A/N -- Sorry it took me so long to update! Thanks to all who reviewed. Tata - don't worry, the story is all but finished so I'm definitely going to continue it!… Vanishing2000 - thanks for reviewing my other story as well as this one… KaliedescopeCat, Jaws, julie, stage manager, Ocean, ingvardk & ally, thanks!… Exploded Pen, thank you, thank you & I hope the kittens are doing well…:o) TLI -- I wasn't going to ask, but I have to know… atute??? Bad computer!!! Let the poor Libran have her spaces please… I am still going to go back to chapter 1 to remove some errors. As Rinne pointed out, I used the "F" word also. -- That's Federation, not… well, you know! Cordy B

A/N 2 -- added 12/17/04 -- reposted chapter w/corrections!

The Price Of Fear

Chapter 3

I

Archer and T'Pol stepped out of the shuttle onto a barren patch of ground. It looked like fire had scorched the area for several meters in any direction. Burnt pieces of grass crunched beneath their feet as they walked slowly toward the rebel welcoming committee standing next to a small hut near the center of the clearing.

"Captain," T'Pol said quietly, nodding surreptitiously at the forest edge, "look at the trees."

Archer glanced around at the edges of the clearing. The tree branches swayed and churned violently.

"There's no wind," he said.

T'Pol nodded. They were close to the hut now, and turned their attention to their hosts.

"Captain," the shorter Tuin in front said, extending a hand in greeting, "I am Abel. We are pleased to have you in our company."

Archer reached out for his hand, but the man did not take it. Instead he turned toward the entrance of the hut. Well, apparently they didn't shake hands.

"Please," he continued, "join us for a talk."

"Of course," Archer replied diplomatically.

Archer turned his head slightly to T'Pol, then moved inside. He was running out of patience already. Every moment in this situation was critical and sitting around talking while his men were lost did nothing to allay the anxiety knotting his stomach, to say nothing of the guilt. He smiled cordially, however, and followed the man into the hut.

The room was dark as their eyes made the transition from the brightness outside. Archer found himself disconcerted. He looked to the back of the hut and saw a glass case, glowing like a museum display. There was a book inside, open on a stand, pages yellow with age. It was like a shrine. The room was quiet for a long time, then he spoke up a little impatiently.

"We need to find our people. You said you would help." The Captain's voice sounded almost sacrilegious in this setting.

A woman, slight in stature, suddenly stood before them. As she spoke her voice seemed to surround them.

"We are honored by your presence," the woman said, bowing her head slightly. "I am Anda, Guide and Keeper of the Book."

"We thank you for your assistance in our search," Archer said.

"You are most welcome," Anda said. "We are happy you decided to accept our offer of help. It would have been very sad if you had fallen prey to hostilities, the forest, or the criminals that hide in it."

Archer smiled and just nodded at her.

"You may be assured that your search will prove fruitful," she continued. "We have knowledge of these things. All is as it must be. All will be as it should be." Then she dropped her gaze to the floor with a solemn expression. "However, you should know that one will be lost."

Archer looked at her alarmed. "What do you mean?"

"I have said," she said as she bowed her head once again, "I am the Keeper. The prophesies of the book have foretold all of this." She glanced over at the book briefly. When she looked up again, she simply stared at him with something like reverence in her eyes. "One will be lost…"

"You mean your book tells you one of my people is going to die?" Archer asked moving toward the case, hand reaching out.

As his hand made contact with the display, Anda nodded her head sharply and a small but burly contingent came out of the shadows to restrain them. The lights in the case disappeared suddenly. Archer heard a scuffling noise where T'Pol should have been, just as he was grabbed by several strong hands and pulled backwards.

"What is the meaning of this?" he demanded, eyes scanning the blackness.

"Please calm yourself, Captain," Anda said with sharp edge to her voice. "The sanctity of the book must not be compromised. I am here only to interpret and share and facilitate."

The lights increased slightly and Archer could see the woman nod her head slightly. His arms were released. He could now see her, but only as a bare shadow.

"My apologies, Captain," she said. "However, the Book demands respect. Please do not do that again."

Then Anda's face appeared in the dimness in front of Archer. "We will help you in your search," she paused briefly, "and in doing so, you will help us in ours."

II

Trip was at the point of collapse. He realized he had been at this point for a surprisingly long time. He was all but carrying the semi-conscious Malcolm now, but somehow he had kept moving for the last twenty minutes. He didn't know where he found the strength to continue, but he knew he wouldn't be able to go on forever. They needed to find a clearing soon, an area with rocks or bare dirt. It would be safer there. At least for a little while. Weren't there any rocks on this damn planet?

He wasn't even looking forward anymore. There was nothing but green in front. He looked at his feet as they shuffled forward, avoiding the thickest vegetation where possible. He knew for the hundredth time that the next step would be the last he could muster, but then the other foot took up the slack and he kept creeping forward. Still going forward.

He wasn't even looking up when they broke into the clearing, but suddenly his eyes weren't seeing green anymore. Only brown dirt. He thought momentarily that he was hallucinating and after a few halting steps, he stopped. He thought he should fall to his knees right here, but something still kept him upright. If he fell now he knew he wouldn't be able to get up. He turned his head upwards.

"Momi," a girl's voice rang out.

Trip squinted against the paleness of the house that stood in front of him. A pre-adolescent girl of maybe ten or eleven stood in the doorway. She stood hesitant at first, then started toward them from the doorway until hands from behind her grabbed her shoulders and she stopped moving forward, startled. An older woman appeared next to her.

"Go back in the house," the woman said fiercely. Her eyes bored into Trip. She didn't turn to the girl again, but pushed her aside and started down the steps at the front of the house.

"Please," Trip croaked, then paused to catch his breath. He coughed slightly to clear his dry throat then licked his cracking lips. "Please… help us. M..my friend is hurt." Malcolm dangled from his weak grasp and he finally let him slip gently to the ground

"You can't stay here," the woman shouted, gesturing wildly. She stopped a couple feet from them, eyeing Trip confrontationally. "Go back to wherever you came from."

"We crashed back there… in the forest," Trip said, horror in his voice. He looked at her confused. She couldn't mean to send them back there. "We've got no place else to go."

"You can't stay," she said firmly. Then the girl came up next to her.

"Momi," she said, "we have to help them." Her face was serene as she reached a hand toward Malcolm. The woman snatched her arm and roughly pushed her away. The girl landed in the dirt and tears started to well in her eyes.

"I told you to go into the house," the woman said. Then her face softened and she reached down to help the girl to her feet. She pulled her into a tight hug, then turned toward Trip.

"You may stay in the barn tonight," she said, "then you must leave." She looked at Trip with a menacing stare. "You will stay away from my daughter. If you do not, I will kill you." She said no more and, the child still held in her arms, went back into the house. She made no move to help them.

Trip stared in shock as the door to the house slammed shut. He felt empty as hopelessness crept into the pit of his stomach, but pushed away the feeling. Malcolm still depended on him. He looked down at his friend's still, pale form in the orange light of the setting sun, then knelt down and arranged Malcolm's arm over his good shoulder. Standing again with an effort, he dragged them both toward the barn.

III

The sun was gone and only a slight glow remained at the edge of the night sky. All the lights in the house were out for the night, except for a weak glow that moved from window to window. The woman emerged from the front door carrying a small lamp and a large satchel over her shoulder. She paused on the porch for a moment, then pulled her robe close as she shuddered from the chill of the night. Tipping her head down she walked quietly to the barn.

The barn door creaked open releasing the musty scent of hay and wood shavings. The woman wrinkled her nose in spite of the familiarity of the smell and crept quietly into the barn. She found herself leaning forward, squinting against the nearly opaque darkness that lay outside the small halo from her lamp. Then she heard noise that sounded like harsh breathing.

She turned to the right and the shadows dissipated casting a flickering glow over her visitors. She set her bag down heavily near the small, darker haired man. He didn't stir, but his friend started and looked around, briefly confused. The woman clutched her shawl in a fist, tense and waiting. Finally the man's eyes cleared and settled on her face. They stayed that way for a moment, then the woman broke the awkward silence.

"I am Abella." She bowed her head slightly, not taking her eyes off him.

"I'm Trip," the man responded. He didn't smile. "I wanna thank you for your hospitality." He was being sarcastic, but he didn't seem to care. He turned to look at the man next to him, his face pinched in worry.

Abella began to rummage in the bag beside her. She pulled out another lamp, lit it and set it on a shelf nearby. The new light washed over them.

"I have brought you some food," she said. She pulled out a loaf of bread and set it next to him. Then she pulled out a small box. "I will tend to your wounds as well."

Trip looked at the box. "My friend needs more than just a band-aid." He looked up at her intently. "He's bleedin' internally. He needs a doctor."

"Let me see your arm," Abella said. It almost seemed as if she hadn't heard him.

"Ya have'ta help Malcolm first," Trip said, his voice an urgent plea.

"I am afraid that is beyond my ability." She gently began to untie the makeshift sling. Trip drew in a sharp breath and his face contorted in pain.

Abella loosened the bandage, and stared down at the wound for a too-long moment.

"I am afraid that my medical skills are limited," she said finally. She opened the box and prepared a new dressing to replace the soiled one. "I will not be able to set the bone here."

"I've heard that one before," Trip said. Then, more kindly, he said, "But I 'preciate the help."

She smiled slightly, but didn't look up. She continued working until the wound was covered once again. Trip sat back panting, sweat beaded on his brow. Abella pulled out a small packet of pills.

She pushed a tablet into his hand. "This is for the pain."

He nodded and put the pill in his mouth.

A silence fell between them and she sat staring at him. Trip stayed where he was, leaning against the wall. She felt a twinge of guilt.

"I am sorry for earlier," she said. Trip said nothing so she continued. "You must understand that my first responsibility is to my daughter. I would do anything to protect her from any threat."

Trip had an incredulous look on his face. "Lady, we're hardly a threat to anyone."

"You are more of a threat than you know." She sighed. "There is much you do not understand, nor do I expect you to." She stood rapidly, picked up her bag and started for the door. "There is a water can by the door. I suggest you eat and drink. You will need your strength."

Trip pulled himself up to stop her, but couldn't move fast enough. He fell.

"Please," he said. His voice was frenzied. "There must be somebody who can help us. My friend needs help. You have to send for a doctor."

Abella turned back to him and stopped for a moment. He knelt a few feet from where she had left him, right hand extended in supplication.

"We are all alone here," she said. "We have no means of communication with the outside."

"You must have somethin' ," Trip's voice shook in desperation. "A radio, a communicator, somethin'."

She shook her head sadly, then steeling herself, turned toward the door and left without another word.

IV

The door flap of the small tent fluttered tentatively in the gentle breeze as T'Pol approached. She stood for a moment in the pale glow that bathed the ground outside the opening. Raising her hand toward the door she cocked her head slightly, listening. Small rustling sounds came from inside.

"Captain?" she asked, somewhat quietly in deference to the hour.

"Come," Archer answered after a short pause.

T'Pol slipped through the narrow opening and stopped just inside. The Captain sat as a shadow just behind the weakly flickering lamp on the table near the end of his cot, his forehead cradled in his hand. After a few seconds he lifted his head to look at her, features obscured in the shadows.

"What can I do for you, Sub-commander," he said tiredly.

"You should rest, Captain," she said. "It is late and there is nothing else we can do until morning."

He tipped his head as he stood up. "What do you make of that book?" he asked.

"What do you mean?" T'Pol asked, momentarily surprised at the change of subject.

"Well, according to our hosts the whole recent history of the planet is written in it's pages. Even our arrival, at exactly this time, was foretold."

"Do you believe that the book is prophetic?"

"I don't know what to believe," Archer sighed.

T'Pol frowned at the last remark. "I find it even more mysterious that Anda seems to be the only one allowed near enough to the book to read it. Perhaps she is lying."

Archer waved his hand. "I hope so." Archer sat down on the cot again. "I hate sitting here doing nothing when two of my people are out there, maybe hurt, or dying…" He shook his head. "And I'm the reason they're there."

"You are not to blame, Captain," T'Pol said.

Archer turned his head toward her sharply. "But I am responsible," he said. "I'm the captain."

T'Pol just looked at him, then he stood again and began to walk slowly back and forth against the backdrop of the lamplight.

"When I was eleven I spent the summer on my grandparents' farm," he began. He paused thoughtfully before continuing. "I remember one day Grandpa and I went on a trip to pick up some equipment. It was a good hour away from home. We came upon a car broken down on the side of the road and Grandpa stopped to help them out.

"It was a hot day and the family was really glad to see us. Grandpa just dug right in and fixed the car and got them going. I helped him. I remember it felt pretty good.

"He told me not to tell Grandma about it, but we were late coming home and she knew something had happened. When she asked me…" Archer shrugged slightly, "well I couldn't lie to her."

"What happened?"

"She didn't talk to him for a week." Archer smiled a little. "She said it was too dangerous to stop and help strangers. What if they were killers, or thieves or something like that? I hadn't really thought of that, but I knew that I didn't regret helping them. Not one bit. Even though it upset her so much.

"Now I know why she was so angry. Look at what we get for being a 'Good Samaritan'." Archer gestured around the room.

T'Pol clasped her hands behind her. "I understand your Grandmother's desire to protect her family," she said. "However, civilized society is founded on the willingness to help one another despite these risks. We must always be on guard that the price of fear is not paid by civility."

Archer sighed. "I realize that," he said, "but at certain moments the cost of civility seems a little too high."

V

After the door closed, Trip stumbled back to Malcolm's side. The lamplight coming from the shelf flickered shadows across the Lieutenant's face, emphasizing the pallor of his skin. Trip sat down heavily next to his friend, wincing slightly. He silently stared at the man, fear on his face, then reached a shaky hand to check the pulse at his neck. It was weak and rapid. His breathing was rapid too. None of these, Trip realized, were good signs. Then, unexpectedly, the Lieutenant's eyes fluttered open slightly.

"Malcolm?" Trip's voice cracked. He cleared his throat and tried again. "How're ya feelin'?"

"Thirsty," Malcolm whispered, almost inaudibly. His eyes tried to close again.

"I'll get ya something'." Trip scrambled over to the door and brought back the water can. He sat down next to Malcolm and tore a small piece of his uniform off, rinsed it with a few splashes of water, wrung it out, then dipped it in the can.

"Here ya go Malcolm," he said as he placed the square of water-dampened fabric between his friend's lips. Malcolm sucked at it weakly and looked at Trip. "Ya shouldn't really be drinkin' anything'," Trip said. "This'll have to do for now."

After a moment Trip took the cloth away and Malcolm started to speak again so quietly that the Commander had to lean down to hear him.

"Where are we?" Malcolm asked.

"We're safe," Trip responded with the most reassuring tone he could manage. "We need to get'cha a doctor though." He put a trembling hand on Malcolm's shoulder as a look of pain pinched his features. "Don't worry though. Everythin'll be all right."

"No doctor," Malcolm said. Trip looked at him confused. "I heard her," Malcolm continued. "There's no doctor."

"No," Trip shook his head rapidly, "there's gotta be. She's holdin' out on us 'cause she wants us to leave. She's gotta have a radio, or communicator, or somethin'." Trip straightened up. "I'm gonna make sure that she lets us use it." He started to stand.

Malcolm's hand reached out and gripped Trip's arm with surprising strength.

"It's too late Trip," he said.

Trip's eyes were stinging. He didn't know if it was from grief or fear or anger from Malcolm's statement.

"I can't stand listenin' to your pessimism, Lieutenant," Trip said a little harshly. He tried to get up, but Malcolm didn't let go.

"Not pessimism," he said, then choked back a small cry of pain.

Trip's stomach knotted with guilt. "I'm sorry, Malcolm," he said. "I didn't mean it." He started to get up again more slowly, but this time it wasn't Malcolm's hand that stopped him.

"Please don't leave me." Malcolm's voice seemed agitated.

"Don't worry." Trip spoke in his most reassuring tone. He realized the conversation was taking a lot out of his friend. "Just calm down. Everythin'll be fine. I'll be back in a few minutes. Okay?"

"I'm afraid," Malcolm said, his voice a strained whisper. "Please don't leave. I don't want to die alone."

The quiet statement pierced through Trip. He had never heard those words from the armory officer before. They seemed to reverberate through the quiet barn. The man had faced death on several occasions, even welcomed it with a martyr's stoicism at times. But this was different. This was so senseless. There was no purpose to it. He would die, not to save the ship or crew, or even another civilization. He would just die.

Trip sat down again heavily and pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers. He knew in his heart that Malcolm was right. There wasn't enough time. It would be over soon. The tears shining in his eyes finally started to fall.

VI

It had only been a short time since their host had gone, but it seemed like an eternity. Trip watched Malcolm's gray face in the flickering lamplight and clutched tightly at his hand. His own tears had stopped falling, leaving grimy streaks behind along his cheeks. He sat, rocking slightly, insides roiling as if he had been physically beaten. He was exhausted too. His arm and head still throbbed, and lack of sleep wasn't doing them any favors.

Malcolm's breath came in short gasps. He had vomited blood again and Trip was splashed in it. He didn't seem to notice though and made no attempt to clean it off. He just sat there, staring…waiting…knowing… silently asking why.

He hardly noticed as a pale shadow from the now open door floated across him.

The little girl made almost no sound as she crept forward, one foot barely in front of the other. Trip numbly let his gaze rise to meet her and she stopped. A tentative smile touched the corners of her mouth. He turned his head back toward Malcolm.

"You'd better leave," he said. He didn't know why he even cared if the kid's mother got mad.

He heard her move closer until she was next to him, then a small voice broke the silence.

"Can I help?"

Trip looked at her. He couldn't quite keep the bitterness out of his voice. "I wish ya could." Then more softly, " Really wish ya could."

The girl looked at Trip. The tears had started again and he was sobbing quietly. She touched a tear on his face, her own eyes spilling over. Finally, she pressed her lips together and turned toward Malcolm. She reached out and gently clasped his hand.

Then something happened. The room seemed brighter. The light, Trip realized, was coming from the girl and spreading out over Malcolm. Startled, Trip released his grip on Malcolm's other hand and stared in open-mouthed amazement.

He barely noticed as the door slammed open behind him, but his head turned belatedly to the sound of Abella's hurried footsteps as she ran to her daughter's side. Horror was etched into her face as she jerked the girl's arm and pulled her away from Malcolm. The girl let out a shriek and the light faded.

"No!" Trip shouted as the woman dragged the girl out of the barn. He tried to follow, but his remaining strength failed him and he sank to the ground. "All this time, you had it in your power to save him!" he shouted. Then his voice took on a pleading tone. "You have to let her help him. Please, you have to help him."

The girl's cries and struggles disappeared quickly out the door leaving nothing but silence and the sound of Trip's own breathing. He didn't hear Malcolm anymore.

TBC…