Disclaimer: Star Trek Enterprise is the property of Paramount Pictures, not mine.
Chapter 8
The Forgotten
The leaking plasma was burning bright green in front of them as some sort of a geyser that found its way from inside the ship to the unforgiving vacuum of space.
Both men stopped in their tracks for a second, silently admiring the ethereal deadly beauty, mesmerized by it. Trip broke the enchantment a bit later, motioning to an access panel in front of them.
"Open that panel and I will talk you through the cutoff sequence, Malcolm."
The chief Tactical officer started walking towards it immediately, asking his friend at the same time.
"Where is the other valve?"
"Over there," the Chief Engineer answered, already on his way to open the next hatch.
The Armory Officer got to work, keen on eliminating the danger to the ship as soon as possible. He felt the first drops of sweat collecting on his forehead, sliding into his eyes.
"Commander, I have a problem. I think the heat has warped the metal. The panel won't open." Malcolm reported after a moment when his attempts to access his assigned valve proved unsuccessful.
"Use your plasma torch. I will be there in a minute. I'm releasing the interlock on the first port. This is gonna take a while," came the quick answer, almost immediately followed by a half-teasing admonishment. "Careful you don't cut through the bypass relays, Malcolm."
He blinked the persistent sweat from his eyes, wholly concentrating on his plasma torch and mentally shunting the complaints of his body about the uncomfortable temperature aside.
"The manifold pressure is increasing. We have less than six minutes before the fire reaches the reactor shielding," T'Pol reported calmly to the tense atmosphere on the Bridge.
"Archer to Trip. You have less than six minutes."
"Understood."
The burning plasma geyser behind them exploded, fed by the purged plasma from the ports for a moment.
"You OK, Malcolm?" came the worried question on the suit-to-suit link.
"I'm almost there," came the determined answer.
"Captain, the temperature in Lieutenant Reed's suit is over 44 degrees. He is too close to the fire. His EV suit can't compensate accordingly." T'Pol stated with a barely discernible undercurrent of concern.
"Malcolm, get back to the airlock."
The whole bridge could hear the labored breathing of their Tactical officer on the open channel.
"I'm almost finished, Captain." The intermittent wheezes were not reassuring.
"That's an order," the Captain automatically added, hoping to draw the expected reaction from his tradition-bound officer.
"Get inside Malcolm. I can wrap it up," their Chief Engineer joined in half-distractedly, obviously concentrating on his own valve.
"No." The half-breathed denial almost didn't make it through the speakers.
"I am opening the primary bypass port. Two more to go and we are in business." came from their Chief Engineer half-victoriously.
"Forty-six degrees Celsius and rising, Captain."
"Malcolm!"
"I'm sorry sir, you are breaking up." the whole sentence sounded as if Malcolm was using his last reserves of air.
The atmosphere rocketed up another few notches, the Bridge observing both men on the view screen.
Malcolm felt as if he had just finished running a marathon in a laundry room, breathing quickly and shallowly, as his body demanded more and more air.
There was a beating pain under his ribcage, stabbing pain shooting into his left shoulder and along his jaw.
"Get inside Malcolm. I can finish." His friend came in over the suit-to-suit line again, voice tinged with worry.
"There is no time. Do what you have to do so I can shut this down." The beating pain under his ribcage intensified as if answering his friend had squandered reserves he could ill afford to lose at this moment.
"A few more seconds. I am purging the last port."
"And the forward valve is closed. OK, Malcolm. Clockwise 90 degrees."
Lieutenant Reed concentrated hard on those instructions, pulling the lever into the position. He knew there was an unconsciousness coming – he was there on the brink enough times to recognize it. His foot jammed under the pipes not to float away, he let go.
"Tucker to doctor Phlox. Meet us in the airlock." The urgent, partially breathless voice of his friend brought Archer to his feet and the turbo-lift immediately.
Trip was pushing the limp body of his friend towards the airlock, frantically counting seconds. He didn't know what was wrong with Malcolm – he could guess, based on the Bridge warning about Malcolm's suit not compensating for the high temperature, but it was not the same as knowing.
Captain Archer and Degra arrived to a sight of organized chaos – Doctor Phlox and one of his orderlies were frantically digesting an unresponsive Malcolm out of his suit, helped by already partly unsuited Trip.
Doctor Phlox took one look at his handheld scanner and barked a tense: "Sickbay, now!", leaving them without a backward glance.
Trip was staring behind the Denobulan with a forlorn expression on his face before he zeroed in on Degra. The Xindi was standing slightly behind Captain Archer, obviously ill at ease with the situation he just witnessed.
"Are you happy, you bastard! Seems like you have another notch on your belt," the usually jovial Floridan downright seethed at their Xindi visitor.
"I am sorry for what happened to Lieutenant Reed." The Xindi Primate stiffly offered in return.
"Sorry?!" Trip all but howled and tried to jump him.
Archer barely managed to get his arms around his livid Chief Engineer, restraining him.
"That's enough, Commander! Control yourself," he all but shouted into the man's ear.
The struggle slowly abated. The lackluster Aye, sir was not regulation, but it was there. Archer decided to let it slide for the moment.
Jonathan Archer entered the CIC with Degra in tow. They were alone for the moment.
The warbling of com forestalled any conversation.
"Phlox to Captain Archer."
"Go ahead, doctor."
"Captain, I am sorry to report that Lieutenant Reed had not made it." The Denobulan sounded as if someone had force-fed him a handful of gravel.
Archer was silent for a heartbeat, and then a lackluster "Acknowledged, doctor." was heard. He terminated the call, leaning his fists on the table for a moment, head bowed.
Degra dared not to speak.
Author's note: Thanks for your reviews! I am looking forward to more :)
