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5

Malcolm leaned against the tree that sheltered their campsite, his eyes on the horizon. A glimmer of pale red light had appeared there a few minutes ago, the first harbinger of the sun that would soon emerge from the sea. Malcolm welcomed the return of the daylight. He hadn't slept much, nodding off from time to time only to jerk awake again when the fire snapped or a nocturnal animal screeched in the distance. All in all, he estimated he had gotten about forty minutes of real sleep, give or take.

Trip had insisted that he could stand guard for a while until Malcolm had become quite impatient with the Commander, pointing out that he would be "lying guard" rather than "standing", and that there was rather little point to such an exercise. After that, Trip had sulked in silence, and in the process had nodded off. Malcolm hadn't woken him up, not even when he got his chicken curry from the fire. The food was lukewarm at best, and he was sure that it wouldn't hurt the meatloaf to sit there for another few hours. Trip could still eat when he was feeling a little better.

Malcolm poked the fire with a piece of driftwood, watching the sparks go up like a cloud of startled fireflies. Lightning bugs, Trip would call them, Malcolm thought as he watched the sparks disappear one by one. He and Madeline used to chase fireflies in the field behind their parents' home, catching the tiny insects in preserving jars he had snuck out of the larder. Mesmerized by the strange, eery glow of the bugs, they had frightened each other with ghost stories until they were both so wound up that they liberated the captive insects and ran back to the safety of the well-lit house, scared by their own courage. Malcolm grinned. Just as well that their father had never noticed the "nonsense" going on in his back garden.

Trip sighed, and Malcolm glanced over at the sleeping man. He knew he shouldn't have been so short with Trip earlier. Granted, it was mostly his worry that had made him snap at the engineer, but that was no excuse, really. He sighed. Trip would handle this so much better than he, if their roles were reversed and Malcolm were the one depending on Trip's help. Lieutenant Reed might be good at finding campsites or building a fire, but he wasn't great company, had never been. Malcolm had no illusions about that.

He fed the fire again, picked up the bio scanner and went over to where Trip lay wrapped up in the thermoblanket. Trip's temperature seemed to have settled at a steady 38 degrees, which wasn't ideal but lower than it had been the evening before. There were still no signs of shock setting in, although a slight infection had developed in one of the toes. Malcolm checked the makeshift bandage and was relieved to see that no fluids, blood or other, had soaked through it. By any luck, Trip would be back on the ship and in Phlox' capable hands before the infection became worse.

He sat down in the sand next to the sleeping man. The pale streak of light at the horizon had become broader, and Malcolm knew that it wouldn't be long now until the sun reappeared. He wondered how long it had been since he had last stayed up to watch a sunrise. Ages, he supposed. And more likely than not, he had been alone at the time.

He tilted his head back to look at the fading stars. Something had happened to Enterprise, but Malcolm refused to believe that she wasn't still somewhere up there. He only wished he could have been aboard if there had been an attack.

"Mornin'," a croaky voice said next to him, and he glanced down to find Trip awake, blinking at him with eyes still puffy from sleep.

Malcolm smiled. "Good morning. How are you feeling?"

"Better." Trip licked his lips. "Thanks for lettin' me sleep through."

It was a peace offering, and Malcolm thought, slightly ashamed, that he should have been the one to make it.

"That's all right," he said, and then, taking a deep breath, "I'm sorry for what I said the other night. I was out of line."

"That's okay." Trip grinned, the Commander's way of letting him know that there were no hard feelings. "Though you should get some sleep yourself, some time soon."

"I slept a little, now and then," Malcolm admitted.

"Can't have been long, seein' that you've kept the fire goin'."

Malcolm sighed. He didn't want to start the discussion all over again, much less since he could feel the impatience of the night before returning.

"I ate while you were asleep," he said, nodding at the empty dish he had left next to the fire. "How about some meatloaf and mashed potatoes for breakfast?"

Trip nodded, although he didn't seem very enthusiastic at the idea of food. "Sounds fine."

Malcolm helped his friend move over to the tree so that he could lean against it while he was eating. Trip didn't make a sound, and only winced a little when Malcolm slid the boot back under his injured foot. Malcolm inwardly shook his head.

As if I didn't know that it hurts like hell.

"Here," he said and handed Trip the water bag, which had shrunk to almost half its original size. Trip drank greedily, then gave the bag back to Malcolm, who pretended to take a sip himself before he closed the lid again. He wasn't in the mood for discussions about the water rationing.

"Thanks," Trip said, and Malcolm noticed that he looked a little better. Making a mental note to go looking for more water on the first possible occasion, he opened the food container and handed it to the other man. "Careful, it's hot."

Trip used two corners of the thermoblanket like oven gloves and set the dish down on his lap. "Looks good."

Malcolm glanced at the grayish blob next to the brown brick that was supposedly the meatloaf, and wondered how anyone could find the sight of it appealing, let alone the smell.

"I suppose it does."

"You just don't know a good thing when you see it, Loo-tenant."

"Like you do?" Malcolm had meant the reply to come out playfully, matching Trip's tone, and almost startled at the sudden venom in his voice.

"Sorry, Trip, I..." He what? Had a headache? Hadn't slept much? Malcolm shook his head in disgust. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to sound rude."

Trip gave him a long look. "You should get some rest. You don't look so good, and I don't think stayin' up all night helped that concussion of yours."

The concussion. Right. He had almost forgotten about it, or rather, chosen not to think about it. It was what Lieutenant Reed suggested he do, and the Lieutenant usually gave sound advice, although Malcolm had a hard time ignoring the throbbing behind his eyes and the nausea lurking at the bottom of his stomach.

"Maybe not," he conceded, too weary to do the usual "I'm fine" routine and endure the teasing that was sure to follow. He'd only end up snapping at Trip again.

"Then lie down for a while." Trip took the shrink-wrapped cutlery out of the container. "I'll take care of the fire in the meantime."

Malcolm glanced at the few pieces of driftwood that were left. They wouldn't last for more than another hour, two at the most, but they didn't exactly need the fire now that the sun was rising. And he was really tired. Tired enough, in fact, that the very idea of lying down for a while made his eyes want to droop.

"Go on," Trip said, and ate a small bite of meatloaf. "Sleep. I'll be okay."

Malcolm sincerely doubted that; he hadn't missed the pallor of Trip's face or the pain lines around his mouth.

"Let me give you another painkiller first." Trip didn't protest, and Malcolm took out the hypospray, adjusting it to another two units.

"You should take some yourself," Trip said, tilting his head so that Malcolm could inject the analgesic into his neck. "Might help you sleep."

Malcolm shook his head. "I'll be all right."

There were another two units left in the first hypo and ten units each in the two spare hyposprays, but Malcolm didn't want to waste them. It wouldn't take him long to fall asleep even without any painkiller.

He handed Trip the phase pistol. "Here, just in case. Wake me if anything happens, alright?"

Trip nodded. "'Kay."

Malcolm eyed him for a moment, wondering if he should stay awake, after all. Trip had eaten only a tiny morsel of his meal, and the hand holding the phase pistol was trembling. No way Trip would be able to take aim, let alone fire a shot like that. And if his condition got worse while Malcolm was asleep...

"Malcolm." Now he sounded exasperated. "I told you, I'll be okay. And I'll wake you if anythin' ugly shows its face, promise."

"But..."

"Malcolm, y'can't stay awake forever. And you're as grumpy as a bear in winter." Trip smiled. "I'd rather you get some shut-eye before you bite my head off."

Malcolm opened his mouth to argue, and closed it again when he realized that Trip was right.

"Very well then," he said. "But wake me after a couple of hours. I need to go look for water, and I'd like to do it before the sun's too high."

"Aye aye Cap'n," Trip said. "Two hours it is."

Malcolm settled down in the shade under the tree, the backpack as a makeshift pillow under his head, and closed his eyes. God, he was knackered. And it felt so good to lie down.

"Two hours," he muttered as he slipped into the welcoming darkness, and was asleep before he even heard Trip's reply.

"Malcolm?"

He was drifting, floating on a sea that gently buoyed him, and for some reason he wasn't afraid at all. Small waves lapped at him, and he actually enjoyed the feeling. The steady thrum of the ocean lulled him into a peaceful daze.

"Malcolm? Mal, wake up."

Reluctantly, Malcolm opened his eyes and blinked in the bright sun. Next to him, Trip was no longer leaning against the tree but lying on the sand again, the thermoblanket bunched around his waist. One hand was clutching the phase pistol, the other one was curled into a fist on his chest.

He looked like hell.

Malcolm cursed under his breath and sat up. The sun was high in the sky, and it was obvious that more than two hours had passed while he had slept.

Four, more likely, he thought as he moved to Trip's side. Trip's face was almost white, and there were drops of sweat glistening on his forehead.

"Mal, I..." Trip paused to catch his breath. "'m sorry, but I... think I need another painkiller."

Malcolm had already moved to get the medkit. Damn idiot that he was, he had left it where Trip couldn't reach it on his own. "Why didn't you wake me earlier, Trip?"

He didn't quite manage to keep the anger out of his tone, although most of it was directed at himself. He should have remembered the medkit, and he should have never allowed himself to nod off in the first place.

Trip closed his eyes as Malcolm emptied the hypospray into his neck. "Thanks."

"Why didn't you wake me?"

Trip sighed. "Malcolm, you were sick. You've got a concussion. I know you're not gonna use any of the hyposprays, but you needed to get some sleep. You still do."

"You could've woken me up to give you another painkiller before it got worse."
"And you would've gone back to sleep after that?" Trip glanced at him out of one eye, and Malcolm didn't know what to say. Of course he wouldn't have gone back to sleep; Trip knew that very well.

"Didn't think so." Trip licked his dry lips, and Malcolm saw that the water bag was exactly where he had left it earlier. Trip hadn't touched it, either because he was feeling too miserable to think about it or because he wanted to save what little water they had left. Malcolm took a deep breath, then slowly let it out again. Giving Trip grief about his stubbornness wouldn't help their situation in the slightest.

Instead, he picked up the bag. "Come on, let me help you up."

He helped Trip lean back against the tree and unscrewed the lid for him. Trip drank several mouthfuls, coughed a little and drank some more. When he handed the bag back to Malcolm, some of the color had returned into his pale cheeks.

"Go on, drink the rest."

Malcolm hesitated, then took the bag from Trip's outstretched hand. He was parched, and by any luck he would soon locate enough water for both of them to drink their fill.

"Thanks."

The water was tepid and carried a taste of metal, but Malcolm's sore throat welcomed it all the same. When he lowered the bag again, he was surprised to find that the dull headache he had woken up with had lifted.

"Thanks," he said again, referring to the water as well as to Trip's decision to let him rest for a while. It was amazing what a difference a few hours of sleep and a little water could make.

Trip nodded. "That's okay. And Mal..."

"Yes?"

"Thank you. You know, for... gettin' me outta that shuttlepod."

Malcolm said nothing. A few months ago during shoreleave, Trip had asked him to join him and the Captain in a little diving tour - "doesn't matter if you've never done it before, the basics are really easy to learn" – and he hadn't let it go until Malcolm confided to him that the mere idea of going for a dive filled him with dread. Malcolm hadn't been sure what to expect; to a professional diver like Trip, "aquaphobia" must sound like another way of spelling "world's greatest wimp". What followed, though, was a simple nod and the suggestion that they go for a hike the next day instead. "I read about these ancient ruins a few kilometer outta town, jus' the thing for a history buff like you.

Trip had never mentioned the aquaphobia again, respecting Malcolm's reluctance to discuss it.

"That's alright," Malcolm said softly. He didn't remember much of the journey to the shore, except that it had been a nightmare, and that he wanted to forget it had ever happened. That was, all but the part when he'd finally stumbled out of the water. That part he had etched in his memory, and he wanted to remember it for a long time.

"Well," he said, getting to his feet and slipping the strap of the water bag over his shoulder. "I'd better be going then." He glanced at the fire, which had burned down to a few white lumps of charcoal. "I'll gather more wood on the way back. We should also try and stock up our food supplies; the two ration packs we've got left won't last long." There was a small, awkward pause. "Just in case."

"Just in case, yeah." Trip looked at the horizon and shook his head. "I'd really like to know what's taking them so long."

"I'm sure we'll know soon," Malcolm tried to put as much conviction into his voice as he could muster. "I'm certain that there's a perfectly logical explanation."

Not that a logical explanation was always a reassuring one, his mind added treacherously.

Trip sighed. "Yeah, you're probably right." He held out the phase pistol. "You better take that with you."

Malcolm frowned. "I suggest you keep it until I'm back, Commander."

"Malcolm..." Trip seemed to have noticed his expression, for he continued in a more conciliatory tone. "Look, there's not much that can happen to me here, so you might as well take it."

Malcolm wanted to point out that there was quite a lot that could happen to a helpless person in an unknown terrain, but on second thought he decided against it. Trip had a point; it didn't seem that there were many dangers lurking in the small forest of brush trees, and in any case, Malcolm wasn't planning to move out of hearing range.

"Very well then." He took the phase pistol and for lack of a holster kept it loosely in one hand. "Just let me know if anything happens, all right?"

"Deal."

Malcolm picked up the backpack and the bio scanner, in case he came across anything that looked edible. "Good."

He bit down on the "Are you going to be all right?" before it could leave his mouth. Trip was trying hard not to let on about his condition, and constantly having to reassure Malcolm that he was okay wouldn't make it any easier.

"I'll be back soon."

Trip nodded in reply. "'Kay. See ya then."

Malcolm hadn't expected to come across any watercourse this close to the sea, and so he was surprised to discover a small creek as soon as he stepped out of the undergrowth. The narrow streamlet was overgrown with shrubs and plants that reminded him of water lilies, and it took him a while until he found a spot where he could kneel down to refill the water bag. Tiny orange water snakes streaked away as he held the bio scanner over the surface. When he was certain that the water wasn't contaminated or contained any bacteria unsuitable to human digestion, Malcolm scooped up a handful of the cold liquid and brought it to his mouth. He was desperately thirsty, and the water acted like a natural analgesic, soothing his aching throat and washing away the remains of the headache.

He drank until his stomach felt close to bursting, then unscrewed the bag and immersed it in the water. Bubbles rose up, and Malcolm noticed a fish, fifteen centimeters long and of a translucent turquoise, hovering close by in the current. He considered trying to catch it, but decided against it when he remembered that they still had two ration packs of untouched food left. Still, it was good to know that there was a potential source of fresh fish close by... just in case.

When the bag was full, Malcolm screwed the lid back on and stood up. He'd only had eyes for the water before, but now he noticed that the landscape surrounding him was actually quite beautiful. Adjoining the creek there was a grassy slope that led to another forest, or rather a jungle compared to the sparsely growing brush trees behind him. There were tall, mangrove-like trees with a netting of roots, overgrown with climbing plants whose red and yellow flowers looked both elegant and poisonous. He'd need a machete to get through that thicket, Malcolm thought, wondering if it would be worth the risk. True, all the animal life he could see were small, exotic-looking birds and a furry glimpse of something that might have been a tree-dwelling mammal, but that didn't mean there wasn't the local equivalent of a tiger lurking in there.

Malcolm paused. For a moment there, he'd thought he'd heard a faint noise, almost like a hum. It didn't fit in with the chirping of the birds, and he had almost decided that he must have been mistaken when he heard it again, louder this time. The sound of an aircraft approaching.

Malcolm didn't waste another glance on the nearby jungle or the creek. Shrugging the strap of the water bag onto his shoulder, he ran back the way he had come, almost stumbling on the undergrowth. He hardly noticed at all when the stalks of the brush trees whipped into his face. Enterprise had come, they'd finally come, and he wanted to see the shuttlepod when it landed on the beach. Malcolm picked up his pace, he could already see the campsite now...

... and stopped dead in his tracks.

Oh bloody hell.

The aircraft on the beach was of a kind he had never seen before. Its sleek design and maroon hull plating were vaguely familiar, yet the emblem on its side – an angular symbol that might have been a spear or an axe – he had never encountered before.

The craft shuddered slightly as the engines were deactivated, and Malcolm quickly moved behind one of the trees, his hand tightening on the phase pistol. At the campsite, Trip had propped himself up on one elbow, and Malcolm saw him throwing a quick glance over his shoulder before his eyes returned to the aircraft.

Malcolm sat very still. He wanted to call out to Trip, but knew that he might need the element of surprise in whatever was about to happen. By any luck, whoever came out of that aircraft would never see him behind the trees and the curtain of fruit stalks.

A side hatch was lowered, and Malcolm took aim, biting down hard on the inside of his cheek. If he had to shoot, he'd have to take them down quickly, no matter how many there were. There was nowhere Trip could take cover from the answering fire.

A figure climbed out of the hatch, and Malcolm stared, too surprised to be relieved that no one had opened fire on Trip. The man on the beach, clad in an austere, dark green uniform, was a Vulcan.

TBC...

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