The Miles That Lay Ahead - Chapter 6

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.

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Chapter 6

Malcolm licked his dry, cracked lips. How long had he been asleep? Judging from his thirst it must have been quite long. He opened his eyes and sat up, which wasn't easy due to the fact that he didn't dare to use his hands for support. They weren't even hurting that bad, though. Malcolm studied the thick bandages which covered even the tips of his middle fingers. He couldn't remember it happening. The controls had been hot, bloody hot indeed, but at some point Malcolm hadn't felt the pain anymore. Maybe the burns weren't that bad, after all. He decided to ask Trip to unwrap the bandages so he could take a look himself. Later.

Trip! Malcolm raised his eyes. His friend lay on the deck only two meters away, sleeping. He looked terrible. His skin was grimy with sweat and dirt, and there was sand in his hair, on his hands and arms, making his blue jeans look almost beige. Malcolm frowned. There was a lot of sand in the shuttle, but Trip seemed to have all but wallowed in it. Next to him on the deck lay a water bag. Carefully, so as not to wake Trip, Malcolm used his forearms to lift the bag and tried to unscrew the cap with his teeth. It turned out to be an exercise in futility, and after a while Malcolm gave up. The risk of losing his grip on the bag and spilling the water was too high. Well, he'd just have to wait then until Trip woke up. Waking him was out of the question. His thirst could wait a while longer.

Awkwardly, he got to his feet and took a look around the shuttle. What a mess. Not exactly one of his best landing maneuvers. Malcolm threw another glance at his hands. No, certainly not one of his best maneuvers.

He raised his eyebrows when he noticed the open shuttle hatch. Ducking under the door, he stepped outside, and immediately knew what had happened. His eyes fell on the hole in front of the hatch, the piled up sand and the loosened panel. Trip had opened the hatch, and as far as he could tell, had shoveled the sand away using his bare hands. Malcolm sighed. Trip was supposed to rest and recover. Four hours of light duties a day and short naps in between. Instead he was out here, digging up entire deserts. Malcolm's regret turned into anger when he looked back down at his hands. It was his job to take care of Trip, but while his friend had slaved away out here he'd lain in the shuttle and slept. Worse; Malcolm knew he wouldn't have been able to help Trip even if he'd been awake. Without his hands there was nothing he could do.

Frustrated, Malcolm looked up at the sky where the sun had just risen. It was already getting hot, and he felt sweat itching on his forehead. Malcolm's frustration deepened as he looked around. There was nothing but sand as far as he could see, hot, yellow sand that seemed to harbor no life at all. He couldn't spot a single weed, or bush, and not even the smallest insect seemed willing to choose this sweltering hell as its habitat. Malcolm knew the desert, and he also knew that the wild life could become rather dangerous, especially if one accidentally stepped on it. But apparently there was no danger of this happening here. Malcolm didn't know whether to feel regret or relief at that fact. He was glad they wouldn't have to deal with snakes or scorpions and the likes of them, but on the other hand this meant that survival in this environment was all but impossible. For every life form, including them. Malcolm felt sweat trickle down his brow, even though he'd been standing out here staring at the sand for only a few minutes. It seemed that he'd chosen the hottest place on the entire planet as a landing site. They could only hope that Enterprise was going to pick them up soon so that they could finally get away from this hostile environment.

He ducked back into the shuttle. Now he also knew why it stood open. Trip had opened it from outside, but hadn't been able to close it again. There was a certain irony about the fact that Malcolm, on the other hand, was able to reach the handle, but couldn't close his fingers around it, thus being as incapable of closing the hatch as Trip was. Malcolm let out a frustrated sigh, and right that moment heard a noise behind him. Trip was moving.

"Hi, Mal."

"Morning, Commander. Sleep well?"

"Dunno." Trip yawned. "Don't really feel like it." He tried to sit up, but wasn't very successful in his attempt. Malcolm held out his elbow so that Trip could use it as a support to pull himself into a sitting position.

"How're your hands?" the engineer asked, giving him a searching look.

"Can't complain. They feel okay. Maybe these burns aren't that bad, after all."

Trip grinned sourly, but said nothing. His expression, however, stirred up a suspicion in Malcolm.

"You injected me with more analgesics, didn't you?"

Trip nodded. "You were whimperin' with pain even in your sleep. I thought it'd be better to give you somethin'."

Malcolm flinched, detesting the idea of hearing the word "whimper" in connection with himself.

"Would you mind pushin' over the water?" Trip jerked his chin in the direction of the water bag Malcolm had left lying next to his sleeping place.

Using his foot, Malcolm pushed the bag to where Trip was able to reach it. The engineer unscrewed its cap and looked up at his friend. "C'mon, sit down."

He waited until Malcolm had taken a seat next to him on the deck, then raised the bag to Reed's lips. Malcolm opened his mouth to protest and insist that Trip drink first, but then he realized how futile his arguing would have been. He took several long sips of the water which due to the isolation of the thermal bag still tasted cool. Malcolm felt like he could have emptied the whole bag, but now it was Trip's turn. He raised a hand, and Trip held the bag to his own mouth, but took only a few small sips before he lowered it again.

"You've been busy out there," Malcolm said.

"Had no choice." Trip wiped his mouth, then put the cap back on the water bag. "I wanted to get back inside."

"How did you get out, anyway?"

Trip pointed at the broken front window.

"You're not serious." Malcolm stared at him.

"Well, I wanted to see what it looks like out there. Turned out to be a one-way street, though."

"And what do you think of our new environment? I was outside a few minutes ago, and the sun was just rising."

"The suns, you mean. This damn planet's got two of them. Looks like they're settin' at an interval of four or five hours. Their arcs show a slight discrepancy, but I can't tell yet whether they move at a different speed. In any case, though, it's their combined heat which makes this place a livin' hell."

"Great. Any more bad news?"

"Yes." Trip hesitated. "The tank's been damaged. There's not a drop of water left inside."

Malcolm stared at him, trying to comprehend the implications of what Trip had just said. "How many water bags do we have?"

"Three full ones. Each containin' two liters of water. Plus the one we just emptied half."

"And you let me drink like we have all the water in the world?" Malcolm gave Trip a reproachful look, but all he got was a mere shrug.

"How long will it take for Enterprise to find us here?"

"You mean assumin' they got our transmission?"

"Assuming they got it, yes. And I'm not willing to think different."

"If they got on their way immediately after the probe transmitted our coordinates, it'll take them at least another five days, maybe six."

"Six days." Malcolm nodded. "Two people, six days, seven liters of water, and a desert hotter than hell at daytime. Quite a simple calculation. So what do you suggest?"

"Try to repair the shuttle and get away from here."

Malcolm's gaze wandered across the shuttle, coming to rest on the burnt-out helm controls. "Repair it?"

"It won't hurt to try. Better than sittin' around and waitin' for the suns to bake us."

-###-

Malcolm sat on the bench in the back of the shuttle, trying to ignore the oppressing heat that seemed to creep into his pores, scrambling all rational thought. He wished he could have taken off his uniform, but that was out of the question. It wasn't even that he was reluctant to ask Trip for his assistance, but his hands were too thickly bandaged for him to pull his sleeves over them. Lost in thought, he studied the white cotton bandages. In the meantime his hands had become one big, tugging pain, not very strong, but still there. Malcolm thanked God or Phlox or whoever was responsible that the medkit was so generously supplied with painkiller and Trip would be able to give him another dose later. Without the numbing analgesic he'd certainly be feeling a lot worse.

Inwardly, Malcolm let out a frustrated sigh. He was feeling worse, come to think of it. He felt terrible. It wasn't Trip's job to take care of everything. Trip was supposed to take it easy, and not to overexert himself. If Phlox knew that the engineer had been lying under the helm console for several hours now, trying to repair it, he'd personally find a way to cross this nebula to come and drag the commander off to a bio bed. It should be Malcolm's job to look after his friend, not the other way around. The fact that he wasn't able to do so, wasn't able to do anything to help, made him cringe inwardly. He'd tried to clear away some of the debris, at least, using his feet to push the pieces aside. The shuttle was one big mess. He'd never before realized how many small objects a shuttle's interior contained, and how a computer could shatter into several hundred tiny metal pieces when hitting the deck. Even the food rations had been spattered all over the floor. Using his forearms he'd been able to stack the containers in a neat pile on the deck. Almost half of them were useless, their seals damaged and their contents made inedible by the heat. Those Malcolm had kicked out the hatch, feeling a certain grim satisfaction while doing so. They didn't need rotten food in their restricted living space on top of everything else.

Malcolm slid further into the shadow. The first sun was slowly making its way across the sky, bathing the shuttle in light and warmth. Or maybe heat would be a better word for it. The second sun was now directly above them, and it felt as if they were sitting in a hot stove that was slowly but steadily heating up. But outside it was even hotter. At least they had managed to close the hatch, Malcolm pushing it down with his elbows until Trip was able to reach the handle and close it after Malcolm had crawled back inside. Trip had tied a rope to the handle so that he would be able to close it without Malcolm's assistance. And, most important, keep it closed since the locking mechanism didn't work anymore.

Blearily, Malcolm stared at the hatch. They wouldn't be able to survive here until Enterprise came. It would need a miracle to make that possible. A miracle Trip would hopefully be able to arrange.

Malcolm turned around when Trip awkwardly crawled out from under the console. His face was grimy, and trickles of sweat created light traces in the darker sand that was covering his skin. He was breathing heavily.

Using his foot, Malcolm pushed the water bag towards the engineer, but Trip shook his head. "Later. I'm not thirsty right now."

"You have to drink something, Trip," Malcolm said quietly, but firmly. "We both know that you don't take the heat very well. And your condition wasn't all that good to begin with. So don't try playing the hero now."

Reluctantly, Trip nodded and took a big swallow from the water bag. Then he put the bag in his lap, pulled himself over to where Malcolm was sitting, and held the water to his mouth.

"The same goes for you," he said when the Lieutenant hesitated.

Malcolm took a few sips of the water which had taken on a stale, flat taste. The container's isolation had eventually lost against the heat.

"Did you get anywhere?" he asked, trying for an offhand tone of voice as if their survival didn't depend on Trip's ability to repair the shuttle.

"No." Trip shook his head in regret. "I just don't have the spare parts I'd need. I fixed as many circuits as I could, usin' parts from other systems, but it's still not enough by far."

"You mean there's no chance for us to get away from this desert?"

"Looks like it, but maybe I'll think of somethin' yet." Trip didn't look at Malcolm while he said it. He didn't want to tell his friend that he'd exhausted his possibilities. The shuttle was too badly damaged. Aboard Enterprise with all the spare parts at his disposal it would have been no problem to replace the charred and burnt circuits, but down here it was an exercise in futility to even try to do so. Still, he'd gotten quite far. It hurt his very soul, knowing exactly how to repair the helm and still not being able to do so because he lacked the necessary components. He'd taken the circuit board out of the second communicator, taken apart one of the scanners and used all the computer parts that were still in some way usable. He'd even considered taking apart the two phase pistols, but Malcolm had put a strict veto on that idea. Trip had no idea what Malcolm wanted to keep those weapons for, out here in the desert, but he didn't want to start an argument. And besides, it would have been no use, anyway. To be able to replace all the burnt circuits that were necessary to take the shuttle back into the air there were still a great many parts missing.

Trip wiped his sweaty face. He felt tired and exhausted, but knew he had to take care of Malcolm first. They both hadn't eaten anything for almost a day, and his empty stomach was beginning to protest. Trip guessed that it was the same with Malcolm, even though the Lieutenant hadn't said a word of complaint. But then, Malcolm never said a word of complaint, no matter how badly injured or sick he was.

"How're your hands?" Trip asked while he pulled himself past Malcolm to the back part of the shuttle, climbing onto the bench next to the one Reed was sitting on.

"They're fine."

Trip grinned sourly. Of course they were. He'd expected no different answer, even though he knew that the analgesic must be wearing off by now. But Malcolm wouldn't let anything show as long as the pain wasn't all but unbearable.

"How about some dinner?"

"We should save what little food we have."

"Well, we are savin' it. Neither of us had anythin' to eat for almost twenty-four hours. How 'bout some sea bass?"

Malcolm grinned. "Brings back some memories, doesn't it?"

"In a way." Trip answered his grin. "Even though you kicked the meatloaf out the hatch."

"Well, there wouldn't have been enough mashed potatoes to fill the holes, anyway."

Trip chuckled as he exchanged a knowing glance with the other man. Talking about their shuttle mission was comforting. At the time, their situation had seemed just as hopeless, and they had still made it. Even more so, the long hours in the freezing cold shuttle had laid the foundation for their friendship, a friendship that had grown deeper and closer in the time that followed.

"Was rather cold at the time," Malcolm said. "At the moment I wouldn't say no to a little hypothermia, though."

"And we don't have any bourbon, either," Trip stated. "Gotta talk to the Cap'n about his stockin' up on decent supplies." He placed the container with the sea bass in the micro wave. "Even though I don't really want to know what alcohol would do to us in this heat. Come, sit down here."

Malcolm stared at Trip as the engineer opened the micro wave oven to get out their meal. He'd suddenly realized that there was no way he could feed himself with these hands. The idea of Trip having to feed him like a baby was mortifying. No, he'd rather stay hungry than submit to that shameful procedure. Malcolm shook his head.

"No, I'm not going to let you feed me. That's humiliating."

"C'mon, Mal, don't be silly. I can't get up, so you'll have to sit down next to me if you want to get served."

Raising his head, Malcolm saw Trip's raised eyebrows and his knowing grin. And suddenly felt his face grow hot. What the hell was he thinking, complaining to Trip about "humiliating"? For more than a week he'd been feeding his friend every day, and it wasn't by far the only thing Malcolm had done for Trip during that time. Trip, however, had never said a word about feeling humiliated, simply accepting the fact that Malcolm was glad to offer his help. It seemed the time had come that Malcolm, in turn, accepted Trip's help.

Malcolm got up and sat down next to his friend. "Sorry," he muttered. "You're probably the last one I should be complaining to."

"S'okay," Trip said. "I know how you're feelin'."

"Yes, you do. But you're enjoying it, too."

"Let's just say it's nice to be at the other end of the fork, for a change." Trip grinned, spearing a piece of fish and offering it to Malcolm. "And it's not too bad. You get used to everythin'. It could be a lot worse, come to think of it."

"Worse?" Frowning, Malcolm met Trip's amused eyes and wondered what he was talking about.

"Didn't the Cap'n initially plan to go on this mission himself? Just imagine you'd be stranded here together with him instead of me." Trip burst out laughing at Malcolm's horrified expression, but quickly grew serious again. "But on the other hand the Cap'n wouldn't have knocked himself out while landin' the shuttle. He could've helped you take it down, or at least put out the fire. I guess your hands would be still okay if he had been here instead of me."

"That's nonsense, Trip," Malcolm said gently but firmly, fighting the urge to lay a reassuring hand on Trip's shoulder. The engineer looked all but devastated, picking at the food with his fork and refusing to meet Malcolm's eyes. "It's not your fault."

"But I let you down."

"No, you didn't. The same thing could have happened to Captain Archer just as well. But if you must know, I'd rather have you feed me than the captain."

Malcolm studied Trip, not sure if he had managed to convince him. Trip looked frustrated, and was clearly not well. Sweat was pouring down his face, and he seemed on the verge of collapse. Malcolm knew he had overexerted himself, repairing the helm controls. And digging out the shuttle hatch the day before had only served to weaken his already fragile condition. Reed could only hope that Trip's body would be able to cope with the constant strain. He glanced at the cut on Trip's forehead and his bare arms which were still reddened with sunburn. Trip was taking perfect care of his friend, but he neglected to take care of himself. Malcolm looked around.

"What're you lookin' for?" Trip asked.

"The medkit. You have to do something about that cut on your forehead, or it will get infected. I'm sure it burns like hell with the sweat getting into the wound all the time. And your arms look like they could use some ointment."

The engineer let out a sigh. He wasn't going to tell Malcolm that there was no way he would use the ointment for his simple sunburn when Reed needed it for his hands. But some antiseptic gel and a band aid to cover the cut on his forehead didn't seem like a bad idea. The only problem was, how was he supposed to lift the medkit? Without his legs he couldn't bend forward without losing his balance, and he was far too exhausted to let himself fall to the floor only to climb back onto the bench afterwards.

Malcolm had spotted the medkit and pushed it over to the bench before he sat down next to Trip again. "You can hold on to my arm," he said, guessing what Trip was thinking. Careful not to touch Malcolm's hands, Trip closed his fingers around Reed's arm and bent down to pick up the medkit.

"We make quite a pair, don't we?" he muttered, proceeding to open the small container.

"What's the problem? We've got two arms and two legs, what else do you want?"

Trip grinned. "How about those arms and legs on the same body?" He cleaned the wound on his forehead, then applied some gel and a band aid. Afterwards he injected Reed with another dose of painkiller and began to unwrap the Lieutenant's hands. The innermost layer of bandage material stuck to the burned skin, and despite Malcolm's protest Trip used some of their water to peel off the gauze. Malcolm fell silent when he first saw the full extent of his injuries. The numbing effect of the analgesics had left him unaware of the severity of the burns, but what he saw shocked him to the very core. He swallowed and ran his tongue over his dry lips, trying hard not let any of his emotions show.

Trip was also trying to hide his worry. Malcolm's time was running short. In this environment those burns were going to get infected sooner or later. And Malcolm's hands were one big charred wound. Trip couldn't even clean them properly. All he could do was apply some of the antiseptic ointment which was hardly sufficient in this case, and wrap them up again.

Malcolm watched stoically, his face bearing no particular expression. Trip, however, knew him well enough to know that the sight of his burned hands had shocked him deeply. At least he could help him with the pain. Trip knew that burns, and especially burns of that severity, could cause pain bad enough for the victim to pass out from sheer agony.

"How much of that stuff have we left?" Malcolm asked as if he had been reading Trip's thoughts.

The engineer threw a glance at the medkit's remaining contents. "Enough," he said, hoping for his voice to sound confident enough so Malcolm wouldn't hear the lie in it. The painkillers wouldn't last much longer now, and Trip had already used a smaller dose this time. Malcolm would be feeling his hands, but it was better than using up all their supplies and leaving Malcolm to face hell when there were no analgesics left to ease his pain anymore.

Malcolm looked at him. "I'm wondering what we will run out of first - painkillers or water."

"Don't worry," Trip said. "Jon will come to get us. He'll find a way to get us away from here in time."

In time! Looking at their dwindled supplies and Trip's weary face, Malcolm knew that "in time" might not be soon enough.

"You should go and lie down for a while," he suggested, but Trip shook his head.

"I'm gonna take another look at the helm console. There has to be a way to get that thing up and runnin' again. I keep thinkin' there's somethin' I missed."

Trip let his eyes wander across the shuttle, over the wall paneling which was bent and dented, parts of it loosened by force to get access to the relays and circuits behind. He'd taken apart half the shuttle to find enough spare parts, but most of them were damaged or useless.

Malcolm shook his head. "No, Trip. You've tried everything you could, and you have to get some rest. Or do you want to risk another relapse? You're exhausted, and who knows what will happen if your body shuts down again. We can't take that risk, Trip. With these hands, I'm helpless on my own. I need you."

Trip sighed. He knew that Malcolm was right. Every movement in this murderous heat was an effort of its own. His calf was throbbing fiercely, and Trip was glad that Malcolm hadn't discovered the cut yet. Taking off his pants in order to take care of the injury was beyond his possibilities at the time. He didn't have the strength left, just as he didn't have the strength to crawl over to the helm console and start another series of futile repair attempts.

"Well, alright," he said, picking up the water bag and offering it to Malcolm. "Let's get some rest."

Malcolm only took a few small sips. "How much water have we left?"

"Two full bags and this one." Trip made move to put the lid back on the bag, but Malcolm's stern look and headshake stopped him. Sighing, he took a sip as well. "Happy now?"

"Yes." Malcolm's lips curved upwards in a smile. "You've got to take care of yourself, Trip. There's no use in pushing yourself to the point of collapse. I wouldn't be able to help you, and without your help I'm lost here. Maybe if you lie down you can try to get some sleep."

Watching as Trip awkwardly pulled his legs onto the bench, Malcolm fervently wished he would have been able to do something to help him. It was true, he had to rely on Trip's assistance, but the engineer wasn't as fit as he pretended to be. Damnit, Trip was still paralyzed. It should be his, Malcolm's, duty to look after his friend, not the other way around. And then there was this heat which seemed to drain them of every bit of energy they might still have left.

Trip's features relaxed as he slowly slipped into a restless sleep. Malcolm looked around the shuttle. He knew Trip still believed the captain was going to find them in time, but to be quite honest, Malcolm wasn't so sure. The odds that Archer was going to find a way through that nebula were next to nothing, and Malcolm knew that there was no other way, either. If Enterprise came at all, then it would take her at least another five days to reach their position. And there was no way they could survive until then. He would have to think of something.

Malcolm went over to the shuttle hatch and examined the rope Trip had used to fasten the door. Using his teeth, he untied the knot and leaned against the hatch until it sprang open. Of course he was going to need Trip's help to close it again, but first a quick recce was in order.

As he stepped outside, the heat hit him like a slap in the face. The twin suns were blazing in the sky, turning the desert into an over dimensional furnace. The white glittering sand hurt Malcolm's eyes, and he squinted to shield them from the light.

Slowly, dragging his feet behind him, he made his way around the shuttle. He could still see the furrow where Trip had crawled through the sand the day before. There wasn't even enough of a breeze to cover the track his legs had left. Malcolm sighed. What kind of hell had he flown them into? This place didn't even have dunes, only a white sandy plain stretching as far as the eye could see.

Malcolm reached up to wipe the sweat off his face, and gasped as his hand bumped slightly against his forehead. The pain was bearable as long as he kept his hands still, but it only took a faint movement or contact to send waves of agony through his arms. Malcolm stared down at the bandages covering his hands, and realized that Trip must have given him a smaller dose the last time he had injected him with painkillers. And this could only mean one thing: they were running short of supplies. And there was almost no water left, either. Damnit, he was the security officer. He was responsible for the crew's safety, for Trip's safety. He had to think of something, fast.

Malcolm squinted, shielding his eyes as he stared at the desert. There seemed to be a whirring movement at the horizon, blurred shapes of a dark, unidentifiable color. He squinted harder, trying to make out what it was. It looked like a silhouette, very far away, even though it was hard to tell the exact distance from here. Maybe it wasn't even that far away. Maybe it was some kind of oasis, only a few kilometers from here?

Maybe the water they needed so badly was closer than they thought, almost within reach. And if there was only the slightest chance that he could get there, then Malcolm wasn't going to stay in the damaged shuttle and wait for him and Trip to die of thirst. He would find that water.

Looking out at the desert, Malcolm knew what he was going to do, and it made him feel better than he had in a long time.

TBC

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One person has made comments

Hey, great story! I wonder what's going to happen when Malcolm goes out into the desert to find some water. Loved your description of the desert, very well done.
Update soon!!
PFBT