Title: Another Planet's Hell

Author: Sita Z

Rating: PG 13

AN: Thanks to Reedie, Gabi, ally, Tata, lieutenants-lady, Luna, WhtevrHpnd2Mary, rebekah78, The Libran Iniquity, vanishingp2000, Laura B, stage manager and CordeliaBlack for reviewing!

Here's the next chapter... please read and review!

Chapter 3

Trip soon lost count of the days that had passed since he'd first woken up on the floor of the cargo hold. It was surprisingly easy to lose all sense of time, to forget counting how often the lights had been turned on and off again, how often the guards had entered the room with another bag of rations. Part of him knew it was dangerous to do so, that it meant the point when you stopped living and started to simply exist was drawing close. Another part of him, however, the part that was slowly taking over control, told him that it didn't matter.

At some point you stopped talking to each other. It was easier that way. There was only so much energy you had left to spend assuring each other that it was going to be okay, that you were going to get out of here. And there was only so much energy you had left to believe what you were saying. It was easier to lie still with your eyes closed for hours at a time, succumbing to that strange weariness that seemed to fill every corner of the room, crept into your arms and legs and slowed down your thoughts until you moved like someone in a dream. In the beginning, Trip had still been awake enough to notice that the worst sleepiness always came after the guards had brought them their rations, but in the meantime all thoughts of drugged food had lost their meaning. He hardly found enough energy to walk over to the sink at the other end of the room, or to get up when he had to relieve himself. At first, he and Malcolm had still tried to wash on a more or less regular basis, earning odd looks as they scrubbed their faces with the water that the others only ever used for drinking. No one commented on their strange habit (of course not; no one here ever commented on anything), and after a while Trip stopped caring whether he was a little less filthy than everyone else or not. Malcolm, the same man who had shaved only so his frozen corpse would be properly groomed when found by Starfleet personnel, was now smelling like he hadn't had a shower in over a week - which, in fact, he hadn't - but Trip had stopped noticing these things. Everyone smelled like that, and the time when it had been just another part of his everyday life to comb his hair and brush his teeth seemed years ago.

Lu'Vis had told them that the first weeks were the worst, and that after a while you got used to whatever it was the ration bars contained. After a while, she said, your body adjusted to the drugs and the weary feeling began to subside. Trip had noticed that some people seemed to be less affected than he and Malcolm, but still, none of them ever went to the trouble of washing, some of them not even bothering to use the bucket.

This made the guards very angry. Almost every time they entered the room, they began to swear at the smell, some covering their mouth and nose with their hands when they came in to bring the rations. At one time, they had ordered everybody to stand together in one corner of the room and had picked three people to hose down the floor with some sharp-smelling disinfectant. After that, the smell had been a little better for a day or so, but the dazed, semiconscious people still neglected to get up in order to relieve themselves, and soon the stench was as bad as it had been before.

You got used to a lot. Trip got used to sleeping the greater part of the day, to the constant, painful tugging in his empty stomach and even to the fact that he had stopped thinking about a way to get out of here. Every time he tried to do so, his head began to hurt, and his weary mind refused to focus on any coherent thoughts.

At one point, however, shortly after the guards had decided to have the cargo hold mopped, Trip realized that there was at least one thing he could not - and would never - get used to. And it was enough to shake him out of his drugged trance for good.

This time, the guards had picked Malcolm to hand out the food, and Trip watched as his friend slowly made his way around the room, from time to time swaying slightly when he bent down to give someone their ration bar. Trip already had his, but he kept his fingers closed around it, feeling he had to wait for Malcolm before he started to eat. He knew it was silly; the Lieutenant probably wouldn't even notice if he started without him, but Trip still felt he had to maintain at least this small part of basic human decency.

"Don't like the food?"

Trip started when he realized that the question was addressed to him. He looked up at the gray face of the guard who had come to stand right in front of him, and saw that it was the same guy who had beaten up the Denobulan more than a week ago. Surprisingly, though, the question hadn't come as a threat, and there was an actual smile playing about the man's lips. It was not a friendly expression, however.

"Well, I can see why you would hate that stuff," the guard continued in an almost conspiratorial tone. "Tastes like shit, doesn't it?"

Trip had no idea what the man was playing at, and decided that it was probably the safest choice to give no answer at all. The guard's smile grew broader, and he stepped closer, leaning forward as if to avoid being overheard.

"You don't talk much, do you? Well, never mind. You know, I'd like to see to it that you get a decent meal once in a while. The crew's rations are a lot better than the stuff you're given. Just come with me, and I'll make sure they save some for you."

Trip stared at him, knowing that this man couldn't care less whether he or anyone else in this room were starving, or hated the grub they were forced to eat. He'd seen the guards do this before, take people with them when they left the room, and some of those men or women even went willingly. Going with the guards meant not sleeping on the floor, for a change, and getting enough to eat to escape the hunger pangs for a day or two. Trip was aware of that, and at the same time knew that he would rather starve to death than agree to go with one of those bastards.

He shook his head. "Go to hell."

He expected the guard to hit him, but the man pretended not to have heard and crouched down in front of him, the faked smile still on his face.

"Come on, don't be stupid. You look like you could use a little extra food."

And he put a hand on Trip's leg.

"Keep your fuckin' hands off me!" Trip didn't know where he'd gotten the strength from, but suddenly he was on his feet, shaking with fury, and if it hadn't been for the strong dizzy spell washing over him, he'd have taken a swing at the man. Somewhere at the back of his mind he knew that in his current condition he wouldn't be able to fight off a man his own height, let alone one larger than him, but he was willing to die trying. A second later pain exploded on the side of his head, and he fell to his knees while the guard continued to beat him.

"How dare you, you little shit!"

The club came down hard on the back of his head, and for a moment the world went black, the angry yelling seeming to come from far away.

Another voice joined in, barking a short, angry order, and suddenly Malcolm was at his side, grabbing his arms to keep him from losing his balance.

"Trip!"

Trip opened his mouth to tell Malcolm that it was okay, but no sound came out. He felt his blood pounding in his ears, and there was a numb spot at the back of his head, spreading at a rapid speed. Something wet trickled down the back of his neck; blood, Trip realized after a second. His head was bleeding.

"You idiot!" the second voice hissed. It belonged to the other guard, one of the few women on the team. "See what you did? You're lucky if he doesn't have a concussion! The Captain said we can have fun as long as we don't do any damage to the merchandise!"

"Keep your shirt on, will you?" her colleague said, but he didn't raise his club again. "He has to learn to keep that big mouth of his shut, and someone's got to teach him, right?" He grabbed a handful of Trip's hair, and the engineer winced when his head was roughly pushed to one side. "See? He's okay. It's just a cut."

"Leave him alone!"

Trip wanted to tell Malcolm to keep quiet, for God's sake, but then the male guard had already delivered a hard kick into Reed's stomach.

"Keep your fucking mouth shut, will you?"

Malcolm was bent double on the floor, and Trip cursed his dizziness that stopped him from coming to his friend's aid. The female guard was shouting, now clearly furious.

"Will you stop it already? Do you know what the Captain is going to do to us if they're all bruised and injured when the sale begins?"

"I don't care! I'm not going to let a couple of dirty aliens tell me what to do!"

The woman sneered at him. "You're just mad because he wouldn't come with you! And to be quite honest, I can see his point!"

The guard, his face dark with anger, stared at her for a few seconds, his chest heaving. Then he turned away, gave Malcolm another kick in the side and grabbed Trip's arm.

"Fuck you. I don't have to put up with this shit. I'm going to have them whipped, both of them. But first I'm going to take that one back to the crew's quarters."

"You're not going to do any such thing." Roughly, the female guard freed Trip's arm from the man's grip and pushed him back down onto the floor. "Go and get the doctor so he can patch him up again. And if you give me any trouble, I'm going to tell the Captain that you're ruining the cargo. He's going to have your head, we lost too many of them already."

The guard gave her another hate-filled look, then turned around and walked off towards the door. The woman glanced down at Trip. "Press something on that wound, then it'll stop bleeding. The doc will be here in a minute."

Trip nodded, and she left, following the other guard to the door. Lu'Vis, who'd been watching from her place next to the wall, came over as soon as the bulkhead had shut and helped Malcolm sit up again. She didn't say a word, silently pulling a rag from her pocket, folding it up and holding it against the still-bleeding wound. Trip winced, and reached up to take the rag from her hand.

"Thanks."

The worst of the pain had subsided, but his vision still blurred when he turned his head to look at Malcolm.

"You okay?"

The Lieutenant nodded, rather pale in the face. "I'm fine."

Still not talking, Lu'Vis handed Trip another piece of fabric to replace the first one that was already soaked with blood. When she finally did open her mouth, her voice sounded sad.

"Why didn't you just go with him, kid?" she asked. "You would've saved yourself and your friend a lot of trouble."

Trip could only stare at her.

The doctor, an elderly Sar'veen who tried in vain to hide his disgust when he cleaned the wound, only took a brief look at the beginning swelling on Malcolm's abdomen and told the guard that it was going to take at least three or four days for the bruise to start fading. She sighed angrily at that, muttering that she was going to lose her job if that idiot kept screwing up. To Trip's relief, the other guard had not returned. He sat quietly while the doctor applied a band-aid to the cut, and didn't say a word when the guard and the doctor started a discussion as to whether the wound could be covered up with his hair so the buyers wouldn't notice. It was humiliating, but he didn't have the energy left to protest and maybe get hit again.

That night, neither Malcolm nor Trip slept much. The Lieutenant was sick twice - clearly he wasn't as "fine" as he had claimed to be - and Trip helped him as much as he could, supporting him as he stumbled over to the bucket, and helping him to the sink afterwards to get a drink of water. The rest of the time they mostly lay in silence, staring into the dark. Neither of them mentioned the incident with the guard, but Trip found his thoughts returning to what would have happened if the female guard hadn't intervened. What frightened him most was that there was nothing he could have done to prevent it.

From that day on, Trip only ever ate half of his ration, hiding the other half and dropping it into the toilet bucket afterwards (he would have given it away, but he couldn't risk anyone telling the guards). The hunger pain was all but unbearable, but he noticed that his weariness was subsiding, allowing him to think clearly again. And he needed to think clearly and stay awake to be able to protect himself and Malcolm. He wasn't going to let this happen to either of them. Not if he could prevent it.

TBC... (that was a rather short chapter, I know, but the next one'll be longer, I promise!)

Please let me know what you think!