This story was inspired by the ugliness of war, any war.
Gabi2305 and RoaringMice were once again fantastic beta readers.
The explosion took them by surprise like thunder on a clear day. It was sudden and violent, creating a rush of air so powerful that it nearly knocked them over.
"What the hell was that?" Trip exclaimed, regaining his balance. He automatically turned to Malcolm. The man, whose mood a moment before had been light and casual, had already got into his professional shoes, scanner in one hand and phase pistol in the other. Malcolm didn't waste much breath; in a voice both controlled and urgent, he just said, "Let's take cover," and pushed him towards a side street.
They jogged to an alley that ran at an angle to the main road they had been on and looked back. A cloud of dust was rising in the distance, a few hundred metres away, concealing behind its opaque veil the square that had been there when they had last looked. Figures were coming through it like ghosts; figures screaming and running, wild, without an apparent direction. What had been a normal day with normal people going about their normal business had, in the matter of seconds, turned into this: a stampede of terrified beings.
Trip was speechless. He turned to Malcolm again: he stood immobile, looking on with the eyes of a hawk under a furrowed brow, his body taught, his face taught, right hand bent at the elbow, phase pistol pointing up at the sky, ready for use. There was a dark focus about him that Trip had not seen since the Expanse, and which sent a shiver down his spine. Malcolm, like this, always seemed a bit of a stranger, no matter how well he'd got to know the man in the past four years of serving together.
Trip clamped down on a wave of nausea. With all they'd recently gone through, you'd think that they'd got more hardened to unexpected circumstances, but they hadn't. He hadn't. He just wanted to care for his beloved warp engine and forget everything else.
Another blast, more distant, in some other part of town somewhere off to their right. Weapons fire. And now, as the dust slowly lifted from the square, drifting in the breeze of that so far ordinary day, they could see a crater at the site of the first explosion, where a lovely fountain had been. And bodies. Trip blinked, numb, wanting to avert his gaze but unable to. Because the thinning dust was also revealing armed men advancing and fanning out. The way they moved, with the resolve of determined warriors, made them look very dangerous. Trip felt his heartrate accelerate.
"Damn," Malcolm muttered, betraying with that single word his usually well-protected inner feelings.
Trip reached in his arm pocket for his communicator. "Tucker to Enterprise," he paged, but there was only static.
"Later," Malcolm all but ordered, effectively taking command. "We need to go."
"Where to?" Trip asked, as he stumbled under Malcolm's unceremonious shove. He got no reply.
Eyes on his scanner, Malcolm led him at a cautious jog along the alley, and Trip stuck to him like glue, thankful that Archer, in four years, had become more cautious and had wanted the Security Officer to accompany him on this errand to buy injectors on this planet.
Explosions kept following, and people were beginning to flee the buildings, fear and confusion distorting their alien faces. It was becoming difficult to navigate in that chaos, but they finally came to a crossroad, where Malcolm stopped. He looked around, seeming to be wondering what direction to take in that mayhem.
"Which way to our Shuttlepod?" Trip asked past the tightness in his throat.
"Forget our Shuttlepod," Malcolm shot back, "it's too far away."
"I'm gonna contact the ship." Trip resolutely reached once again for his communicator, and Malcolm turned to him, grey eyes, all of a sudden, strangely unsettled. "Tucker to Enterprise," Trip called again, wiping a sleeve over his sweaty brow as part of his mind puzzled over what he was reading in the usually unflappable Lieutenant's gaze.
Seconds ticked by. Trip huffed a frustrated breath. "Come in, Enterprise!"
"There must be some interference, or someone is blocking communications," Malcolm said in a dark voice. "Surely T'Pol has already detected the explosions." His Adam's apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed and wiped his forehead, which was also beaded with perspiration.
"Enterprise!" Trip all but shouted.
Malcolm cursed under his breath. "You could be intercepted, Commander, close the channel."
Malcolm hadn't called him Commander when alone with him in a very long time. But apparently, the present circumstances warranted the distance that the use of rank put between them. Trip filed the notion away in his currently overactive brain and retorted, "If she's detected explosions, why the hell aren't they calling us, then? Or even transporting us out?"
"I don't know, do I?" Malcolm bit back. "I can only theorise that there might be some interference, or something else. You're the Engineer, you tell me."
Nor did Trip remember Malcolm ever having spoken out of line with a superior officer while on duty, with one exception – their mission on Shuttlepod One, but then they'd thought they were about to die.
The realisation that something might actually be off with Malcolm finally broke into Trip's conscious mind and settled as a cold weight in his gut. Nah, a little voice immediately countered, give him a chance, the man is at his best under pressure.
Malcolm took a steadying breath, but instead of the formal apology Trip half expected muttered, "We're too exposed here, we must find better cover," returning to focus on their surroundings.
Putting his communicator away, Trip prepared to follow him, well aware that it was best to leave the Armoury and Security Officer in command, no matter how on edge the man seemed.
Malcolm was studying his scanner when there was another loud explosion, this time much too close for comfort, and Trip found himself pinned against the alley wall by the Lieutenant's arm. The air was filling with a thin dust, and they began to cough.
There were sirens, now: alarms, or ambulances. They split the air with their shrieking sound. Still coughing, Trip turned to Malcolm. Best under pressure? The man still had his arm across Trip's chest and looked far from in command. The expression on his face was that of someone caught in an extricable tangle which he had no idea how to unravel.
"You okay?" Trip choked out. When no answer came, he pushed off the wall and stepped in front of him. He cleared his throat of some of the grit. "Malcolm, what's wrong?"
Malcolm blinked and opened his mouth, but his reply was drowned in a round of machine gun fire. "Down!" Malcolm shouted, pulling him to the ground. They rolled away.
"What the HELL are they using, BULLETS?" Trip cried out, staring at the line of pockmarks in the wall, not far from where they'd been a moment before. "I thought this was a warp-capable-"
Then and there, a door was flung open. Out of the corner of his eye Trip caught Malcolm quickly change the setting of his phaser to 'kill' and roll on his back, ready to shoot. "Wait!" Trip shouted, raising both hands in a stopping gesture. In the door frame was a woman holding a baby, frozen in place, terrified. Trip could hear his heart pounding loudly in his ears. For a long moment Malcolm stared in dread at his near victim; then, closing his eyes, he lay back on the ground, spent, taking deep breaths.
Trip shuddered. This was definitely not right. He reached out and gripped Malcolm's arm. Malcolm opened his eyes and cast him a troubled glance. "Let's stay focused, Lieutenant, alright?" Trip found himself saying. Imagine that! Having to steady the staunchest member of the crew!
Malcolm clenched his jaw and picked himself up. His face was pale, but he returned to study their surroundings. On his haunches, one hand to the ground, he leaned out of the street corner and surveyed the chaos that reigned in the wider road it intersected. At long last, he turned.
"I'm afraid we must take a chance," he said.
"A chance? A chance at what?"
"Just do as I say, Commander."
So it had come to this: Commanders and Lieutenants.
It was at this moment that the woman moved. Trip turned to look at her, and in her fright, she took it for a silent invitation. Clutching her baby close to her body, she broke her immobility and joined them. Trip raked a nervous hand through his dusty hair; he hadn't meant to encourage her to go with them. Surely, she had a husband, or a mother and father, or relatives to go to?
Malcolm winced.
"I didn't mean…" Trip began. He could read in his friend's face the desire to help and at the same time the reluctance to take on another charge. But Malcolm was a principled man, and Trip knew that that he wouldn't leave her behind.
"Come on, then," Malcolm, indeed, said, jerking his head to make her understand. He made an eloquent gesture to keep low, and led the way, sprinting away in a crouch as he zigzagged across the road which a jam of vehicles had turned into chaos.
He seemed to have recovered his control, and to have some destination in mind. Trip concentrated on keeping close, and the woman sandwiched herself between them.
They wound their way around vehicles and people. A couple of times Malcolm lifted his face to the sky, where the sound of aircrafts could be heard. They were at some distance, but the destruction they wreaked from the sky was testified by deflagrations and clouds of smoke.
Finally, they got to a building and found a staircase going down to some underground floors. Down several flights in a rush, Malcolm pushed a door ajar, peered inside, then opened it to reveal a large room seemingly used as a warehouse, with piles of crates stacked nearly to the ceiling, and an access ramp leading up to who knew where.
This was a much more reassuring environment, the noise from the outside fighting being but a faint background sound. Malcolm checked the place visually, then collapsed with his back against the nearest wall, looking exhausted – more from the tension, Trip supposed, than from exertion. Because Malcolm was nothing if not fit.
Trip also felt like the wind had been knocked out of him. As he leaned with an outstretched arm on a nearby crate, he asked, "Think we're safe in here?"
Malcolm shot him a hooded glance. "Safer than under machine gun fire and bombs," he bit back in a voice made scratchy by the dust they had inhaled.
"Yeah, unless they drop one on our heads," Trip wryly commented.
Malcolm pushed aggressively off the wall. "Do you have a better suggestion, Commander?" he retorted, "Because if you do, I'd be glad to hear it." He gave a sarcastic huff. "Perhaps you'd prefer to sit outside and enjoy the view!"
"Get a grip, Lieutenant," Trip growled through clenched teeth, for worry had that effect on you, it wore your patience thin. He pinned Malcolm with a quelling look. But letting his anger get the better of him wasn't going help anyone, especially someone who was so clearly off, so Trip reined himself in with a calming breath and said, in a defusing tone, "That wasn't meant as criticism."
Malcolm looked away, almost in shame, and Trip let it go. "So, how far down d'you reckon we are?" he wondered after a moment, in a conciliatory tone.
Malcolm consulted his scanner and his face twitched unhappily. "Too deep for Enterprise's transporter, I'm afraid. Perhaps we should-"
A baby crying cut him off. Once again, they had almost forgotten about the woman. She stood a few steps away, murmuring hushed words and rocking her child, trying to quiet him or her down, all the while casting worried glances towards them.
"We are not gonna hurt ya," Trip said, in a gentle tone of voice while raising both hands in a reassuring gesture. But the confrontation between he and Malcolm hadn't needed a UT and had obviously upset her. She drew further away, looking around like a caged animal. In her fright, she did not realise she was getting out into the open, leaving the cover that the high-stacked crates offered. Suddenly, they heard a vehicle coming down the access ramp. Malcolm grabbed Trip's arm and pulled him back into hiding, but the woman had remained frozen in place. They heard the vehicle come to a screeching halt and orders being barked, followed by her pleading voice. The baby began to cry even louder.
Trip exchanged an anxious look with Malcolm. The Lieutenant licked his lips and made to peek out of their hiding spot, but this time it was Trip who pulled him back. "I'm not sure Starfleet would want us involved in this war, or whatever it is," he whispered, clutching his arm. They'd been repeatedly drilled on the famous non-interference policy, one of T'Pol's favourite subjects. Malcolm held his gaze for a moment longer; then broke eye contact, a troubled frown creasing his brow.
The woman's voice grew louder and more high-pitched, and they could hear the soldiers laughing coarsely. Malcolm bent his arm, pointing his phaser to the ceiling. Trip was mesmerised by the emotions he could read in his face. This man almost made an art of keeping his feelings to himself, but right now he was an open book.
"They're going to kill her," Malcolm suddenly said in a distressed whisper.
Turning to him, Trip engaged the torn grey eyes. "You don't know that."
"These look like hardened criminals," Malcolm insisted.
Trip cursed inwardly. "How many are there?"
"I think I saw five."
"Think we can take them on?" Trip certainly didn't want a woman and her baby to be hurt, but even wanting to forget about the non-interference policy, if they got involved, they'd likely end up dead. The distress that Trip had seen on Malcolm's face a moment before now felt like it had been transferred to the middle of his own chest.
Suddenly, Malcolm tightened his grip on his phase pistol and whispered in earnest, "Get closer to the surface and try to contact the ship."
"What? Wait," Trip hissed, "don't be an idiot!" He reached out with a restraining hand, but Malcolm had already taken a step out of hiding and pointed his weapon forward, both arms outstretched.
Trip expected all hell to break lose, but instead, the soldiers abruptly stopped laughing. Only the baby's frantic crying could be heard. No one fired.
Then Malcolm growled, "Let her go!"
Only then did Trip remember that he too had a weapon strapped to his leg. Cursing a blue streak, he grabbed it and joined Malcolm out in the open. The moment he did, he realised why Malcolm had not opened fire: one of the soldiers held the woman in front of him, his pistol to her temple.