Disclaimer: see chapter one
a/n Thanks so much to all of you who reviewed!!!
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Trip jumped up from the sand,
"Malcolm!" he intended to call, but it came out more like a bark.
Silence answered him. He fought to suppress his rising panic that threatened to swallow his mind like a dark tide. The beach was calm and serene as the day before, however a few clouds now peppered the sky. The sand had been blown about during the night; erasing all imprints the two men had made on the shore. The tranquility was infuriating.
'…Maybe he's just off in those trees…' Trip tried to reason with his instincts, but continued to yell,
"Malcolm! Where'd ya go?" He paused hoping for some response. Nothing.
"Lieutenant answer me!"
The stillness was oppressing, the beach was beginning to heat under the strong sun, and little mirages appeared shimmering over the hot sand. He stopped pacing the silty timber line abruptly. Not twenty feet from where they had slept, was a path. It was old and over grown, and at one point had been laid with stones; however, the ground cover that nearly obscured it from sight had been recently crushed and trampled. Trip noted, with a sinking feeling, that the damage done to the bramble was more then any man would have made while cautiously looking for a place to relieve himself.
Sloshing purposefully back out into the emerald water the commander waded towards the wrecked shuttle pod. Various bits of equipment and parts had been swept out of the craft by the sea; he made attempts to snag whatever might still be useful as it floated by. Unfortunately, there wasn't much. Climbing, with some amount of difficulty, into the pod, he saw a good number of control panels were still lit. Quickly, he gathered up whatever was undamaged, or at least, only partially damaged. He stowed away food, water, blankets, whatever he could find in a silver storage unit that had been under (which was now above) a seat. The medical kit was pretty much destroyed, but the though maybe the bandages could dry out. He kicked around in the water with his foot, trying to surface things that had been covered by the tide. Finally he found what he had been hoping to. Lifting a small, dripping case from the water he opened it. This was the one phase pistol on the shuttle that he knew of. But, disappointingly, when he popped the case, he found the weapon damaged. It wasn't a surprised, but rather he was amazed that there was anything at all left in one piece after an impact like that. The phaser was sort of crunched to one side, but perhaps not un-repairable. He took it.
Before leaving he checked one of the panels above his head. His fingers slid expertly over a few buttons and switches, and the homing beacon began broadcasting its signal into the heavens. With any luck Enterprise would be able to find them. As Trip lowered his arm, the burning pain returned, almost twice as bad as the day before. He felt his stomach give a queasy lurch with the intense pain, and slumped against the wall sinking slowly down into the water. Struggling to recover, and not give into the alluring pain-free bliss unconsciousness offered, he grimaced dragging himself up. Clutching the wall white knuckled, he inched his way along the interior.
"I'm beginning to think Malcolm was right," he murmured creeping towards the hole that had been doubling for a door, "that crash did more then bruise a couple ribs." Resolutely pulling himself together, he trudged back to shore; lugging the supplies.
The sun was rising quickly and its intensity was growing. The temperature was becoming less and less comfortable. Sweat trickled down the Commander's face. His burns from the pod landing were prickling again, presumably because of the sea water exposure. Panting, he slung what he'd managed to bring ashore carelessly down and dropped to his knees. Thankfully, the pain in his side was fading again. He wiped the sweat from his brow attempting to stay focused. He pulled out a light pack and began filling it with the salvaged supplies. He walked down to were the old trail began,
"Malcolm!" he tried one last time, looking around the beach. No response. He shrugged, it was worth a shot. He stopped before the trampled path. He really wished his attempts to banish the overwhelming trepidation he kept experiencing would work. Yet his fear did not diminish as he began down the shadowy path.
"Where is T'pol when you need her." He whispered under his breath.
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Malcolm's mind wandered unaware of time or place. This rest wasn't the kind one would call refreshing. Gradually his eyes opened, he had no idea where he was. His head throbbed and pounded. Confused he glanced about and found he was in a small domed room, with a white ceiling. The last thing he remembered was Trip saying something about first watch. He shook his head with a wry expression and thought,
'Don't send the engineer to do the security officer's work.' He was bound to the hut's solitary support beam in the center of the room. The architecture sort of resembled that of an umbrella's. The only light being let in was from three round windows near the top of the dome. Gently, he tested his bonds.
"You won't get out unless I want you to." Hissed a silvery voice, neither recognizably male nor female. Malcolm's head snapped up, back going ridged against the pole.
"Who's there?" he demanded loudly, feeling extremely venerable, "What do you want from me?" The room was still, outside the trees rustled loudly in the wind.
"I do not want anything." The voice replied now with the cadence of silk. It was coming from opposite side of the dim room now. Malcolm's head whipped around, the hair on the back of his neck rising up. He couldn't entirely make out the form over there.
"Then why an I here?" he was doing his best to sound angry.
"It is for your own protection."
"What if I don't want your protection?" he asked through gritted teeth, he did not care for the direction of this conversation one bit.
"You will." Came the flowing response.
"Why have I been tied me up? Forgive me if I don't entirely trust you." He spat. He was rewarded with a few moments silence. After several minutes he conceded inwardly that this was unproductive and begrudgingly continued,
"You might as well tell me what you're 'protecting' me from." He paused, "And why me? Where's Trip?" All was still. He strained through the darkness to see if anyone was in the corner he had last heard the voice.
"The other is safe… for now." The voice spoke softly from above. Malcolm nearly bit his tongue it spooked him so much. "It always goes for the smaller, less threatening ones first. I know. I remember… You appear more damaged then the other, you were in greater danger last night…it is…systematic…"
"What is?" Malcolm asked biting back his irritation at how this voice described him. "Why don't I remember you taking me? I find it very difficult to believe you are helping me when I feel like a prisoner." He strained to see more of the ceiling, "Why should I place my trust in you?" There was a soft hiss in response. A laugh?
"It is unimportant whether you believe me or not. Understanding is best gained through experience not expression." The voice said sliding over the words like velvet. Malcolm strained his sharp eyes toward a darkened corner of the room, where some shadowy form appeared to be lurking.
"What are you," he asked slowly, and deliberately, eyes narrowing.
"Malcolm!" A thundering voice, unexpectedly nearby, broke the tension build by the Lieutenant's discussion with the shadows. "Where are you?" The form seemed to have vanished.
"Trip!" he yelled back, "In here!" Malcolm's mind refused to believe that the corner he had staring at, and speaking with, was now utterly vacant. Not one exit in the room had been touched, he was positive. Just as he was about to expel the breath in his lungs in the form of another shout, the creaky door to the room shuttered. His voice seemed momentarily caught in his throat. The door rattled more violently. Then with a final shutter it fell off its hinges into the room with a crash, landing inches from the Lieutenant's toes. He looked up to see Trip's form darkly silhouetted against the bright day light.
"Malcolm!" Trip breathed in obvious relief, making his way with heavy footsteps around the felled door. "Are you alright?"
"F-fine," Malcolm said choking on the dust the fallen door had sent into the air.
"Sorry," Trip said acknowledging the broken door, "The thing was stuck, and when I forced it a little," he shrugged, "it just gave way. Not much of holdin' cell." He said beginning to work on the Lieutenant's bonds. "What happened?"
"I don't know, I can't remember leaving the camp. I woke up and there was this, this thing in here with me."
"Thing?" Trip said tensing with the memory of the luminous eyes he and seen last night.
"Yes, it spoke to me. It claimed to be protecting me or some rubbish."
"Malcolm, did you happen to see its eyes?" he asked somewhat unsteadily.
"No," Malcolm frowned, giving the Commander a curious look, "I never got a good look at it. It moved around the room silently, so I never knew precisely where it was. A scare tactic I should think. Why?" Trip swallowed,
"Probably nothing, just that, ah, well last night I thought that I saw somethin' in the forest."
"What kind of something?"
"I thought I saw some eyes," Malcolm gave him a close look. Trip frowned, "I know what yer thinkin', but I swear, they were huge glowin' purple eyes."
"Why didn't you wake me?" Malcolm asked in disbelief, Trip sighed,
"I thought about it, but you were sleeping, and I wasn't entirely sure I'd seen it. I mean, purple eyes? I thought maybe my imagination was gettin' away from me."
"Something isn't right here." Malcolm shook his head. The understatement provoked a smile from Trip,
"I'll say. Whoever left you all tied up in the middle of an abandoned settlement unguarded and with a companion not more then two miles away, wasn't exactly trying to accomplish much."
"Trip," Malcolm said quietly, inflicting his voice with a certain note that made the Commander look up from his work. Through the open door, other crumbing little huts could be seen. The one directly facing them had a rotting door, and through the missing planks, a pair of great, gleaming, violet eyes shone, unblinkingly. "Trip!" Malcolm whispered frantically, "Finish untying me!" The Commander had frozen in place. Suddenly snapping out of it Trip began pulling at the cords in pure panic.
"Hurry!" Malcolm cranked his head back to speak, terror of the most electric kind coursing through him.
"Almost …" Trip was saying when the room went unexplainably dimmer, "there." He finished in a whisper, dropping the loosened ropes to the floor. Malcom staggered to his feet, they gaped. The door was back on its hinges, standing upright and closed in place.
"Did you…" Trip began. Malcolm shook his head,
"I didn't see anything." He said in barely more then a whisper, suddenly pale. They stared at the door as though they thought it might explode. Trip shivered,
"It seem colder in here to you?" he asked. Malcolm nodded, hand instinctively reaching for where his phaser would normally hang. Trip took a step towards the door and slowly placed a hand on it. Cool, much cooler then the surface should have been on such a warm day. With a firm shove he toppled the door outward; it fell with a soft thud on a muddy dirt trail. They were no longer in the muggy little village by the shore, but the view that greeted them was on a much grander scale. They stood on narrow mountain path, the vast familiar green sea sprawling out below them. A chilly wind blew up here. Astounded, and completely befuddled, Trip whirled around to find only Malcolm behind him; the hut they had been standing in was no where in sight.
"I think, Commander, we may be in more trouble then we thought." Malcolm said softly.
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TBC Reviews of all sorts are most welcome! And very much appreciated!
a/n: The next chapter might be a few days; I have extra shifts at work this week.
(I hate doubles)