Thanks for reviewing, and I'm glad you liked T'Pol's part in the rescue!
22
"Almost there."
Archer's quiet words filled Malcolm with relief; he wasn't sure how much longer he could convince his legs not to give way under him. He said nothing in reply, concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other. When he felt Archer's supporting hand on his arm, he allowed the Captain to take some of his weight. It wasn't what he would have done under normal circumstances, but then, he could hardly remember what "normal circumstances" would look like. All he could think of was that they were getting out of here; that, and the danger of being detected.
With T'Pol leading their small procession, they'd left the premises under the eyes of the house guards, drawing curious looks from the slaves who worked in the gardens. Malcolm thought he'd seen a glimpse of sympathy on some faces, but he couldn't be sure. It might have been mere surprise at seeing a couple of lowly kitchen slaves and a garden worker marched off by a high Vulcan dignitary.
He noticed the Captain's eyes on him, watching him. Archer was trying, and failing, not to stare at the collar on Malcolm's neck. T'Var had deactivated the in-built sensors with her personal override, assuring them that nothing untoward would happen when they passed the gate, which was normally off limits for house servants. The look on Archer's face must have spoken volumes; it was one of the few times Malcolm had seen the old woman look ashamed.
Catching Malcolm's eyes, Archer quickly glanced away. "I'm sorry."
Malcolm wasn't sure if the apology was because he'd been staring, or because the Captain felt sorry for them. Probably both. What a sight they must look, bruised and beaten, their clothes torn, Trip slung over the Vulcan's shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Even worse, Malcolm couldn't think of a reply to give the Captain, anything to reassure him that it was all right. Somehow, the words just wouldn't come out. His hands were still trembling, and he focused on that, willing the tremors to stop. He didn't want the Captain to think he'd lost it, that he couldn't deal, that coward Malcolm was hiding in a corner with his arms over his head because it was all too much. He'd been fine when they'd talked to T'Var, well, maybe not fine but he'd managed, so why wasn't he now? Why were his legs wobbling as if someone had suddenly pulled the ground out from under his feet?
Strong hands caught him, and Malcolm realized that he must have stumbled.
"It's okay," Archer's voice said next to his ear, in a soothing tone as if he were talking to a frightened Porthos. "We're almost there. It's going to be okay."
Malcolm wanted to tell the Captain that he was fine, not to worry, but his mouth seemed to have forgotten how to formulate the words, so he merely nodded.
In the meantime, they'd left the wide avenue that led from the Sreman estate to the city, making their way into the woodlands that surrounded the gardens.
"There," Archer said, pointing ahead. Close to the edge of the woods, Malcolm could make out the outlines of a spacecraft, though quite obviously not one of Enterprise's shuttlepods; its design was sleek, the hull of a maroon color with the Empire's emblem on the side.
"We stole it at one of the farming outposts," Archer answered his unspoken question. "Didn't want to risk taking the shuttlepod too close to the city."
So that was why they hadn't wanted to land closer to the Sreman estate. Of course, the First Inquisitor wouldn't exactly arrive in an old and dented farming transport.
"This isn't your ship?"
Until now, Jackson had silently allowed his "guard" to lead the way, and had from time to time thrown nervous looks over his shoulder. Now he spoke up, his question directed at Archer rather than any of the Vulcans.
"No, it's not. We left our shuttlepod in the forest near the beach."
Jackson nodded curtly. For some reason, the information seemed to be of importance to him.
"Maybe Lieutenant Mevak should carry Mr. Reed, Captain," T'Pol said with a glance back at the estate they'd left behind. "It would be unwise to risk further delays."
Malcolm shook his head when the smaller of the two Vulcan men stepped towards him. "I can walk," he said. This time, the words came out easily enough. "I-I'll be fine."
He was, even though Archer carried most of his weight for the last twenty or thirty meters. His head swimming with dizziness, Malcolm watched as T'Pol opened the ship's front hatch and helped the taller of the two soldiers lift Trip inside. The Vulcan T'Pol had addressed as Mevak reached out to assist Jackson, but the young man pulled away, awkwardly steadying himself with his bound hands as he climbed inside.
"We'll get the handcuffs off you in a minute." Archer pulled the hatch shut behind them, taking something out of his ear which Malcolm recognized as a small UT earpiece. Hoshi's work, he supposed, so the Captain would be able to understand the Vulcans.
The ship was a cargo transport, with two pilot seats in the front and a large loading space in the back. They'd laid Trip on the deck, and Malcolm sat down next to him, watching dully as they wrapped the unconscious man in a blanket and tried to get him comfortable on the floor. Someone tucked a blanket around his own shoulders, and he raised his head, relieved when he saw that it was the Captain and not one of the Vulcans.
"You okay, Malcolm?" Archer asked quietly.
Malcolm nodded, yes, he was okay, or rather, he would be. At the moment, he wasn't so sure what was going on; all he knew was that he couldn't really talk much right now.
Archer seemed to understand. He rested a hand on Malcolm's shoulder, then got up again.
"Want to take the helm, Halan?" he asked one of the Vulcan men, and Malcolm felt a sudden, unexpected flare of resentment at the familiar address.
"I would like that, Captain."
No one had noticed his reaction, and Malcolm closed his eyes, leaning his head against the bulkhead behind him. He wasn't handling this well.
The whirring of a bio scanner caught his attention, and he opened his eyes again. T'Pol was kneeling on the deck next to Trip, scanner in hand.
"Commander Tucker's vitals are stable, Captain. His injuries appear to be superficial."
"They whipped him," Malcolm said softly. He wasn't sure why he said it. "He's been ill. He almost died, back at the factory. He can't take much more."
Archer looked at him, and Malcolm had a feeling that he wasn't making a lot of sense.
"It's okay, Malcolm," the Captain said, exchanging a glance with T'Pol. "Phlox is going to take care of him. He'll be fine."
A shudder ran through the deck as the ship's thrusters came alive, and Malcolm winced. His ribs hurt, a feeling as if two splintered pieces of wood were grating in his chest. T'Pol had noticed, and came over to run the scanner over him.
"Lieutenant Reed has two broken ribs and a contused jaw. There are no injuries to his lower body," she added to Archer, who appeared relieved. Malcolm was momentarily confused, until he remembered how they had found him, half-naked on the floor, Skonik's dagger poised and ready to do a little impromptu carving on his family jewels. Of course they'd wonder what else had happened to him.
"Do you require pain medication, Lieutenant?" T'Pol asked.
Malcolm shook his head. "No thank you." He didn't trust himself to say more, afraid that he'd start babbling again.
Archer gave him a worried look. "You sure?"
Malcolm nodded. The medication would do away with what little coherence he had left, and he didn't want that.
T'Pol moved on to Jackson, who pulled back a little as she pointed the scanner at him. "This is a scanning device," T'Pol said calmly. "I will use it to determine whether you are injured."
"I know what it is." Jackson's eyes narrowed into a hostile stare. "I'm not injured. They didn't get around to interrogating me."
T'Pol looked at Archer, who nodded slightly before turning to the young man.
"I'm Jonathan Archer," he introduced himself.
Jackson's features relaxed. "Jackson." It came out defiantly, as if he expected someone to object to his human name. "Thanks for... getting me out of there."
It was clear from his body language and tone that his thanks didn't include T'Pol or the two Vulcans at the helm. Archer paused, but didn't comment, settling for a mere nod.
"I assume you want to get rid of those things," he said, nodding at the restraints. As an answer, Jackson held out his shackled hands. The Captain pulled out a phase pistol and adjusted it to a short-range beam. Two quick cuts later, the discarded manacles were lying on the deck. Jackson eyed the weapon with interest. "Is that a disruptor?"
"It's called a phase pistol," Archer answered, moving over to free Malcolm's hands next. Malcolm could sense that Archer wasn't sure what to make of Jackson, even if he didn't outright resent him. It wasn't like the Captain to be so reserved.
Archer tugged Trip's blanket aside so he could cut through the engineer's shackles, pushing them away with a disgusted look once he was done. Trip's wrists were raw and bloodied; the manacles must have cut into his skin when he'd been suspended from the ceiling. Gently, the Captain tucked the blanket back around the still body.
"What about the collars?" Jackson asked.
"We'll take care of those back on the ship," Archer said, still intent on Trip. "I want to make sure that cutting them off won't trigger some sort of hidden mechanism."
Jackson moved too quickly for Archer to react and snatched the phase pistol from the Captain's hand, pointed the muzzle at his neck and cut through the collar with deft precision.
"What are you doing?" Archer made a grab for the pistol, but Malcolm was quicker. In a reflex response he didn't even think about, he twisted the weapon from Jackson's hand.
"Don't."
Jackson reached for the broken collar and pulled it off. "I'm not coming back with you."
Archer frowned at him. "What do you mean?"
"I'm not coming back with you to your ship," Jackson repeated. "I don't belong there."
"You want to stay here, in the middle of the forest?" Archer eyed him closely. "How are you going to survive?"
"I'll be okay. I know where the runaways have their hideouts. I'll be safe there. And..." His voice halted slightly, and he glanced away. "I'll be with my people."
"What if you're recaptured?" Malcolm asked quietly. "They'd take you back to Silak."
"I won't be recaptured," Jackson said simply. Archer seemed to take the statement as mere bravado, but Malcolm knew that Jackson wasn't trying to boast. The man wouldn't go back into slavery, and if they caught him, he'd make sure to take his Vulcan captors with him, as many as he could.
The Captain didn't look happy, and was about to say something when the Vulcan in the pilot seat turned around.
"We are approaching the landing coordinates, Captain."
Archer nodded, his eyes still on Jackson. "Understood."
Now that he knew that it was safe, Malcolm suddenly wanted nothing more than to be rid of his own collar. He took care of Trip's first, aware of the Captain's eyes on him, watching him. Malcolm ignored the concerned look he was getting, pointed the phase pistol at his own neck and sliced through the thin metal band. Archer had no idea how the thing had chafed against his neck for weeks, how, during the first few days, he had always tried to push a finger underneath to get a relief from the constant feel of it on his skin. Once it was off, he wanted to fling it into a corner, and maybe give it a kick for good measure. Instead, he slowly laid it down on the deck and lowered the phase pistol again. Archer looked relieved.
"We are there, sir." It was the Vulcan again. Halan, Malcolm reminded himself, his name's Halan.
The ship shuddered as it touched the ground, the constant thrumming of the engine fading into silence.
Archer got up. "T'Pol?"
She consulted her handscanner. "The shuttle is where we left it, Captain. There are no human or Vulcan biosigns anywhere in the vicinity."
"Good."
Humid tropical air and the sound of animals screeching in the distance greeted them as they left the ship. Malcolm didn't find the energy to protest when Archer all but lifted him through the hatch; his ribs hurt like hell, and he knew that he would have stumbled if the Captain hadn't helped him. Halan had lifted Trip over his shoulder again, carrying him effortlessly as he followed T'Pol out of the hatch. Mevak brought up the rear, carrying the equipment.
They'd hidden the shuttle in a patch of thick brushwood, and it was only when Archer pointed it out that Malcolm noticed it at all.
"So that's what a human ship looks like," Jackson said quietly, after they'd made their way across the small clearing. Hesitant at first, he reached out and ran his hand over the silver hull, pausing over the black letters on the side.
"You could come with us," Archer said. "Enterprise could take you back to Earth, or any place you want to go. You don't have to stay here."
Jackson smiled, and for once, it didn't even look like a snarl. "Thanks. And I hope you get back safe. But it's like I said, I don't belong there."
Archer looked at him for a long moment before he nodded. "I understand."
"About the ship..." Jackson glanced back at the Vulcan transport. "I don't suppose you'll be needing it anymore."
Archer shook his head, and Jackson's smile widened into the familiar grin. "Good. I know some people who could make good use of a ship like that."
"Good luck," Malcolm said quietly, and Jackson's eyes came to rest on him, his amusement fading. He held out a hand, and Malcolm took it, clasping it firmly.
"You take care of yourself, Malcolm." A strange emotion crossed the hard face before it settled back into its usual guarded expression. "You're lucky, you know."
Malcolm did. "Thank you. Trip wouldn't have made it out of the factory if it hadn't been for you."
Jackson grinned and released his hand. "Tell him to watch his ass."
Malcolm nodded. "I will."
"Lieutenant," a calm voice said, and Malcolm turned to see T'Pol standing next to the open hatch of the shuttlepod. "We have to be on our way."
"I'm coming."
Inside Shuttlepod II, Malcolm's legs decided that they'd held out long enough, buckling under him as soon as Archer had closed the hatch behind him. One of the Vulcans, Mevak, caught him by the arm and helped him sit down on the bench.
"You should rest," he said softly.
Malcolm nodded, taking one last look out of the side window. The shuttle had already lifted off, but it wasn't past the tree level yet, and Malcolm could make out Jackson, shielding his eyes with one hand as he looked after them. In his other hand, there was the phase pistol Malcolm had dropped into the grass when Archer and T'Pol hadn't been looking.
He raised it in a silent greeting, and Malcolm lifted a hand in return. Then, the shuttle climbed higher, and Malcolm leaned back, resting his head against the wall.
They were going home.
TBC…
Aren't you glad I finally got the boys out ;)? Please let me know what you think!