A Fair Trade - Chapter 7

A Fair Trade

by kittytrypsin

Genre: Action/Adventure
Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer # 1: Paramount owns the characters from ‘Enterprise’, I’m just borrowing them. But if they don’t look after them…

Disclaimer # 2: No financial gain is being made from these stories, unfortunately.

A/N I apologise for my simple attempts at techno-speak…I really haven’t a clue whether it’s right or not. I should just stick to writing adventures. Anyway, a bit more of Trip in this chapter, and lots to come.

*******

CHAPTER SEVEN

Darkness had settled over the downed craft, that, and driving rain which swept in through the broken front viewing port. Trip had been thrown violently across the helm’s controls as he lost his fight to keep the pod up. Just before he had heard the screeching sound of rending metal, he’d felt his ribs explode from the impact with the console, and then darkness had wrapped him up, blocking everything.

The doomed shuttle had hit rocks and trees, an ugly gash ripping through the hull as easily as through paper. The little craft had spiralled down through thick vegetation, spewing out some of its life forms as it fell, finally stopping as a large tree impaled it.

It had remained silent now for a few moments, but slowly, life was returning to its remaining occupants. Goff had faired best of all, having been seated in the co-pilot’s seat. He shook his head to clear it, and looked around in amazement at the cabin. Only emergency lighting was working and in the pale glow, he could only count five heads, including his own.

A soft moan beside him let him know that Commander Tucker at least, had survived. Goff roughly pulled the man back in his seat, causing him to gasp as his broken ribs protested. One side of Trip’s face was completely masked in blood and quickly-forming bruises, and more blood stained his uniform further down as Goff noticed a ragged piece of metal jutting out from the human’s thigh.

Trip’s eyes flickered open, only for him to screw them shut again as his injuries introduced themselves.

“Not one of my better landin’s.”

Goff had managed, in the mayhem of the pod’s dying trajectory, not only to retain his seat, but also his weapon. He looked at the other occupants picking themselves off the deck. Only two of his original eight fellow prisoners were still in the shuttle. The others who had got off Enterprise had been thrown out of the craft, but he wasn’t sufficiently concerned to go looking for them in hostile terrain. He hadn’t considered them as friends, anyway, but regretted that their absence cut down his safety in numbers. The human on the floor lay as still as death and he promptly forgot about him. Time to move on.

Grabbing the pilot’s seat, he spun the human towards him, eliciting a cry of agony from Trip as the jagged metal was ripped from his flesh. Blood poured from the wound, and Goff knew his hostage would be useless to him if he were dead. Searching for something to use as a tourniquet, he remembered the belt of his drab uniform. It had been his good fortune that Zena had kitted its crew and prisoners in the same dreary garb, otherwise their subterfuge on Enterprise would have ended a lot sooner.

Tying the belt tightly around the human’s thigh above the bleeding point, he ignored the groan from the engineer’s lips. The man’s face was pale and a fine line of sweat beaded his top lip in spite of the chill from the broken port. Having finished his first aid, Goff tucked his ‘ministering angel’ persona safely out of sight and nudged Trip with his pistol.

“On your feet. It’s time we made a move.”

Trip struggled to clear his head, and stole a glance at Barr’s still form.

“I don’t think I can walk. Why don’t we rest for a bit? You could send the other two out to look for your missing people.”

Goff sneered. “What sort of fool do you think I am? Wait here, and oh look, here comes your captain to the rescue! You have two choices: you either get on your feet and move out, or I shoot you here and now. You don’t look like a quitter to me, but it’s your choice. Me, I’d choose to move, after all, the odds just went up in your favour. There’s only three of us now. Who knows, you might even get away.”

Trip’s head was spinning from concussion and blood loss, but he wasn’t through with life just yet, so he struggled painfully to his feet. He reasoned with himself that the more he slowed them down, the quicker the search party would find them.

He motioned to Ensign Barr, lying in a crumpled heap.

“Leave him, I’ve no time for dragging dead weights with us. Now get moving and quit stalling!” Goff encouraged Trip to move forwards with a far from gentle push in the back.

Trip wasn’t sure how long it would be before he was a dead weight, too. His chest was on fire from his fractured ribs, his leg hurt abominably, and he could only see through one eye, the other being closed with congealed blood.

He made himself struggle out through the hatch, limping heavily as he placed weight on his injured right leg.

‘Come on, Cap’n, now would be a good time for the cavalry to come tootin’ over the hill!’

^*^*^*^*^*^

System repairs on Enterprise were finally completed, and as soon as planetary conditions allowed, a rescue mission would be launched. The ion storm continued to rage beneath them, blocking all hope of getting a fix on Tucker or Barr, preventing the use of the transporter.

Jon had spoken quietly to Lt. Anna Hess, Trip’s second in command, and her engineering team was working overtime to re-jig the second shuttle with enhanced inertial dampeners for when they attempted to land in the storm. Jon knew the entire engineering team had volunteered for the work, so popular was their Chief.

He sometimes wondered whether his crew felt the same about him. He’d always tried to be a friend to his crew as well as their captain, but it wasn’t easy to be as open as Trip was. Often, he would watch, unnoticed, as his chief engineer interacted with the crew, jollying them along during moments of tension, always knowing just when to let fly with a quip to lighten the mood.

He knew, too, that Trip was becoming a bad influence on Malcolm, breaking through his stiff English reserve and finding a mischievous mind lurking underneath. Jon looked at his tactical officer, sitting impatiently at his post like a coiled spring, frustrated at each and every delay in getting the rescue mission started.

They were all keyed up, their concern for Trip almost palpable. Even T’Pol seemed quieter than usual, if that was possible. She’d purged the glitches out of the shuttle’s programme in record time and had readied herself to lead the away team at a moment’s notice. Seemingly deep in thought, she’d said precious little since resuming her post on the bridge.

The intercom startled Jon from his ruminations.

“Hess to Captain Archer.”

“Go ahead, Lieutenant.”

“The ‘pod’s as ready as we can make it, sir. It’ll still be a bumpy ride, but hopefully it won’t lose power. If the commander had been here, he would probably have done a better job, but…”

“I know you’ve done your best, Lieutenant. I’ll be sure to tell Commander Tucker that on his return. Archer out.”

He turned to see T’Pol and Malcolm on their feet, looks of expectancy on their faces.

He nodded. “Ok, watch your backs down there, and good luck. I know you’re going to be out of comm. range during the storm, but check in as soon as you can.”

^*^*^*^*^*^

Trip Tucker had never thought of himself as a quitter, but he was the closest he’d ever been to changing his mind. His head was pounding, his ribs stabbed with every movement, his leg was a sea of agony, and with every faltering step he grew dizzier and dizzier. Several times in the last few minutes, he’d staggered against the bole of a tree, only to be encouraged onwards by one of the Zenalese behind him.

Now, he found himself on his knees without recalling how he got there. His body could take no more. They’d been trudging through dense vegetation for over an hour without rest or water, and the elements were unkind to say the least. The wind drove incessant rain into their faces, in spite of the overhead foliage, and Trip thought, sardonically, that at least it had washed the blood out of his eyes.

But now, as he was again jabbed with the business end of a pistol to propel him forward, he shook his exhausted head.

“I’m sorry, fellas, but ya keep me goin’ an’ your gonna have a dead man here. I gotta rest, an’ if ya don’t like it, you can just shoot me an’ put me outta my misery.”

He eased his weary back against the trunk of a tree, taking the weight off his injured leg. Goff crouched in front of him, assessing the human’s condition.

“Ok, Commander, you can have five minutes, and then we move again.”

“Where are we goin’, anyway? You know somebody around here?”

“As a matter of fact, yes. This planet trades with Zena, and we crashed reasonably close to a city I’m familiar with. For a price, they’ll trade almost anything. I’m hopeful that they’ll have transport to take me to pastures new.”

“So your plannin’ on takin’ a journey…no surprise, there, but where do I fit in with your plans?” Trip was trying to keep up with the conversation, but his head was fuzzy.

“Like I said,” Goff seemed to sneer, “there’ll be a price for my ticket off-world, and you’re it. They trade in people, too. You’ll be the first human they’ll have seen, so I’m going to hold out for a good price.”

Trip gasped at the man’s audacity. “You’re immoral, ya know that? Life’s just cheap, a throw-away commodity to you, isn’t it?” If he’d had enough strength, he’d have punched at the sneering face in front of him.

“Not at all, Commander. Like I said, I won’t trade you for anything less than three tickets out of our solar system. And once I’m safely out of here, I don’t care if your captain does find you. It’ll be up to him, then, to trade to get you back.”

Trip chewed his lip as he contemplated the bleakness of his immediate future. He had no doubt that the captain would do everything he could to find him, but if the ship had been badly damaged, how far behind might they be?

Goff tapped him on the shoulder. “Time’s up, get moving.”

Trip struggled painfully to his feet, more than a bit wobbly. He wondered, giddily, how much he’d be worth in a trade if they had to walk much further. His leg had started to bleed again and his hand came away stickily red as he worked at the makeshift tourniquet. A vaguely remembered childhood story of children trying to lay trails out of a wood came to him, and he carefully placed his bloodied hand against the tree he’d been leaning on. He might still manage to leave a trail, he reckoned, if he didn’t bleed to death, first.

TBC

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