The Miles That Lay Ahead - Chapter 5

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 5

Trip groaned, raising one hand to his forehead where he felt a dull pain throbbing. When he pulled his hand back, there was blood on his fingers. He squinted to get a better view of his surroundings, and propped himself up on his elbows. What had happened? The shuttlepod didn't seem to be moving anymore. They seemed to have landed. Trip grimaced when he noticed that his legs were stuck. The science station had collapsed, burying his lower body under a heap of debris. The painful weight on his legs was caused by a reinforcement beam which was lying across his shins, pinning them to the floor.

Where was Malcolm? Trip blinked several times to clear his still hazy vision. He frowned when he saw his friend lying on the deck, not reacting to his calls. What was wrong with Malcolm? He wouldn't be... Trip watched him carefully until he noticed the slight rising and falling of Malcolm's chest. He exhaled deeply, feeling relief wash over him. Malcolm was alive, and hopefully not seriously injured.

"Malcolm!" Trip called once again. "I could need some help! Malcolm!"

But the tactical officer didn't move, and Trip realized that he would have to do without his help at the moment. He would have to try and get free on his own.

The shuttle was one big mess. Some of the reinforcement beams were broken, the bulkheads bent and dented, smashed equipment and destroyed panels were lying on the floor, ripped wires were hanging from the walls, and the scanner console looked like a madman had taken an axe to it. Trip's eyes came to rest on the bulkheads. It must have been a damn rough landing if it had damaged even the reinforcement beams which were constructed to easily withstand the conditions of deep space. He was even more surprised at the fact that everything was covered by a layer of fine sand.

Trip tried to turn around to get a look at the front part of the shuttle, but he was hardly able to move with his legs pinned to the floor by the reinforcement beam. He had to free himself. Using the remains of the science station's metal framing for support, he pulled himself into a sitting position and began to clear away the debris that was covering his legs. When it came to removing the beam, however, Trip realized that this wasn't going to be as easy as he had thought. He could lift the beam with both hands, but it was too heavy to push it away without losing his balance. Trip bit back an angry curse, and considered. He would need two hands to lift the beam, two to pull out his legs from underneath it, and another one to keep his balance. Trip stared at his legs as if he could make them move and free themselves by sheer will power. But it was no use. Trip sighed, carefully lowering the beam back to its former position. He looked around for something he could use as a lever, but nothing suitable was lying within his reach. He tried to reach the broken sliding door of one of the storage compartments with the tips of his fingers, stretching to be able to get hold of the thing, but it took him five tries to be able to get a grip on it. By that time he was sweating and breathing heavily. Now how was he supposed to lift the beam and at the same time push the door underneath it as a support? It seemed impossible, having only two hands at his disposal, but Trip prided himself that the word "impossible" wasn't part of his vocabulary. Finally he managed to wedge the door between the beam and the floor so that there was about a centimeter of air between his legs and the lower edge of the steel beam. Using his elbows, Trip began to carefully push himself backwards. Centimeter after centimeter he pulled his legs out of the trap, his eyes never leaving the reinforcement beam which threatened to crash down any minute. When his feet finally came free, he let out a sigh of relief. The first obstacle lay behind him. Trip noticed that he was beginning to feel dizzy. The heat was all but unbearable. He turned around to briefly check the front part of the shuttle, and his eyes widened at the sight. The front window was shattered, and what looked like a ton of sand had spilled all over the instruments. If Trip had still nursed the slightest hope of getting the shuttle up to scratch again, it now dissolved into thin air. There was no way he could close the huge hole that had formerly been the front window so that the shuttle could be taken into space again. They were stranded. And it seemed in the middle of a desert, to boot.

"I hate deserts," Trip muttered, using his arms to pull himself over to where Malcolm was lying.

"Hey, what's wrong with you, Mal? Come on, talk to me." Trip began to examine his friend's body. Malcolm's head seemed to have suffered no serious injuries apart from a few small burns. When Trip's eyes fell on Malcolm's hands, however, he took in a sharp breath.

"O God, Mal," he whispered hoarsely. Reed's hands were a raw, burned mass, with pieces of his tattered uniform melted into the wound. The smell of the burned flesh reminded Trip of a barbecue, and it caused bile to rise in his throat. His heart clenched with sympathy when he thought of the pain his friend had endured. He swallowed dryly. These were third degree burns, and parts of it looked all but charred. Trip threw a glance at the burned-out helm, an idea of what had transpired here rising at the back of his mind. Malcolm had brought down the shuttle, ignoring the horrible pain touching the white-hot instruments must have caused him. Despite the heat Trip felt a shiver run down his back when he imagined the events that had taken place here while he had lain unconscious.

He looked around, hoping the medical equipment had fallen to the floor as well. In his current condition he wouldn't be able to reach the compartments.

Finally Trip spotted the medkit in the back part of the shuttle, lying under a bench that had been ripped from its fastening and had toppled over on the floor. It took him almost five minutes to make his awkward way to the corner. The floor was covered with sharp objects and debris that needed to be cleared away first. Trip threw a regretful glance at the broken pieces that had once been highly sophisticated computers and scanning equipment. There must have been one hell of an explosion to destroy the equipment to that extent. Partly the debris was still smoking, and Trip used a loose part of the broken wall paneling to push it aside. It wasn't easy to set up the bench from his position on the floor, but now he was finally able to reach the medkit. The way back was easier, as Trip had already cleared away the broken pieces. Pushing the medkit with his hands, he leaned against a bulkhead for balance, and felt the warmth of the steel against his back. Apparently the heat from their entry into the planet's atmosphere hadn't entirely cooled off yet. Trip pushed his legs aside to be able to reach Malcolm, but it was an uncomfortable position, and he swore softly. When he'd suffered his relapse, he'd not only lost the mobility of his legs but also his ability to keep balance. It was difficult to sit upright without anything to support his back.

Using a forceps from the medkit, Trip tried to free Malcolm's hands of the burned pieces of fabric. He managed to pluck them off, though not without pulling off big parts of the burned skin at the same time. Trip bit his lips, and swore again. He just didn't have sufficient medical knowledge to be able to really help Malcolm. If only Phlox had been here. It would have been his job as a doctor to remove the pieces as carefully as possible. Trip knew he had to try and clean Malcolm's hands to the best of his abilities, but all he could do was disinfect them, apply an antiseptic burn ointment, and bandage them up. He rummaged through the medkit. Burns often caused the victim to suffer a shock. Maybe he would find something to stabilize Malcolm's metabolism, and fight gangrene at the same time, which would be very helpful considering their less-than-antiseptic environment. Trip let out a breath of relief when he found the respective vials, and realized that there were also some analgesics at their disposal. Carefully, he injected Malcolm with one hypo after the other, and prepared another analgesic for later. Then he leaned back against the wall, letting out a groan of despair. It was a hopeless situation. They had no idea where they were, the shuttle wasn't fit to be flown, he couldn't walk, and Malcolm wasn't able to use his hands. It seemed almost funny, but the noise that came from Trip's throat didn't sound at all like laughter. He felt deep despair rise within him. What the hell was he supposed to do? How was he supposed to take care of Malcolm? His friend needed to see a doctor, soon, but he had no idea where to take one from.

When Trip pulled his legs closer in order to find a more comfortable position he noticed a long, bloody cut in the fabric of his jeans. Pulling the fabric apart he examined the wound on his calf, realizing that it had probably been caused by the reinforcement beam when it had fallen onto his legs.

"Great," he muttered, "just what I need." Now that he had seen it, it would probably start hurting right away. Trip knew he ought to clean and bandage it as well, but at the moment he simply didn't have the strength left to do so. He wouldn't be able to do the acrobatics necessary to get rid of his pants. It was way too hot, and he was way too tired. He only wanted to go to sleep. Sleep until all of this was over, and he would wake up aboard Enterprise.

-###-

"Trip?"

Trip started, opening his eyes. "Malcolm. How're you feelin'?"

"What happened?"

"You brought us down on a planet. You landed the shuttle."

"Are we still in one piece?" Malcolm's voice sounded weary and disoriented.

"More or less."

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah." Trip smiled sadly. Typical of Malcolm, to worry more about his friend's condition than his own. He watched as Reed tried to shake off his disorientation, but along with clear thought came the pain. Seeing Malcolm's eyes widen, and his face turn into a grimace, Trip grabbed the hypo he had prepared and held it against Reed's neck.

"What's that?" Malcolm asked when the injector gave a small hiss, emptying its contents into his vein.

"Painkiller. Your hands are rather badly burned."

"Yes, I know." Malcolm looked down at his bandaged hands, breathing shallowly while he waited for the analgesic to take effect. Waves of hot pain emitted from his hands, searing through his entire body. He didn't dare to move. "Where are we?" he asked through clenched teeth.

"I don't know. Probably on one of the planets of that system I told you about."

"It's the third one, like you said. But that wasn't what I was talking about. I mean – where are we? Did we fall through the galaxy?"

"No." Trip gave a slight smile. "That's the only good news. The anomaly transported us only to the other side of that nebula."

"Really?" Malcolm looked up, hope reappearing in his eyes. "Then Enterprise can come to pick us up?"

"Yes." Trip also allowed himself a brief moment of relief before he continued. "But she can't fly through the nebula, and it'll take her a few days to fly around it. I hope the subspace emitter is workin' and the probe gave them our position. As soon as they're here, they'll be able to locate us. But until then we're stranded."

Malcolm nodded, glad that the analgesic was finally starting to take effect. "You're worried about that, aren't you?"

"We've only got limited supplies. There's not much left of the shuttle, and what the asteroids didn't destroy was damaged when we hit the surface. It's damn hot down here, and as if that wasn't enough, I can't walk and you can't use your hands. I don't know how we're gonna manage like that."

"Somehow we will," Malcolm said, casting a doubtful glance at his hands.

"Forget it, Malcolm. Your hands look pretty bad. I'm quite sure you won't be able to touch anythin'. I'm afraid right now there's not much I can do about it."

"As far as I can see you did quite a good job."

"For the time bein', yeah. We'll have to be careful so the wounds don't get inflamed."

"Hmmm." Malcolm felt uncomfortable, discussing his condition. "What about you?" he asked. "That's a pretty bad cut on your forehead."

"I'm fine." Trip waved him off, unconsciously feeling for the bump on his head. "My head's throbbin' a little, but it's not too bad."

"But you should wash your face. All this blood is going to scare off any desert dweller we might come across."

"And maybe just as well." Trip sighed. They had no idea whether this planet was inhabited, whether this desert in particular harbored any life, and if it did, whether the inhabitants were friendly or hostile. He picked up the waterbag. "Luckily we have enough water, though."

Placing one hand against the wall for support, he bent forward to hold the bag to Malcolm's lips. As a reflex Malcolm raised a hand, but then he let out a small moan and carefully lowered it again, allowing Trip to assist him. After Malcolm was done Trip took a sip as well, then poured some water into his open hand to wash his face.

Malcolm closed his eyes. The analgesic was making him sleepy, and he wasn't really in the mood to ponder their situation right now, even though it was his job as security officer to try and find a solution. But that could surely wait until he was feeling a little better.

Trip watched his friend as he slowly slipped into a peaceful sleep. Getting some rest was the best thing Malcolm could do at the moment. It certainly wouldn't hurt getting a little shut-eye himself, but Trip knew that he wouldn't be able to sleep right now. The cut in his calf was throbbing painfully, and for a brief moment Trip considered injecting himself with some painkiller as well. He decided against it, though. The pain was bearable, and Malcolm needed the analgesics a lot more than he did. Their supplies were limited. Trip didn't want Malcolm to suffer at his expense.

It was time to get to know their surroundings. Trip wanted to know where exactly they had landed. Maybe there was some kind of settlement in the vicinity they would be able to reach. Correction – which Malcolm could reach to get some help. Trip crawled over to the hatch and tried to open it. It was stuck. Using all his weight as a lever, Trip pressed against the bulkhead, but without his legs it wasn't much use. He examined the door. The frame wasn't bent, that couldn't be it. But no matter what he did, he wasn't able to open the hatch. And there was no way he would be able to reach the airlock. But there was another way to get out. Crawling past Malcolm towards the helm console, Trip proceeded to pull himself up onto the chair which was miraculously still fastened to the deck. Once he had brought himself into a sitting position, he climbed onto the sandy console. Through the broken front window he was able to see the blue sky. There was no cloud in sight, and when he leaned forward, he got a look at the glaring sun. Carefully Trip pulled himself through the opening, and slid down the shuttle's nose, landing in the sand one and a half meter below. He grimaced when his legs gave way immediately, causing him to sit down hard on his behind. A merciless heat overwhelmed him, and he felt the sweat spring from his brow the moment he made contact with the sand. Compared to the conditions out here the shuttle seemed to be a cool and comfortable place. Trip realized immediately where the heat was coming from. The planet had two suns both of which were blazing like two giant fireballs. One seemed to be about to set, the other had only just reached its zenith.

Trip took a look at the shuttle. It had dug quite a furrow in the sand, and was buried about half a meter deep in the ground. That was why he hadn't been able to open the hatch. It was blocked by the sand. Trip cursed himself for not thinking of that possibility earlier. He could have taken a shovel to try and at least dig out the hatch. But shoveling in this heat probably wasn't such a good idea. Maybe it would get better when the first sun had set. Trip crawled closer to take a good look at the shuttle, and he didn't like at all what he saw. The nose was bent and dented, and one of the wings was broken. It seemed like the shuttle had taken quite a rough landing in the sand. Otherwise the front window wouldn't have shattered, either. The small vehicle's outer paneling also spoke of the many hits by asteroids it had suffered; Trip hardly found a place where it wasn't scratched and dented. He wondered how on Earth they had managed to keep the shuttle in one piece out there, and secretly thanked whatever gods had been watching over them that the framing had withstood the great strain. He had no idea, however, how Malcolm had been able to keep the damaged shuttle on course. He felt a deep admiration for his friend, and at the same time anger at himself. Anger because he had let Malcolm down, lost consciousness when his friend had needed him the most. He had knocked himself out, and left Malcolm to handle a burning helm console all on his own.

Trip took a deep breath. There was no use in blaming himself for what had happened. He had to check over the shuttle. Using his elbows, Trip slowly made his way around the pod. The scratchy grains felt like sandpaper, burying themselves in the bare skin of his forearms.

But Trip ignored the unpleasant feeling, just as he ignored the heat. When he saw the engines, however, he felt a hard knot build in his chest. It took him only one look to see that the impulse drive had given up the ghost completely. They might be able to get the thrusters running, but it would take hours of repairs before they would be able to do so. But the worst was yet to come. Trip's eyes widened in shock when he saw the big hole in the tank through which the water had leaked out and seeped into the sand. There seemed to be nothing left.

"No," he said hoarsely. "Dammit, no." The tank wasn't very big, but it had held enough water to ensure that they survived until Enterprise came to pick them up. How long would the few waterbags back in the shuttle last? Certainly not long enough. In a gesture of despair Trip buried his fingers into the wet sand, but there was clearly nothing left to save.

After Trip had ended his round, he found himself facing another obstacle. He had slid down the shuttle's nose without wasting a thought to how he was going to get back inside. His subconscious still seemed to see him as a man with two healthy legs who would have easily climbed back inside through the opening. It was time he started taking his handicap into consideration when he planned his actions, however distasteful that idea seemed to be. He looked up at the shuttle's nose. Despite all the dents the surface was too smooth for him to hold onto it when he pulled himself upwards. Trip felt tears of anger and despair burn in his eyes. This last difficulty was simply too much.

"Dammit!" He smacked the sand with his open palm, causing the grains to fly in all directions. Did everything have to go wrong down here? Trip closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and forced himself to calm down. He had to find a way to get back into the shuttle. Malcolm was locked up in there. With his injured hands there was no way he could climb out the window. Neither could he fetch a shovel for Trip to dig out the hatch. He couldn't even get himself a drink of water. Reed would be helpless without his assistance.

Trip crawled back to the hatch, taking a good look at it. Maybe he would be able to clear the sand away using his hands as shovels. Certainly not a very attractive spare-time activity, but it should work. Trip looked up at the sky. The first sun was just setting, the second one had reached a position in which its full glare hit the opposite side of the shuttle, casting a small shadow on Trip's side of the pod.

Trip wiped his forehead with his bare arm, thinking that no matter how comfortable that t-shirt was, at the moment he would certainly have preferred his uniform. If he'd only had enough sense to put on his usual overall before they'd gone on this mission. Like this, he had no means of protecting his bare arms against the glaring sunshine, and a sunburn seemed in the cards. But it was no use. He crouched down in the narrow shadow next to the hull, and began to shovel away the sand.

-###-

After about an hour Trip had dug out the hatch. He felt close to collapsing, and knew that he wouldn't have been able to go on much longer. His clothes were stiff with sweat and dirt, and he smelled as if he'd just run a marathon. How wonderful it would have been to take a shower now. Lying in the warm sand, Trip imagined how the cool water would feel running over his body. He licked his dry lips, tasting the salty sweat on them. It felt like he'd sweat out every single drop of water, leaving his body dry and parched. But he needed to get going, open that hatch. In the shuttle there was not only shadow, but also water. Water – what a wonderful word.

With his last bit of strength Trip pulled himself onto the small heap of sand he had piled up. It was only about thirty centimeters in height, but that was enough for Trip to be able to reach the hatch's control. Breathing a sigh of relief he pushed the opening mechanism. But the hatch wouldn't budge.

"No!" Shaking his head in despair, Trip tried again. "No!"

He'd been afraid of that. Nothing about this shuttle seemed to work anymore. Frustrated, he began to examine the panel. One of the asteroids had left a dent in it, the hole was clearly visible. But the hit that had damaged the circuits had also given Trip a new possibility. The lower edge of the panel had slightly come loose. He tried to push his fingers underneath to loosen the panel from the hull, but it didn't work. He needed a more flat object to push it into the narrow gap. Trip cursed himself for not taking any tools with him when he'd left the shuttle. He hadn't even brought a screwdriver, and now it was clear that it would certainly have come in handy even out here in the desert.

Using all his strength, Trip tried to loosen the panel from the metal plating. As he had to use both his hands, though, he soon lost his balance and tumbled down from his little heap of sand. Landing on his back, Trip fought the urge to simply cry out. He looked up at the blue and cloudless sky.

"Damn you, Jon," he muttered. "If you arranged all that only to make me forget about my down I'll kick your ass into the middle of next week." He shrugged. "Well, some day, anyway. Great job, really."

He closed his eyes. The sun was shining directly in his face, but still he briefly considered succumbing to temptation and simply staying here. He was so tired he hardly cared about anything anymore. His arms were burning, and he noticed that his face, which hadn't been directly exposed to the sun up until now, was beginning to feel hot as well. It was really one big ball of fire, that second sun which was starting to approach the horizon by now. Trip remembered his duty, and Malcolm, who was back in the shuttle and in need of his help. He thought of Enterprise. Had they received his message? Was Jon already on his way to rescue them? It was comforting to know that the Captain wouldn't give up on them, no matter how much effort it would take to find them. Trip wished they would at least have been able to contact them.

Contact! Trip started. He still had his communicator; he'd put it into his pocket when he'd left his quarters. Fumbling with the back pocket of his jeans, he finally managed to pull out the small device.

There was no way he would be able to contact Enterprise, she was too far away, but he could use the communicator's components to open the hatch. Feeling a surge of renewed energy, Trip sat up again. Pity he had to take it apart, but out here he had no use for a communicator anyway. He smacked it against the shuttle's hull again and again until it finally broke apart. Having pieces of machinery he could work with, Trip began to feel like an engineer again, and the feeling helped him regain some of the confidence he had lost. He climbed back onto the heap of sand, loosening the panel with a small piece of metal from the communicator's broken casing. Using its wires he short-circuited the damaged mechanism, and a moment later the hatch's lock sprang open. Trip let out a deep sigh of relief, opened the hatch and crawled back into the shuttle. He didn't even mind that much anymore when he realized that he wasn't able to reach the hatch's handle from inside.

"I'm too short for this design," he muttered, throwing his legs an angry look. But all in all he didn't really mind. He had made it back into the shuttle, and could finally allow himself to rest for a while.

Malcolm was still asleep, but it was clear that he was not resting peacefully. From time to time he let out a pain-filled moan, and his arms and legs were twitching. Seeing his friend in pain made Trip forget about his weariness. He crawled over to where Malcolm lay, studying him worriedly. If he'd only been able to lift Malcolm onto one of the bunks. The floor was not a very comfortable resting place. But he simply lacked the strength to do so. He had to leave Malcolm where he was. Trip surveyed their supply of painkiller, and sighed. It wasn't hard to estimate how long it would take Enterprise to reach their current position. Assuming they flew as fast as possible, which didn't always mean maximum speed, they could be here in five or six days at the earliest. Always assuming, of course, that the subspace emitter had worked and the probe had transmitted their position. If he kept giving Malcolm the painkiller he needed, however, the analgesics would last for three days at the most. But at that point their water supply would be long used up. They wouldn't be able to survive for six days in this heat. Trip realized that there was no use in saving up the analgesics, and die with half of their supplies untouched while Malcolm was writhing with pain even in his sleep. Filling the hypo, Trip injected another dose into Malcolm's neck. Almost immediately Reed's features relaxed, and he slept on peacefully. Trip let out a breath of relief. Now he had time to take care of himself. He took a big gulp of water from the bag, but it wasn't very refreshing, as he was too exhausted to really taste the liquid on his tongue. Good job Phlox couldn't see him like this. Trip knew he had overexerted himself, even more than at the time when he had climbed the stairs in Engineering. He ached all over, and his head was throbbing with pain. Trip only hoped his body wouldn't take cruel revenge as it had done the last time he had exhausted himself. The thought of his strength being drained away, leaving him as weak and tired as he had been after his relapse was terrible. Out here he needed his strength more than ever. But maybe getting some rest would do the trick. Trip threw a look through the broken front window where a dim twilight was slowly setting over the desert. How many hours until dawn came? Trip briefly considered pulling himself onto one of the bunks, but he was too exhausted. Lying down next to Malcolm on the deck, he wiped his grimy face one more time, then his eyes closed, and he slipped into a deep sleep.

TBC

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