Grateful thanks to Gabi2305 and RoaringMice for beta reading this story.
Chapter One
"Sir, some compartments are flooding! There are several wounded!" the young officer said as he burst into the engine room. Dirty and dishevelled, a lock of short dark hair matted to his forehead over eyes in which despair was clear, he had shouted the words over the noise of the submarine's engine.
"We must evacuate!" he urged.
A man in his forties turned to him. He was not tall but well-proportioned and had deep grey-blue eyes. His face was a hard mask. "Get the hell out of here and get the crew to the escape pods! I'll keep the engine running," he barked back in a voice in which one could detect a note of repressed terror, before returning to his task.
"But Sir…" The young officer hesitated. He looked torn."I'm not prepared to-"
"Dammit, Robert, I'm the Chief Engineer," the other man cut him off, shouting over his shoulder, "it's my duty and my responsibility! And that was an order, Lieutenant!" There was no anger in the words, just the vehemence of an uncompromising conscience put to the test.
The young officer shook his head lightly, still wavering, lips tight against the emotions that warred in his breast.
Turning once again, the Chief Engineer took a couple of steps and grabbed his Lieutenant firmly by the shoulders. "Get out of this sinking grave, while you still can," he said in a choked voice. "Return to your wife, she's too young to be left a widow."
Robert swallowed hard. "It was an honour to serve with you, Commander..."
A shrill sound echoed through the…
Malcolm woke with a start, prey to a dark dread. It took him a moment to know where he was, for dream and reality were mingling in his confused mind. It wasn't the sound of his alarm clock, which had gone off, but the view of the stars streaking past, out of his porthole, that finally got him moving. He turned and slammed a hand in the dark to silence the piercing noise. He really ought to remember to change the sound to something softer. Then, heaving a deep breath to slow his racing heart, he sank back into his mattress, bringing one arm up to cover his eyes. A few more minutes…
Feeling far from rested, he frowned against the turmoil that stirred deep inside him. He didn't think he'd ever dreamt of his great-uncle and the HMS Clement's accident before. Surely, he would remember if he had. The dream had been so vivid… As vivid as nightmares can be. Then he realized… It was three months to the day since he had been pinned to the hull by that Romulan mine and, in a moment of folly, he had revealed his secret to the Captain. He had also talked to him of his great-uncle and of how he had heroically faced his deepest fear. His subconscious must have dragged the memory up.
He had never met his great-uncle, the accident had happened when he, Malcolm, was quite small; but he had seen pictures of his uncle in the family album and had heard all about the accident from his father. When he was in his teens, his great-uncle's former Lieutenant Robert Peterson had visited once – and that had coincided with the time his own aqua-phobia had started. The visit had triggered something in him, a strange fascination, and then he had made it a point to read all that he could on the Clement.
Malcolm pushed all thoughts of the submarine out of his mind and sat up. Time to think of another ship, the one that had been his home for the past year and a half. Ordering his lights on, he slipped out of bed and shuffled to the bathroom. Half an hour later, he was pulling up the zip of his uniform, when his bell rang.
"Mornin'," Trip said on the other side of the door once Malcolm had opened it.
"Is there a problem?" Malcolm asked with a frown.
Trip rolled his eyes. "Typical Lieutenant Reed," he teased. "No. Everything's peachy. I've just been talkin' to the Capt'n and I wanted to be the one to break the good news: you might have some fun today, Loo-tenant."
He made his eyebrows dance and broke into one of his sweetest smiles, and Malcolm, despite Trip's cheer, felt uneasy. Brushing it off as remnants of his dream, he followed Trip into the corridor.
"Depending on the size of the cave, two or three charges should do the job, Captain."
In the situation room, Archer studied his Armoury Officer. There was nothing that could perk Reed up more than the prospect of a nice explosion. The larger the better. The man stood straight as usual, but from what Archer could read in Reed's usually rather inscrutable eyes his day had brightened up considerably.
"Hold your horses, Lieutenant," Archer said, not wanting him to get his hopes too high just yet, "we still need the okay from our Science Officer." He turned to T'Pol, who was standing with her arms loosely folded in front of her, and he tilted his head in a silent question.
"I have carried out a geological survey of the region," she informed the group, "and it appears stable. But-"
"Well then, Capt'n, are you goin' to let Malcolm play with his toys?" Trip cut her off.
Archer cleared his throat. "Easy, Trip," he told his long-time friend. He turned back to T'Pol.
"As I was saying," she continued, unfazed, "a geological survey is only the beginning. If you wish to go ahead with the mission in a safe way, I suggest you let me study the data I have collected."
"Yeah, we know all about your Vulcan protocols," Trip said, his tone showing his frustration. "One week orbiting the planet twiddlin' our thumbs while you peer into your viewer."
"Trip!" Archer warned.
He didn't need to look at Reed to know the expression that Trip's words would have painted on it. Malcolm was a military man to the core, and while he may now be slightly more comfortable than at the beginning of their mission, he still felt that the chain of command required, at least during official meetings, a certain language and code of behaviour. Reed had made that clear to him when they'd been out on Enterprise's hull defusing that Romulan mine. Catching the silent communication that was now passing between his Armoury Officer and Chief Engineer, Archer tightened his lips to restrain a smile. He couldn't imagine a more mismatched pair, but against all odds the two had struck up a nice friendship.
T'Pol, on the other hand, remained largely unreadable to him. Archer studied her impassive face. "Are we sure this planet doesn't belong to anybody?" he asked her. That only won him a slightly condescending glance.
"Captain, if I knew that there was a claim to it, I would have told you," T'Pol gracefully replied. "The place is uninhabited and has only some sparse vegetation. However, there might be microorganisms in the rock that Mr. Reed proposes to… blow up. I would need to examine a sample of it."
"Capt'n, we don't have the time to be kind to microorganisms, right now," Trip complained, wincing as if T'Pol's logical approach were already giving him a headache. "I need that dilithium and I need it now, if ya want to keep zippin' through the universe. It's as simple as that."
"I would only need to blow up a small portion of rock, to get a few crystals, Sir," Reed put in, eyes steadily on the situation table.
"We don't have that many chances to find the ore this easily," Trip added.
"I get it!" Archer took a deep calming breath. He scanned his officers. Malcolm was waiting with his arms crossed over his chest and his eyes still averted; Trip reminded him of Porthos when he wanted a piece of cheese; T'Pol was like a flat lake, not a ripple of emotion gave her away.
"Well," he finally said, "I suppose we have no choice. He turned to Malcolm and the man's eyes darted to him, bright with anticipation. "Mr. Reed, get your gear together. Bring a man with you."
Malcolm gave a sharp nod. "Aye, Captain."
Archer looked at Trip. "Prep a shuttlepod."
"Aye, Capt'n. Sir..." Trip bit his lower lip. "May I join the team?" He jerked his head sideways. "Haven't breathed fresh air in months."
"This away mission is about collecting dilithium crystals, Commander," T'Pol told him in a tone that Archer swore was slightly disapproving, "not about breathing fresh air."
Trip tilted his head. "Capt'n?"
"I guess it can be a bit of both," Archer said to his Vulcan SIC.
"Captain, the last time you said that," T'Pol reminded him, "Mr. Tucker ended up pointing a phase pistol at me under the effects of a hallucinogenic pollen, and we almost lost a crewman, endangering four more."
Archer felt a bout of irritation. He refused to think that the entire universe was always pitched against them. "I trust this time things will go better," he said with a tight smile. "And I fear that if I don't grant Trip his wish, he's not going to be fun to be around. Tell you what, why don't you go too, Subcommander? A bit of R&R would be good for you."
T'Pol raised unperturbed eyes on him. "Vulcans don't need any R&R. We have meditation."
Right. Archer heaved an inner sigh. "Dismissed," he ordered; and watched Malcolm sprint away, a spring in his step.
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