CHAPTER 21

Slanea's attempt to boost the communicator's power worked, and Orwell was on his way down to pick them up. Kleth and P'kora, and to a lesser extent Malcolm, were laboring quickly to clear a large area near the shelter so the Morning Star's shuttle could land.

After a brief discussion with his first officer, Malcolm decided that using the transporter wasn't an option. They had gotten a communicator transmission through, but no one knew what effect the residual energy from the storm would have on a transporter signal.

Malcolm was too shaken by how much he had almost lost in the last two days to try it, and could still lose if he wasn't careful, in any case.

The shuttle had been ready for launch when Malcolm had talked to Orwell. Somehow Malcolm wasn't surprised. He'd never again complain about his first officer's over-enthusiastic adherence to following procedure, a leftover from Orwell's time in Starfleet. Under service protocol, when a landing party was out of contact for more than two hours, the ranking officer on board was to prepare for a potential rescue mission. The only reason Orwell hadn't sent the shuttle down before Malcolm contacted him was that he didn't know where to start looking for them.

Kleth was felling trees with precision blasts from his disruptor while Malcolm and P'kora trimmed the trunks into managable pieces to haul away. Malcolm had just holstered his gun and was about to drag some of the logs out of the way when Slanea emerged from the shelter.

"Captain!" she called out as she approached him. "I will do this. You go sit with the others."

Malcolm started to protest, but she cut him off by saying, "Trip is awake and coherent. You should talk to him."

He nodded gratefully at the information and handed his disruptor to her. She had depleted the power charge on her own weapon when she had jury-rigged the communicator. Glancing back over his shoulder as he strode toward the shelter, he saw Slanea lift two huge chunks of wood with no difficulty and hurl them to the edge of the new clearing.

He was glad she had given him the out of talking to Trip. A break would do him good. He was beyond tired, but his pride was getting in the way of allowing him to admit it. He didn't want to show any weakness, especially in front of that Klingon Amazon of a woman who was tossing heavy logs around as if she did it every day.

Besides, he didn't think it was safe for him to slow down too much, at least until they were out of here and both Hoshi and Trip were safe. If he stopped to rest, he was afraid he wouldn't be able to get going again.

He ducked to enter the shelter and was pleasantly surprised to see Trip sitting up, poking at the fire with a stick he held in his good hand.

"Back among the living, I see," Malcolm said with a smile.

"Yeah," replied the engineer, but a frown crossed his face. "What's the matter with Hoshi? She won't wake up."

Malcolm moved to squat next to Hoshi's prone form. "I don't know, Trip," he said. "I'm hoping it's just exhaustion, but..."

As his voice died away, Trip glanced at him in concern. "Do you think it's something to do with the baby?" he asked hesitantly.

"I really don't know," Malcolm said, his head hanging.

"Hey," Trip said softly. "We'll get out of here. The shuttle's on the way, and we'll get her back to Estab. They'll know what to do for her at one of the clinics. She'll be OK."

"That's what I keep telling myself. I have to believe she and the baby are going to pull through this all right." Malcolm gave him a small smile. "What about you? Just a while ago you were unconscious and running a fever."

"That's what Slanea told me. I don't remember any of it. Slanea said she thinks my fever broke. But I do feel kinda puny."

"Being around Klingons can do that to a person," Malcolm remarked dryly, giving up on squatting and opting to sit down next to Hoshi where he could listen to her breathing.

"Slanea told me about boostin' the communicator's signal," Trip said. "I think you got a good engineer on your hands."

"Coming from you, that's high praise."

"It's true," Trip insisted. "She may be a bit prickly until you get used to her, but she knows what she's doin'."

Their conversation dwindled, and Malcolm's attention returned to Hoshi. Please, let her and the baby be OK, he prayed. If she could hold out until they made it home, everything would have to be OK. He wouldn't accept any other outcome.

He reached out and took one of Hoshi's hands in his. A moment later, he heard the sound of the shuttle's engine as it approached the clearing.

Malcolm sat by Hoshi's side on the flight up to the Morning Star. Communications improved the closer they got to the ship, and he ordered Johnson, the helmsman, to be ready to leave orbit and head for Estab as soon as the shuttle was pulled into the landing bay.

Several members of his crew were there to meet them when the shuttle's hatch popped open. In dull surprise Malcolm noted they had a stretcher, and the crew member with the most medical training, Rochelle Stevens, was standing by.

He hadn't thought about any of those details, concerned only with getting Hoshi to Estab as quickly as possible. But he knew who was responsible for the well-organized reception, and once more he was grateful for Orwell's attention to details.

"Do you want us to take her to the med bay?" asked Stevens.

Malcolm shook his head. The med bay was little more than a first-aid station, with only one bed.

"No," he said. "Take her to my quarters. She'll be more comfortable there."

"Aye, sir."

Malcolm watched as Kleth carried Hoshi out of the shuttle and placed her on the stretcher. Two of the brawnier crewmen picked it up, and he was struck by how small and fragile she looked lying there. He heard Stevens issuing instructions as they lifted the stretcher to carry Hoshi out of the landing bay.

"First thing when we get to the captain's cabin, we've got to get those wet clothes off her. Punjab, you take Mr. Tucker to the med bay and put a proper splint on that arm. And you, sir," she said, turning to face Malcolm, "you need to get into some dry clothing. Get something hot to drink, too."

Malcolm mumbled an acknowledgement as he fell in behind the stretcher bearers. Punjab was trying to lead Trip out of the landing bay despite the engineer's protests that he was needed in engineering.

Slanea and Kleth, who had been hanging back out of the way, exchanged a look. Slanea stepped forward.

"I can take care of engineering while your arm is fixed," she said to Trip. "Consider it a test of my abilities," she added with a fearsome smile.

When Trip opened his mouth to protest, a growl from Kleth stopped him.

Trip acquiesced with a shrug that made him wince as his injured arm moved. "There's no arguin' with Klingons," he said, sighing as he allowed Punjab to lead him away. "But I'm coming down to engineering as soon as I can."

As the landing bay cleared out, Kleth told Slanea, "Go. They need your talents. Push the engine as hard as you can. Ma'Com wouldn't have it any other way."

She nodded and hurried to the door, but stopped to look back at him quizzically. "And you? Are you going back to the Falcon?"

"No," he said. "The Falcon is no match for this ship in speed. I will stay here until we reach Estab. Ma'Com may need my help."

At his answer, she gave him a quick smile before turning to rush to engineering.

The trip to Estab was a nightmare as far as Malcolm was concerned.

Even though the ship's top speed was supposed to be warp 4.2, Slanea and the engineering staff managed to get it up to 4.5. He knew the engine was red-lined, but he didn't care. Any damage caused by overtaxing the engine was unimportant if it helped save Hoshi. As it was, it still wasn't fast enough to suit him.

The Falcon was following, but at a slower pace, unable to keep up with the Morning Star. Kleth had remained on board, looking over Orwell's shoulder on the bridge. Malcolm briefly wondered how the seemingly unflappable former-Starfleeter was dealing with the Klingon's dominating presence, but he didn't have the will to go see for himself.

Malcolm's entire focus had narrowed down to what was going on in his cabin, where he hovered in the background as Stevens ministered to Hoshi.

At Stevens' insistence, he had taken a hot shower and put on dry clothing. A crewman brought some coffee for him to drink. He sipped at it, having nothing to do but fret as Stevens checked Hoshi's pulse, lifted her eyelids to look at her pupils, and checked for injuries.

Finally, Stevens turned from the bed to address him where he was sitting nearby.

"I've done all I can, sir," she said quietly, frustration evident in her voice. "I'm really not sure what's wrong with her. It could be exhaustion, but we should be able to rouse her if that's all it is. I had Starfleet medical emergency response training for crisis situations...triage and so on...so I know about physical injuries, but... I'm sorry, sir, my area of expertise is in communications systems. I'm not a doctor."

"I understand," Malcolm replied as Stevens stood facing him, wringing her hands nervously. "I appreciate everything you've done. We're lucky to have someone like you with even limited medical training on board."

There was a long, awkward pause before Stevens spoke again. "Do you want me to stay, sir?"

Malcolm looked over at Hoshi, her face peaceful but pale where it lay on a pillow on their bed. "Do you think her condition will change before we reach Estab?"

"I really don't know, sir. And if she gets worse, I'm not sure there's anything I can do."

Malcolm digested this information. "All right. Why don't you go check on Mr. Tucker? I'll call you if I need you."

"Yes, sir."

Malcolm heard the door open and then close as she left, but his gaze was on Hoshi. He hoped they reached Estab in time, and that the medical personnel there would know what to do to help her.

It suddenly struck him as tragically ironic that, considering the businesses that he and Hoshi were operating, there was no doctor on board. Most freighters didn't have a doctor, and it hadn't crossed his mind when he was putting together a crew. He had been satisfied with having several crew members who had training for medical emergencies during their time in Starfleet.

Yet here he was, ready to start hauling medical supplies for Hoshi's clinics, and neither of them had thought of having a doctor on board. When this was over, he decided, he would add the position of doctor to the Morning Star's crew roster.

He'd considered seeking help for her on Lanari, but the medical facilities there were deplorable. That was why Hoshi had gone there in the first place, after all. P'kora's experience with his son and the medical system on his planet went a long way toward convincing Malcolm he was doing the right thing by going back to Estab.

What made the decision final was when, as the Lanari policeman was seeing off their shuttle, he had confided that it could take up to a day to even get a doctor to look at Hoshi. Add to that the fact that Lanari doctors had little experience with off-worlders, and the decision to return to Estab hadn't been difficult.

He would entrust Hoshi's well-being to the best medical care available. In this sector, that was Estab. It was another ironic twist of fate, Malcolm realized, that the Estabi medical facilities were so exceptional because of Hoshi's work there.

And then there was the baby. He was just getting used to the idea, and now there was the possibility that it wouldn't be born. Her words that something was wrong with the baby haunted him.

He'd be devastated if they lost the child, but that would be nothing compared to what Hoshi would experience. He knew her so well -- she'd blame herself for losing it.

She'd set up the clinics on Estab after seventeen Estabi were killed by her Klingon crew, contrary to her orders not to kill. In the aftermath of her crew's disobedience, she had taken full responsibility for those deaths. She still had moments of despair concerning that horrific occurrence, but the clinics were her way of atoning for what had happened, and the good work she was doing was helping her move past the tragedy.

He didn't know if she could find a way to deal with the loss of their child.

His thoughts coming back to Hoshi, he moved to sit on the bed next to her. He touched her cheek gently. What he wouldn't give if she would open her eyes and look at him. She was so vibrant, so full of life, and to see her like this hurt more than he could ever have imagined. If there was only something he could do besides sit and keep watch.

His own exhaustion battered at the edges of his dazed mind. He found himself not thinking about anything for minutes at a time, despite the coffee he had consumed earlier.

Slowly he eased himself off the bed and sat on the floor. He reached up and took her hand in his, and laid his head on the bed.

He really should check with Orwell, see how much longer it would be before they reached Estab. And Slanea. She might need help with the engine if Trip was still having his arm taken care of. But he couldn't leave Hoshi.

This wasn't how he had envisioned them sharing this bed. His cabin was supposed to have been their honeymoon suite. Instead, he was maintaining a vigil, hoping that time would speed up and they would get to Estab even more quickly, and yet wanting, if fate decreed her life was to ebb away, to suspend time indefinitely so that he could be with her forever.

He wasn't going to leave her side.