Title: Alone In Darkness

Authors: Sita/T'eyla

Rating: PG-13

AN: Thanks to Dacker Spaniel (well, now you got us curious... don't take too long with your first chapter!), Cordelia Black (hope we didn't leave you hanging for too long! ;) ), Ocean (sorry, another cliffhanger this chapter), WhtevrHpnd2Mary (liked your little dialogue, but we're afraid we couldn't include it ;) ), KaliedescopeCat (don't think Trip would have noticed by touching him... just think of The Doctor in Voyager), Keran (glad we were able to surprise you... that was what we were aiming at, after all ;) ), Gabi2305 (endlich mal jemand, dem Trip leid tut... alle sind immer nur besorgt um Malcolm - T'eyla included ;) ), The Libran Iniquity (Meine Fresse... woher kennst du denn so böse German swear words ;) - want some more? We could send you a list... ;) ), Exploded Pen (Malcolm? Evil?! Never!! ;) ), skully (how right you are...), Daria (we will :) ), Mamasue H. (yeah, you're right about the genre, it should be the other way 'round. That's my, T'eyla's, fault, since I'm the Chaos Queen and haven't yet learned to press the right buttons in the right order ;) ), Aeryn Lavanthia (let's get down to some serious ass-kicking here ;) ), Maraschino (no, Trip's not gonna be happy, that's for sure ;) ) and Spike26 (and here comes...) for reviewing!

Now, Chapter 6... keep reviewing (please :) )... bye till next time, and have fun reading!

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Chapter 6

Archer stood bent over the console in the situation room, staring down at the screen displaying an image of the planet they were currently orbiting. V'nera looked just the same like last time he'd seen it; a small grey world surrounded by layers of clouds, most of its surface covered in ice.

What an ugly little world, he thought in sudden disgust. He knew his dislike wasn't of natural origin, but was most likely a product of nights without sleep, of hours of sitting in his ready room, brooding and worrying, condemned to inactivity while he waited for Enterprise to finally reach her destination. Now that they were here, the memories of three months ago surfaced again, coming clearly to his mind as he stared down at the image of planet V'nera on the screen. And again, Archer was waiting, nervously pacing the room while T'Pol was doing scans of the surface, looking for these mysterious fluctuations she'd picked up back on Eden. The minutes seemed to stretch endlessly, and when the door finally swished open, Archer looked up sharply.

"Report," he said, and T'Pol put her padd down on the console, her face a rigid Vulcan mask as she spoke.

"Captain," she said. "I believe I have found the building Commander Tucker and Lieutenant Reed have mentioned in their after-mission reports."

Archer straightened up. "You found it?"

"Indeed Captain. Now that I knew the fluctuation patterns I had to look for, the building was quite easy to spot on the surface. It is several miles away from the place where we found the Commander and the Lieutenant three months ago."

Archer frowned. "What do you mean, several miles?"

T'Pol called up a map on the display which showed a plain area marked with two red spots.

"This," she said, pointing at the first spot, "is the landing site of the rescue mission. And this..." Her finger wandered across the display, coming to rest on the second spot. "...is the location of the building. The distance between the two amounts to sixty-five miles."

"Sixty-five miles?" Archer repeated incredulously. "Trip cannot possibly have walked a sixty-five miles!"

"I agree," T'Pol said. "It seems like the Lieutenant and the Commander were transported to the place where we found them."

Archer stared at her. "I'm not getting you. Who should have transported them?"

T'Pol looked up at him, raising an eyebrow. "Captain, it does seem to me like the people who were holding them captive had planned all of this. They staged and monitored the escape, and when they saw that Commander Tucker and Lieutenant Reed were both unconscious, they transported them several miles away from their complex to minimize the risk of it being detected by our scanners. They wanted us to find them."

Archer crossed his arms in front of his chest, not quite able to believe what T'Pol was telling him. They'd found Trip and Malcolm just in time down on that planet - Phlox had said a few minutes later would have been too late at least for Malcolm - and now T'Pol claimed these people had had it all planned out -

"That's quite the far-fetched theory, T'Pol, don't you think? There were so many variables, so many things that could have gone wrong..."

T'Pol clasped her hands behind her back. "It is the only explanation, Captain. And you must keep in mind that we know nearly nothing about these people. Maybe they have means of controlling events that we do not know about."

Archer frowned, not quite convinced, but decided to drop the subject for the moment. They didn't have the time to discuss T'Pol's theories while two of his officers were missing.

"What did you find out about that building?" he asked. "Were you able to scan it?"

"Not the interior," T'Pol said, pushing a few buttons beside the screen. A rectangular form appeared where the second spot had been. "This area is shielded by space and time distortions which are impenetrable to the ship's scanners."

"What kind of space and time distortions?" Archer asked. T'Pol raised another eyebrow.

"I have detected certain artificial anomalies in the space and time patterns which are surrounding the building and preventing any scans of the inside. I was, however, able to pick up their source." She pushed a button, and another spot appeared in the right upper corner of the rectangular field. "This, in all likelihood, is some kind of generating device which produces the distortions."

Archer shook his head. "Why would they cloak their building with space and time distortions? It doesn't make sense to me."

"I do not know, Captain. But as long as these distortions keep me from scanning, we cannot know if Lieutenant Reed and Commander Tucker really are inside that building."

"Can our phase cannons penetrate these distortions?"

T'Pol looked up at him. "It is highly probable. Since the cannons alter their frequency, their phase displacement should not be affected by these anomalies. We should be able to destroy the generator."

Archer paused for a moment. "But if we simply go and blow up the generator, we'll destroy most of the building as well, won't we?"

"If we were to use a pencilled phaser beam, there is a possibility of eighty percent that we will only destroy the area immediately surrounding the generating device."

Archer bit his lip. T'Pol's scientific way of putting it could not conceal the fact that they were discussing the idea of shooting at a building where two of his friends were being held captive.

"And what if Trip and Malcolm are in that area?" he asked quietly. T'Pol only raised an eyebrow, evenly meeting his eyes.

"There is a risk to it, Captain," she said. "But I suggest you hurry with your decision."

Archer looked down at the display again, his eyes coming to rest on the small rectangular form that represented the building. Of course he couldn't know for certain, but somehow he was sure Trip and Malcolm were in there. It was the only explanation that made sense. And if they were in there, then he indeed had to hurry. Archer's stomach clenched up at the thought that his friends might just as well be dead already, murdered by these people at whose hands they had almost died three months ago. But if he gave the order to destroy that generator, he might become the one who had killed them, and Archer didn't know if he was willing, if he was able to take that risk.

"Captain," T'Pol said. "There is no other possibility. And it will not help Lieutenant Reed and Commander Tucker if we take too long to consider."

Archer raised his head and looked at her. T'Pol's features were expressionless, but there was something in her eyes that told him that she was not just being the logical Vulcan, that she was as concerned for Trip and Malcolm as he himself was. Holding her gaze, he nodded slowly.

"Prepare the phase cannons," he said quietly. "We'll do it."

-###-

Picking up the jug, Malcolm slowly and carefully tried to pour the rest of the stale water into the plastic cup. Right then, another violent shiver ran through his body, and the water spilled onto the floor with an ugly, splashing sound. For a moment Malcolm stayed as he was, kneeling on the floor and staring down at the spreading puddle on the gray concrete, jug and cup still in hand. His dry throat screamed for water, but somehow he couldn't bring himself to care that he'd just spilled his last water resources on the floor. He was so tired.

Putting the cup and the jug back down, Malcolm retreated to his corner, drew his legs up to his chest and rested his head on his knees. The assistant probably wouldn't be coming back anytime soon, and so there would be no water, either, but all the same, Malcolm wished he wouldn't come at all. Every time that tall, hooded figure had entered the cell, he'd been given another one of these injections that made him shake and hurt all over, and wouldn't let him sleep. He didn't know how much time had passed since he'd been brought in here, but it seemed like an eternity. An eternity of sweating, shivering and desperately trying to fall asleep while the worry about Trip was driving him half crazy. The assistant had refused to answer any of his questions, had never spoken at all, and during all this time there had been no sound, no indication whatsoever that Trip was still alive. And Malcolm even found himself hoping that he wasn't. If they'd really decided to perform the tests on the Commander, Malcolm knew death would only come as a relief to Trip. During his own tests, Malcolm had wished countless times that he would die, that it would be over, but they hadn't allowed it, bringing him back to life again and again. Malcolm desperately hoped that Trip would be spared that agony.

Closing his eyes, Malcolm tried to push this out of his mind. He'd never been so tired all his life, and even the terrible guilt weighing down on his conscience had somehow been lessened by that all-embracing weariness. He so wished he could go to sleep, but they wouldn't let him. He knew that as soon as this injection would begin to wear off, they would come and give him another one, and another one, and another one, until he would either die of sleep deprivation or they would come up with another way of torturing him. In a way, he hoped for the first possibility to occur, but at the same time knew that the latter was more likely to happen. They wouldn't just let him die. It would be a waste of test material to simply let him snuff it.

The sound of the door swishing open made him raise his head. The assistant stood in the door frame, a dark silhouette against the light of the corridor, and Malcolm involuntarily retreated further into the corner, pressing his back against the wall. He waited for the assistant to come towards him, dreading the cold feeling of the hypospray against his neck, but the being didn't move.

"Come," the assistant said. Malcolm stared at him, feeling his insides contract with fear.

"What-" He cleared his throat. "What do you want with me?"

"Come," the alien repeated, and Malcolm slowly pushed himself up, using the wall for support. As he finally stood, his knees almost gave way as dizzyness clouded up his vision, and he blindly reached out, leaning against the rough wall to stay on his feet. The next moment he felt a cold hand grab him by the arm and drag him towards the door. Stumbling out into the corridor, Malcolm tried to keep his balance as the assistant pulled him along.

Once more he opened his mouth to ask where the assistant was taking him, but then closed it again, realizing it was no use. He wouldn't get an answer, anyway.

Turning around a corner, they entered the corridor leading to the other cell, and Malcolm tensed in the assistant's grip. Were they taking him here because Trip was dead? Even though for Trip's sake Malcolm had hoped the Commander was dead, now the thought of that door sliding open and revealing an empty cell frightened him badly. If Trip was dead, he was all alone, with Enterprise far away and no hope of rescue.

When the assistant punched in the door code, Malcolm had to keep from closing his eyes and turning away so he wouldn't have to face what he was afraid of. The door slid open, and Malcolm's heart skipped a beat. Was Trip-

The assistant pushed him forward, and Malcolm stumbled into the cell, hearing the door slide shut behind him. He looked around and then he saw him, sitting curled up against a wall in the corner.

"Trip!" Malcolm took a step towards the Commander who still hadn't raised his head. "Are you okay?"

Slowly, Trip looked up, and when his eyes fell on Malcolm, his features hardened. Pushing himself up, he got to his feet.

"What do you want?" he whispered, and Malcolm was taken aback at the open hatred in his voice. "What do you want here?"

"Trip?" he asked, taking another step in the Commander's direction, but Trip retreated, his eyes full of despise and cold anger as he looked at Malcolm.

"Stay away from me," he hissed. Malcolm stopped in his tracks. Trip was clearly not quite being himself, and Malcolm realized that they might have given him drugs or something that made him act this way. Staying where he was, Malcolm raised his hands in a placating gesture.

"It's okay, Trip," he said. "I'm not going to hurt you."

Trip's eyes narrowed. "Hurt me? After all what happened, you come here and tell me you're not gonna hurt me?" He began advancing on Malcolm who retreated a few steps. He didn't know what Trip was talking about, but it was clear that for some reason the Commander was furious at him.

"What do you mean, Trip?" he asked, feeling his back make contact with the cold concrete of the wall. "What happened?"

"Oh no," Trip said, shaking his head and giving a short, derisive laugh. "Oh no, I won't fall for that. I know what this is about. You're goin' to act like you don't remember, like they made you do it, but I know better." By now, he was standing directly in front of Reed, and as Malcolm saw the look in his eyes, he involuntarily recoiled. He hardly recognized these eyes, they were so full of hate and disgust, but there was no sign of disorientation in them, or any other indication that Trip was under the influence of some kind of drug.

"What-" he began, but Trip interrupted, still speaking in that low, dangerous voice.

"Been havin' fun, huh? You all been havin' a good laugh at me? Oh, I'm sure it was fun, no doubt it was. After all, they're your friends now."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Malcolm said, slightly raising voice, and that moment Trip grabbed him by the front of his uniform, shaking him violently.

"You mean lyin' bastard, don't you think I know what this is about, don't you think I-"

In a desperate try to break free, Malcolm pushed him away, and Trip stumbled backwards. "Stop it, Trip! I don't know what's wrong, but-"

He never finished the sentence. Trip came towards him, and a second later Malcolm felt his head snap back as a fist connected with his jaw. The force of the blow made him lose his balance and he fell, a sharp pain shooting up his right arm as his elbow hit the concrete. Pressing a hand against his chin, Malcolm tried to sit up again, but a moment later the back of his head painfully hit the stone floor as Trip shoved him back, pinning him to the ground.

"You bastard!" he heard him scream and felt pain explode on the side of his head as Trip punched him in the face again and again. "You little piece of shit, I'm gonna kill you! You think you can do it again, you think you can trick me again, but you won't! You hear me? You won't!"

Suddenly, Malcolm felt hands close around his neck, and through a blur of tears he saw Trip's contorted face only inches from his own. Struggling, he tried to pull away Trip's hands, desperately kicking his legs to shake him off, and felt Trip's thumbs dig into his throat, choking him. He opened his mouth to say something, anything to make him stop, but only a gargling sound came out.

"You traitor!" Trip yelled, his voice seeming to come from far away. "You fuckin' son of a bitch, I'm gonna kill you!"

Malcolm's vision was narrowing, becoming blurred and ragged around the edges, and he felt like his chest would burst with the lack of air. Trip's hateful voice and the hands that were digging into his throat suddenly seemed very far away, all perceptions diminishing to a haze of sound and colour as the world faded away. All the time, Malcolm hadn't fully realized what was going on, but now, a second before he lost consciousness, he knew in all clarity what was going to happen. Trip was killing him, his best friend had lost his mind and was now choking him to death on the cold concrete floor of this cell, and if he'd had any air left to do so, Malcolm would have laughed.

-###-

"He is becoming violent."

"I noticed, Assistant. It was to be expected."

"Subject 1 does not seem to be fighting back."

"He is probably not in the condition to do so. And moreover, he was taken by surprise."

"I think there are other motivations as well. Despite his weakened condition, his survival instinct should not allow him to let himself get killed."

"Shall we wait and see if Subject 2 is really going to kill him, Supervisor?"

"No. We still need Subject 1. Go and take him back to the other cell. Take a weapon with you."

"Yes, Supervisor."

TBC...

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