Testament of the Spirit- Chapter 5

Testament of the Spirit
by SpaceCowboy

Disclaimers in Author's Note/Prologue.

“I feel alone. I’m such a long long way from home.
Feelin’ lonely. Even though I’m never alone...
Sorry, I’m not the guy you thought I’d be.”
- 3 Deep
‘Chuckie’s Song’

CHAPTER FIVE

HE STEPPED OUT OF his tent into the early morning mist of the valley. It was a rare moment to find Blasius alone, unattended by slaves, servants and his precious guard, but he liked to keep this time of day to himself.

With the rising sun, came a new day. A new chance to accomplish his dreams. And Blasius so loved his dreams. Dreams of grandeur. Dreams of domination and power. Without them, he knew he would be nothing. For in all his arrogance, he thought his desire to rule the world separated him from the layman. He believed only a great man could have such dreams. And only a greater man was capable of executing them with as much precision as he.

He smiled wickedly as he closed his eyes and breathed in the early dawn air. It was warm and familiar. A smell he was greeted with each morning. And this morning it was even sweeter. For last night the guards had been very busy.

Blasius opened his eyes and stared out at the panorama before him. Pride coursed through his veins.

Part of the compound’s floor had been excavated the day before by the workers, unbeknownst to them the true purpose of the gaping hole they were digging. Only a few knew its purpose. And as Blasius regarded them, a special few.

In actuality many people knew, only, he didn't care about them- they were dead. They had come from nothing, been nothing- until they had served their purpose with him. And in the end, Blasius had returned them to nothing. He took a certain pride in that. Like he was both the creator and destroyer of mortals. He would cast these people back to the stone age, and build a new people; illiterate and subservient to his rule.

And what he was doing now, what his men were doing per his orders, was destroying the waste of intellectuals. Removing any future threats and opposers towards his leadership. Wiping the discarded nothings from his hands.

Bodies; the tortured, desecrated and burned educated souls and their children who would have one day resented their leader, were being dumped into the large gapping pit. It was a mass funeral, and no one was invited.

Especially the lone figure standing on the opposite horizon watching from afar.

His two legs planted firmly on the ground, his arms crossed over his chest, Captain Jonathan Archer could not turn his eyes away. A grey mist, slow and dense, hovered over the valley floor like ghosts not ready to ascend into eternity. And Archer prayed for them, wishing them a peaceful journey.

Never in his life had he seen such an atrocity. It was co-ordinated evil.

The guards were rolling, kicking and dumping the bodies into the pit. Some even tossed them in like a game, cheering when they achieved nice distance and accuracy. And some were using the bodies for target practice.

Archer was appalled, and felt his anger rising. His muscles began to tense. His eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched. It took all his self control not to scream until the planet shattered.

"The actions people are capable of..." started a voice behind Archer, quietly trailing off as the person approached.

Archer turned to see Sub-Commander T’Pol standing next to him- her eyes wide, and he was sure, tinged with anger. For several moments he let the Vulcan stand and watch in silence.

"I get more confused by what the universe reveals to me each day," Archer said, returning his gaze to the valley.

His eyes fell upon an area to the side of the pit, where the bodies were piled high, waiting to be forsaken. Animals from the surrounding forest had approached, and were wandering the compound. Some had even found their way to the burial ground. It was a memorable site- wild animals eating charred bodies.

Archer shook his head turning back to T’Pol. "One day in life there shouldn't be any pain.” He closed his eyes, thinned his lips. “I can grasp the concept that history repeats itself. But how ours repeats itself on another planet is beyond me...Cheung Eck,” he finished quietly. “That’s what we’re looking at.”

“Waiting Room for Death,” interpreted T’Pol. And when Archer looked at her surprised, she nodded ever so slightly. “I’m fluent in many Earth languages, Captain. Including Khmer.”

"If anything happens to my crew, someone will live to regret it," Archer seethed, not tearing his gaze from the valley.

"I believe it's time," T’Pol replied.

*** *** ***

The guards were coming.

Each morning the sound of boots clomping through gravel, and the grumbling of many unhappy men, usually sent a siren rushing through Lieutenant Malcolm Reed's brain: Get up! Get moving! But this morning, they were screaming something slightly different: What the bloody hell am I going to do?!

Reed grasped his head as if the act of pulling one's hair out would change the situation. He turned to Commander Tucker lying on the cave floor. His friend was still out cold, and Reed wasn't sure if he'd be able to wake him. Never mind the fact that Trip probably shouldn't get up in his condition.

But being left with few options, Reed dropped to his knees. "Commander," he whispered determinedly. "Come on, you can wake up... You have to wake up." He stopped shaking him long enough to check for a reaction, any reaction.

Trip furrowed his brow and coughed violently, sending his body into convulsions. Reed rolled him towards himself- onto his side, making it easier for Trip's body to absorb the pain, and placed a hand behind his head for support. "You okay?" he asked.

His crew mate nodded slowly, strained and weak “Now that my face isn't buried in the ground anymore.”

Reed grimaced. "Sorry, but I thought you'd be more comfortable on your stomach."

Trip closed his eyes, nodded. “You know what?” he sighed, before painfully pulling away from Reed. “This is much worse. Your knees are in MY BACK!” he voiced determinedly. Then he threw himself forward onto his stomach again.

Someone was entering the cavern, so Reed negated his apology, spinning to see the guard from last night rushing towards him.

"Get him up," urged the guard, in a low harsh voice meant only for Reed. "Get him up now. I won't be alone very long. More guards are com'n."

Reed grabbed Trip by the belt, despite constant groans and repudiations, and hoisted him to his feet. After a moment the commander was finally able to stand on his own.

Trip stood rod straight, trying desperately not to make any motions that might cause movement to his skin or back. His eyes were glazed over with tears he didn't want to let fall. It was a look of desperation, of fear. Reed had only seen that look once before on him, which was why he was able to recognize it now. It was the same look Trip had given the day before...

When Trip had asked him to leave him alone in the compound and save himself.

But Reed hadn't abandoned him them, and he wouldn't abandon him now. The only thing that could make Reed leave his friend would be death itself. No matter how hard it was to look into his friend's face and tell him he had no answers, no relief... And barely any hope left.

"We're okay," acknowledged Reed, nodding to the guard. Trying his hardest to believe the words himself- as his heart filled with impending doom.

The guard jabbed a finger in Trip's direction. "If he wants to keep living, he better keep that act up. There ain't noth'n more I can do," he warned, staring at the blonde slave.

Reed nodded. "And again, thank you," he replied.

The guard held his stare with Reed a beat longer to acknowledge the gratitude, then he turned to join the rest of the guards now entering the cave. Reed bit his lip and slowly led Trip to the line of prisoners setting themselves up to leave.

~

By early afternoon Trip had found a nice shady place in which to lie down. Nice being the relative word. Nothing was nice in Blasius' compound, but as far as Trip was concerned, out of sight was the total embodiment of the word.

He and Reed had been sent to the gravel pit, which meant plenty of places one could bury themselves, and keep hidden from surveying eyes. And it also helped that Reed was nearby, and would warn him if anyone came close or started asking questions.

But at the moment Reed was preoccupied. He wasn't paying attention to Trip's safety, but rather to the guard that had just walked past. He had smiled. The guard had actually smiled. Nothing menacing or cynical, but a down to earth, friendly grin. Reed even thought, if only for a brief moment, that he had actually recognized the guard and had smiled back. But then reality stepped in and brought Reed back to the cruelty of Blasius' compound.

But for that brief moment, the moment the guard had flashed his pleasant smile, Reed was back onboard Enterprise. Back in his old familiar stomping grounds, casually strolling towards the armory and greeting crew members upon passing. It was a pleasant memory, and one that Reed was beginning to think he would never experience again. So thinking about it now only frustrated him deeply.

He decided to think about something else. And since there was a large rock before him, he decided to concentrate on that.

He lifted his sledge hammer high over his head, poised to crack the head of the rock when he paused- arms still raised, the hammer full of kinetic energy. Slowly, he turned to find the smiling guard and lowered the hammer.

He was gone. And so were several other guards that had been in the immediate area.

"Get back to work!"

Reed heard the warning and quickly raised his hammer. He didn't bother looking around for who had shouted the order. All he needed to know was that they were close, so he kept his eyes trained on the giant rock before him. Then he remembered something. Or more to the point, someone. Someone who was sleeping behind a nearby rock.

"Uh oh," he said, dropping the hammer behind his back

He set his jaw, his eyes darting back and forth. He didn't want to appear suspicious, but he had to check on Trip. He bolted for the large rock hiding his friend, forgetting who might be watching. But when he suddenly remembered his circumstances, he slowed his pace.

Rolling his neck, trying to get out the kinks as well as use it as an excuse to covertly glance about, he searched for prying eyes. A few guards were gathered to his left, but they had their backs to him. And in the distance, perched on top of several larger rocks, were more guards. But they didn't seem to be paying any attention to the workers either.

Reed took the risk. He quickened his pace, and upon reaching his friend's hiding place, he leaned over and looked down at the shaded area.

Empty.

"Oh shit."

~

Trip shifted and groaned, trying to find a position that would leave him in the least amount of pain. Unfortunately, when your back feels like it’s on fire no position is comfortable. But Trip kept trying anyway, even though it caused him further misery and aggravation. Eventually, and after banging his head on the rock he was using for cover, he decided to stay put. He quit trying to do the impossible.

Quit.

The word reverberated around his brain, bouncing off memories and images and bringing them back to life- vivid and real in his mind. That word's gonna be tattooed on my grave. He thought, rubbing his forehead on the loose stones of the gravel pit floor.

Trip was on his stomach. Lying on his back, although his preferred sleeping position, was the most painful. Even the extra layer of protection- the cloth Reed had left on his back over night, wasn't really helping. In fact, it was itching beyond belief. But Reed had not been able to remove it that morning. Over the course of the evening the cloth had dried to his back, his blood clotting and fusing with the makeshift bandage.

Trip had wanted Reed to remove it, to stop the itching. But in the end, Reed thought it wiser to leave it where it was. The cloth would act as a barrier between his skin and the course material of his sweat stained shirt.

But right now, as Trip lay behind the rock in the pit with nothing else to think about except his own misery, he was beginning to think the shirt would be a nice contrast.

It couldn't be any worse. He thought, slowly reaching a hand behind his back in attempts to peel away a corner of the bandage.

But the effort was too much. He dropped his hand beside his face and gave up, again. I just can't do anything right. He accursed himself, not for the first time in the last few weeks. Charles Tucker the III, the one who can't do anything right. Yeah. That's definitely gonna be tattooed on my grave.

Trip decided enough was enough. He wasn't going to be anyone's burden any longer. Not Reeds. Not Archers. Not Enterprises.

He knew Reed would have a better chance of escape if he didn't have to think about him. Reed was a brave man. A man destined to do great things, and lead people to great victories.

And Travis Mayweather, well, he was the best pilot this side of the universe, with the heart and determination of a hero. And Hoshi Sato, she had already proven herself more than once to Trip. T’Pol, well, she was a Vulcan.

And then there was Jonathan Archer. His best friend. But probably regretting bringing Trip aboard- a chief engineer who needs to be watched over constantly.

That's what I am. A burden. Trip thought to himself, letting his eyes open. The only thing he could see was the dark grey outline of the rock before him. It was a bleak view, which suited Trip just fine. He felt like him and that rock shared some sort of connection.

The rock was nothing. No one would ever love it. It wasn't the son of some great bolder, nor was it destined to rule the gravel pit. It was just a rock. Grey. Bleak. Useless. And not about to become anything without the help of others. The rock would not be part of something bigger in life until someone came along and did something to it- broke it down, smoothed it out, and turned it into a statue or brick.

The thought was sobering for Trip. I'm a rock. I'm nothing without my friends. Just a reckless engineer who people took into their lives. And what good has that done them? None. I can't even take care of himself, let along anyone else.

But he decided it was time that he did.

Bracing his hands beside his shoulders, he pushed himself up with a grimace. But as he stood, a certain memory flashed into his mind. It was him and Reed alone on ShuttlePod One.

Trip had finally accepted his inevitable destiny, and had chosen to sacrifice himself in the air lock before nature took it’s nasty, cold course with his body. He had wanted to do the right thing, but when he had tried, he had eventually given up on that too. Trip couldn’t even sacrifice himself correctly. And that could have cost Reed his life. No one had known Enterprise would find them in time.

Trip the burden.

But not any more. Thought Trip, leaning on the large rock for support as he tried to step around it.

But he was dizzy, and ended stumbling and sprawled on top of the rock instead of on the other side. And another memory was brought to life.

That day he had ignorantly become impregnated by the Xyrillian female came screaming into his mind. He had been trying to do the job any other engineer was capable of, but Trip just had to go that one step further and fraternize. No wonder no one took him seriously. Even T’Pol, the one crew member void of explicit emotions, now looked at him like nothing more than a tool. A nothing that could be replaced by any other StarFleet, or Vulcan, engineer.

Maybe people are right, Trip told himself, trying once more to make his way around the rock. I am nothing. And I'll most likely become nothing...

Well, I'm not going to be anyone's burden any longer. He declared to himself.

Slowly, Trip made his way around the rock. He glanced around the pit surveying for guards. When he saw a group gathered off to his right, he turned himself around and pushed off the rock. His intent was to free himself from Reed and give him a chance to survive. Charles Tucker the III was going to sacrifice himself to Blasius, so Reed wouldn't have to worry about him any longer.

Stumbling towards the guards, his back screamed for mercy, his vision blurred. But he pushed ahead anyway. This was one time he wasn't going to be a burden to anyone. It was his time to be someone.

His last act as a living man would be to help someone. He would help his friend Malcolm Reed.

The thought made his last journey, the lonely journey to his death across the pit, almost bearable. And when he collapsed into the unsuspecting arms of one of the guards, there was a smile, plain and evident on his silent face.

~

"Where'd he go?" queried Reed, spinning around to find his friend.

He spotted a man stumbling towards a group of guards. "Trip..."

Quickly, Reed sprinted after his friend. He wanted to catch him before he got himself killed. "What does he think he's doing?" he asked himself, as he ran, heart in throat.

But he was too late.

Reed was still several feet away when his friend collapsed into the arms of one of the guards. But Reed didn't hesitate. He only quickened his pace, reaching Trip just in time to stop the guards from pummeling his friend into oblivion.

"He's sorry!" pleaded Reed, pulling Trip from the guard's grip. "It must be this heat. It won't happen again." Reed held his friend upright, shielding Trip from the guards.

But Trip was being difficult.

“No,” he slurred haphazardly, trying to step around Reed. “No. This is right... Just let me die.”

"Today you’re not dying," replied one of the guards.

Reed flashed an exaggerated grin. "He didn't mean that," he said, trying to keep himself between his commander and the guards. "Please, just ignore him." Then he paused, furrowed his brow. "I’m sorry, did you say he wasn’t going to die?"

"Just take care of him," replied the guard.

Reed blinked, momentarily forgetting his charge.

Trip stumbled and fell to the ground. But Reed only sparred him a fleeting glance. "Pardon me?" he said, starring at the guard who had issued the uncharacteristic words.

The guard leaned forward to help Trip to his feet. "It won't be long," he said, passing the fallen slave to a gapping Reed. "Just take care of him till it's time."

"What? What's going on? Who are you?" asked Reed, finding it difficult to form words with his mouth as dry as sand. His adrenaline was pumping hard, making his limbs shake. He couldn't understand. He couldn't make sense.

Then it struck him.

"You’re from the village?" Reed asked, leaning forward to get a better look at the man. It had taken a moment, but now Reed was able to recognize the man dressed in one of Blasius' guards uniforms. This was the man that had told him about the secret fishing spot.

Reed was stunned, to say the least. And confused. Had this man set the whole thing up, or was he here to help?

"Yes, it is me," replied the man, raising a finger to his mouth to indicate the secrecy of the matter. "We’re here to help. We're everywhere."

Once again all Reed could do was blink. Then he shook his head, looked to the other guards in the group. Two other familiar villagers and a woman. What's going on here? He asked himself, as the words died on his lips when he had tried to speak them aloud.

The man patted Reed on the shoulder and looked into his eyes. "Your friend needs your help," he said, nodding towards Trip- now leaning heavily on Reed's shoulder. "He doesn’t look well."

The lieutenant nodded, wrapped an arm around Trip's waist for support. He was beginning to loose consciousness again, and had stopped his efforts to charge the guards. Reed was grateful for that as he looked back to the man. "What...?"

The man smiled. "In good time. In good time. Just go about your day as if you never saw us."

*** *** ***

Archer stood behind a thick tree-like trunk at the edge of the forest. He was well concealed. The rest of the search parties were lined up along the perimeter of the compound, each using the forest and hills as camouflage. It was late afternoon, the suns high in the sky making the day clear and bright. They were preparing, and waiting, for the final stage.

Early that morning, Archer’s crew and town's folk had infiltrated the compound. Taking out the guards one by one till they had enough uniforms, they had replaced them and filtered back into the compound. It had been a very time consuming task, and very difficult. But men with a purpose could do any job if their minds were set. And the minds of these crew members, friends and relatives were more than just set.

They were hungry. Hungry for action. Hungry for retaliation. Hungry to see their loved ones returned and safe.

Archer was proud. Not only of his people and how they had risen to the challenge, but to each and every male and female present who was willing to put themselves in mortal danger to save the prisoners. He only hoped they would be rewarded with happy reunions.

No one knew for sure who was still alive. From their positions no one was able to recognize any particular prisoner. And there were plenty of prisoners to look through. But they were easily distinguished from the guards. They moved slow, staggered in the heat, and were dressed in rags or covered in filth. Most of the guards rode on huge animals, dressed in black leather and bore weapons.

Archer noted the weapons with concern. The prisoners would be caught in the middle of this, defenseless and weak. While all the time the battle- which he was sure would ensue- would rage around them. He prayed silently for their safety. To die now, right before their freedom, would be the greatest sadness of all.

"Captain."

He heard his name, turned to the tree a few paces to his right. "Yes, Ensign?" he replied, his voice low and controlled.

"Do you think this will work?" asked Hoshi, peeking her head around her tree nervously.

"We have to believe it will, or what's the point in following through?" replied Archer.

Hoshi nodded at the cryptic remark, then turned her attention back to the compound. They were waiting for the signal from T’Pol- one of the first to infiltrate the camp that morning.

Archer turned back to the compound. But he did notice Hoshi’s body language- it was itching for retribution, for action, for Reed and Trip. Archer smiled, returning to his sentry duties with more confidence.

It was a short time later when they received the signal.

Hoshi had noticed it first. And using her strong communication skills, she let out a loud call that echoed throughout the valley- announcing to the other search party members the time had come. It was now or never. And for the sake of those prisoners in the compound, now was the preferred option.

Everyone tightened their jaws with vigor. Then, on Archer's command, everyone charged forth- straight into the heart of the lion's preverbal den.

*More to Come*

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