Thanks again for your valuable feedback. I've revised this section to fix the grammatical error that Cha Oseye Tempest Thrain pointed out.
x-x
Before
Trip sat in the tall grass, watching as the shuttle burned, one hand pressing the bandage against Malcolm's back. He felt Malcolm stir under his hand. "Shh…," he said, trying to calm the injured man as he continued to put pressure on the wound.
"No," Malcolm replied, his voice shaky as he tried to sit. "We need to move away from the shuttle. It's too obvious."
"All right," Trip replied, "But hold on, I need to get you bandaged up first." He rummaged in the kit, pulling out a painkiller and several bandages, but finding no antibiotics. As best he could, he cleaned Malcolm's wound, then bandaged it, following up with a shot of the painkiller. He helped his friend stand and they moved away from the shuttle unsteadily, walking until they could no longer see the smoke.
Malcolm froze, and Trip stumbled to a stop beside him. "There's someone…," Malcolm said softly, moving his head slightly to the right. Trip turned and saw several uniformed people approaching with weapons raised.
x-x
NowTrip lifted another chunk of sod from the stack he'd made, raising it to the top of one of the walls he'd fashioned in their first days here, trying to build a roof for part of their shelter.
"I really can help, commander," Malcolm said from where he was seated near the wall. "I could at least stack…"
Trip shook his head. He stepped to Malcolm and squatted in front of him. Lowering his voice, he said, "You're too sick." Seeing Malcolm about to speak, he kneeled down, almost pleading. "Please. You might feel all right now, but need to reserve your strength for the work we have to do in the day." He left the rest unsaid: so that he'd look healthy, so that he wouldn't be taken away.
Malcolm nodded, and Trip smiled, rising to stand and return to his work. After a while, he glanced to Malcolm again to see him leaning against the wall, his eyes closed, maybe dozing. Good. Trip could tell that today had take a lot out of him. Not just the work, but covering for the injury and his sickness, trying to keep up a "healthy" pace. Trip shook his head. Best he slept.
Trip worked until it was almost nightfall, the light lasting until late, then stopped, listening to the others around them settling down for night: the rise and fall of voices, the blurred conversations in many languages, and someone humming nearby. He slumped against the wall, singing softly to himself as he watched the sun set, "Bring me only beautiful, useless things."
"Feeling poetic, commander?"
Trip smiled at Malcolm, glad to see him awake and seeming alert. The rest had done him good.
"I needed something," Trip said. "Some small beauty, to combat this." He waved, taking in his surroundings with the sweep of his arm.
"The sunset's nice," Malcolm said wryly.
"True, but the rest is crap," replied Trip with a grin.
"What song was that?" Malcolm asked.
"It's actually an old poem about an injured soldier in a field hospital. He was found after two days in the rain, shrapnel in his lungs. It's what he thought about in the hospital, finally rescued, done with the war." He smiled. "I wrote the tune when I was young, but I don't remember it all now, just parts."
"Like what?"
Trip smiled shyly, then started singing. "Come to me only with playthings now…No more iron cold and real to handle, shaped for a drive straight ahead. Bring me only beautiful useless things. Only old home things touched at sunset in the quiet…"
Malcolm nodded, straightening his back uncomfortably. "I agree. I certainly could use some old home things."
"Such as?"
"Food."
"Beer," Trip chimed in.
"Drugs," Malcolm said, grimacing slightly.
"How's your back?"
Malcolm shifted uncomfortably. "Not well."
"Sorry," Trip said, looking away.
"It's not your fault," Malcolm replied, his eyes drilling into Trip. "None of this is your fault." When Trip didn't reply, he continued. "You should sleep, sir."
"Don't call me sir," Trip said. "Not down here. Just, you should just call me Trip."
Malcolm nodded. "Malcolm, then."
"Malcolm," Trip replied, smiling slightly.
"It's going to be cold tonight," Malcolm said. "We should pool our body heat, sir." At a look from Trip, he revised. "Um, Trip." He waved the engineer over.
Trip nodded, sliding to Malcolm's side and lying down. Malcolm curled himself around Trip's back, and they slept.
x-x
Trip blinked against the early morning light, craning his neck behind him to look at Malcolm, curled up next to him. Despite his relative cheer of the night before, the man was obviously sick, and it was getting harder for him to hide his injury with each passing day.
Trip rolled onto his back, staring up at the lightening sky. He'd lost track of the days, of how long they'd been here. He let his eyes trace the sky, hoping to see Enterprise.
He had no choice. They had to find a way to escape. He turned his head and watched Malcolm sleep. They didn't have much more time. Eventually, the guards would notice that Malcolm was sick, or injured, and the longer they stayed, the more they risked this, or his becoming too ill to escape.
Trip made his decision. Today. Today, during the clamour that was lunch, they'd leave, just walk away.
And go where?
He rolled over to face Malcolm. It didn't matter. They just couldn't stay here.
x-x
Trip and Malcolm passed the area that the prisoners used as a toilet and kept walking, neither one looking back, instead walking straight towards some scrub brush in the near distance. Trip was almost afraid to turn around, afraid that he'd jinx them, and anyway, he knew that it didn't matter if they were seen at this point. Malcolm was probably too weak to run if they had to make a break for it, so they either would be able to calmly walk away, or…they wouldn't.
After several long minutes, they reached the brush and settled behind it. Malcolm was breathing hard, exhaustion plain on his face. Trip peered over the scrub, seeing the guards in the distance still occupied with the lunchtime crowds. He found it odd that they'd been able to simply walk away, unnoticed, unmissed, but he thought that perhaps the guards didn't care enough to keep careful track. After all, there was nowhere for prisoners to go if they did escape. Trip sank back down, relieved; amazed, really, that it was so easy, wondering if any others had ever tried this, and trying not to think about what had happened to those who had.
"So, what next, Trip?" Malcolm said from beside him, his voice pained.
"We wait here for nightfall, then start walking again," Trip said, his stomach rumbling hungrily. He stared off into space, thinking that it didn't matter to where, really.
x-x
The sky was clear above them, the air crisp, the stars sparkling in the atmosphere. It was beautiful, really, Trip thought as he lead Malcolm along, half supporting his friend's weight. Under other circumstances, this entire planet could be considered beautiful. It was a quiet night, and Trip could hear the swish of their feet as they moved through the tall grass, the rustle of the grass in the breeze, and the occasional movement or call of animals.
Otherwise there had been nothing – no signs of civilisation, nothing.
Trip looked down at his feet. He was tired; they'd been walking for hours, but he kept moving forward. Malcolm walked beside him, his head down.
Malcolm's head shot up. "Ahead," he said softly, nodding in that direction.
Trip saw movement where Malcolm had indicated, and then there was a man in front of them. A guard. Trip stopped, frozen. He closed his eyes in defeat.
