"Bloody hell!"
It wasn't working. They hadn't got time for this kind of modification. The sensors still showed that the selenium isotopes would still affect the shuttle engine as soon as they came into contact with it. He'd done what he could, with Anna Hess and Mike Rostov from Engineering, to help out with their necessarily greater expertise in engineering, but he just didn't have the knowledge or the ...
Hell, time was everything. And for Trip Tucker, it was rapidly running out.
Malcolm tried to tell himself that even Trip couldn't have solved this one in the time they had. The engine had been designed to cope with a lot, but selenium was a relatively rare element and it had evidently not been included among the hazards it was thought necessary to include safeguards against.
"You did your best, sir," said Anna. The sound of the hypospanner being placed gently – so gently – on the deck plating was the sound of bitter defeat.
"There's got to be something else we can do." He leaned back against the shuttlepod's hull in despair. "I can't believe we can't modify it to cope."
So help me God, Charles Tucker the Third, if we get you back in one piece after this I'm going to beat the crap out of you. We can get you out of there and you're just sitting down there frying to death because the bloke you're with can't survive the transporter.
If the worst came to the worst, though, he had one option left.
He could transport down and stun Trip before giving the order for both of them to be transported up to the ship, leaving the Arkonian to take his chances. It would possibly be the end of his career: premeditated assault on a superior officer wasn't going to look too good on his files. The captain might, at heart, agree with what he'd done and the reasons for it, but the act wasn't something that could be condoned. He'd be court-martialled for it. Naturally this course of action would have somewhat terminal consequences for his friendship with Trip as well – in fact, he'd be lucky if Trip ever spoke to him again – but he knew Tucker too well; the American was so damned pig-headed that he'd never listen to sense if it conflicted with honour.
Honour isn't going to look after this ship's engines. And my job is to safeguard the ship.
Trip hated the heat. He'd been in a terrible state when they'd rescued him from the desert misadventure with the captain not so long ago. It was probably only Archer's superior ability to cope with desert conditions that had saved his life on that occasion, and now he was wilfully placing it in danger again!
The Arkonians were supposed to be working on a rescue. Trip had suggested in his last transmission that he thought one of their shuttles could be modified to cope with selenium isotopes more readily than their own, and the captain had persuaded them to try. But time was ticking past – time Tucker didn't have.
He could be dead already.
Malcolm stood up and stepped to the comm unit on the wall. "Reed to Bridge."
"Bridge here, Lieutenant."
Pathetic. He was even starting to get some kind of teenage thrill from hearing her voice.
His life on Enterprise was coming apart at the seams. He was being drawn further and further into the illicit attraction towards a junior officer who probably wouldn't touch him with a bargepole anyway, and his best friend was dying down on some godforsaken moon for the sake of a point of honour to an alien he'd met less than a day ago, and who was quite probably responsible for his plight in the first place. Those weapons-fire signatures had been quite unmistakable, even through the interference on the scanners. And he knew Trip; therefore he knew who'd have fired first. 'Just like old friends', my foot.
If he dies...
"Any news from the Arkonians, Ensign?" His voice was steady, at any rate.
"Nothing yet, sir."
"Tell the captain we haven't had any luck with the shuttle. I'm coming back up to Tactical. There's no more I can do here."
"I'm sure you did your best, sir."
My best wasn't good enough. He closed the comm link without replying.
Hess and Rostov began clearing up as he left.
He walked towards the turbo-lift to return to the Bridge. His eyes were unseeing. He was watching a sun rise in a cloudless sky, and the digital reading on a thermometer climb inexorably higher.
He got off at E Deck instead.
The Armoury was silent. The hilt of the phase pistol nestled in his palm, deeply familiar.
Trip would never forgive him. But at least Trip would still be alive. Forgiveness would be of secondary importance.
"Bridge to Lieutenant Reed." The call came through as he keyed the door command.
"Reed." His voice was completely without inflection. His decision was already made.
"The Arkonians have launched their shuttle, sir. They should reach the planet in just a couple of minutes."
The rigidity went out of him in a deep shudder. Hoshi, I could kiss you all over. Well, that wasn't new, but at least it was for a valid reason this time.
"That's good news. Let's hope they're in time."
"It's looking good so far."
He could have said something about not tempting Fate, but at that moment he wanted so desperately to believe that he let her hope carry him along. Yes, he really was getting pathetic.
"Send them to the starboard docking port. I'll collect Phlox and meet them there with a security team." After all, they didn't know these Arkonians, except that they weren't overly friendly and didn't get on with Vulcans. It wouldn't occasion any surprise that he should want to supervise the arrival. His own personal concern wouldn't be allayed until he saw Trip safely into Sickbay and under Phlox's care, but nobody else had to know that.
"Will do, sir. Bridge out."
He replaced the phase pistol carefully in its locker.
He wasn't going to destroy a friendship today.