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2. The Disaster
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Early midday in this place was close to the description of the proverbial human hell. Alone in the blazing sun, Spock was climbing the sturdy old cliff in hopes of obtaining a better view of the terrain. The rest of their regrettably small party remained below, trying to hide in the almost non-existent shade between the rocks.
Spock reached out wearily and wiped the thin veil of sweat off his forehead. Contrary to what his companions believed, he did not revel in this kind of heat any more than they did. He was simply better suited to withstand it. The atmosphere was much thinner than even that of Vulcan, whereas the gravity was considerably lighter than Earth's standard, making him constantly queasy. However, since it was almost the only factor that prevented the humans from dying of exhaustion, Spock was grateful for it, illogical as the feeling was.
Already the moon's conditions and lack of medical help were taking their toll. The man who had received a head trauma was still unconscious, and at this rate, the permanent coma was almost inevitable. Vaz, the Tellarite who broke his arm in the crash, was delirious, from the infection or the heat, no one was sure. Wilson's nausea overwhelmed him several times, confirming his diagnosis and making him even more dehydrated than the rest of them. The baby was running a fever.
It had been only six hours since the crash, Spock realized with a tingling sense of uneasiness. They were not doing well. At this rate, their chances even to live long enough to face the sunset were slim at best. And then, the cold would certainly kill them.
He had finally reached the ridge and narrowed his eyes looking around. It was a hostile world indeed, with no other vegetation than flat purple moss that was obviously too stubborn to die. Everywhere Spock looked, he could only see stone sand and rare white rocks, seemingly growing from the ground, like dragon teeth in an old Earth legend. The thin atmosphere made the sky cobalt blue, with a blinding spot of sun still on the growing side of zenith. It was a spectacular vista in its own strange way, but it was completely lifeless.
Dead. This was a dead world.
His communicator beeped softly, startling Spock. How long had he been simply standing here, gazing over this empty shell of a planet? A most regrettable slip for a Vulcan.
"Spock here."
"Ensign. Any luck?" Wilson sounded tired and groggy.
"There might be something at the distance, sir," Spock reported, focusing on the ridge that had caught his attention. "But nothing nearby."
"Understood. Get back down, I need your help."
"Aye, sir."
He would have been hard pressed to admit it, but his step lightened considerably as he started down. Normally, Vulcans enjoyed periods of solitude, and Spock had even more reasons to do so than most, but on this world, he longed for company. Any company, in fact. There was something distinctly disquieting in this overwhelming silence. Humans would have probably called it creepy. Spock quickened his pace without noticing.
As he approached the crude tent they had made from pieces of their clothing, several heads turned in his direction, but no one moved. Now that the initial shock had worn off and the rescue still didn't come, people were starting to act strangely. Spock tightened his shields unconsciously, feeling the strain mount up. He walked directly to where Wilson was sitting on the edge of the shadow, looking at his open communicator and drawing something on the ground. As Spock crouched at his side, the Lieutenant looked up at him.
"Report," he said quietly.
"There may be a cave system at approximately twenty kilometers from here," Spock told him just as softly. "If any water is to be found on this planet, it would be deep beneath the surface."
"A spring of some kind?" Wilson licked his dry lips unconsciously. He was looking decidedly unwell.
"No," Spock shook his head. "Everywhere we were, we only saw the same stone solid beneath the sand. It stands to reason that this moon was originally a piece of an asteroid."
"Just a rock," Wilson whispered. "A solid rock, nothing more."
"It does support atmosphere," Spock contradicted him gently. "With such large difference between night and day temperatures, there must be an ample amount of water condensing on the rock surface every morning and night. If you recall, Ms. Dale—"
"Yes, she slipped when we set off from the crash site!" Wilson interrupted him excitedly.
"Because the stone she stepped on was wet," Spock confirmed.
The Lieutenant's face fell.
"But there's nothing there now." He ran his fingers through the hot sand. "It all evaporates in this heat."
"Correct," Spock nodded, watching the human warily. He didn't like what he was seeing at all. "That is why I submit that only within a deep cavern we could have any hope of finding water that survived the day."
"Twenty kilometers?" Wilson looked at him sharply. Then his gaze slid over their exhausted, hurt, frightened party. "Spock, none of them would ever make it. We're not all desert dwellers like you. We're barely breathing as it is. And it's only going to get hotter."
"I was going to suggest I make the trip alone," Spock said cautiously. "I could fill the canisters we brought, and—"
"What are you two whispering about?"
Both Spock and Wilson stared at the man who came over without either of them noticing. It was the same man Spock helped from the wreckage after the crash, Mr. Federico Stanza. Spock didn't need his telepathic senses to know that the man was angry. He was a short, balding human on the fair side of sixty.
"We are discussing the situation, Mr. Stanza," Wilson said, straightening up with difficulty.
"What's to discuss?" the man snorted in disgust. "You Starfleet, you are so knowledgeable, so competent, why don't you stop discussing and do something to get us off this planet?"
"There is nothing we can do to do that immediately, sir," Spock said evenly, coming to his feet. He could hear a vague whisper from the others, but ignored it.
"And why not?" Stanza stepped closer to him, hands on his hips. "You're supposed to be the best of the best. Not bright enough to set up a smoke signal?"
"Sir, we are working on the problem," Spock told him. "There is no need to become agitated."
"Working on the problem?" Stanza spat the words in his face. "Working on the problem? Are you fucking kidding me? What are you—a damned maintenance team who came to repair my replicator? I paid for my ticket on that goddamned shuttle! I pay my taxes! I'm entitled for a little service for all the trouble, don't you think? You work for the government—so why the hell don't you do something?"
Involuntarily, Spock glanced back at Wilson, as if asking for help. The utter illogic of what the man was saying was far beyond his comprehension. But the Lieutenant looked as if he was about to faint, his face was contorted in pain, as he pressed his hand to his forehead.
"We're doing... everything we can..." he said slowly and hoarsely.
"Really?" Stanza advanced another step. "I can't see you're doing anything. You just sit there, staring at this blasted thing, while your pointy-eared pal wanders around like he's on a goddamned excursion!"
"Sir, you need to step back," Spock said rigidly, blocking Stanza's way before he could reach Wilson.
"Oh yeah? And why is that?" Stanza took another step forward and pushed Spock roughly in the chest. "What are you afraid of, Starfleet? Are you talking about something the rest of us can't hear? Huh?" He pushed the Vulcan again. "Planning to leave us here, by any chance? What do you say to that?"
"That it is an illogical and absurd notion," Spock replied coolly, trying to maintain his composure. "Please return to your place."
"My place is two parsecs from here!" Stanza roared. "And if I could go back there, I wouldn't be standing here trying to talk some sense into you! Or you!" He whirled on to Wilson, looming over him, like a storm cloud. "You're all worthless idiots in your goddamned Starfleet! It's because of you we ended up in this godforsaken place, and now we're stuck here! All those people who died! And you just sit here, drawing pictures, like nothing happened!"
Whether or not Wilson was going to reply they never found out, because the next moment Stanza's eyes rolled back and closed, and then he slumped to the ground, raising a small cloud of dust as he went. Stunned silence ensued, as the Lieutenant looked up to see Spock standing where Stanza had been, one hand still outstretched. Wilson had heard of the Vulcan nerve pinch, but he had never seen one performed in front of him. With difficulty, he cleared his throat.
"So that's what you do when your logic doesn't work?"
Spock was looking no less stupefied by his own actions than the rest of them.
"He was irrational..." he muttered weakly. "The heat must have been... affecting him."
"Looks like it's affecting all of us," the Lieutenant commented dryly. "He'll be all right?"
"Yes," Spock nodded, getting a grip on himself. "He will be unconscious for approximately an hour."
"Maybe it's better this way," Wilson muttered under his breath. "Come on, let's move him further into the shade."
"I do not require assistance," Spock shook his head quickly.
He picked up the bulky human and deposited him between two reclined rocks. He couldn't help noticing the way the others seemed to back away from him as he approached. Spock could feel their wary gazes following his every move. They were talking softly before the row began. Now no one seemed to be willing to say anything. He straightened up and looked at them, but couldn't think of anything to tell them. The moment his eyes rested on someone, that person seemed to shrink, as if trying to evade an attack. The sight disturbed him greatly, but he didn't know what to do about it.
"Spock," Wilson called him softly.
Stiffly, Spock walked back to Wilson, resuming his position on the ground at his side. Wilson caught his eye and shook his head quietly. He spoke then, louder than before, letting his voice carry slightly.
"I've been thinking. I believe we can use our communicators to make a crude transceiver. Of course, it won't be as effective as the real one, but it can still boost up our signal."
Spock frowned dubiously. The thought had occurred to him, too, but he did not believe it to be viable.
"Sir, I am not certain our communicators could be combined in this way," he said cautiously. "And if we dismantle them, we may be impeding what little chance we have to be detected from orbit."
"Don't you think I know that?" Wilson hissed irritably. "It's either doing that or doing nothing. In case you've forgotten we only got about seventeen hours left. Those of us who don't die of thirst by then will freeze to death. If we combine them, we may be able to signal a passing ship."
Spock looked at him strangely. The possibility of a ship passing through this sector in the extremely small timeframe they had, more than that, a ship having its sensors turned on full in this well-charted region of space, away from main traffic, but too well-known to look for surprises, was so low, it could be counted as negligible. Spock had never heard of two communicators being used in this manner, but even if they could be, he was fairly certain the signal would not be strong enough to leave the system.
"I do not possess technical skills required for an operation of that sort," Spock said quietly.
"Then give me your communicator, I'll do it," Wilson told him grudgingly.
Spock studied him fixedly. The Lieutenant did not look well. His head seemed to be unwilling to remain in one position, moving restlessly in small swaying motions. His hands were quivering. Spock caught one and pressed his thumb into the center of Wilson's palm.
"What the devil are you doing?" the human demanded, staring at him.
Spock concentrated for another moment, then let go of him.
"Sir, you are running a high fever. It is not advisable for you to engage in any sort of delicate operation right now."
"Just give me the damned communicator," Wilson snapped. "You were going to fetch us some water anyway. Come on, Spock," he added, seeing that the Vulcan still hesitated. "If Starfleet comes looking for us, they'll scan for biosigns. Anyone else, well..."
Their eyes locked, and Spock could sense the effort Wilson was making to even maintain eye contact. But the very fact that he was making it spoke volumes.
"I need to do something," Wilson whispered. "I need to."
Silently, Spock handed him the communicator. He rose up to his feet and went in search of the empty canisters they took from the shuttle when they left. He wasn't going to watch the Lieutenant struggle with the sensitive devices. He didn't want to watch.
The humans looked at him warily as he bent over to pick up the tanks. Spock ignored them. Having no hope of understanding their emotions, he wanted to minimize exposure as best he could. His head was beginning to ache, and if anything could be called supremely unhealthy for a Vulcan, that was it. Obviously, maintaining his shields in this environment and under these circumstances was much more draining than he imagined.
A hand closed suddenly around his wrist, and he winced, startled. 'What is wrong with me?' he thought in frustration. 'I can no longer control!' He schooled his expression to impassivity resolutely and straightened up to see that it was the girl he had found inside the shuttle. Spock struggled with the impulse to snatch his hand free and extricated it gently instead.
"Take me with you," the girl said quietly.
"That is impossible," Spock replied at once without thinking. "You will not survive."
"Sure I will," she said, tilting up her chin defiantly. "But he won't."
Spock followed her gaze and looked at the baby, curled up on his blanket on the hot sand.
"Ms. Dale—"
"He needs water," she snapped. "He'll die if he doesn't get some soon. He won't have the time to wait till you get back. It's too long."
"We may not find any water," Spock told her softly.
"I know. But if we do, we'll save him. Imagine you'd go and find it, and he dies before you can bring him some. What then?"
Spock looked at the baby again, knowing the chances were slim either way. But he couldn't deny that there was certain logic in what she was suggesting.
"I will take him," he said.
"No, you won't," the girl snapped crossly. "You wouldn't even hold him when he was crying. I won't give him to you. I'll carry him myself."
"There is no logic in risking your life as well—"
"I can stand a little heat. I'm going," she said. "That's final."
He frowned at such childish defiance.
"If your ribs are broken, you will not even make the trip yourself, much less carry him."
"You don't know they're broken," she retorted. "I feel fine."
He studied her for a moment longer, than gestured toward the closest flat rock.
"Let us find out then. Lie down."
She looked at him, startled. Spock raised an eyebrow in silent challenge. She puffed indignantly, but obeyed, stretching on the reclining stone, hissing as the heat seared through her and watching Spock warily. Realizing she wasn't going to cooperate, he reached to pull up her t-shirt enough to expose the lower part of her rib cage. She watched him, eyes wide, without interfering, but the moment his hands touched her skin, she squirmed and pushed him away.
"Hey! The deal was you'd only look!"
If Spock were human, he would have rolled his eyes. As it was, he allowed a small sigh to escape him.
"Ms. Dale, my eyes are not equipped with an X-ray scanner. I need to touch you. I promise I will not hurt you."
A dry laughter came from behind, and both Spock and the girl turned to look at the woman who approached them.
"My, what a sight," she drawled, eyeing them both. Her gaze finally rested on Spock, and she cocked her head with a slow lingering smile. "Is the little Miss playing hard to get? Tat, tat, should have none of that when we'll be dying so soon. Maybe you'd like to play doctor with me instead?"
Far from remotely comprehending her meaning, Spock held his questions as he looked into her eyes. The insane, utterly mad glimmer in them made him shiver. Those weren't the eyes of a human being, but what they were he found difficult to define.
"Mary, stop it," another woman said, clasping her hand and tugging her back. They were sisters, Spock recalled vaguely. "Come, sit down. Let them be. She's not feeling well," she explained to Spock, as if it wasn't obvious. But whispering something soothing into her sister's ear, she led her away, for which he was grateful.
Turning back to the girl, Spock looked her in the eye squarely.
"I will not hurt you. Tell me the moment you feel the pain."
She bit her lip and nodded. Carefully, he placed his hands on her sides, ignoring the way she seemed to shrink from his touch, and traced the bone lines gently. Everything seemed fine, until he reached the lowest rib. The girl gasped. Spock's eyes flew up to her face instantly.
"Does it hurt when I press here?"
"Yes," she nodded. "But... not that much."
"I would ask you to be patient," he said, as his fingers followed the apparently abused tissue.
She hissed through gritted teeth, but otherwise remained still. Spock let go of her suddenly.
"I do not believe your ribs are broken," he told her, once she looked at him. "But there definitely is a fracture. Hold still, I will look for something to help you."
She watched him silently, as he tore a piece of cloth from the cloak, serving as their roof. He came back to her side, and she drew a shattering breath.
"It will hurt, won't it?" she asked in a slightly quivering voice.
"You will feel better when it is done," he assured. "Are you ready?"
She nodded, clenching her hands into fists. He tied the crude corset hard enough to prevent further strain on the fractured bone, but so that she wouldn't have additional trouble breathing.
"Thanks," she exhaled when he was done. "Can we go now?"
Spock turned around to look at Wilson, who was muttering incoherently to himself as he bent over two opened communicators; at the unconscious and immobile man, lying two feet away from him; at the delirious Tellarite, who was rocking in the sand slightly, fighting the immense overheat; at the unconscious Stanza; at two women holding each other and whispering softly.
"Yes," he said quietly. "Yes, we can go."
And if they could not make it back in a few hours, they might not bother coming back at all.