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Testament of the Spirit- Chapter 4

Author - SpaceCowboy
Fan Fiction Main Page | Stories sorted by title, author, genre, and rating

Testament of the Spirit
by SpaceCowboy

Disclaimers in Author's Note/Prologue.


“Here we are, gentlemen. Plenty of blood around as you will see!
Problem is, it’s in the wrong fucking place.”

-Christopher Hudson
‘The Killing Fields’

CHAPTER FOUR


WITH MUCH EFFORT, LIEUTENANT Malcolm Reed hoisted the large, precisely chiseled concrete slab into place. His new work partner, immensely weaker than him, grimaced outwardly, rubbing his shoulder as he rotated it behind his back. Commander Tucker wouldn't have had problems with that. Reed thought bitterly, looking at his partner disdainfully.

The fact that, Commander Tucker, wasn't there made Reed hate the new partner even more. It was like Trip had been physically exchanged. But to the armory officer, Trip was Trip, and could never be properly replaced.

But in the partner's defense, Reed could tell he had been there a lot longer than either he or the commander. He was emaciatingly thin, his ribs and hip bones protruding. And he had not even introduced himself either. He had not spoken a word. Reed assumed his new partner was afraid to speak. Possibly afraid to reveal his true intelligence, opting to save his life and hide behind ignorance and silence.

It was nearly sundown, which meant they would soon be herded back underground and, Reed hoped, he would see the engineer again. After the beating, Blasius had left Trip strapped to the wheel, unconscious, bleeding and exposed to the sun's burning rays.

It wasn’t the first time this had happened. But for Reed and Trip, it was definitely the one time that would not be forgotten. Lashes and torturous interrogation periods were quite common, but until this day, neither the commander or lieutenant had been on the direct receiving end.

And as far as Reed knew, Trip was still strapped to the wheel, displaying the cold hearted abhorrence of their captor. When it had all been over, when Blasius and the guard Zenill had had their fill, Reed and the rest of the slaves had been sent back to work with the lesson fresh and lingering in their minds.

But Reed couldn't shake the images, no matter how hard he tried to preoccupy his mind. He worked with vigor, with energy, with a purpose. Anything to keep himself from charging Blasius and his men and ripping their limbs off. Because in the end, he knew that would get him no where, aside from a one way ticket to hell.

Reed also knew he couldn't take on Blasius’ entire retinue, which he would have to do if he did attack. Because sure enough the guards would exact their revenge on the remaining innocent prisoners. And even in the after life, Reed knew he couldn't live with himself if he caused the death of another prisoner at 'Chateau HellHole'.

So Reed resigned himself to work and wait until he could return to the cave. He had to believe Trip would be there, most likely severely wounded, but at least there. And when the guards called for the roundup of slaves, Reed was the first in line.

But it seemed to take forever to gather everyone this evening, as if the other prisoners were purposely taking their time filing into their designated groups. Eventually his cave mates were all present and accountant for, so their assigned guards shuffled them towards the underground entranceway.

But as much as Reed had been anticipating this moment, when it finally came, he couldn't move. The sudden realization that Trip may not be there, finally dawned on him. Reed had hoped so much that he would see him again. So much in fact, that he began to believe that indeed he would. The possibility of otherwise seemed unreal, till now.

When a guard shoved him from behind, Reed finally took a step forward, falling into place with the other slaves. He was in a daze, shaking, his mouth dry. Oh please, please, for the love of all things decent, please let Trip be there. He prayed silently as he followed the guards on weak legs. And when they passed through the compound, passed the wheel against the wall, Reed's anxiety intensified.

The wheel was bare.

Reed didn't know if that was a good sign, but hoped it was. He thought about asking one of the guards if they knew anything, but decided against it, not sure if he was truly ready to know.

When they reached the opening to the underground cave network, Reed hesitated before stepping into the gaping maw. A cold shiver ran down his spine, and not just because the temperature had suddenly dropped. He could feel his neck hairs standing on end, and his pace slowed once again. The closer he got to his cavern, the more worried he became, his anxiety growing with each precarious step.

Oh please let him be there.

Slowed almost to a crawl, the other prisoners bumped and jostled him as they passed by, eager to get to their beds. Reed didn't care. He was too deep in silent prayer to take notice of them.

Just let him be there. I'm not asking for much. You don't have to heal him, just let him be there. Trip doesn't deserve to die like this. No one does. Well, maybe Blasius, but that's another story. Right now, I'm begging, I'm pleading, just let Trip be there. I swear, I'll never run my mouth off again, ever, if you let Trip be in there.

Having said his piece, Lieutenant Reed closed his eyes. Running a hand along the dirt wall for direction and support, he continued toward the opening to his cavern. Then the wall disappeared under his touch. He had finally reached his destination.

He froze.

Reed didn't think he could do it, but it was now or never. And since the guards were yelling at him to get a move on, he really had no choice. Tentatively, he stepped up to the cave's opening, stopping short of actually entering. He could see inside, but not completely, the dirt walls of the entranceway hid at least sixty percent of the internal view.

Trying to gather enough strength to make the last step of his journey, Reed drew in a deep breath, holding it as his right hand reached down to clutch his belt buckle.

The other prisoners had already entered, leaving him alone at the mantle with his hesitations. Reed tried to read their reactions, to see if they would show him any indication that his friend was in the cave. But they didn't care. For all Reed knew, the prisoners in the cave wanted Trip dead- and him too for that matter. They hadn't forgiven them for the other night's incident, and most likely never would. Most of them didn't even look back as they settled in for the night.

All except one.

One man took the time to pause, turn around and lock eyes with Reed. And Reed stared back, begging with his eyes for any indication that Trip was in the cave. The man finally smiled, or sneered, Reed couldn't tell. And before he had a chance to study it further for what it was, the man had turned away.

Reed gritted his teeth, made one more desperate plea, and took the last step. Realizing he still didn't have the view he so needed, he took another step forward, his heart slamming against his chest. And when he saw no sign of Trip in front of him, he turned around quickly. For now that he was actually there, not even his own fear could hold him back from finding his friend any longer.

He spun himself around, his eyes searching every crevasse and corner of the dim cave. Finally stopping, Reed balled his hands into fists in front of his chest, closed his eyes and drew in a very deep breath. As he let it slowly escape his lips, he re-opened his eyes and turned them heavenward.

"Thank you," he whispered, his whole heart behind the simple, yet most profound words.

*** *** ***

Another long strenuous day had passed, but this time the search parties had gotten somewhere. As Archer and the rest of the groups gathered around the fire to discuss tomorrow's activities, there was a certain feeling of accomplishment. They had been searching for days, but it wasn't until now, this day, they had learned something directly related to finding their people.

Earlier that day, hope had dawned on a leafy bush near a river. Ensign Sato had found the abandoned articles of clothes, tri-corders and communicators belonging to the commander and lieutenant. The discovery had exhilarated the rest of the crew, making it hard for Archer to convince his particular party that now, more than ever, they needed to proceed carefully.

Especially now that they had learned more about the planet’s political situation.

Someone was trying to create a new world. And their solution to future reprisals was to eradicate any and all forms of intellectualism. Someone wanted a world of subservient slaves, ones that were not and would never be able to enlighten themselves. Schools, businesses, culture and technologies were being destroyed by any means possible. Even it that meant killing whole families, regardless of age, sex or social status.

The remainders were left to be ruled.

Over the next few days the search parties would really be put to the test. Everything StarFleet had taught Archer’s crew, or tried to teach them, would come into focus now, and they would have to set the example for the others. If they were going to successfully rescue Reed, Trip and the presumed rest, they would have to push ahead with extreme caution.

Archer knew this, and he knew the rest of the search parties did as well, but in their eagerness they tended to want immediate action. And Archer could not blame them. He wanted his crewmen back, and he wanted them back now. And not to belittle his armory officer, but an even bigger part of him wanted his best friend back. But immediate action was not on the menu quite yet, diligent discipline was still being enforced.

But the constant reminders that they merely knew which direction to go, not a precise map, finally sunk into the heads of the anxious searchers. And now they were sitting around the fire discussing how to proceed, and how they were all too excited to sleep.

Archer watched his own crew members with pride. On whole, the parties had merged together, but his people kept themselves separate- their minds reeling and devising on their own level.

And as Archer’s thoughts and memories about his crew members became more rampant, a smile spread across his face.

*** *** ***

He saw Trip lying on his back with his arms spread above his head haphazardly, as if discarded like a piece of trash. His shirt had been returned to his back, which Reed could only imagine caused a severe chaffing to Trip's already burning skin.

But he was there. Trip was there.

But was he alive?

Reed couldn't tell as he stood in the middle of cavern. He couldn't see the rhythmic rising and falling of his friend's chest that usually pronounced breathing and life. Heart in throat, Reed ran for his friend. But in his haste, he dropped to the ground carelessly and collided with his friend's prone body, his knees making contact with Trip's side. Reed winced as the body grimaced.

Reed took that as a good sign and let out a deep breath. "Commander?" he asked, as his hands clumsily tried to remove his friend's shirt.

He wanted to take it off, let the commander’s skin feel air as opposed to the harsh reality of coarse dried sweat on cloth. But in Reed's frantic want to relieve his friend, his hands maneuvered like big giant mitts. He fumbled, his adrenaline and anxiety growing, and making his task that much more difficult.

Finally, after several damnable curses, Reed ripped the shirt up to reveal Trip's bare chest. In the dim light Reed couldn't see any damage. No bruises or dried blood.

But it was Trip's back that would display those.

Not wanting to further aggravate his friend, but not really having a choice, Reed carefully rolled Trip over. This caused further moans to escape his friend's lips, but he still didn't open his eyes. And Reed cringed, apologizing as he caused further pain to his friend. But he knew in the end Trip would be thankful. And that thought allowed Reed to continue.

He turned Trip onto his stomach, positioning his head to the side, and lowering his hands to his sides. Reed paled as he saw the full extend of Blasius' madness. Not enough time had passed for the open wounds to completely heal themselves closed, protecting Trip's internal systems from infection and aggravation.

Reed turned his head away. There was so much blood. Too much blood. He couldn't even see where the whip had made contact, only their devastation and cruel effects.

And the whole time Trip had been strapped to that wheel, experiencing the excruciating pain of the whip, Reed had kept his eyes open. As a friend, he felt he had no right to close them. He had to watch. He had to share in his friend's pain. If not directly, vicariously.

And Reed had not blinked. Not even when the blood dripping from the whip's end splattered back on his face. As far as Reed was concerned, he owed it to Trip to feel just as much pain. And standing there watching, with no way of stopping it, was Reed's way of feeling that pain.

But now as he looked over the extend of his commander's injuries, he knew that forcing himself to watch was in no way equal to what his friend had experienced.

And Trip would have to live with this pain the rest of his life, scars and all- carried on his back as a constant reminder. At least Reed could hide his scars. Put on a friendly face, and hide his memories. There was only so much Doctor Phlox would be able to do for Trip.

Trip's scars would be there for everyone to see, and ask questions. Never letting him forget. A burden for him to carry.

Reed gritted his teeth, turning back to his friend; unconscious and still before him. It was one thing to bandage a wound, or splint a broken arm, but this was way out of his league. And even if he did know what to do, there was nothing to do it with. No water. No clean cloths. Nothing.

Nothing to do but sit there on his knees, head clasped between his hands, willing him to get better. But of course, mind control wasn't one of Reed’s attributes, so all he did was stare.

“Did I win?”

Reed nearly jumped out of his skin. .

“Did I win?” Trip repeated, his voice slow and weak.

Reed was barely able to understand, and placed a hand on the back of Trip's head, the only spot he could think of that wouldn't cause any pain. "Yes, Commander," he said quietly. "You won."

His eyes straining to stay open, Trip shifted, trying to make himself more comfortable, but the movement only caused him to grimace. “What does the other guy look like?” he forced, with a pained smile.

"Just lie still," proscribed Reed, astounded by his friend's ability to retain a sense of humour through this. "Just lay still, and it'll be all better."

Trip nodded, barely, as Reed watched his eyelids flutter and close.

Reed braced his hands on his knees and pushed himself up with determination. He looked about the cavern, and noticing no one seemed to be heeding them any attention, he knew he would have to look elsewhere for help. And even though it was a longer shot than a Vulcan joining a Glee Club, he had to try.

Reed spun on his heel and marched to the cavern opening.

The moment he stepped into the cave hallway, he was grabbed by a guard and thrown against the wall forcefully. "Where do you think you're going?!" hissed the guard, his massive body pressing against him.

"My friend needs help," stated Reed, trying not to show the guard how uncomfortable he was. The rough stone of the cave's wall was digging into his back, and the arm wedged into his throat wasn't helping either.

"And that should concern me how?" asked the guard, void of any pity or remorse.

The armory officer swallowed hard. Honestly, he couldn't think of a single reason why it should be this guard's concern- other than mortal decency. But somehow, Reed didn't think that approach would get him very far. So, he looked over the guard's shoulder, trying to think of something... anything... to help his situation.

Then he noticed the guard was uncharacteristically alone. But for how long, Reed didn't know.

"You don't look like the type of guy who likes extra work," started Reed, placidly stroking the shoulders of the over-developed guard. "And breaking in a new prisoner sure sounds like work to me."

The guard leaned back slightly, releasing some of the tension between the two bodies. Eyeing him sideways, he replied, "What are you getting at?"

Reed cleared his throat. "Well, as I see it," he started, licking his lips nervously. "If my friend in there dies, that means Blasius is going to be one man short in the slave labor department. Which means..." Reed paused, hoping the guard would pick up on the implications.

Bloody fool. Reed thought, shaking his head. "You're going to have to go out there and find more prisoners," he continued, matter-of-factly.

The guard scrunched his face, stepping back further as he released his grip. "Go on.”

Reed straightened his shirt. Then he leaned forward just enough to get in the guard's face, but not enough to threaten him. "You seem to have it quiet nice here, am I right?" he asked sagaciously.

The guard looked around and nodded. "Yeah, pretty good. Get’n work is hard these days, and Blasius feeds us well, keeps a roof over our heads."

Reed couldn't believe he was making polite small talk with this despot. "Face it," he continued, spreading his arms in a grand gesture. "You got it made here at 'Palace Blasius'."

The guard blushed, kicking absently at the graveled ground. "Yeah," he grinned, sheepishly. "It is pretty good."

Reed nodded his head with a mischievous smile, pointing a finger at the guard to force his point. "Yes, it's a pretty nice set up you've got going. But... And I do stress this part, so listen carefully. What's it like out there when you're hunting for more prisoners...?" Reed nodded his head as he saw the light forming behind the guard's eyes. "Yes, yes... Isn’t too nice is it?"

"Bad food," mumbled the guard. "Sleeping in the rain..."

"And I'm pretty sure those prisoners don't come along easily either," added Reed.

"No, they don't," agreed the guard. "One of them actually bit me!" he stated, pointing to the teeth marks on his right forearm.

Reed shook his head in mock disgust. But the guard didn't allow Reed too much time in his reveries, grabbing him by the shoulders and pulling him close.

"But what does this have to do with me?" snarled the guard, quickly dropping his friendly demeanor.

Reed squirmed under the grasp, but managed to keep his cool. "If you help me, possibly get me some water and some cloth, I may be able to keep my friend alive. Then you wouldn't have to go out and find a replacement." Reed paused, but wasn't receiving any sort of response from the guard. "No one has to know!" he rushed, trying to further his position. "It'll be our little secret."

The guard contemplated this for a moment as Reed watched closely, noticing the reflection of many ideas floating through his mind. Finally, the guard released his grip, tossing Reed toward the cavern's entrance.

"I'll see what I can do," he replied with a grunt. "Now get back in there before the others return."

Reed didn't want to press the issue any further. So, with nothing but hope he had gotten through, he rushed back into the cavern and re-took his vigil beside his commander.

His friend hadn't moved since he had left, but he was still breathing, and that became Reed's security blanket. As long as Trip was breathing, Reed believed he would be all right. It was all he had to hold onto.

It was quite some time before everyone in the cavern fell asleep. Trip had woken up a few times, but only briefly enough to say a few incoherent words then fall back asleep. But Reed remained wide awake, waiting eagerly for the guard's possible return. And when he did, Reed felt a huge weight released from his shoulders.

The guard approached him apprehensively, carrying a bucket of water. He placed it beside Reed, then proceeded to pull a cloth from inside his shirt. "I had to hide this," explained the guard, handing it to Reed.

The prisoner nodded and took the cloth gingerly, keeping a careful eye on the guard. It was a weird situation, having one of the evil minions helping the help, so Reed waited for something to go wrong. But since nothing had so far, he thanked the guard and dipped the cloth into the water. He wrung it out, and carefully unraveled it. Gently, he placed the cool, wet cloth on Trip's back.

The body winced, then settled as the cooling effects of the cloth sunk into the skin and wounds. Reed proceeded with this as the guard, squatting next to him, watched quietly. After some time, Reed had forgotten he was there. So when the guard nudged him in the arm, he flinched.

"So, how is he?" asked the guard, quietly but with determination.

So, there's decency in you after all. Thought Reed, as he smiled back at the guard. "I don't know," he replied, re-dipping the cloth. "But this will definitely help."

"Good," answered the guard, then quickly cleared his throat and jumped to his feet. He reached for the bucket and carried it towards the fire burning in the center of the cavern.

Reed, caught off guard, spun on his knees to confront the guard. "Hey, what are you doing?" he asked, adrenaline surging through his veins.

But the guard showed no threatening nature as he turned back to Reed. "I can’t leave here without the bucket," stated the guard, indicating the fire. "There had to be a good reason for me to bring it in. There are other guards out there now... And this was our little secret, remember?"

Reed looked at Trip. He was still in need of medical attention, but the guard had a point. All his help would be for naught if the other guards knew what was going on and came in here and killed everyone anyway. So Reed nodded, watching as his precious bucket of water was emptied onto the burning fire. And when the guard had finished vanquishing the embers, he strutted out of the cavern, pausing only to nod in Reed's general direction.

And as Reed turned back to his friend, he could hear a faint voice in the cave hallway saying, "The fire was get’n too big...had to put it out. Don't want them get’n too soft in there."

Reed sighed and leaned back against the cavern wall. There was still a long night ahead for him, for both of them, for all of them, and he wanted to stay awake to keep an eye on his friend. But he knew that was impossible. The stress and physical exertion of the day was beginning to take it's toll, and he could feel his eyelids getting heavy.

He forced them open, remembering a little something he had so carefully hidden on his possession earlier that day.

Reaching into his shirt, Reed slowly pulled out the coil of rope. "My little friend," he said, kissing the rope with earnest. Then he positioned himself over Trip's body. "If anyone tries to take you tonight, Commander," he said under his breath as he wrapped one end of the rope around Trip's torso, just low enough not to interfere with the wounds. "I'll know about it."

Then he tied the rope off, and the other end to his own torso, carefully concealing it under his shirt. He settled himself down next to his friend, covering the exposed rope with the dirt from the cave's floor.

It wasn't much, and Reed didn't know how he would be able to fight anyone off, or even it he would be killed in the process, but it was something. And it would make sleep that much easier on this particular night.

Reed grasped his friend's hand, giving it a gentle squeeze before releasing it and closing his eyes. "No one can say Lieutenant Malcolm Reed breaks his promises," he said, taking in a deep breath. "I will get us out of here."

Then he let himself drift off into the land of nod.

*** *** ***

Scouts arrived at the break of dawn, having traveled though the night to reach the main core. They were greeted by Archer and the others with mixed feelings. Some were anxious and ready to continue forth, but others were beginning to realize the true implications of the breaking day.

Archer was of the latter. It was one thing to search, it was another to rescue. And he still didn't know what would be waiting when they did find the missing people.

Would they be hostages? Would they be alive? Would they even be there? Where ever there was, they still weren't accurate on that. And these questions stemmed most of the conversations that morning as the search parties geared to set out.

"I only followed a short distance," a scout was saying to another Hexite as Archer and Hoshi listened. "So really, I only know the general direction in which they started out."

"And they could have altered from that course at any time," added Archer, slowly letting his breath out.

"Exactly," stated Hoshi, with an affirmative nod.

"We were able to gather a little information ourselves," offered another scout, pulling a crumpled piece of paper from a pouch fastened on his belt. "We've seen and heard several reports of massive supply troops traveling through the country side."

"Do you have any idea where they were going?" asked Archer.

The Hexite scout scratched his head thoughtfully, causing his hat to tilt askew on his head. "Vague directions," he replied, fixing his headdress with a frown. "But from what you’ve seen, it looks like the two positions collide... Just off this river here," he said, pointing to the map section of his paper.

Hoshi and Archer studied the map, trying to memorize it’s details. They were in relatively unfamiliar territory now. They had traveled outside the boundaries previously scanned into their tri-corders.

"So, you think we should follow this route?" asked Archer, tracing his finger along the river, due north of their position marked on the map.

The Hexite nodded. "The river's in the same direction," he replied, pulling the map from Archer's grasp. He tucked it back into his pouch, closing the clasp carefully. "I have to get my people ready now," he said, nodding and spinning on his heel to leave.

Archer watched him make his way through the crowd gathering his people. Then he noticed a familiar face break from the group. "Hey, T’Pol," he said, as she approached. T’Pol nodded her greeting. "Are we ready to go?" he asked.

"I'm ready," replied Hoshi, bracing her hands on her hips, giving her head a nod. "Everyone else is pretty much too."

T’Pol kept her stoic facade as she nodded, but inside, a certain feeling began to manifest in her stomach. She couldn't describe it, but it wasn't pleasant. She quickly shook her head and tried to ignore it, pushing it away as thoughts of the impending rescue took over her mind. She refused to believe that she could actually be, missing, her crew members.

*** *** ***

"Just passing through," re-iterated one of the men.

Reed nodded and peered into the back of the cart. He noted the two men had an obviously large load under the cover, but as he curiously started to pull it back...

Mistake number five: expect the unexpected.

A crushing pain exploded at the base of his neck. Reed woke with a start. His body shot into the sitting position, his skin dripping with sweat as his heart pounded in his chest. It had been the same dream. And each time he woke from it, his mouth tasted like he had just licked the soles of a thousand pairs of boots. He licked his lips, tried to scrape the thick fuzz that had accumulated on his tongue. Then he felt a cold shiver run through his body.

The cave was still dark, but he could see forms moving about like ghosts; silent and slow. He leaned around his arm to check on Trip. He was still there, but Reed could see him shivering. Quickly, he rolled onto his knees to examine his friend better.

But it was difficult to see anything other than the outline of the body. Reaching tentatively, Reed felt the back of Trip's neck. It was cold. And now that he was touching him, he could feel the full extent of Trip's shivers. He was nearly convulsing.

The cavern was freezing.

Having had the fire extinguished the night before, the normal morning chill was down right unbearable. And now that Reed was coming down from his night sweats, he was also starting to feel the cold. He looked over his other shoulder to the fire pit and untied himself from Trip. He decided to get it going again. But as he approached, his heart sank.

He could feel the mushy ground beneath his feet, indicating the pit was still wet. There was no way he was going to get a fire started here. Damning everything he could think of, Reed returned to his commander.

He was still asleep, or at least gave the impression of one asleep, but his body shook violently as the cold penetrated his bones. Reed chewed on his lower lip, looking around the cavern for something to burn. His hands braced on his hips, he tapped on his waist absently. Then it occurred to him. And it was right at his finger tips.

Quickly, Reed undid his empty utility belt. Then he proceeded to undo the belt on his pants. He held both out in front of him, grasping them with earnest. "Yes!" he cheered, through gritted teeth.

He ran to the fire pit, searching for long sticks that had not succumbed to the previous fire. When he found two relatively dry ones, he began to prepare them. He wrapped his utility belt around one end of a stick and carried it to the other side of the cave where he plunged it into the ground. Then he broke off a small twig from the stick and placed it on a nearby rock. Swiftly, and with practiced accuracy, Reed banged a rock on the twigs tip, igniting it after several attempts.

Carefully, and with steady hands, Reed moved the inflamed twig towards his makeshift torch. The leather ignited, and he smiled. It didn't give off much light, and it had a rather rancid stench, but it would emanate heat longer than the damp stick alone, which was more important.

As he turned to head back to the pit to gather the makings of his other torch, he felt a hand grasp him gently on the arm. His head swiveled to face a young man leaning close to the torch.

"Thank you," said the man, before releasing his grip and falling back into the darkness.

Reed closed his eyes and let the words move through him. It was amazing what two little words could mean to someone. And right now, they meant the world to him.

With renewed energy, he nearly ran back to the fire pit. He quickly gathered his impromptu tools and headed to Trip. As he knelt down beside him, he noticed that Trip had moved. He was now facing him, his right hand lying beside his face, but his eyes were still closed.

"Commander?" asked Reed, not sure if he would get a response. Since there wasn't, he proceeded to fashion the next torch.

~

He wasn't sure when he had crossed over from the world of the unconscious to the conscious, but Trip Tucker could definitely feel the difference. In sleep he was at peace; no pain, no reminders. No cold. No fear. But awake, all those things bombarded him, encompassing him in their relentless tentacles and invading every part of his body.

But Trip didn't have the energy to push them back, to fight them off. He wanted sleep. He wanted to slip away quietly into the darkness and safety of oblivion. But a noise caught his attention; a soft scuffling of boots on gravel, and the unmistakable sounds of breathing.

Then he felt something on the back of his neck. But he couldn't identify it, his back was too numb to feel much more than the stinging welts from the whip. All Trip knew was that it was reassuring. He liked it, and he felt his heart drop when it eventually removed itself.

Taking several deep breaths, which caused considerable pain as his back expanded and contracted, Trip slowly lifted his head, turning to face the other direction. He forced his eyes open, and stared out at the dark expanse of the cavern.

As he lay there, trying to make sense of the figure moving about the cavern, a piece of his hair fell into his eyes. He tried to blow it away, but his efforts were futile. And the more he tried, the more the arrogant lock of hair bothered him. It tickled his forehead, and he wasn't sure how much longer he could stand having it rest there.

Drawing from his remaining strength, Trip slowly drew his arm up the side of his body, wincing inwardly at the pain. His hand lying aside his face, he flicked his wrist, throwing the hair off his face.

But he only experienced a moment's pleasure before reality returned. The pain and coldness became evidently clear once again. Trip could see his own hand trembling before his eyes as he lay there staring. It was mesmerizing, and he remained that way for quiet some time, just watching his own hand, dirty and shaking.

It wasn't until he saw a small spark across the cavern that his eyes flickered. Then he heard soft muffled voices in the distance. Moments later he saw, and felt, Reed kneel beside him. Trip closed his eyes, letting the security of his friend’s presence lull him into a peaceful quiet. He heard his name, but didn't have the energy to respond. And by the time he finally opened his eyes, Reed was no longer paying him any attention.

Trip watched in confusion. He saw Reed drive a large stick into the ground. Then he watched Reed study something in his hands. It was long and dark, with a silver clasp attached to one end. Trip tried to identify the object, and when Reed held it up to his mouth, letting his eyes close as he gently kissed the silver clasp, Trip recognized the buckle. It was the one he had given him.

But what was Reed doing with it now? Why had he removed it?

And what shocked Trip more, was that Reed removed the clasp and buried it in the ground by his knees. Trip kept his eyes trained on the spot where his friend had buried his treasure.

For the life of him, he couldn't imagine why Reed had just done that. But a few moments later, he had a reasonable idea. Reed had hid the buckle, hopefully for safe keeping, and used his belt as a torch.

Trip could feel it's heat licking at his body. It felt good. It felt warm. And Trip momentarily forgot what the armory officer had just sacrificed to keep him, Trip the-never-ending-burden, warm. He closed his eyes and let the warmth envelope him.

~

Reed, satisfied with the second torch, stood up and surveyed the room. Several more people were up now, instinctively migrating to the heat stick across the room. But as cold as it was, and as little heat as the torch gave off, no one ventured to the one before him.

He and Trip were still the most feared men in the cavern. Nobody wanted to be seen near them.

For some reason this didn't bother Reed as much as it might have. For if they had gathered around his commander's torch, they may have taken away the heat in which his friend so dearly needed. Reed sighed and turned back to his friend. Then he remembered the rope still tied around Trip's torso.

He paused for several beats after untying it, trying to decide what to do with the rope. Then realizing there was nothing holding his pants up any longer, Reed laced the rope through his pant loops and fashioned himself one ugly belt. But he was satisfied. Now it would serve a purpose both day and night.

If there was another night.

The thought came slamming into Reed's mind like a phase canon. What was to become of Trip now that day had broke?

His eyes wide, his hand quickly rising to his forehead, Reed turned to Trip. "Holy shit," he breathed, unimaginable thoughts screaming through his mind. "How on earth are you going to make it through the day?"

*** *** ***

The map, in conjunction with the new found directions, had proven fruitful. The search party had finally found salvation.

And as the scouting party stood, crested on the top of a large hilltop looking down into the valley, each member felt in their own way the full implications of what they were up against.

Below, encompassed by two jagged hills, a forest and a rushing river, was a site that left them all feeling small. Nothing in life had prepared any of them for what they were witnessing. And even some of the Hexites found themselves gaping and covering their mouths as they took in all that was below in the valley.

They had found Blasius and all his massive power, despotism and inhumanity.

They just hadn't had the pleasure of meeting him yet, or knowing his name. Or even understanding what they were looking at. They just knew the people they were looking for were down there. Prisoners in someone's evil scheme.

Archer turned away clutching his stomach, and stumbled a few steps down the hill. Moments later, the rest of the scouting party did the same- removing themselves from direct eyesight of the men below. Archer felt someone beside him, and he looked up to see his Sub-Commander standing above him. He closed his eyes, sucking his lower lip into his mouth as he tried to fight back the urge to throw up.

"Captain," began T’Pol. "Now, more than ever, you must pull everyone together. You must be strong... For their sake."

Archer nodded from his bent position and drew in a deep breath. When he finally stood, he realized he hadn't been the only one so strongly affected. Several others were bent over, clutching their stomachs. While others were standing rod straight, their faces white and expressionless. Archer clenched his jaw and nodded. "I can do this," he whispered. "I will do this... For Malcolm and...Trip," he finished, locking eyes with the Vulcan.

"Good," replied T’Pol. "Because if this plan is going to work, we need you in top form. We must keep strong, and do this correctly and precisely. There isn’t room for mistakes. No room for questions. And no place for insecurities."

Archer nodded, unable to voice his agreement due to the incredibly large lump in his throat. Solemnly, he turned his head to look back over his shoulder, and closed his eyes.

Trip and Reed were down there. He just knew it. He could feel it, stronger than anything he had ever felt before. And he wished he could turn back time, go back to that day his friends disappeared, and do it all over again. For what he had just seen, what he had just witnessed in the valley below, was enough to break even the strongest man.

In the short time he had stood on that perch, on top of the hill looking down into the valley, Captain Archer had seen the most horrific, desperate and heartless scene he could imagine. There was nothing in the universe worse than a bonded spirit. And that's what genocide and slave labor was. And his friends were in the heart of it all enduring it first hand.

"We're coming," Archer whispered into the air, hoping somehow it would be carried in the breeze to the ears it was intended. "We're coming. Just hold on."


*More to Come*


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