SHUTTLEPOD 1
Malcolm was dictating into his personal log. "Personal Log, Lieutenant Malcolm Reed. November 9, 2151. By the time anyone hears this, by anyone, I suppose I mean anyone Human, Commander Tucker and I will be long dead. It is my intention to recount the events that led to the destruction of the Starship Enterprise and to express my deepest feelings regarding my short but memorable service with Starfleet.
Tucker threw over his shoulder, "Tell them I'd love to add my two cents, but I'm trying to get a little work done."
Malcolm rewound his log. "short but memorable service with Starfleet. In order to test the targeting scanners on Shuttlepod One, Commander Tucker and I had to get at least 20,000 kilometers from Enterprise. During our third trial, we experienced a brief but sizeable jolt, and shortly thereafter realized that our sensor array had gone offline."
Trip interrupted, "This sensor array is more than offline. It's totally fried."
Malcolm decided that there wasn't any point in trying to edit out Trip's ad lib's. The man would just make more. "We had no choice but to head back to the asteroid field where Enterprise was involved in a mapping project. We found the ship destroyed, its debris strewn across a square kilometer of one of the larger asteroids. Had our sensors been working we certainly would have done everything possible to determine the cause of the disaster, but as it was, with only a short-range distress beacon and limited air, we had no alternative but to set a course for Echo Three where someday this vessel and eventually this log, will be found. May God have mercy on our souls."
Tucker sighed impatiently. "Why don't you cut the crap and get back here and help me? I keep telling you, some of them survived. We just have to find a way to make sure that we're all found."
"What would you like me to do?" Reed asked. It wasn't like he had a lot of important duties to perform out here anyway.
"I don't know. You could hold this flashlight, or turn down the heat. Whatever you want. I'm just getting a little tired of listening to all your pessimism."
"If there's something you need me to do I would be more than happy to comply, but I'm afraid pessimism is simply not an accurate description of my log entry. I'm just being realistic, Commander. They're all dead and so are we," Reed said snippily.
"T'Pol's not dead. How many times do I have to tell you that? And we've got nine days. We're bound to find someone out here."
"At warp perhaps, but at impulse?" Reed asked. There was just no way and he knew it. They were both dead men and he wished that Tucker would realize that.
"Then someone can run into us. You ever think of that? Or see us on their sensors. The possibilities are endless," Tucker pointed out.
Reed got up and walked the few short steps over to the other side of the pod. "I'll heat up some rations. What are you in the mood for?"
"Depends, what are you serving?"
Malcolm picked up a few packages and started reading labels, "Veal marsala, chilean sea bass, moo goo gai pan,"
Tucker looked up, "Got any meatloaf?"
"With gravy and mashed potatoes," Malcolm held up the package.
"Perfect."
"And Kentucky Bourbon for desert," Malcolm said holding up the bottle.
Trip shrugged. "Yeah, Jon was planning to give that to somebody, can't remember who. Guess it's ours now."
LATER
Malcolm was writing letters. "Captain Archer claims you told him you weren't even aware that I was serving on Enterprise. I find that difficult to believe, considering I wrote you twice in the weeks prior to our departure. Now, it is possible that you never received those letters. You were, I believe, in the process of moving back to Malaysia at the time. But you must have spoken to Aunt Sherry during that period, and I know she received my letters. I would hate to go to my death thinking that either of you felt I was trying to avoid,"
"Malcolm! You've been at it for hours now. Don't you think it's time to give it a rest?" Tucker growled.
"As I'm sure you must have heard that was my esteemed colleague, Commander Charles Tucker. Mister Tucker doesn't share my belief that it is essential to say what must be said, to leave a record, tie up loose ends. Mister Tucker is laboring under the false hope that we are going to be miraculously rescued before we suffocate," Malcolm said sarcastically.
Trip returned the favor. "Mr. and Mrs. Reed, I realize that you've just begun a period of mourning and that I'll never get an answer to this question, but I got to ask it anyway. Was Malcolm always this cynical?"
Malcolm turned to glare at Trip. "In a few days, when the reality of this situation actually begins to sink in, you might very well decide you want to record some logs of your own. You have my word, I will not interrupt you."
"I just want to get some sleep, Malcolm! Is that so hard to understand?" Trip asked.
"We have less than nine days of oxygen left. It seems a waste to use it up sleeping," Malcolm said seriously.
Trip growled, "If I don't waste some oxygen sleeping, I'm going to start getting real cranky, and you don't want to spend your last nine days cooped up with me when I'm cranky. So turn that thing off and get some rest."
Malcolm thought about saying something about the fact that sleeping without T'Pol always seemed to make Trip cranky but thought better of it. He wasn't in the mood to hear Trip's insistence that his wife was alive one more time.
SHUTTLEPOD - MORNING
"Morning Malcolm, I got the receiver working but the transmitter's a lost cause. Who's Stinky?"
"I beg your pardon?" Malcolm asked as he sat up.
Trip smiled, "You were talking in your sleep. You kept calling for some guy named Stinky."
Malcolm ignored the obviously untrue charge and focused on what Trip had said before. "You repaired the receiver. What is that? Is it a ship?" he asked, referring to the noise the machine was making.
"You know the range is very limited," Trip admitted. "It's probably just white noise; the sound of the galaxy laughing at us." Just then the shuttlepod was hit and shook hard.
"What the hell was that!?" Malcolm said, trying to hold on.
"I don't know but it felt a little like whatever knocked out the sensor array," Trip said, holding on himself.
Reed looked over at his pilot's board, "We're losing atmosphere. Pressure's down eight percent."
"Help me! We've got to find that hole!" Trip said as he searched.
"Without sensors it's not going to be easy to locate," Malcolm pointed out.
"Then use your ears!" Trip said exasperated.
"Pressure's down 22 percent," Reed reported tersely.
"The damned hole is too small!"
"Where is it? What are you doing?" Reed asked as Trip ripped open a ceiling panel.
"It's nitrogen for the coolant tanks. Just give me a few seconds," Trip said as the pod filled with opaque gas. "Now let's find the leak."
"I got it! It's over here!" Reed called out.
Tucker called out, "There's another one down here! Put your finger on it until we can figure out what to do."
Reed thought quickly. "We've got some valve sealant in storage bin three."
Trip swore softly. "Have we got anything a little closer?"
"Do you mind passing your meatloaf?" Reed asked.
"What?" Trip asked.
"I assume you've finished with it," Reed said matter of factly. Trip used his foot to get the tray off the bench and pushed it over to Reed. Reed put his foot in the tray and used the mashed food remains to block first his tiny hole and then the other one.
Tucker chuckled, "And you came close to criticizing my choice of cuisine. Obviously whatever hit us went clear through the pod." He got on the job of making the temporary patches permanent ones.
Reed ran a diagnostic and replied, "I'm afraid it did more than just puncture the cabin, Commander. On it's way out it was kind enough to rupture one of the O2 cylinders."
Tucker sighed and leaned his head against the hull next to the patch. "Great, how much closer to oblivion are we?"
"We've got less than two days of air left," Reed said with finality. He walked over to where Trip had patched the second hole. "The skin of this pod is designed to deflect a meteor five times the size of this hole."
They exchanged worried glances. There was only one thing that they knew of that could do this; microsingularities. "I wonder if that's what took out Enterprise," Trip said softly.
"We'll never know," Reed said just as soft.
"Always the optimist," Trip snorted.
"We have forty hours of air left. What do you expect me to do, sit here and plan my wedding?" Malcolm asked.
"I'm confident that I'll live to see T'Pol give birth to Charles Tucker the Fourth one day."
"So she wore you down did she? Well at least you know he'll be born regardless. You sent him off with your parents. They'll make sure he's born." Malcolm was certain of that, no matter how difficult it would be. The Tucker's just did not give up; as exemplified by the man next to him. "Any suggestions on finding me a bride in the next day and a half?"
Trip smiled. "Well, if you're looking for suggestions, I'd recommend Hoshi if she made it." Malcolm sighed. "Would another half day be worth freezing your butt off?"
"What are you talking about?"
"If we lower the thermostat in here to about minus-five centigrade, we should be able to use that power to enhance the efficiency of the atmosphere recyclers." Tucker shrugged.
Reed sighed, "Our last two and a half days freezing versus our last two days toasty warm. What a delightful choice."
"I'd pick freezing, another half a day is half a day," Trip pointed out.
"Freezing it is then," Malcolm said as he hung up a mirror.
"And just what are you doing?" Trip asked puzzled.
"An officer at his best is always well-groomed," Reed said as he started shaving.
"Nice to see you're developing a more positive attitude," Trip said.
"Actually, I was thinking about what our corpses would look like when they're eventually found. With no air in the pod, we should remain in fairly good condition."
Trip shook his head. "Charming, but you're forgetting one thing Malcolm."
"What's that?"
"If I remember my honors biology course correctly, your hair and nails keep growing for quite a while after your dead. I'm pretty sure that includes your beard," Trip pointed out.
Malcolm turned off the shaver. "Thanks."