The sound of waves lapping gently on the sand-covered shore was broken by an irate voice. "I can't believe this!"

Malcolm, sitting with his back against a palm-like tree, lazily opened one eye to look at the person who had spoken. Trip, seated against the next tree, was glaring at him in irritation, although with such lovely surroundings, Malcolm found it difficult to be irritated at anything. Wonderfully fine white sand, a profusion of large-blossomed flowers, just enough breeze to keep from being uncomfortable in the tropical heat--

"What do you think the odds are of something like this happening?" Trip asked.

Considering where they were, the odds were actually quite good. But Malcolm decided to ignore Trip's ranting. He closed his eye and, with his legs stretched out before him, settled more fully against the tree trunk. "Someone's bound to be along soon," he said. "It was a perfectly good charter boat. When we don't return, they'll want to know what happened to it."

"And they'll want to be reimbursed for it when they find out!" Trip followed his statement with a humorless laugh.

Given their predicament, Malcolm could understand Trip's agitation. He was mildly surprised that he wasn't feeling the same, but he was so relieved that he hadn't drowned that the loss of what was probably a very expensive boat didn't faze him at all. "I'm sure Starfleet will take care of it."

"They'll take it out of our pay is what they'll do!" Trip said.

"So what?" Malcolm rejoined. "Think of the story you'll have to tell your grandchildren about being shipwrecked on a desert island."

Trip got to his feet. "I have to get off this stupid island in order to have any grandchildren!" He shuffled through the sand toward the water.

Malcolm risked a peek from eyes narrowed against brilliant sunlight. Trip, wearing nothing more than a pair of neon blue swim trunks, was staring off toward the horizon.

"You know," Malcolm said, "looking for someone to rescue us isn't going to make them arrive any sooner."

Trip turned to face him. "Are you sure the emergency locator was working?"

Malcolm nodded. "If you'll remember, the last thing I did before you dragged me overboard was to turn it on."

"We were going down, Malcolm," Trip said. "If I hadn't pulled you off the boat, you would have been trapped inside the cabin." He trudged back to the shade of the trees. Looking down at Malcolm, he asked, "Then what would I tell the captain? 'I'm sorry, sir, but Malcolm decided to go down with the ship?'"

"By all rights, since you are the ranking officer, you should have gone down with it."

Trip thrust his arms into the air in frustration. "Malcolm!"

"Sorry," Malcolm mumbled, but his grin was at odds with his apology.

Trip sat down heavily in the sand next to him. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?" Trip accused him.

"I'd be enjoying it a lot more if you'd quit whining."

"Whining?" Trip repeated indignantly. "I am not whining."

"There you go again." Malcolm tilted his head in Trip's direction and, without opening his eyes, said, "I'm beginning to wish it had been Hoshi or T'Pol on that boat with me. Either one of them would be much more pleasant company."

Trip gaped at him. "Hoshi I can understand," he admitted at last. "She looks a lot better than you in a swimsuit--"

Malcolm chuckled. He had to agree with Trip on that point.

"--but T'Pol?" Trip continued. "Sure, she could probably quote you the odds of a rescue. But what else could she do? Build a transmitter out of coconuts and palm fronds?"

"I hate to tell you this, but this planet doesn't have coconuts."

"Malcolm! Could you just be serious here for a moment?"

Malcolm dismissed the other man's protest with the wave of a languid hand. He wasn't going to let Trip upset him. He felt too good about being safe and sound and, most important, on dry land. Trip had probably saved his life, but the man's constant grumping was beginning to erode his gratitude. "We wouldn't be in this fix," he noted, "if you hadn't opened the spigot that let sea water into the hold."

"It was an accident!" Trip cried. "I was only tryin' to run some water to rinse off the deck after that mess you made with the bait."

Malcolm grimaced. It had been a mess. Chum everywhere on the deck, so slippery underfoot as to be a hazard. Had Trip warned him that he was going to change course, he wouldn't have been caught off balance by the sharp turn to port, and the bucket wouldn't have flown from his hand, spilling its slimy contents everywhere. Then, when Trip had offered to clean up the mess -- which Malcolm had considered only proper because it really had been Trip's fault that he'd lost his grip on the bucket -- of course he had taken him up on it. How was he to have known that Trip couldn't tell the difference between a bilge intake and a common faucet?

To Malcolm's dismay, neither one of them had been able to stop the torrent of sea water rushing into the hold after Trip had opened the intake. Instead of the fishing lines they'd been planning to use, they'd wound up throwing themselves overboard. Well, it had been more like Trip throwing himself and pulling Malcolm over the rail with him into the water. It had been the only option when it became clear that they weren't going to be able to stop the boat from sinking. Despite trying to keep from dwelling on it, Malcolm found himself recalling the shock of hitting the tepid water and going under. Only Trip's grip on his arm had kept him from going to a watery grave. Once the initial panic had worn off, Malcolm had regained his composure and had managed to stay afloat without Trip's assistance.

The way their luck had been going, Malcolm hadn't been surprised that the land they'd come across was a small, uninhabited island. But it was land, nonetheless, and he was very appreciative of it. He curled his bare toes in the sand, trying to grasp it, but sand being sand, it defied his attempts. He settled for burying his feet in its comforting warmth. His swim trunks had dried, but his body still felt chilly from the immersion in ocean water. If only he could make a blanket from the sand, he'd wrap up in it and fall fast asleep.

"How long's it been since the boat went down?" Trip asked.

"Four hours? Maybe? I'm not sure," Malcolm replied. It was the truth, for time had a way of distorting in chaotic situations. Abandoning a sinking boat in the middle of an endless arena of water certainly qualified as chaotic in his book. He shuddered. He didn't know how he would have managed, when they'd been bobbing up and down in the gentle swells, if Trip hadn't spotted a speck of land in the distance. It had seemed to take forever to swim to the island, but that was probably only his aqua phobia-fueled imagination making each second draw out as if it were ten times as long.

When they'd finally pulled themselves out of the water, they'd fallen on the beach, huffing and puffing from the exertion of swimming. Malcolm remembered eventually rolling over on his back in the welcoming warmth of the alien tropical sunlight. After some time, they'd staggered to their feet and stumbled over to this grove of trees. He'd been content to sit here ever since.

Trip cleared his throat, breaking into Malcolm's peacefulness again.

"Be patient, Trip," Malcolm felt compelled to tell him. "Somebody will be along."

"What if the locator doesn't work?" Trip worried out loud.

"Then somebody from Enterprise will come looking for us." Malcolm pulled his feet from the sand and wiggled his toes. "That's one of the wonderful things about Starfleet: Someone always knows where a person is supposed to be at any given moment, even when you're on shore leave."

After a minute of silence, Trip's lack of response alarmed Malcolm, who opened his eyes and looked at him. The other man refused to meet his eyes.

"It's standard procedure for personnel going on shore leave to log out, including a destination," Malcolm said. "You did log us out, didn't you?"

"Ah, no. I sort of forgot."

Malcolm sat up straight, his composure shattered by this revelation. "How could you forget something like that?" he demanded.

Trip, still not meeting Malcolm's gaze, shrugged. "I guess I was just so excited about getting back out on the water, like I used to at home, that it didn't cross my mind."

"I can't believe you spent so much of your childhood on the water, fishing and sailing, and still managed to flood the hold of the boat we had today." Malcolm exhaled heavily and turned his gaze to the horizon. "You're a starship engineer, Trip. Warp mechanics and all that. You should have been able to handle a simple boat engine just fine."

Trip scooped up a handful of sand and let it trickle through his fingers. "That's just it, Malcolm. I grew up sailing boats. Sailing. They had big pieces of fabric to catch the wind. Not a single one of them was big enough to have an engine, other than a little outboard motor in case the wind died." He mumbled something under his breath.

"What was that?" Malcolm asked.

"I said maybe Hoshi should have come along," Trip said. "I knew I should have asked her. She could have read the alien language on the labels on the equipment below deck, and I would have known what was what down there before I started turning valves." He turned an accusing eye on Malcolm. "And what about you?" he demanded. "You're supposed to come from a long line of navy men. Why didn't you know what to do?"

Malcolm felt a blush creep up his neck. He'd spent a lot of time in his youth with his father on boats of various sizes, but he'd always tried to stay on deck where, if he kept his gaze on the horizon, he could offset the nausea of motion sickness. Then there was the equally awful knowledge that if he was below decks, he was also below the water line. That didn't sit well with his fear of drowning. "I didn't spend much time in engine rooms," he said defensively.

An awkward silence fell as each man, exasperated and embarrassed, kept his gaze on the ocean. Malcolm didn't know how many minutes went by before Trip spoke again.

"You know, the more I think about it, the more I believe there was something wrong with the equipment."

"Other than operator error, you mean," Malcolm snarked, still annoyed that Trip had forgotten to log out. He sneaked a glance at the other man, who was sitting with his legs pulled up, arms resting on his knees, and head hanging. Malcolm hadn't seen him this dejected in a long time. "Sorry," he apologized. "If you couldn't figure out what to do, I'm sure there must have been something wrong."

A small smile flitted across Trip's lips. "If the systems were hooked up wrong, even Hoshi probably wouldn't have been able to help by translatin' the language on the controls."

That made Malcolm snort.

"And you're right," Trip conceded. "We just have to be patient. Somebody will be along eventually to find us."

Malcolm didn't doubt it, but he couldn't help one last dig. It was their nature when they were together in a tough situation. "You know something, Trip?"

Trip lifted his head to look at him. "What's that, Malcolm?"

"I still wish Hoshi was here with me instead of you."

Malcolm, laughing, ducked just in time to avoid the handful of sand that Trip threw in his direction.