The Miles That Lay Ahead - Chapter 7

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 7

"You wanna do what?"

Huddled closely together, they sat in the small streak of shadow next to the wall, the second sun's glistening beams bathing the shuttle in warmth and brightness. It was the only place where the heat was somewhat tolerable.

"It's the only possibility," Malcolm insisted.

"No, it isn't," Trip answered, agitated. "Malcolm, that's a stupid idea. You can't just walk out into that desert hopin' to find some water somewhere. You won't get anywhere out there and you know it."

"Not just walk out, Commander. I told you before, I saw something out there."

"Glimmerin' air, nothin' more."

"Perhaps, perhaps not. Perhaps it's an oasis. Perhaps there is water."

"And if there isn't?"

"It's worth a try."

"How far d'you think you're gonna get in this heat?" Trip bit his lips, but eventually said what he was thinking: "And with these hands?"

"I don't need my hands for walking." Malcolm's face got a stubborn expression, his mouth turning into a thin line. "I've calculated the risk very carefully, Trip. If I leave tomorrow morning at dawn..."

"...then it'll already be at least 25 degrees out there."

"Shouldn't be a problem."

"But the sand is also radiatin' heat."

"I guess in the early morning it won't be so bad."

"As soon as the first sun rises you'll have 30 degrees on your back."

"That's true, but it's the second sun that really heats up the planet. And it's not going to rise for at least four hours after the first one has risen. So I'll have two hours time to find water and another two to come back."

"Assumin' you find water, how're you gonna open the bags and fill them?"

"I'll manage somehow. With my teeth or even with my feet if I have to. Now stop trying to talk me out of this. I can do it, just have a little faith in me."

"That's not the point, Malcolm. Y'know I'd trust you with my life. I just have a bad feelin' lettin' you walk out into the desert when you don't even know where you're goin'. You're injured, you can't use your hands. Really, you shouldn't do that."

"Who else can do it?" Malcolm asked in an aggressive tone of voice. "You?" He bit his lips the second he'd said it. "I'm sorry, Trip, that wasn't fair."

Trip didn't answer, he only stared at his sprawled legs.

Guiltily, Malcolm looked at him. "It just slipped out, Trip, I didn't mean it. I'm sorry. You know, I'm not really happy with that solution myself, going out there when my hands are in this condition. But if you keep finding reasons why I shouldn't go I will finally agree and stay here. But this is our last chance. You know Enterprise can't be here on time, even if they did get your message, and we can't know that for sure. We're not going to survive without water and I don't want to die without having tried all options. It's only a small chance but it could be possible that I have really seen something. Perhaps there is an oasis behind the horizon. Perhaps even an inhabited area, who knows. And I'm not going to take any more chances than necessary. I'll take the scanner with me."

Briefly, Malcolm remembered their argument when Trip had wanted to use all their equipment for spare parts and he had insisted on leaving at least the weapons and one scanner intact. He sighed. "Tell me if you see another option. I'm open to every suggestion you come up with."

That was the point. Trip didn't have any suggestions. He was more than reluctant to leave this job to Malcolm. It was plain irresponsible, letting him stumble out into the desert with these useless and hurting hands. But what else could they do? Their supply of water was running short and they simple couldn't survive in this heat without water. He for himself could contribute nothing to their rescue. Trip's eyes returned to his lifeless legs, and his brows drew together. No, nothing at all.

-###-

"Breakfast's ready, Malcolm."

Malcolm tried to shake off the sleepiness. To tell the truth, he hadn't exactly rested well. The impending mission had troubled him all night and kept him from sleeping. There was hardly anything he could do to prepare himself for the journey, but the uncertainty whether or not he was going to be successful was weighing on his mind. The muggy air that wouldn't cool down even during the night had kept him awake as well. It was just as well that the period of darkness didn't last very long in this part of the planet. Awkwardly, he stood up and shuffled over to where Trip was sitting.

"I'm not hungry at all. Shouldn't we ration what little food we have?"

"That wouldn't make sense. Even though it's supposed to be vacuum sealed, the stuff is rottin' away. This is the last edible food we have and it won't stay that way for long. So we better eat it right away. And you need your strength for the walk."

Less than impressed, Malcolm looked at the food. His throat was sore and swollen and he believed he wouldn't be able to swallow even one mouthful of it. Trip looked at the plastic plate with the same expression on his face. Then he shrugged and offered Malcolm a fork with some sort of meat.

"C'mon, it's better than nothin'."

Malcolm didn't even ask what he was eating. It didn't look very delicious to him and tasted like cardboard, though he guessed that was mostly because he had never before felt less enthusiastic about eating anything. Even the thought of pineapple upside-down cake didn't seem to hold much of a lure at the moment.

Trying a mouthful as well, Trip grimaced. "Tastes like old socks," he murmured, licking his sore lips. "Your turn, Lieutenant. Open your mouth."

"Guess a candle would do for the romantic mood," Malcolm muttered sarcastically.

The corners of Trip's mouth twitched slightly. It really was an intimate situation, eating from the same plate and feeding both Malcolm and himself with the same fork. Trip appreciated Malcolm's attempt to lift their mood with a joke, but his weary brain failed to come up with an appropriate reply.

They forced themselves to finish the meal. Trip opened their second to last bag of water and offered it to Malcolm. "And this time, you drink more than just one teeny weeny sip," he advised him.

Malcolm shook his head. "One mouthful is enough."

"No, it's not." Trip refused to take the bag away from Malcolm's lips. "Listen to me, Lieutenant. Without water you're gonna collapse within the first ten minutes. If you do find some water it'll make no difference how much you drink now. And if you don't find any water, then I really don't care a shit whether we die today or tomorrow. So drink now. I'm not lettin' you go otherwise."

"Okay." Malcolm drank about a quarter liter of water. It was warm and even staler than it had been the day before, but despite of the taste he relished every mouthful. Afterwards he allowed Trip to inject him with another painkiller and to bandage his hands once again. "Please take care that some of my finger tips are free so I can operate the scanner," he asked.

Trip nodded. He chose for Malcolm's left hand where the fingers weren't as badly burnt as on his right. He managed to loosen the bandages without greater problems, but the condition of Malcolm's hands had visibly worsened. Trip was sure that they weren't sufficiently supplied with blood and slowly beginning to necrotize. Silently, he pleaded with Jon to hurry. Dismissing these thoughts, he smiled when he wrapped the bandages around the hands. "Be careful," he advised Malcolm. "If you stumble, keep your hands away from the sand."

"Got it." Malcolm grinned lopsidedly. They were both only too aware of their situation. Enterprise couldn't be here in time, and they would be doomed if he failed to find some water.

Malcolm asked Trip to put the leather straps of the two empty water bags across his shoulders, but objected when Trip wanted to give him the full bag.

"The other one is still three quarters full, Trip, that should be enough for four hours."

Trip complied. He loosened the caps of all bags so Malcolm would be able to unscrew them with his teeth. Sighing, he put one of the caps with the NX-01 logo on Malcolm's head. "I wished I could talk you out of this. Or at least come with you."

"You could wish me good luck."

"Hm, you're gonna need it." Trip slipped down to the floor and pulled himself to the hatch, loosening the rope to open it. "Malcolm?"

"Hm?"

"Come back, okay? Don't leave me alone here."

Malcolm looked down at his friend. He wished he could lay a comforting hand on his shoulder. "I'll come back. And I'll bring you some water." Enterprise's security chief nodded and climbed out of the hatch. Trip watched him trudge along in the sand in the light of the rising sun. He exhaled deeply, squinting his eyes to get rid of the burning sensation that had suddenly overcome him.

-###-

Sitting in the open hatch and staring at the footprints Malcolm had left in the sand, Trip had lost his sense of time. It had been a bad feeling, watching his friend go out into nowhere. The desert certainly didn't look like there was any water to be found out there. Not in this sandy hell that stretched along the horizon and further on. Where not a breeze was blowing and the two suns slowly killed everybody who was foolish enough to stay out here. Still, the temperatures were agreeable since the first sun was only just rising over the horizon. But the second sun would make this desert a furnace hostile to every lifeform. Trip only hoped that Malcolm would be safely back until then.

Letting out a sigh, he shut the hatch and fastened the rope. He had run out of options to repair the helm, and so there was nothing he could do to pass the time while waiting for Malcolm to come back. He yawned. Like always, he felt awfully tired. The constant yawning got on his nerves. Awkwardly, he climbed onto the rear bench but he didn't intend to lie down. Going to sleep would have felt too much like letting Malcolm down - who was, after all, risking his life for him right now. If he only had been able to go with him. These damned legs. "How about you start doin' your job again?" he muttered, staring at his legs in a futile attempt to make them move by sheer will power. He smacked his hand on his thigh. Actually he gave a damn whether he could walk or not. If Malcolm didn't come back with any water, there was nothing they could do but accept their fate. And then it didn't really matter anymore whether he could move his legs or not.

Trip's gaze fell on the microwave oven and he grinned sourly. What use was there in stocking up the shuttle pod with a heap of rations if they went bad after only a few hours? That mustn't have happened. Perhaps the seals had been damaged somehow during the crash when all their equipment had been thrown out of the compartments. But it didn't make any difference. The microwave oven was useless to them now, just another assembly of circuits.

Trip started badly and would have jumped up, but remembered just in time that he couldn't do so. He stared at the device. The sand must have gotten into his brain as well, or he surely would have thought of this before. Here it was. The solution to all their problems was sitting right before him. And had been sitting here all the time. The microwave oven contained all of the spare parts he needed to repair the helm console.

Trip shook his head. The whole time he had been sitting directly in front of it, never thinking of that possibility. Malcolm wouldn't have had to go out into the desert in a futile and dangerous search for water. They could already be long gone from this place. Trip squeezed his eyes shut and bit his lips. If he had only been able to run after Malcolm and call him back. His friend had been gone for less than half an hour, with a good sprint he would be able to catch up with him. Normally.

A good sprint. Trip sighed deeply, but it sounded like a sob. Why did it seem that fate always plotted against him?

He rubbed his face. It wasn't the time to feel sorry for himself, he had to pull himself together. He couldn't get Malcolm back by complaining about his fate and blaming himself. But he could see to it that the helm was back to working order when his friend came back. All he needed was his toolkit.

-###-

Malcolm stumbled forward, on and on. He tried to shut out all thoughts except moving his feet and checking the scanner from time to time. Operating the device was painful. The tip of his left middle finger wasn't covered by the bandage and when he touched the scanner the burnt fingertip sent out a stinging pain Malcolm could feel up to his shoulder. Malcolm saw no use in fooling himself, he knew what condition his hands were in. He had been pushing away all thoughts concerning them, but his lonely march through the desert gave him enough time to think. He had seen them and he knew their condition had deteriorated. In spite of Trip's efforts the wounds were probably infected by now. But even if they weren't, his hands had remained untreated for too long. Even if Phlox would be able to take care of them in a few days, Malcolm feared it would be too late then. He would lose both hands. What use was a security chief and armory officer without his hands? These days, they made artificial limbs that were as good as your own arms and legs, but they still wouldn't work for him. He couldn't imagine firing a phaser with an artificial hand, let alone adjusting a torpedo or simply doing his work on Enterprise.

Suddenly Malcolm couldn't stop from grinning. The thought that had just crossed his mind was pure sarcasm. Just what Enterprise needed. A chief engineer without his legs and an armory officer without his hands.

Malcolm turned around and looked at his footsteps that formed a straight line. He wouldn't need the scanner to find his way back. The sight of his own footsteps held a certain comfort. If he couldn't make his way back in time, Enterprise would at least find his body. Malcolm snorted. Of course they would find it. What was he thinking? Enterprise wouldn't have to rely on some footsteps in the sand, they had scanners to locate his corpse. He shook his head to get rid of these depressing thoughts. He wasn't dead yet. Perhaps a mouthful of water would help to lift his mood. Malcolm held the water bag between his forearms, lifting it to his mouth to remove the cap with his teeth. He sighed in relief when he succeeded in doing so. He would have loved to drink all the water in the bag, but he had to ration it. Deep inside he wasn't so sure that he was going to be able to find any water, even though he had tried to appear confident in front of Trip. With an effort, he removed the bag from his mouth and tried to screw the cap back on. He lost some precious minutes with futile attempts, but leaving the bag open seemed too risky. Eventually he succeeded in putting the cap up correctly and screwing it shut using his teeth and tongue. "My kingdom for a pair of hands," he muttered, stumbling forward again.

He could feel the sun's warmth on his back. He was sweating, but the temperature was still bearable. He had to go on. He had to find water. Trip was relying on him.

Again, Malcolm tried to shut out all disturbing thoughts. He tried not to think of the increasing heat or his thirst or his aching hands. He concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other, never losing track, step by step and minute by minute. Every half an hour he allowed himself a sip of water and checked his direction using the scanner. The results were frustrating. He stayed on his course but this course seemed to lead to nowhere. He couldn't locate a single drop of water, only sand, sand and sand. By now his shoes were full of it and he could feel the grains slipping under his uniform, rubbing against his skin and making it sore. He started to itch all over and the worst of it was that he couldn't even scratch.

Malcolm sighed when he looked around. He felt like he was the only living being on this bloody planet. He started to wonder whether the whole planet consisted of this oversized sandbox. The first sun was rising steadily and it got warmer, but he still had some time left. However, if he couldn't find water within the next half an hour he had to turn around. But he couldn't allow that to happen. He mustn't fail. There had to be water somewhere around here and Malcolm Reed was determined to find it.

-###-

Trip lay under the helm console, cursing. Due to the heat his fingers were so swollen that he was barely able to grip his tools. Let alone handle delicate circuits and relays. Again and again the tools and spare parts slipped from his fingers and he had to search for them in the dust. This damned sand seemed to be everywhere. It was itching in his eyes, clogging his nose and even his tongue seemed to be made of sand. Trip coughed, feeling it in his sore throat. He closed his burning eyes. He would love to give in to his tiredness, lie down and sleep for some hours. But he couldn't afford the time, he had to finish his repairs. It wasn't only due to the heat that his fingers had gotten clumsy. He recognized the signs. The feeling of having to pull his arms through a tenacious swamp to move them was only too familiar to him.

"Don't fail me now," he admonished his body. Awkwardly, he crawled out from under the console to get some water. It burned on his sore lips. The cut in his calf was burning as well. He could feel his pulse throbbing inside the wound. It surely wasn't good to drag the leg over the sandy floor all the time. Trip presumed that in its untreated condition the cut had gotten infected, but he didn't bother to take a look at it. It was better to save his strength to repair the helm. And besides, he didn't really want to know.

-###-

Malcolm stared down at his scanner. He had been on his way for a little more than two hours, and realized that he was going to have to turn back. He wouldn't get back in time if he kept going. But his insides bristled at the idea. Going back meant that he had failed and he wasn't going to admit that he had failed. Maybe the water was only another half an hour's walk away. His rationality told him to turn around but there was also that little, persistent voice at the back of his mind telling him over and over again that he was so close to finding what he was looking for. Only a few steps, maybe, thirty minutes, another hour, who knew what he was going to find. Malcolm stumbled on. If he failed to find water they were going to die anyway, and it made no real difference whether he kept going or not.

"Come back, okay?" he suddenly heard a voice whispering in his head. "Don't leave me alone here." Malcolm shut his eyes, sighing when he remembered Trip's words. He mustn't go on. He had promised Trip that he was going to return. It didn't make a lot of sense to go back with empty hands, but that way, they could at least die together. Maybe a miracle would happen and Enterprise would find them in time. Malcolm swallowed dryly. He didn't want to die out here, all alone. All of a sudden the shuttle seemed like a safe shelter to him. At least he wouldn't be alone there.

For the last time, Malcolm Reed looked at the horizon. He wanted to know what was there, whether it was the oasis he had thought he had seen, or just that endless stretch of sand, where he would finally die a slow, agonizing death.

When he turned around he saw a flicker of ... something at the horizon, forming blurred shapes. There definitely was something out there. Frantically, Malcolm worked his scanner, whimpering when the pain shot from his fingertips right into his arm and up to his shoulder. But the scanner didn't show anything. Perhaps it was faulty, which was definitely a possibility in this sandy environment. But Malcolm could trust his eyes. There wasn't only sand out there. He wasn't able to guess the distance but he decided it was worth a try. There would be water. He just knew it.

Malcolm stumbled forward, towards the flickering. When he paused the next time he could see distinct shapes. His heart pounded excitedly, and he licked his cracked lips. "I'll get us some water, Trip," he whispered, taking a deep swallow from his bag. It wasn't necessary to save the rest. Over there was enough water to last until Enterprise came.

Soon Malcolm could see what he was heading for. It had to be an oasis. His eyes watered, blurring his vision, but he was able to make out houses and trees. This planet was inhabited. He would find help. Of course, it might be a problematic first contact, considering the fact that they knew nothing about these people at all. Still, Malcolm hoped that even on this world people would agree to help a living being that was dying of thirst. And besides, what choice did he have?

Malcolm wiped his eyes to clear his sight, but the picture remained somewhat blurry. The houses still seemed very far away, vanishing instead of growing bigger. All of a sudden, ice water seemed to be running through Malcolm's veins, he was shivering despite the heat and his heart missed a beat. Despite the overwhelming heat Malcolm began to run. He stumbled and fell and in a reflex he used his hands to stop his fall. With a scream of pain, he collapsed when his hands gave way immediately, sending terrible waves of pain through his whole body. For a moment he couldn't breathe. Overwhelmed by the agony and overcome with pain, he started to cry. But then he gritted his teeth and got back to his feet. Sluggishly, he began to stumble forward as if he could catch the image that kept flickering before his eyes and suddenly disintegrated into hot air.

"No!" Malcolm cried, stretching out his aching hands to get the image back. Panting, he dropped to his knees. Unbelieving, he stared at the spot where he had seen houses and trees just a few seconds ago. It had been a Fata Morgana. He had been fooled by a bloody Fata Morgana. He was still alone in this desert with nothing around him but hot sand.

Malcolm felt all energy drain from him. He was still kneeling at the same place, staring at the horizon as if he could get the image back. He felt numb, paralyzed. It couldn't be true. A dry sob came out of his throat. All his hopes had disappeared together with the illusion, leaving nothing but a painful emptiness in its wake. He wanted to lie down in the sand and die. His hands were burning, his insides felt as if they were on fire and he was too exhausted to think straight. He kept staring at the horizon where the air was flickering and transforming into a new Fata Morgana.

With all his strength, Malcolm got to his feet and opened the water bag. There wasn't a lot left, though. His hope of finding water had literally vanished into thin air. How could he have been stupid enough to be fooled by a Fata Morgana? Malcolm Reed, trained security chief of the first Warp 5 ship, skilled tactical officer who had proven his abilities in lots of missions, had chased after an illusion.

Houses and trees were reappearing in the distance, forming almost the same image as before. Malcolm suppressed the rising hope that this image could be for real. It couldn't be real, it was just a picture. A beautiful picture, mocking him. He turned around. His eyes were burning with disappointment and he could hardly follow his own tracks. Thinking of the way back, he couldn't keep the tears at bay anymore. It was hopeless. He was far beyond his deadline. It was impossible to reach the shuttle before the second sun rose. He would die somewhere out here and Trip would never know what had happened to him. He could only hope his friend was going to hold on until Enterprise came to fetch him. Perhaps they would search for him as well. Of course they would. But the thought of how they were going to find him only reminded Malcolm of the fact that he had failed.

He swallowed and went on. He had no other choice, he had to give it a try. Step by step he stumbled along. Soon he realized that his former calculation had been erroneous. Since he was exhausted from the long march and from his sprint, he now walked a lot slower than he had before. Two hours for the search and two hours for the way back wouldn't have worked even if he had turned back on time. Malcolm could have kicked himself. He had been trained for these situations, and should be able to do a simple calculation.

Malcolm stopped when he saw the second sun rise over the horizon. He had no idea how long it was going to take him to reach the shuttle. He couldn't use the scanner anymore; ever since his fall every movement of his hands had sent a white bolt of pain through his arms. But it was the pain that was keeping him conscious, preventing his thoughts from getting cloudy and stopping him from just dropping into the sand to die. However, he didn't even want to think about using his hands.

But he needed to. He needed to drink something, and he was going to need his hands for that. Using his forearm, he pressed the water bag against his chest, shifting it upwards until his teeth could get a grip of the cap. He felt sick with pain when he finally succeeded in opening the bag and when he clamped it between his forearms and lifted his head to drink, he stumbled. The world began spinning around him, his legs gave way and he fell face first into the sand, managing to hold up his hands at the very last moment. The sudden movement sent a stinging wave of pain through his whole body but this time he could prevent his hands from making hard contact with the ground. The water bag was not so lucky, smashing into the sand and spilling most of its remaining contents all over the ground where they seeped away immediately.

Malcolm closed his eyes, waiting for the nausea to subside. He shivered, and at the same time felt cold sweat trickling down his forehead. It wasn't a good sign. He had to go on as long as he was still able to do so.

It was a beautiful sight, the second sun rising at the horizon and making the sand sparkle brightly, but Malcolm didn't see it. Heading straight in the direction of the rising sun, he had to squint his eyes which had started to water because of the bright light. In the meantime, his steps were no longer steady and straight. He was more staggering than walking. And he had no idea how far he was away from the shuttle. Finally he was sure he couldn't go on. He knew he couldn't take another step. When he had dragged Trip back to the shuttle, back on the small moon where they had met the aliens for the first time, he had been thinking the same. But then the situation hadn't been as bad as it was now. Breathing the thin air and carrying Trip's weight had exhausted him, but now he was fighting a losing battle against the heat and his own dehydrated, injured body.

The thought of Trip gave him the strength for one last, desperate effort. Letting Trip down wasn't going to be an option as long as he was still able to crawl. Trip trusted him to come back. Staring down at the ground, he kept following his own tracks. Again he shut out all thoughts; never looking left or right, he concentrated only setting one foot in front of the other.

He had the feeling of having walked for days. He could hardly believe that he had been struggling with this hostile environment for only six hours. There was nothing in this desert. No plants, no blade of grass, not even a beetle or an ant. Only Malcolm Reed who was beginning to get the feeling that he was doomed to stagger through this hell for ever and ever.

Again the lieutenant fell into the hot sand, completely exhausted. He had drunk the last drop of water an hour ago and both suns were burning in the sky, their full blast drying him up like a prune. Malcolm licked his lips that were dry and cracked and had started to bleed. His tongue felt like sandpaper, and his throat was sore. He had so little saliva left he couldn't even swallow. Once again, Malcolm tried to get to his feet, but his legs gave way immediately. He couldn't go on.

Malcolm felt a merciless darkness clouding his senses. Halfheartedly, he tried to fight it, knowing he wouldn't wake up again. But the thought wasn't that frightening, after all. He was too exhausted to feel scared. In fact, a merciful oblivion sounded tempting. When Malcolm raised his head one last time he could see a shadow in the distance. Not an illusion, this time it was real. It was the shuttle. Realizing that he had almost made it, Malcolm's eyes widened. Safety and shelter were only a few hundred meters away. All he needed to do was fight back the impending darkness and mobilize his last strength. "Come on, Malcolm," he croaked and the words coming out of his sore throat sounded strange to his ears. "You're not going to give up here." He came up to his knees and elbows, starting to crawl. He managed one meter, two meters and a third one. Then he fell to one side and stayed there. The sun's hot beams were the last thing he felt before darkness engulfed him.

"I'm so sorry, Trip. Please forgive me," he murmured, resignedly closing his eyes.

TBC

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