When finally his bare hand lay before him, he turned his head to one side. He had known it was bad but this sight was nauseating. "Sorry, Trip," he whispered, his voice full of pain.

Surprised, Trip looked up. "Sorry? What for?"

"You having to see this."

"That's okay, Mal." Trip sighed. The sight of the hand wasn't as bad as the smell, pus and gangrene mixing together in a putrid stench. But breathing shallowly he was able to control the nausea. No way would he vomit in front of Malcolm. Very carefully, he wrapped the hand into a new bandage.

"What do you think? They're a lost cause, aren't they?" Malcolm's asked in a soft voice while staring at the wall.

"Well, Phlox's worked miracles before." Trip hoped his voice wouldn't betray him. He was certain that not even Phlox could save these hands. Malcolm would lose them, that was for sure. When he raised his head, he noticed Malcolm looking at him. For a moment their eyes locked, and Trip knew his friend was seeing right through him. Malcolm knew very well about his condition.

"Just hang on, Malcolm. Lie down and try to get some more sleep. I'll bring us away from here before the suns rise and heat up the place once again."

Malcolm was still looking down at his hands and the expression in his eyes ripped right into Trip's heart. He wanted to say something comforting but he couldn't think of anything. What was he supposed to say? That Phlox would be able to help Malcolm? Phlox wasn't here, and he knew he couldn't fool his friend.

Malcolm took a deep breath, pushing the dark thoughts aside. "I'll help you."

Before he could get up, however, Trip gently pushed him back down. "Malcolm, you're runnin' a fever. You need to rest. I'll be fine."

Malcolm didn't seem convinced, but lay back down obediently, muttering something inaudible while his eyes were already beginning to close. Relieved, Trip watched him go to sleep, then he pulled himself over to the hatch, closed it and fastened the rope. When that was done, he continued to the helm console and pulled himself into the chair. Nervously, he regarded the helm. If the jury-rigged conduits didn't work, then their only chance to get away from here was lost.

"Okay, let's go." Trip involuntarily held his breath when he started the engines. At first, nothing happened and Trip felt panic rise in his sore throat. Suddenly, however, the shuttle jerked and he could hear the banging stutter change into an unsteady humming.

Trip let out a long sigh of relief, praying that the helm was going to react as well.

Slowly, the shuttle lifted off, but it was difficult to steer, the damaged circuits slowing down the helm's reaction. "C'mon on," Trip muttered impatiently as the shuttle slowly gained some height. It would be a long and hard flight without the computer, without stabilizers, with a broken wing and a broken front window through which the sand was blowing right in Trip's face. Sighing, Trip dismissed these thoughts and reached out to increase the shuttle's speed.

-###-

Malcolm opened his eyes, realizing a moment later that it was the shuttle's rocking and jerking that had woken him up. Instinctively, he felt the urge to take hold of something, but the searing pain in his hands reminded him that this wouldn't be a very wise move. Briefly, he wondered what was causing the rocking motion.

Shaking off the dizziness, Malcolm strained his ears and finally recognized the humming of the engines. They were running far from smoothly, but they were working. Awkwardly, Malcolm rolled over and got up, then slowly made his way over to the helm.

Trip turned around and smiled when Malcolm sat down behind him. "How d'you feel?" he asked in a hoarse voice.

"I'm fine," Malcolm answered softly. His own throat was so sore he could only croak.

"Of course you are. Why do I even bother to ask?" Trip cleared his throat. He could see how well Malcolm was. The bandages around his hands had turned a dirty yellow, interrupted here and there by dark red stains. Due to the medication, his heightened temperature had returned to a more normal level, but his eyes were still overly bright and feverish. His stubbly cheeks were haggard, his lips cracked and swollen and the lack of water was also beginning to show. Trip knew he didn't look a lot better himself. In the meantime, he was also running a fever, but so far it wasn't affecting his ability to concentrate.

"Where are we heading to?" Malcolm asked, leaning forward to look out the window.

"Wish I knew. I'm tryin' to get us away from the second sun."

"A logical decision," Malcolm agreed. "Its arc is shallower than that of the first sun. What do you think? Will it disappear behind the horizon if we go far enough?"

"Perhaps." Trip grinned lopsidedly, minding his cracked lips. "Wish T'Pol could've heard you say that I'm actually bein' logical."

"I'll tell her personally. As soon as you bring us safely home to Enterprise." Malcolm held a protecting arm in front of his face. His place at the open window was very uncomfortable. The cooling wind was very welcome, but the stinging grains of sand weren't. Trip tried to protect his eyes by shielding them with the brim of his cap.

"How long since we left?" Malcolm wanted to know.

"Nearly an hour."

"And how long until we have to land again?"

"Assumin' the engines don't fail, antimatter's gonna run short in about six or seven hours. Fact is, our next landin' will be the last one. I can't start the engines a second time, so we'd better choose our next landin' site very carefully."

"What do you suggest if we come across an inhabited area?"

Trip shrugged. "Keepin' a low profile and investigatin' the place."

"Do you really think either of us is in the condition to do any investigating?"

Trip looked at his friend, realizing that Malcolm was right. He didn't even know if he was up to another few hours of struggling with a reluctant helm. He was completely exhausted, the muscles in his arms aching from the strain of compensating for the broken wing that was constantly interfering with the navigation controls. A single moment of inattentiveness, and they were going to go down in a sudden and fatal crash.

Looking over to Malcolm, he knew his friend was fighting a battle of his own, a battle against fever and infection, and if he didn't get medical help very soon, he was going to lose it. But what if the civilization they were hoping to find was a pre-warp culture? What if this planet's inhabitants didn't even know of the existence of alien lifeforms? What if they reacted hostile to the arrival of two strangers on their world? Before they could even think about asking for help, they needed to find out if they were welcome in this place. But who was going to be able to do so? He with his paralyzed legs? Or Malcolm, feverish and hardly able to think straight?

Trip sighed. "First we have to try and reach someplace where we can stay for a while. We'll see from there. How're your hands?"

"They're okay."

"I'm sure the painkiller has worn off by now." As a measure of precaution, Trip had left the hypospray with the last dose of painkiller on the helm console, which turned out to be a wise move, since he was able to inject Malcolm with one hand without losing his hold of the control stick.

Malcolm exhaled in relief when he felt the painkiller flow through his veins and numb his nerves. He never would have admitted that the stinging and burning in his hands had become almost unbearable.

"Can I help you?" he wanted to know when the pain had been reduced to a numb throbbing. "I could take the control stick between my forearms."

"It wouldn't work, Malcolm." Trip shook his head in regret. "The helm's reactin' way too slow to do that."

"But you can't fly the shuttle for eight hours without a break, not in this condition."

"I'm hopin' it won't take that long." Trip looked up from the scanners and squinted as he looked out the window. There was still only sand to be seen, stretching into all directions, and definitely no indications that they were approaching a civilized area. Or at least an area that held something different than sand. Trip didn't know what he was going to do when the antimatter ran short and they still were out here in the desert. If that happened, the only option they had left was waiting for a miracle to happen.

"Go and lie back down," he advised Malcolm. "It doesn't make any sense to sit up here and torture yourself."

"I won't leave you alone. Maybe I can find something I can do."

As he heard Malcolm's bitter tone of voice, Trip felt sorry for his friend. Malcolm was always reluctant to let others take over. He wanted to contribute to their rescue and, being unable to do something, he felt useless. A feeling Trip had often experienced himself during the last few days.

"I know how you're feelin', Malcolm," he said gently. "But you can't help me right now. Try to rest and get some of your energy back. You'll need it later on."

Malcolm nodded resignedly and got up, swaying slightly as he did so. He knew Trip was right.

Trip glanced over his shoulder when Malcolm lay down again, briefly wishing that he could do the same. He couldn't even think of getting some rest. Trying to ignore the searing pain in his back, he looked at the scanner to check their direction. They had been flying away from the second sun for more than an hour, but he had to wait for it to rise to be able to tell whether it was really shallowing down. At the moment he was glad that only the first sun was rising at the horizon. The temperature was still tolerable. His thirst, however, was becoming worse. It had been nearly a day since he'd last had something to drink and his tongue was swollen, his throat parched. Doesn't matter, he told himself, concentrating on keeping his eyes straight ahead. Ignoring the pain, he kept the shuttle on course, heading for an unknown destination.

-###-

Trip couldn't go on anymore. It was simply too much. He'd lost all sense of time, and even though the scanner told him plainly that they'd been flying across the desert for no more than six hours, to him it felt like an eternity. It was hard to tell which part of his body hurt the most. He felt like his spine was going to crack any minute, and the muscles in his stomach, aching from the constant tension, sent painful spasms through his body. The sand rubbing against his corneas left his eyes red and swollen, but in a strange way, Trip was even glad it did. If his eyes weren't burning that bad, he would probably not be able to keep them open anymore. On top of everything else there was the inflamed cut in his leg, which wouldn't stop hurting and throbbing. His exhaustion was so overwhelming he could hardly think straight anymore.

Trip knew he was running a fever. The lack of water was blurring his thoughts, and he'd already deviated twice from his programmed course because he'd thought he'd seen a lake in the distance. But at least he had always realized soon enough that he was hallucinating, and had brought the shuttle back to its former course. It was getting harder and harder concentrating, though. His worsening headache and the nausea caused by the lack of water weren't helping, either. Only sheer willpower kept him from collapsing, and by now he was working the controls without thinking about it, focusing on staying awake and enduring the pain. He gritted his teeth when another painful tremor ran through his muscles. He didn't need that now. They hadn't made it yet. He had to hold on. He had to stay awake. He had to...

-###-

Malcolm immediately knew what had woken him up. Something was wrong. Malcolm felt waves of adrenaline rush through his body before he had even opened his eyes. When his other senses began to react, he realized that the shuttle was lurching, and tilting to one side. Suddenly there was another sharp bump, and Malcolm realized that the intact wing was dragging through the sand.

"Trip! What's up? We're far too deep!" With an effort, Malcolm got to his feet, fighting the dizzy spell that washed over him, and trying to stay on his feet while the shuttle was shaking and trembling.

Trip had collapsed on the helm controls. He was still holding the manual control stick, which had saved them from crashing, but he had lost control of the navigation.

"Trip!" Malcolm shouted, stumbling to the front part of the shuttle. Trip's eyes were blank, and he didn't seem to be aware of his surroundings. His arms were shaking, and his face was contorted.

"Trip!" Malcolm wished he would have been able to grab Trip's shoulder and give him a good shake. Instead he raised his foot, giving Trip's leg a not too gentle kick. Crying out in pain, Trip snapped out of his trance. Malcolm winced, and swore at himself for forgetting about Trip's leg injury. The fever seemed to be scrambling his thoughts. But at least the pain had brought Trip back to awareness. Blinking in disorientation, he squinted his eyes shut and let out a groan of pain, then pulled up the shuttle's nose again.

"What happened?" he croaked.

"You blacked out. Sorry I kicked you."

"I can't go on, Mal."

"Yes, Trip, you can. Just keep trying. It's not for long now."

It hurt Malcolm's very soul to see Trip like that. The engineer's eyes were red and puffy, his face, arms and clothes covered in grime and sand. He'd been sitting at the helm controls for hours, and Malcolm imagined his back must be hurting like hell.

"You look terrible," Malcolm stated, without trying to keep the worry out of his voice.

Trip grinned weakly. "Well, join the club."

"How long have we been flying?"

Trip threw a glance at the scanner. His vision was blurry, and it took a moment for him to make sense of the readings on the small display.

"Six hours and thirty-five minutes," he announced slowly.

"That long." Malcolm sighed. Squinting and shielding his eyes against the wind, he stared out the window. They were still over the desert, the hot air blurring the shapes of the landscape surrounding them. Still, there were slight but distinct changes in the environment. Here and there Malcolm spotted dry tufts of grass, and even a few stunted bushes, growing on sand dunes which proved the existence of a natural breeze beside the artificial one the moving shuttle produced. Squinting harder, he was able to make out blurred shapes far away in the distance.

"There's something over there."

"You're hallucinatin'," Trip mumbled. "I'm seein' water everywhere."

"No, I'm really seeing something. What about the second sun?"

"It'll disappear behind the horizon soon enough. I think after we've crossed another fifty kilometers or so we won't even be able to see it anymore."

"Which means there actually could be something there. Like houses or people."

"I can't go on until then."

Malcolm looked at his friend who was hardly able to keep his eyes open anymore. The engineer had to use his left hand to steady the right one which was holding the control stick. More than anything else, Malcolm wished he were able to take the helm for a while. But there was no way he could hold on to the manual control.

"Only a few more minutes, Trip," he said. "A few minutes. I can already make out the houses."

He was lying. Except for a few hazy shapes Malcolm couldn't see a thing.

But Trip believed him, if only because the prospect of having almost reached safety was giving him new strength. Still, he knew he couldn't go on for much longer. His fingers felt numb, and it became increasingly harder to keep course, the damaged engine reacting as slowly and awkwardly as his exhausted mind.

"I think there are trees." Malcolm squinted harder. Now he was really able to make out distinct shapes.

Trip's eyes were watering, and he was hardly able to see anything. He concentrated on the scanner data and the few readings the short range sensors provided.

"Looks like we've made it, Mal."

"I can hardly believe it." Malcolm watched in fascination as every kilometer they passed brought new changes in the landscape. The desert seemed to disappear, merging smoothly into a thick green forest.

Trip stretched, ignoring that every part of his body was aching like hell. There was no way he was giving up when they had almost reached their destination.

"Look if you can still see the second sun," he said to Malcolm when they approached the edge of the forest.

"It's gone," Malcolm reported.

"I'd thought as much." Pulling up the shuttle's nose, Trip surveyed the mass of tree tops beneath. "Looks great, doesn't it? How big is it?"

Malcolm checked the scanner. "The wooded area is about one kilometer wide, and stretches over several kilometers in length."

Trip flew an arc, and suddenly the outlines of houses appeared at the edge of the forest.

"Don't get too close. We should try to stay unnoticed, at least for the time being," Malcolm admonished.

"Well, in that case I'll have to start lookin' for a landin' site."

"Why don't you take us down right in front of the forest?"

"In the desert?" Trip threw Malcolm a doubtful look. "Mal, neither of us is up for a walk in the woods."

"Well, we can't land right in the middle of a settlement, can we? Think of what a commotion we'd cause. Wait a minute - what was that?"

"What?" Wearily, Trip raised his head.

"There was a clearing on the right. Over there."

Trip adjusted the shuttle's course, inwardly cursing the slowed down movements of the damaged engine. The shuttle was still able to hold a straight course, but navigating was almost made impossible by the damage the helm had suffered. Using all his piloting skills, he recalibrated the navigation controls, and a moment later saw the clearing Malcolm had pointed out. A green spot amongst the trees. Not very big, but it wasn't like they had much of a choice.

"I'll try."

Malcolm nodded, but said nothing. Since they were both suffering from a sore throat, they tried to keep conversation to a minimum. Malcolm had no illusions as to how dangerous it was to land under these conditions, but he trusted Trip's abilities. The engineer fired the thrusters, pulled up the shuttle's nose, and did his best to keep the damaged wing away from the ground. A moment later the shuttle made contact with the clearing, lurching and shaking as it slid across the bumpy ground. Finally it came to stand in front of a big tree. Trip rested his head on the helm console, relief washing over him. They'd made it. But... now what?

"Good piloting, Trip," Malcolm said. "Why don't you try to rest for a while? I'll go and see if I can find some water."

"We should stay together."

"Well, I can't carry you. And in your condition it probably wouldn't be a good idea to try and crawl around out there. The ground looked quite bumpy."

"You're not in a very good condition either, Lieutenant. I can see from here that you're still runnin' a high fever. What're you gonna do if you collapse out there?"

"I don't know." Malcolm shrugged. Fact was they had to find water. And soon. If they did, he guessed they might be able to hold on one or two days until Enterprise found them. Well, at least Trip would be able to hold on. Malcolm tried not to think about his own condition too much. The fever was weakening his metabolism, and the gangrene was slowly killing him. With no medical attention he knew he wouldn't even survive until evening. But except amputating the necrotic limbs there was nothing a doctor could do, and the idea of losing his hands frightened him more than the prospect of death. He sighed.

"Let's take a look outside. This grass is the prettiest thing I've seen in a long time."

Trip nodded, glancing out the front window. The grass was a little darker than the grass back on Earth, but except for the color there was hardly any difference. Sliding down from his chair, he plopped down hard on the floor, lacking the strength to use his arms for support. Trip felt as though he was going to pass out any minute. The last seven hours of navigating the damaged shuttle had brought him to the very verge of physical collapse. Aware of Malcolm's worried eyes on him, he slowly pulled himself over to the hatch and untied the knot of their makeshift lock. As soon as the hatch had opened, he shrank back, letting out a hoarse cry.

TBC

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