4

His head was aching. His ribs were aching, as were his legs. His whole body was aching. Slowly, Jon opened his eyes, but all he could see was fuzzy darkness. He was surrounded by some sort of rough material and the surface under him was shaking, although he seemed to be lying on something soft. A loud noise was ringing in his ears that he couldn't identify. But when his memory kicked in and he remembered what had happened, he knew what was going on. He was on a vehicle that was bumping over an uneven surface. He could feel the wind, so maybe he was lying in some sort of cargo area. And the rough material around him seemed to be a sack that was tied up tightly. Jon tried to get to his feet but fell down again when the truck hit a pothole. Desperately, he kicked out in search of a secure footing, and hit something soft, causing someone to groan with pain. Malcolm's voice. So the soft objects he was lying on were his friends. Sorry, Trip, he thought, wondering which part of his friend's body he had hit.

The ride was getting rougher by the minute. Jon couldn't avoid being tossed around, eliciting more than a few groans from his friends beneath him. It seemed like hours until they reached a more even road, and the ride went on more smoothly. Jon started to gnaw on the rough material around him. He had no clue what he should do if he succeeded in freeing himself from the sack, but he trusted that there was a way to help his friends. The linen tasted dirty and more than once Jon felt the urge to vomit. But he didn't stop and eventually he was rewarded with a small hole, just big enough to stick his muzzle out.

When Jon did just that, the truck stopped abruptly and he could hear people shouting. Whatever their destination was, they seemed to have arrived. The bag was carelessly tossed to the ground and Jon landed on his shoulder. Ignoring the pain, he moved around until he had found the small hole and was able to have a look around. He had been right. They had been transported on some sort of truck with an open cargo area. A few men in uniforms were busy getting his crewmembers out. His friends were all bound hands and feet and gagged. Jon wished that he didn't own a beagle but a Doberman. Yes, it was nice to imagine how he would attack the aliens and free his friends, but he was only a small dog in a sack. He twisted his body to be able to see what they were doing to his friends.

Apparently they had arrived at some sort of small airfield. A vehicle that looked like a cross between an old shuttlepod and an aircraft was waiting with open hatches. Not too gently, each of his crewmembers were grabbed by two men and carried into the aircraft. For a scary moment Jon thought that he would be forgotten here on the road and run over by the truck, but at the very last moment, someone grabbed the bag and tossed him through the hatch. With a thud, he landed rather softly on something that he guessed to be T'Pol's breasts. His guess was confirmed when he heard her voice groan. He silently apologized to Malcolm. But at least they still were together, and he refused to give up hope.

------------------------

Trip tried to shift and change his position. It was easier, now that they were in an aircraft and weren't lying packed like sardines anymore. But with his hands and feet bound, moving was still difficult. He briefly wondered where their captors were taking them, his mind shifting back to the moment the alien people had shot them.

Thousands of thoughts had crossed his mind when he felt the impact of the projectile. Surprisingly enough, the pain was not as excruciating as he had expected. Out of the corners of his eyes, he saw Malcolm desperately reaching for his weapon, then he felt his legs buckle. As he slowly fell to his knees, he looked at his Captain. The canine face looked completely horrified. I'm so sorry, Jon, Trip thought. I screwed up. He tried do catch his fall with his hands, but found that he couldn't move them. Face first, he fell into the grass. But it didn't feel as if he were going to die. The pressure in his chest vanished and it felt as if the projectile was dissolving.

He could hear T'Pol fall down beside him, and a few seconds later Malcolm joined them. Trip's eyelids became too heavy to keep them open, and his whole body started to go numb. But he was still conscious. It was a weird feeling. The pain from the bullet was gone by now, there was only a sore spot where it had hit his chest. Trip tried to move with all his strength, but to no avail. He couldn't even make a sound. Helplessly, he had to wait what was to come. He heard the aliens talking to each other as they came closer. Fear welled up inside him. He wasn't usually afraid in dangerous situations, not when there was something to do; when he could flash into action, there was no time to be afraid. But now, lying on the ground, completely paralyzed and helpless, not even able to lift his eyelids to see what was about to happen, he heard his heart pounding in his chest. There was a growl just in front of his nose. A deep and dangerous sounding growl, and then Trip heard someone cry out loud in pain. Had he been able to do so, Trip would have smiled despite the situation. Yeah, go for it, Jon, he thought. Show them that at least one of us isn't helpless. But Trip knew that his Captain's efforts were to no avail, and he feared for him. Suddenly he heard a thud, a pained yelp and then it was quiet again. Trip's heart constricted. Had they killed Jon?

Rough hands grabbed him and pulled his hands brutally behind his back to tie them together. Another man bound his legs and a gag was forced into his mouth. From the sounds he could hear, Trip supposed that his comrades were submitted to the same treatment. Then he was rolled onto his back and his pockets were searched. Trip hoped that the aliens would realize that they were not hostile when they didn't find any weapons. Perhaps they could still try to talk. But from the few words the aliens were exchanging, Trip couldn't discern the mood they were in. Apparently not in the mood to talk. He strained his ears, trying to hear a sound from Jon, a sniff, a pant or whatever sound a dog could make, but there was nothing. Silence. Trip's heart sank even more. It was obvious that the aliens wanted them alive, but did this apply to a small animal as well? Trip had to admit that it was very possible that they had killed Jon after he had attacked one of them.

He became aware of the sound of an approaching vehicle. A big vehicle, he guessed, perhaps a truck. After a while, four hands lifted him and threw him not too gently on some sort of loading area. His back and his bound hands chafed painfully over a hard surface. After that, three other people were tossed there beside him, and the truck started rolling. Trip tried to breathe slowly and evenly. He still couldn't move and felt the bonds restricting his blood circulation. When the truck took a sharp turn, something landed on Trip's stomach. Something that kicked out to regain its footing. It was when his sensitive parts were hit that Trip realized two things. First, he had regained the ability to groan loudly, and second, Jon was alive. Thank God, Trip thought and the relief he felt let him forget about the pain. But only for a moment. Pins and needles started shooting through his body as the feeling returned to his limbs. This time, Trip succeeded in lifting his eyelids. He was lying face to face with Malcolm, who was looking at him worriedly. Trip had been right. They were lying on the bed of a truck, which was just wide enough for them. A black bag was lying on top of them, and was tossed around every time the truck took an abrupt turn. Trip had no idea where they were. All he could see was the afternoon sky and a beautiful sunset. He didn't know why, but the setting sun touched his heart. Perhaps this was the last sunset he'd ever see. The aliens didn't seem very friendly and Trip could only guess what was to come. Certainly not a friendly encounter with the planetary government.

And Enterprise didn't even know they were in trouble. They didn't expect them back before tomorrow. Maybe they'd wonder why the away team had stopped contacting them, but they wouldn't be worried. And when they finally noticed that something was wrong, it would be far too late to launch a rescue mission. Tomorrow, Trip supposed, they would be long dead.

There had to be something he could do. Trip tested the restraints, but they were too tight. He felt the ropes biting painfully into his flesh and stopped trying.

His eyes met with Malcolm's and he saw the knowing look in his friend's gaze. Of course Malcolm had also tried to get rid of his bonds, and had failed as well. If they could only talk and discuss the situation, perhaps they would be able to come up with a plan. But the aliens had known very well why they had gagged them.

Trip let out a sigh as the vehicle ran over a pothole and gave them a good shaking. These aliens pissed him off. Trip was sure these people never had met offworlders before. Perhaps they didn't know what to do and were getting careless. Perhaps there was a possibility to overcome their captors and escape. Perhaps there was a reasonable being amongst these people who would try to communicate with them. Perhaps…

Trip closed his eyes. There were too many uncertainties. To be honest, he didn't believe that one of those 'perhaps' would come true. But it was better not to think about the possible consequences of their capture.

The truck came to an abrupt halt and Trip could see an aircraft standing only a few meters away. Great, they'd never find their way back to the shuttlepod. Then again, Trip seriously doubted that they'd be able to search for their pod in the near future. He had a pretty good idea what was awaiting them when the aircraft arrived at its destination.

--------------------------

It was dark outside when they arrived at wherever they were now. Jon could see as much through the hole in the bag, or, more to the point he could see nothing except darkness. Again, they were hauled like cargo onto a vehicle but the ride only took a few minutes. Someone slit the bag open, grabbing the damn collar before he could try to do anything about it. Someone was laughing; another voice said something and the grip on the collar tightened. He started barking, just to be silenced by a painful tug at his neck. A rope was attached to the collar and he was yanked away. Jon realized that they were in some sort of military base. Buildings of various sizes were arranged in an otherwise deserted landscape.

The alien man all but dragged him into one of the larger buildings, always holding him at arm's length. Although he had been hoping for an opportunity, Jon never got the chance to bite him and escape. He was taken into a small room, and the rope was attached to a rack full of instruments that stood in a corner. The man said something, smirked, and then left.

-----------------------------

Eight guns were pointed at their heads. Two for each of them. And it didn't seem to be the rifles with the paralyzing projectiles. These looked definitely deadly. What were these people afraid of? With his feet tightly bound together, Trip was barely able to keep his balance on the paved yard. Malcolm and T'Pol were struggling for balance as well, and Porthos was about to lose the battle to stay on his feet. Trip glanced at him with sympathy and cursed his inability to even shout at the men to let him go. He looked around. It had to be a sort of research station, far away from any inhabited place. Desert was all he could see beyond the buildings. A few trees and bushes every now and then, but nothing else.

Two men opened the sack and freed the Captain. Trip was glad to see him unharmed, but he got even angrier at the treatment the men subjected him to. A rope was fastened to the collar and Jon was forcefully yanked away.

Three men in black and blue uniforms approached and studied them, talking to each other while doing so. Trip so wished he could talk to them, tell them that they posed no threat. But how were you supposed to communicate with a gag in your mouth and your hands and feet bound together, with aliens who didn't even try to understand you?

One of the men gave some orders, and immediately, four men started to work on the ropes that restrained their feet. Trip felt like lashing out but in view of the guns he refrained from doing so. Their feet were bound more loosely so that they could walk in small steps. With a blow to their backs, they were directed towards the same building where Jon had been taken. Not used to walking on two legs at all, Porthos fell down repeatedly and the hands that brought him back to his feet were rougher every time they did so. The men laughed when Porthos winced, and Trip felt rage well up inside him. A sideways glance told him that Malcolm was feeling the same, and even T'Pol had a grim expression on her face.

They were herded through endless hallways. Trip tried to remember which way they were going, but to no avail. Finally, they were shoved into a small room and forced to sit down on the bare floor. Three men in white coats came in and started to examine them. Scientists always look the same, Trip thought. One of the men demanded something, pointing at the restraints, but the military men refused. Right, Trip thought, don't let us loose. Wouldn't do you any good. Any chances of diplomatic relations went down the drain a long time ago.

The men removed the gags. A rather small man grabbed Trip's chin and turned his head from side to side, then forced his mouth open to look at his teeth. Trip glared at him, but the gun that was pointed at his head stopped him from doing anything stupid. The language of guns was universal as well. But when the man stuck a slimy finger into his mouth to feel his tongue and his palate, Trip couldn't control himself any longer. The alien cried out loud when he felt the teeth of his test subject dig deep into his flesh. Trip heard the gun click, but didn't stop. Just a second before he was shot, one of the other scientists shouted at the man with the gun and prevented him from firing. The scientist knelt down beside them and forced Trip's mouth open. Trip waited for a blow to come but it didn't. The injured scientist got to his feet and stared down at him while he took a piece of cloth from his pocket and wrapped it around his finger. He gave some orders to the military men and left with his colleagues. Cautiously, one man knelt down and tightened the ropes on Trip's feet while his colleagues did the same with Malcolm and T'Pol.

"Tighter," Trip advised sarcastically. "You'd better not risk us gettin' outta here."

The man glanced at him with an expression that was a mixture of curiosity, fear and disgust. He tested the restraints, got to his feet and left with his colleagues. The door closed and Trip heard something like a bar being shoved into place, and they were alone.

Malcolm looked at him. "I hope he tasted good," he smirked.

"Not exactly." Trip grinned at him. It was a good feeling to be able to talk again.

"They could have shot you."

"Yeah, I know it was stupid, but I bet you'd have done the same."

T'Pol looked at him. "I believe we are in a research facility."

Trip nodded. "It's a damn Roswell."

He saw his own eyebrows shoot up. He briefly wondered whether he would be able to do this as well when he was in his own body again, then remembered that he would very likely die in Malcolm's body.

"I'm not familiar with this name," T'Pol said.

"Roswell is a small town in New Mexico," Trip explained. "Some famous people came from there. John Denver for instance."

Malcolm shifted to find a more comfortable position. "I didn't know you liked country music."

"Nah, not exactly, but 'Country Roads' is a classic. You can even find it in our database. And Demi Moore is from Roswell."

"Who?"

"C'mon, Malcolm, Demi Moore. "Ghost", "G.I. Jane", "Indecent Proposal"

"Yeah, I remember the last one. You showed it on movie night a few weeks ago."

T'Pol frowned. "I do not understand what singers and actors have to do with this place."

"Sorry, T'Pol." Trip frowned. "In the middle of the twentieth century, an alien ship crashed in the area of Roswell. Oh, we sent probes into space with messages like: 'Come to Earth, all foreign species, make yourself at home, we're friends.' But from what I read in a report they weren't exactly welcomed with open arms when they actually came."

Malcolm shook his head. "I don't need to tell you that the first probe of this kind was the Arecibo message, which was sent in November 1974. You have to admit, the crash you mentioned was some decades earlier. At that time people were just frightened to meet aliens on their planet."

"Yes, it's the same here. T'Pol, do you know anything about this people?"

"It is a pre-warp civilization, although they are technologically advanced."

"So they're at the same level Earth was around the end of the millennium?"

"A correct estimation."

"I'm tellin' you, we're in an alien Roswell. They've never seen people from other worlds before. The military wants to shoot us, the scientists want to cut us open, the government doesn't know what to do and we scare the hell outta them all."

"We have to find a way to communicate with them," T'Pol stated.

"That could be difficult," Malcolm said. "I suppose our devices, the UT's as well as our weapons, are being thoroughly analyzed by now, but I doubt they'll be able to identify the UT's as a device they could use to talk to us."

"I don't think they'd talk to us even if they had the opportunity to do so." Trip grimaced. "Did you see the look on that scientist's face? He can't wait to cut us open and to pull out our intestines."

"That is not very scientific," T'Pol objected.

"No, but it's very likely."

They heard voices just outside the door and the bar slid back. They were coming to take them to the laboratory. Trip sighed. So that was the end. And there was nothing they could do to prevent it.


TBC

Please be so kind as to leave a review. Thanks.