Title: Another Planet's Hell

Author: Sita Z

Rating: PG 13

AN: Thanks to Gabi (stimmt (dass du das letzte Kapitel sehr verbessert hast) ), Reedie (no need to be nervous... I'm just going to torture him a little -eg-), Ocean (we'll see what has happened to Malcolm...), Luna (yeah, what would he do? On the other hand, I think everybody would be frightened about being forced into prostitution), highonscifi (yes, I do ;-)!!!), stage manager (I wouldn't -g-), WhtevrHpnd2Mary (sorry about the cliffhanger ;-)!!! I just couldn't resist! Es tut mir Leid! Well, as I said, we'll see about Malcolm...), Rinne (glad you liked it!), KaliedescopeCat (no, I don't think it's going to get better yet...), Antares Star (I'm really sorry about the cliffhanger... or not ;-)?), kittytrypsin (I know what you mean. Complicated plans have a tendency to fail...), Tata (I don't think Malcolm will be up to bantering with Trip any time soon -EG-. Sorry about the cliffhanger ;-)), CordeliaBlack (glad to know you're enjoying it!), Maraschino (thank you!) and Eyes on Tactical (thank you! Give your Reed action figure a pat from me ;-). It's great to hear you're enjoying the story!) for reviewing.

And now, finally... on with Chapter 9! Please read and review!

Chapter 9

Trip spent more than an hour searching, checking every corner and looking behind every container, quietly calling Malcolm's name again and again. He knew what he was doing was of no use - there was no reason at all for Malcolm to have left their hiding place, and this kind of nasty practical joke wasn't the sort of thing Malcolm would do. Malcolm was as stubborn as hell and could be a real pain in the ass at times, but he was not - and had never been - cruel.

After a while, reality began to sink in. Someone had taken Malcolm away, and they had done it so quickly and quietly that Trip had never even heard a sound. He wondered why Malcolm hadn't at least screamed, or put up a fight, and his throat closed up at the thought that maybe the Lieutenant had never gotten the chance to do so. Maybe they had killed him right away. Trip knew he should leave, get away from here as far as possible before they caught him as well. But he couldn't do so. His mind was numb, and after an hour of fruitless searching he simply sat down on the same spot between the two containers, and cried.

It was a strange feeling, allowing the tears to flow freely and sobbing like a small child would do. But he didn't even find it in him to feel ashamed. He had never felt such despair. During all the time in the slave ship's cargo hold, at the auction or even when Orven had whipped him, Trip had always kept something like a grip on himself, forcing himself to do what he thought would be best for himself and Malcolm. Now, however, he couldn't. He had no idea what to do, had no idea what had happened, and no means to find out.

For a very brief moment, Trip thought about going back to Orven, just to see if Malcolm had been caught and taken back. But then he dismissed the thought. He would not go back to that place, never. And if the police had actually found Malcolm in his hiding place, then they wouldn't have simply grabbed him and left. They would have searched the area, and very likely found Trip as well. No, Malcolm hadn't been captured by the police. He was gone, and Trip had no idea where his friend was now, whether he was still alive, after all.

After a while, the tears subsided. Trip felt cold, drained of all emotions, and in a way he welcomed the sensation. This must be how hopelessness felt, but at least it allowed you to think clearly. He was going to have to do something. He was going to have to bring his thoughts into order, and decide what to do next.

Staying here and waiting, the first thing that came to his mind, was not an option the longer he thought about it. It was clear by now that whoever had caught Malcolm was not coming back, and if for any reason Malcolm had left of his own free will, then he wasn't going to come back either. Going back to Orven, the second possibility, was out of the question. The police hadn't captured Malcolm, that much was clear, and what was he going to say? "Sorry for running away, sir, and by the way, after we've got that whipping-and-branding thing done, could you help me look for my friend? That is, if you're not going to put me to sleep first, of course."

The longer he thought about it, it seemed that there was only one possibility left. He hated it, and hated himself for not coming up with another plan, but it was the only thing he could think of. He had to go on. Go on and try to leave this city, find someone who would help him and then come back for Malcolm. If there was any way of doing so.

Trip sat in his hiding place for another one or two hours, weary in body and soul. Snatches of "What if" and "If I'd only" sometimes passed his mind, but he didn't have the strength left to focus on them. It seemed like the tears he had shed had rid him of all feelings he'd still had left, and all he could do was carry through what they had begun, one way or another.

Finally, he realized that it was only a few hours until the sun would rise, and that he was going to have to find another, better hiding place where he could stay during the daytime. Malcolm and he had agreed that it was safer to travel at night and hide during the day, and that was what he was going to do.

Slowly, he got up, feeling a sharp pain in his back as he straightened up. It seemed the cuts had reopened and bled, after all, but it didn't matter. He wasn't going to be taking off his shirt in the near future, anyway. Trip pulled out the water bottle, his hands trembling as he tried to open the screw cap. It wasn't easy to do so since his fingers were stiff with cold, but finally he managed, and took a big sip. Briefly, he considered eating some of the bread before he left, but then dismissed the thought. There was no way he could keep anything down, and why waste his supplies when he didn't need to? He would be rummaging through garbage cans soon enough.

He made his way across the storage area, in direction of the bushes where he had relieved himself earlier. More than once, his foot got caught in some piece of discarded wrapping material and he stumbled, but he simply continued his way, doggedly, without looking up. Trip passed the huge factory building, a detached part of his mind wondering at the fact that it had no windows at all. None of the buildings here seemed to have windows. It was like walking among gigantic blocks of concrete, one after the other, a never-ending row. Despite the distant hum of traffic a strange silence hung between these gray buildings, a silence that seemed to reject any living being that dared to move, walk and breathe in this place. Trip never noticed. He walked on and on, never looking up and never stopping to listen.

And almost forgot to breathe with shock when someone grabbed his arm from behind.

"We have to get you away from here, quick!"

Trip yanked his arm free, and broke into a run, never looking back at whoever had spoken. No, he thought, no you won't get me not this time no-

The sounds of steps pursuing him were drawing closer, and Trip risked a quick look back, but in the darkness he only saw two dark, blurred figures. One of them was calling something, but he didn't listen, running like he had never run in his life. His blood was pounding in his ears, and the cold brought the water to his eyes, making it impossible for him to see were he was going. His pursuers were getting closer, and now Trip could hear what they - she - was calling.

"... not going to hurt you! Hey, stop!"

He saw the wooden crate only a split-second before his foot got caught again, and he stumbled. Pain lanced through his left ankle as he fell, but Trip didn't waste any time, trying to scramble back to his feet even though he knew that it was too late.

"Wait!" The voice came from somewhere above, and Trip instinctively raised a hand when he noticed that his pursuers had come to halt next to him. The blow he'd been expecting didn't come, though.

"Did you hurt yourself?"

The smaller one of the two figures crouched down next to him, and in the light of the street lamps, Trip got a glimpse of her face. And involuntarily he startled. The woman was definitely not Sar'veen; in fact she didn't belong to any species he was familiar with. Her skin was a bluish green, almost turquoise, and in the dark her lips looked almost black. Her hair was hidden, the hood of her jacket covering almost all of it except for a few unruly strands. It wasn't the green skin, however, nor the hair that caught his attention when he looked at her. It was the scars; thin white lines that covered her forehead, formed crisscross patterns on her cheeks and deformed what must have been perfectly curved lips once. She looked as if a madman had taken a knife to her face, intending to destroy as much of it as possible.

At first, he simply sat and stared at her, and only when she repeated her question did he understand the meaning of the words.

"Did you hurt yourself?"

Trip tried to move his left foot, and a sharp pain shot up his leg. "My ankle," he said. The woman nodded, and, in a business-like way, began to palpate his foot. It hurt, and Trip grit his teeth not to make a sound. After a while she let go of him.

"It's not broken," she said. "You think you can walk?"

Trip nodded. "Who are you?" he asked.

"I'm Chi'an," she said. "Sepek, help me get him to his feet."

The second figure stepped closer, and Trip saw that he was a young Vulcan, with a round face and light brown eyes.

"You've run away, haven't you?" Chi'an asked, wrapping an arm around Trip's waist for support. He hissed with pain as she touched his sore back, and she let go at once, a look of both understanding and anger crossing her scarred features. "Sorry."

"Who are you?" Trip repeated, still not convinced that this wasn't some sort of trick. These people were not Sar'veen, but he had no idea what they would be doing here or why they would help him. Or if they were actually helping him. Part of him still expected them to call the police any moment.

"We're fugitives, just like you," the scarfaced woman said. "And you need to get away from here."

"My friend," Trip said. "I've lost him. We were hidin' back there in the storage area of that factory..."

"Let me guess." The lines around Chi'an's mouth had hardened. "You were away for only a few minutes and when you came back he was gone."

"How do you know?" Trip had trouble keeping his voice calm. "Do you know what happened to him?"

The young Vulcan opened his mouth, but Chi'an cut him off with a sharp gesture. "We'll talk later. First we have to get you away from here. It's not safe."

"No." Trip freed his arm from their supporting grip. "I'm not goin' anywhere if you don't tell me what you know. Did the police get him?"

"Listen." The woman grabbed his arm again, and her voice was harsh and angry. "There's nothing you can do for him right now. But if you stay here, you'll disappear as well. It's your choice."

Trip stared at her, his mind racing. He didn't know her, he had no reason to trust her and he had no guarantee that she wasn't going to hand him over to a bunch of waiting police officers only a few minutes from now. In fact, she didn't look like someone you would like to trust. Not with that mad, haunted expression in her eyes. But whoever these people were, they were the first ones who seemed, for a reason yet unknown to him, inclined to help him. And they knew something about Malcolm.

He nodded slowly. "Alright."

Chi'an took his right arm and wrapped it around her shoulders, then jerked her chin at Sepek, gesturing for him to grab hold of Trip's other arm.

"You okay?" she asked. Trip nodded. His ankle still sent a sharp pain through his leg whenever he put weight on it, but he was able to walk, leaning on Chi'an and the Vulcan for support.

Slowly, they made their way past another factory building, then turned to the left, now walking down a dimly lit alleyway.

"Where are we goin'?" Trip asked. He felt uncomfortable, being all but carried by two strangers he had never seen before, and there was still the part of his mind that screamed at him to break free, to run away as long as he was still able to do so.

"We've hidden our flitter behind that building," Sepek said, pointing at the huge windowless block at the end of the alleyway. It was the first time he had spoken at all. Trip threw him a glance from the corner of his eye and saw that he was indeed very young, twenty-five at the most. His round face was beardless, and there was something childlike to his soft features.

"This way," Chi'an interrupted his thoughts.

There was a narrow passage leading away from the alleyway, a small gap between the factory building and the adjoining warehouse. The passage was not wide enough for three people to walk side by side, and so Chi'an led the way, while Sepek supported Trip as easily as if he were carrying a small child.

The passage ended in a small backyard, not unlike the one behind Orven's restaurant. In one corner of the yard Trip saw a dark bulky shadow, and a moment later recognized a flitter. The design was somewhat similar to Orven's shuttle, except for the fact that this flitter was even larger, and probably faster than the old craft in which Malcolm and he had been brought to this planet.

Chi'an palmed a security panel next to the flitter's hatch, and the door slid aside. Trip noticed that unlike the Starfleet shuttles this hatch had no handle, and could be opened only by pressing the button next to the door.

"Come on," the woman said quietly, took his arm and with Sepek's help helped him climb inside. Unlike Orven's shuttle, this vessel had several seats right behind the pilot chair, and the shuttle's interior was clean, forming a sharp contrast to the stains of grease and dirt on the floor of Orven's flitter. Sepek closed the hatch, then guided Trip over to one of the seats and helped him sit down.

"Does your foot hurt?" he asked, raising his eyebrows in what seemed to be genuine concern. Trip shook his head. "No," he said. "It's okay."

"Lanja can take a look at it later," Chi'an called from the front seat. She didn't even look at the helm while working the controls, half-turning around in her chair. "For the moment just try to keep it still."

Sepek had taken a seat next to him, and a moment later the flitter took off, as smoothly and silently as if it weren't moving at all. The only indication that they were indeed gaining height was the front window; Trip saw the dark yard growing smaller, and soon the huge warehouse was only a square the size of his palm. He felt a lump build in his throat at the thought of leaving Malcolm behind - assuming, of course, the Lieutenant was still somewhere down there. All of this was happening so fast, and Trip found himself feeling like he had been thrown into some kind of nightmare, events racing past before his eyes too fast for him to stop or change them. His eyes were swollen and burning, partly from crying and partly because he hadn't slept at all for almost twenty-four hours, and very briefly, Trip considered closing them and allowing himself to succumb to oblivion, if only for a few minutes.

A movement in the front caught his attention. After switching the helm to autopilot, Chi'an left the front seat, and came to sit on the chair next to him. The faint glow of the shuttle's ceiling lamps emphasized the deep scars on her face, and again, Trip almost startled when she turned her head to look at him. She had lowered her hood, and now he saw that she had long, black hair, falling on her shoulders in a wild tangle of locks. At some time in the past, he realized, Chi'an must have been a beautiful woman.

"What's your name?" she asked, and he quickly lowered his gaze, realizing that he had been staring.

"Tucker," he said. "I'm Charles Tucker."

"I've never seen your species before," Sepek said. Trip stared at him.

"You've never seen a human before? But the Vulcans are our allies. How-"

"Sepek was born here on K'tera," Chi'an interrupted quietly. "He's only half Vulcan. His father was Sar'veen."

Trip looked at the young man, and for the first time noticed a certain gray tinge to his skin, the only feature that deviated from his otherwise entirely Vulcan appearance. Sepek stared down at his hands, clearly uncomfortable with the subject. Chi'an seemed to have noticed as well, and continued quickly.

"You said you lost your friend. Did you escape together?"

"Yes," Trip said, turning his eyes away and looking out the front window. About fifty meters below he could make out the dark shapes of houses, and on the horizon he saw a thin yellow line that hadn't been there only five minutes ago. The sun was rising. "We ran away from a man called Orven. He has a restaurant somewhere near the industrial area. We..."

Suddenly, he couldn't go on. The memories of the last days, the incident in the patio, the panic in Malcolm's eyes when he'd found out about Orven's decision, and their desperate, hasty escape came back to him, and he found himself unable to speak.

"It's alright," Chi'an said, laying her hand on his. "You don't have to tell us now. You're safe with us for the time being."

Trip raised his eyes. "Where are we goin'?"

"To a safe place," Chi'an said. "There's more of us, about two dozens. Don't worry, they won't find you there."

"Are you some sort of... secret organization?" Trip asked, for want of a better word.

Chi'an didn't smile. "You could call us that," she said. "Some of us like to call themselves resistance fighters. But I'd say we're just a group of people sticking together because we have nowhere else to go."

"And you're all run-away slaves?" he asked.

"Yes," Chi'an said. "Well, except for Rish." There was the faintest touch of humor in her eyes as she exchanged a glance with Sepek.

"Rish is the first baby that was born in our camp," Sepek explained, and to Trip's surprise he saw a smile play about the young Vulcan's lips. "She's six months old."

Trip nodded. He still had no idea whether these people were telling the truth, but for some reason felt inclined to believe them. Still, it almost sounded to good to be true, their story about a camp of fugitives successfully hiding from the authorities and helping each other survive. And he definitely needed help. Malcolm needed help.

"You said you know somethin' about my friend," he said, swallowing hard. "Do you know if they got him? The police, I mean?"

Chi'an looked down at her hands, but he didn't miss the expression in her eyes before she lowered her gaze.

"No," she said quietly. "Not the police."

"You said that place wasn't safe," Trip urged. "The place where you found me. Why?"

Chi'an raised her eyes again. "Why don't we talk about this later? Back in the camp you can rest and have Lanja take a look at your foot, and then-"

"No," Trip said, angrily. "I want to know why that place isn't safe. Do you know if... if he got killed?"

"He's alive," Chi'an said. Trip noticed that Sepek was studying the armrest of his seat with intent concentration, avoiding to meet his eyes. "But hopefully not for long."

Trip stared at her. "What makes you say that?"

"Do you remember the huge factory building we passed on our way to the flitter?"

Trip nodded, mutely.

"It belongs to a large pharmaceutical group. The biggest on K'tera. Most of the factory buildings out there belong to that group in some way or another. And some of them are... laboratories. Testing facilities."

"What are you sayin'?"

This time, Chi'an did not avert her gaze. "We know for a fact that a lot of people have disappeared in that area. Run-away slaves, I mean. One of our own people..." She briefly closed her eyes. "They're abducted. By the people who run the laboratories. They use them for experiments, to test the substances they're producing. It's a safe thing; the police won't give them any trouble, even though they know what's going on. But why should they care? A few aliens less that have to be brought back to their owners."

Something cold settled in his chest. "How... how do you know?"

"We found one of them. In the garbage dump behind a warehouse. They'd left him there because they thought he was dead... he lived for three days after we'd brought him back to the camp. Screamed with pain for three days and three nights, then the substances he'd been injected with finally killed him. That was two years ago..."

Trip didn't hear the rest. He sat, unable to move, and never said a word even as Chi'an reached out and laid a gentle hand on his arm.

TBC...

Please let me know what you think!