The Miles That Lay Ahead - Chapter 9

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 9

The first thing Malcolm felt was surprise at the hard surface he was lying on. He remembered collapsing on the sand, the hot grains pressing into his cheek. This, however, felt different; hard and smooth, and a lot cooler.

With an effort, he raised his head and squinted to get rid of the haze that was blurring his eyes. Slowly, his vision cleared and he saw that he was in the shuttlepod. How had he come to be here? Groaning, he pushed himself into a sitting position, which wasn't an easy task without being able to use his hands for support. He looked down at them. The pain had subsided, and all he felt was a slight tugging.

Why wasn't he dead? Why was he back in the shuttlepod? The answer came when he looked at Trip, who lay on the floor in a bright patch of sun light, looking at him with weary eyes. He looked awful. Malcolm had no idea how the engineer had managed to bring him back to the shuttle, but somehow he had, that much was clear.

"How did you do that?" Malcolm asked, the disbelief evident in his tone.

"Well, I couldn't really leave you lyin' out there."

"Trip, I... I don't know what to say." Malcolm leaned his head back against the wall and allowed himself a moment's rest. Trip seemed to have found him still in time before the sun had left any lasting damage; considering the time he'd spent out there he didn't even feel that bad. His head was throbbing, and he felt rather parched and tired, but not as bad as he would have expected.

"How d'you feel?" At Trip's question, Malcolm opened his eyes.

"I'm okay. And... and I'm sorry I screwed up so miserably."

"Because you didn't find any water? Not even you can find somethin' that isn't there, Malcolm."

"Still." Malcolm's eyes fell on the water bag which looked rather flat. "We'll have to go easy on what is still left."

"There's nothin' left. It's all gone."

"What?" Malcolm's head snapped around. "You still had two liters when I left this morning! Did you drink it all up?"

The hurt expression in Trip's eyes was visible for only a fleeting second, but it was long enough for Malcolm to feel a sharp pang of guilt. Trip would never drink all the water himself. Malcolm blanched when he realized what had really happened.

"You made me drink it," he said, swallowing hard.

Trip didn't answer.

"Say this isn't true, Trip." Malcolm shook his head in despair. "Please say you didn't give me all the water."

"I didn't. The last mouthful I drank myself."

Malcolm felt miserable. This couldn't be true. How could he have allowed Trip to give him their last water?

"You needed it, Mal. You almost got a sunstroke out there. You needed water." Trip ran his tongue over his dry lips. "Besides, that's not our biggest problem."

"Not our biggest problem? We don't have any water left!" Malcolm's voice was full of sarcasm and anger that was directed towards himself. He was not ready to forgive himself for using up their last supplies. "What could possibly be worse than that?"

Trip swallowed. "I can't move anymore."

Malcolm's eyes widened. "What?"

Trip gave no answer, but his face said it all.

"But... why, all of a sudden?" Malcolm broke off. He knew why, of course. He was back in the shuttle. And he hadn't walked back on his own, two healthy feet. Trip had brought him here, had somehow dragged his unconscious body back to the shuttlepod and at the same time pushed his own, already exhausted body well past its limits. It was to be expected that he would suffer another relapse, a relapse that was even worse than the first one.

"Damnit!" Malcolm swore angrily. This was the last thing they needed. What were they going to do now? If Trip wasn't able to move, they were both helpless.

Malcolm threw a glance at his friend. He was covered in dirt and sweat, and lay in a twisted position on the floor of the shuttle, with no protection from the glaring sunlight that came through the broken front window. Malcolm had been surprised that Trip hadn't moved into the shadow, but of course there was no way he could do so. Malcolm could only imagine how Trip must be feeling. He looked so tired and exhausted. Was it going to start all over again, all the pain and suffering Trip had been through? And it was all his, Reed's, fault, if it did.

Slowly, Malcolm got to his feet. He scrunched his eyes shut and took a deep breath to rid himself of the giddy feeling that threatened to overwhelm him.

"What're you doin'?" Trip asked.

"Getting you out of the sun."

"And how're you gonna do that?"

"I have no idea. But you can't stay there. You'll suffer a heatstroke if you stay in the sun any longer."

Malcolm raised an arm to shade his eyes from the hot sunbeams that were pouring into the shuttle, heating up the pod like a small steel oven. This bloody planet really seemed out to get them.

Kneeling down behind Trip, Malcolm used his knees and elbows to push his friend's motionless body towards the wall. Trip moaned softly, and Malcolm immediately stopped in his tracks.

"Am I hurting you?"

"No, s'okay." Trip tried to keep the pain out of his voice as he spoke. It was different this time. After his last relapse his legs had simply stopped moving, but he hadn't suffered any pain. Like he did now. The painful tugging in his muscles had woken him up earlier, and it seemed to be getting worse and worse. But there was no need to tell Malcolm. The realization that he was once again paralyzed from the neck down hadn't really surprised Trip, but had shocked him deeply nonetheless. He had so hoped that his body wasn't going to betray him, as it had done time and again before. A hope that had been shattered the second he had opened his eyes and tried to move his arm. A few times he had tried to wake Malcolm, but his friend’s exhausted sleep had been too deep to get through to him. So for almost an hour Trip had been lying helplessly in the hot sun without any possibility to protect his body from the heat or even to cover his eyes to keep out the glaring sun. One hour, during which he had tried time and again to move his arms, hoping to grab hold of something in order to move away from the worst sunlight. But his body refused to cooperate, wouldn't budge no matter what he did.

Malcolm was panting when he had finally managed to move Trip into the narrow shade the shuttle wall provided. But at least here the heat was bearable.

"Thanks." Trip let out a sigh of relief. "I don't think I could've stood it much longer."

Malcolm sat down next to him on the floor. "I'm so sorry, Trip."

"What d'you mean?"

"It's my fault this happened. You should have left me out there."

"Leave you out there to die? Right, Mal."

"But you're paying for it now. Did you know that this was going to happen?"

"I was afraid it would. The symptoms were quite clear. But it doesn't matter. At least we're together."

"It does matter, Trip. You can't move, and it's my fault you've suffered another relapse."

"Mal, if anyone's to blame for this, then it's me. It was my decision, not yours."

"But I was the cause." Malcolm looked down at Trip. While dragging over the deck, the engineer's legs had come to lie on top of one another, and it didn't look like it was a very comfortable position, down there on the floor. Malcolm silently swore at himself. He couldn't even help Trip get comfortable. If he had turned around in time, then there would have been no need for Trip to crawl out there and bring his own body to the verge of collapse and beyond. No matter what Trip said, if he had stuck to his plan he would have been able to return to the shuttle on his own feet, and Trip wouldn't be suffering now.

Suddenly something hit him. "I'm such a bloody idiot! Do you know why I didn't make it? Because I went too far. I saw trees and houses, and kept blindly walking towards them instead of using my brain."

"You mean you were hallucinatin'?"

"No. It was a Fata Morgana. And I was too stupid to see that it wasn't real. I was actually surprised when it suddenly vanished right in front of my eyes."

Trip looked up at him, a strange expression in his eyes. "You do know what a Fata Morgana is, don't you?"

"Of course I do. It's a mirage."

"Yes, but how does it come into existence?"

Malcolm sighed. He wasn't very keen on having a lengthy discussion about his failure. "A Fata Morgana shows objects which can be several thousand kilometers away." His mouth dropped open. "Bloody hell," he said as the realization hit him. "This damn planet is inhabited, after all. These houses exist somewhere." He closed his eyes. Somehow, this discovery made it even worse. After the first excitement had subsided, the feeling of abandonment became even stronger than before. What use was there in knowing that there were people who might be able to help them, if there was no way to get away from this hellhole?

Malcolm turned back to Trip, but stopped in his tracks when he noticed that the engineer's face was contorted in pain. Looking closer, he also noticed a faint tremor that ran through Trip's arms and legs.

"Cramps?" he asked carefully.

Trip only nodded and gritted his teeth to suppress a loud groan. His breathing came in ragged, strained gasps.

Malcolm felt miserable at his own inability to help. When Trip had suffered these spasms last time, he and Hoshi had massaged the commander's body until the pain had relented. Now he wasn't able to do anything to help Trip. Watching helplessly how the cramps tormented his friend stirred anger in Malcolm, and he could have kicked himself.

After a while, the convulsive trembling lessened, and Trip relaxed a little. Malcolm got up and went over to the back bunk. He believed there was a pillow lying around somewhere, and maybe he could use it to get Trip a little more comfortable down there on the floor. As he took hold of the pillow with his teeth, Malcolm's eyes fell on the microwave oven. Or at least on the remains of the device. What the hell had Trip been up to? Well, never mind, he wasn't going to stand here with a pillow in his mouth and think about irrelevant matters. Slowly, he shuffled back over to Trip, sank to his knees and let go of the pillow.

"Can you raise your head?"

"Yes, I think so."

Using his elbows, Malcolm slid the pillow under Trip's head. When he sat back up, the giddy feeling returned and he leaned heavily against the bulkhead. The heat was taking its toll of him, and he felt exhausted after walking only a few steps. Even worse was the thirstiness, but it couldn't be helped. There was no water left, not a single drop in any of the bags.

Malcolm studied his friend. The pain seemed to have subsided; Trip had his eyes closed, and seemed to have dozed off. He was in a miserable condition, but Malcolm supposed he wasn't looking any better. His lips were raw and cracked as well, and his skin was beginning to dry up and break. On top of that, however, Trip also sported a nasty sunburn which had become even worse when he had left the shuttle to get to Malcolm. The skin on his forearms was grazed by the sand, reddened and bloody, even forming small blisters here and there. Malcolm bit his lips when he thought of how Trip had crawled through the hot sand to get him back to the shuttle. And then his eyes fell on Trip's leg.

"What's that?"

"What?" Trip opened his eyes.

"That." Malcolm jerked his chin in the direction of Trip's leg. His calf was badly swollen, stretching the torn fabric of the jeans and allowing a clear view of the blood-caked, suppurating cut beneath. "Where did you get that?"

"When we crashed."

"When we crashed?" Malcolm repeated incredulously. "Are you crazy? Why didn't you tell me? Or at least put a bandage on that cut?"

"Didn't have the time."

"Bullshit. You spent all your time taking care of me, and neglected yourself. That's crazy, Trip. If I had known..."

"And that's exactly why I didn't tell you. Now stop bitchin', Malcolm, can't be changed anyway."

Malcolm calmed down somewhat. "Are you in pain?"

"It's okay." In the meantime Trip had almost gotten used to the constant stinging and throbbing in his calf.

"You should have kept some of the painkiller for yourself."

Trip shook his head. "You need it more than I do. I'm sure your hands hurt a lot worse than my leg."

"It's not too bad yet." Malcolm had no illusions about his condition. He knew it was only the analgesic which made the pain bearable. As soon as the painkiller wore off, his hands would send him straight to hell and hurt even worse than they had when he had collapsed out there in the desert.

"I'm sorry, Malcolm."

"Really? Join the club. What are you sorry for, anyway?"

The corner of Trip's mouth twitched, but he quickly grew serious again. "I can't even inject you with the rest of the analgesics."

"Well, that's hardly your fault, is it?"

"Yes it is. We could've been gone from here a long time ago if I had only used my brain. Could've saved us a lot of trouble. You walkin' out into the desert in order to find water where there's not a single drop to be found, my relapse... it wasn't necessary for all this to happen."

Malcolm stared at him. "I don't understand."

"I've repaired the helm, Mal. I could've done it a lot sooner, but I guess I was jus' bein' dense."

Malcolm's eyes shifted to the remains of the microwave oven, and he realized what Trip was talking about.

"You used the microwave's components."

"Right. D'you have any idea why I didn't think of that in the first place? I was sittin' right in front of it, warmed up the rations and never even thought of usin' its circuits to repair the console. Talk about blockheaded."

"You're not blockheaded, Trip. So you're not superman. Big surprise. You can't always think of everything."

"But it could've saved our lives."

"Maybe. Who knows? But there's no use in blaming yourself, Trip."

Trip threw him a doubting look. Malcolm wanted to put a reassuring hand on the engineer's shoulder, show him that it was okay, but of course there was no way he could do so.

"So you're saying we could take off right here and now if one of us was able to work the helm's controls?"

"No, I still have to take a look at the thrusters. But it wouldn't take more'n one hour, at the most. And then we could be gone from here."

Malcolm grinned sourly. "Shit."

Trip sighed. "Exactly."

Again, Malcolm closed his eyes. There seemed nothing to add. Neither of them was able to do the necessary repair work, and all they could do was sit here and wait for it to end. Or for Enterprise to come and pick them up, but Malcolm didn't believe that was going to happen. The ship was still too far away, and miracles tended to be conspicuous by their absence when you really needed them.

Trip was lost in his own thoughts. His fears had come true; it seemed like his body reacted with another relapse every time he over-exerted himself. Climbing the stairs in Engineering had rendered his legs useless, and now his whole body had shut down, leaving him completely immobilized. And there was no reason why it shouldn't stay that way for the rest of his life. Five days had passed since his first relapse, and his legs still showed no sign of life. Strangely enough, the idea of being paralyzed for life didn't even frighten him that much. Trip was simply too exhausted to be afraid. Besides, why waste time and energy worrying about the future? Being out here in the desert with not a single drop of water left, it didn't really make any difference whether he was still able to move. In all likelihood, he'd never find out if his condition was going to improve or not.

The minutes dragged by at snail's pace, an almost eerie silence hanging over the shuttle. As if we were already dead, Malcolm thought. Talking hurt his cracked lips, but that was still better than this deadly quiet.

"Are you awake, Trip?"

"Hmm."

"Trip... are you afraid of dying?"

There was a moment's silence, then Trip let out a sigh. "As long as I'm not gonna suffocate again..."

He left the sentence unfinished, but Malcolm understood. He felt a shiver run down his spine when he thought of the terrible minutes when Trip's lungs had shut down.

"You afraid it's going to happen again?"

"I don't know, Malcolm. But it happened the same way last time; first my legs shut down, and then the rest of my body. My respiration would be next."

Malcolm shook his head in dismay. No, he wasn't even going to think of that possibility. He didn't think he would be able to go through this once again, to watch helplessly as his friend was slowly choked to death. Dammit, he wasn't even able to stun him with a phaser. No, this couldn't happen.

"Have you noticed any symptoms?"

"No. But that doesn't mean there aren't any. Remember how quickly it happened last time."

"Trip, there's still the possibility that your body is simply reacting to the strain, and has only temporarily shut down. Maybe if you rest for a while, you'll be able to move again."

"I don't think so. The paralysis didn't go away after my first relapse, either."

"But then you weren't experiencing any pain."

"Right. It's different this time. It hurts, and I don't think it's gonna get better any time soon."

"But it doesn't necessarily have to get worse, either. Your body has shut down, but that doesn't mean your respiration will be affected as well. All you have to do is hold on until Enterprise comes to pick us up."

"I hope you're right."

Worriedly, Malcolm looked down at Trip who grimaced again, biting his already sore lips. He had to try and keep his friend's mind off his pain, but talking about death maybe wasn't the best approach.

"I'm sure the captain'll move heaven and earth to find us in time."

"Oh yes." Trip allowed himself a strained smile. "Jon would personally get out and push if he thought it'd speed her up."

"I'm sure he's beside himself with worry about you."

"About us, Malcolm."

"Maybe, but you're still special to the captain. More like a little brother than a friend."

"You sayin' he's more worried about me than about Porthos?" The corner of Trip's mouth was twitching.

"You're thinking of the time back on Kreetassia when Porthos watered those sacred trees and got sick afterwards?"

Trip chuckled. "Yeah. I've never seen Jon like that before. He was up all night, prowlin' the corridors and bitin' off people's heads, all because he was completely at a loss how to deal with the situation. Leave it to the Kreetassians to annoy the hell out of anyone who asks them a favor. Poor Jon, I know how he was feelin'."

"I know what you mean." Malcolm smiled as well. "They accused us of being rude because we didn't adjust our ship's time to that of their planet. Believe me, I've met strange people before, but the Kretassians sure beat them all."

Trip was grinning all over his face, even though the pain was still evident in his eyes. "Too bad you weren’t there when they made Jon saw that tree into pieces. Painted his upper body and made him wear those ribbons in his hair. He looked like he wished for the ground to open up and swallow him."

"But he managed quite well, from what I've heard."

"I should've taken a picture."

"Well, the captain gave you explicit orders to leave your camera back on Enterprise. And with good reason, as I might add. Your constant chuckling the next few days was bad enough."

"Still, it would've been worth a little insubordination. Talk about blackmail." Trip grinned.

"He'd have made you clean the warp coils with a tooth brush if he had caught you taking pictures down there."

"Maybe. But it's not like Jon's all that innocent himself. I didn't find it all that funny either, bein' pregnant, but Jon had a great time, grinnin' all over his face whenever he saw me."

"That's not true. He was very worried about you, just like the rest of us."

"Yeah, and he almost split his sides, just like the rest of you."

"Well, you've got to admit, you don't meet a pregnant man everyday. And it does seem like these things always happen to you. Like getting pregnant, crashlanding with a princess on an alien planet..."

"... or joinin' you on shuttle missions that routinely strand us either in the desert or in the middle of deep space," Trip finished his sentence. "Guess you're right," he admitted. "Sometimes I wonder why the Cap'n still lets me out of the ship."

"Because you're his best officer." Malcolm smiled. "Second to me, of course."

Trip played along. "Of course. No doubt about that." He smiled briefly, but then fell silent again, wondering if he'd ever see Jon again. The captain was special to him, too. More than just a buddy. Trip remembered the time when he'd lain in sickbay, unable to move, and the captain had come and taken him back to his quarters. As embarrassed as Trip had been, allowing his best friend to wash and feed him, he knew that he had grown even closer to Jon during those days. Malcolm was right; Jon was like an older brother to him, always there for him when he needed his help. Like now, when all he could do was wait for the captain to come and pick them up.

It was characteristic of Jon, to worry about his crew. Trip had seen the captain's face when that mine had speared Malcolm to the outer hull of the ship. No one had been able to talk Jon out of going out there himself. Jonathan Archer was a people person, and it was the reason why all of the crew trusted him with their lives.

Only... would he be able to do it again? Work a miracle to find them still in time?

Trip drew in a sharp breath when his body began to torment him again. The worst thing was that he had to bear the pain lying completely motionless. He gritted his teeth. The cut in his calf felt like white-hot needles pricking the inside of his skin, and his sunburnt arms were giving him hell. The sand inside his clothes was rubbing against his skin, creating a terrible itch. And on top of everything else there were those cramps, which wouldn't allow him a minute's rest and peace. His body was immobilized already, so where did those convulsions come from that were racking his muscles and sending stabs of pain through his arms and legs? If he'd only been able to massage them, or at least curl up to ease the pain somewhat. Trip cursed his weak body which always let him down when he needed it the most. Which wouldn't even allow him a few hours of sleep. He was so tired, but every time he was starting to doze off another cramp ran through his muscles and woke him up again.

Malcolm threw a worried glance at his friend, who was once again writhing in pain. Even though writhing wasn't really the right word. Trip's motionless body belied his face that was contorted in pain.

With an almost inaudible groan, Trip gritted his teeth when another wave of convulsions shook his body. He didn't want to give any indication of his pain in front of Malcolm, but he couldn't suppress a small whimper.

"It's okay, Mal," he whispered hoarsely. But the tears that were running down his face told Malcolm quite clearly that it wasn't okay. Briefly, Malcolm wondered how Trip could still have water left for tears; his own eyes were so dry they were starting to burn in their sockets. His insides contracted painfully as he witnessed Trip's agony. If he'd only been able to help him. From the corner of his eye he threw a glance at the med kit which still contained one dose of analgesic. Briefly, Malcolm considered finding a way to inject Trip with a hypo, but with a resigned glance at his hands he dismissed the idea. There was no way he could touch anything with those fingers, let alone load a spray and press it against Trip's neck. Malcolm wished more than anything he could do something to help his friend, find something to keep his mind off those cramps. But he was too tired to find another topic of conversation, and Trip didn't seem very keen on talking, either. Malcolm felt weariness creep into his arms and legs, but there was no way he would go to sleep as long as Trip was in such pain. It was the least thing he could do; keep him company at a time like this.

Again, Malcolm looked down at his bandaged hands. The pain was bearable, even though he always felt a slight tugging. So that was it? Were they going to spend their last hours like this, Trip unable to move and tormented by those cramps, with Malcolm sitting helplessly next to him, not able to do anything to help?

Malcolm had no illusions about the fact that the pain would catch up with him sooner or later as well. Now, the slight throbbing was still bearable, even though he felt a sharp stab of agony shoot up his arms whenever he tried to move his hands. Reed knew it was only the painkiller that stopped them from sending him straight to hell. As soon as the effect of the analgesic wore off, he was going to be the one writhing in pain. Trip wasn't able to inject him with any more of the numbing substances, and he knew he couldn't do it himself either.

Malcolm felt terribly hot. It wasn't only the desert climate, but also his temperature which had risen again. The bandages that covered his hands were stiff with dirt and pus. Malcolm tried not to think of how his hands must look. Maybe his fingers were already starting to rot. He knew that he would never be able to use them again, and this prospect took away any hope he might still have left. If Phlox had treated him immediately after the crash, he might have been able to save them. But now it was too late. A tactical officer with no hands. Brilliant. But it really didn't make any difference anymore. When Enterprise arrived, they were both going to be dead anyway, died of heat stroke or thirst, it didn't really matter which.

Malcolm watched Trip's eyes slowly drooping close, his exhaustion finally defeating the pain. After a while, the engineer slipped into a restless sleep, and didn't even stir when another tremor ran through his legs. Malcolm sighed in relief. Maybe now his friend would finally find some rest. And he, too. Malcolm closed his eyes, and realized that he didn't even care if he woke up again or not.

TBC

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