§ 2 §
Trip's heart was trying to escape his ribcage and take permanent residence in his throat. And his throat at the moment was not a fun place to be. On his haunches, leaning with his back against the rock wall, Trip tried to control his coughing, but the dust in the air was thick. It was a few long minutes - in which he truly thought he'd choke to death - before it finally began to settle and he was able to breathe somewhat easier.
Eyes scrunched closed, Trip took stock of the pains and aches in his body. It appeared that he had been quite lucky - if his current predicament warranted the use of that word. Despite having been pelted with debris he seemed to be still in one piece. Grazes and bruises he could live with, he mulled as he felt a few tender spots.
Darkness and silence surrounded him. A bit too much of both.
"Malcolm?" he called in a choked voice. There was no reply. Trip felt his chest constrict with added worry.
His flashlight. Where was the damned thing? He'd probably dropped it when he had crouched and tried to protect his head with his hands. It took a bit of groping around, but he finally stumbled upon it.
When the beam of light came on – luckily it did – and he moved it around to reveal his surroundings, Trip felt his gut clench. He was in a small enclosure – hardly big enough for two people – cluttered with fallen rocks and sand. A wall of debris cut him off from the outside. Another wall cut him off from the rest of the tunnel and Malcolm. Trying to control his breathing, which was still annoyingly unruly, Trip inspected the two obstructions more thoroughly. The one between him and the outside was practically a solid barrier. On the other side things were a little better, in that he could see a few gaps in between some bigger rocks; nothing large enough for a man to pass through, though. He scrambled onto his knees and peered through them, holding the light closer. He couldn't see much, only more debris.
"Malcolm?" he called again, more loudly. The silence that answered him sent his anxiety spiking.
Suddenly there was a chirping sound. His communicator. At least he wasn't completely cut off, he mulled, feeling a trace of relief. Unzipping his arm pocket, he took out the small device that, at the moment, was his only link with the rest of the universe.
"Tucker," he said, forcing his voice to sound calmer than he felt.
"Trip, are you ok?" Archer replied, not so calmly himself.
"Yeah. Just a few scratches and bruises. Nothin' serious."
"What's your status?"
Trip glanced once again around himself, moving the beam of light. "I'm pinned in a rather cramped space, cut-off both from the outside and Malcolm."
"I can't raise Malcolm," Archer said tautly. "His communicator is dead."
Trip winced at the choice of word. "He's not answerin' my calls either, Capt'n."
There was a pause.
"All right. This is what I want you to do," Archer finally came back in a firm voice. "Check if there is any chance you could dig your way through to Malcolm. But don't actually do anything yet. We might be able to use the transporter."
Trip pursed his lips. He wouldn't bet on the transporter to work this far inside a cave. But he dutifully replied 'Aye, Sir'.
Archer, of course, heard the doubt in his voice, for before signing off he felt the need to add, "Don't worry, Trip. We'll get you both out of there, I promise."
Twisting his mouth, Trip gave a soft, mirtheless snort. "That's a dangerous thing to say, actually," he muttered to himself as he flipped the communicator shut.
Zipping up the arm pocket where he had safely put the device away, Trip raised his flashlight once more to the rubble separating him from Malcolm. He inspected every centimetre of it, taking note of the slightly bigger gaps. Sure, if he had to, he could try and widen one of them. But if he was honest he'd rather not shift any of the debris; it seemed a risky thing to do. Take away the wrong piece of rock and everything might collapse. Although Malcolm might even be…
Trip scrunched his eyes closed, chasing the thought away. "Malcolm..." he called again, loud enough to make his ears ring; but no answer came.
Sighing, Trip dropped to a sitting position and let his head fall back against the rock wall.
Archer flipped his communicator open before it had had the time to chirp twice. The bridge had just beaten him to this hail.
"Archer."
"Captain," Mayweather said in an unsmiling tone. "We registered some seismic activity on the planet. Everything ok?"
Archer pulled with a hand on his neck, feeling the tension there. "Not quite, Travis," he replied with a grimace. "Trip and Malcolm were caught in a cave in. I was just about to contact you. I want you to check if we can lock onto their bio signs to transport them out."
"Right away, Sir."
Exhaling a tense breath, Archer waited for a reply while he let his gaze trail to T'Pol, who was still calmly keeping the situation monitored through her hand-scanner. In moments like these her Vulcan poise only served to make him more fidgety, and he had to restrain a sudden urge to pace.
As if she sensed she was being observed, T'Pol raised her eyes. "The tremor seems to have stopped, Captain," she reported. Blinking once, she added pointedly, "For the moment."
Archer nodded in acknowledgement. "Come on, Travis," he ranted under his breath. Just then a deep voice floated out of his comm. device.
"Müller here, Captain. Lieutenant Hess tells me that we have no problems locking onto Commander Tucker's bio signs; but Lieutenant Reed is too far inside the cave."
Archer's facial muscles tensed. "Thank you, Ensign. Keep the transporter locked on the Commander, and stand by for orders. Archer out." He turned to his Science Officer and enquired, "Any ideas?" He felt the urge to specify, 'To get them both out alive', but restrained himself. After two years serving with him, T'Pol would know how he felt about the 'needs of the many'.
The Vulcan Officer raised her eyebrows. "This system of caves is intricate and large. It is very likely that there are some other entrances to it, Captain. I noticed a number of tunnels fanning out from the one we explored. Perhaps we can gain access to one of them and get to Lieutenant Reed that way."
"Sounds like a plan," Archer said, his brow knit in concern.
"I should return to Enterprise," T'Pol announced tersely.
Dark unwavering eyes bore into him, and Archer pursed his lips. He knew what T'Pol meant. Here she had no instruments with which to work. Well, what options did they have? Not many, that he could think of. He couldn't exactly blow up the mountain to get to his Armoury Officer. Even though said Officer would have probably considered it a viable option, had the roles been reversed.
Brow still furrowed, he gave a curt nod. "Get transported up and get onto it."
T'Pol hesitated a moment, then said, "Captain, there is nothing you can do here."
Archer stood straight. "You have your orders, Subcommander." Then, more gently he added, "It would be illogical for me to return to the ship: we might be mounting a rescue mission soon." He knew this argument might convince her better than admitting that his going back to the ship would feel like abandoning his friends.
"You are aware of Starfleet regulations, Captain," the Vulcan replied impassively. "You cannot be away from the ship alone."
Archer raised one eyebrow. "Technically I am not. Trip and Malcolm are on the planet's surface too." Knowing how weak this sounded, he added not unkindly, "Your concern is noted, Subcommander. Would you now please obey your orders?"
T'Pol looked at him for a moment; then tilted her head in graceful acknowledgement. She got her communicator out and it wasn't long before she had dematerialised.
A low moan made Trip's head jerk up. Another one sent him scrambling on all fours to the wall that separated him from Malcolm. No sound could be more welcome to his ears at the moment.
"Malcolm?"
Trip directed the flashlight's beam through the gaps again, scanning the area. He thought he detected some movement and pointed the light in that direction.
"Malcolm, can you hear me?"
Sandy rubble shifted, and a blue-uniformed leg appeared. Then more of Malcolm's body emerged. Trip ran the light up along it, but he could only see up to part of Malcolm's trunk; the rest of him was hidden from view, behind – hopefully not under – some more debris: Trip could not tell if or how much of his friend was buried.
There was another small movement, this one followed by a sharp intake of breath; then by some ragged breathing. An icy knot formed in the pit of Trip's stomach, and he instantly regretted the thought he'd just had moments before: silence might have been worrisome, but hearing this was not much better. Malcolm sounded badly injured, and here he was, barely a couple of meters from him and unable to do anything.
"Malcolm?" he called again, keeping the light pointed on what he could see of him.
The breathing went on hold for a moment before a strained voice choked out, "Trip? Where… are you?"
"Not very far, but I'm cut off from you by a big pile of debris."
Malcolm bent a knee, raising one leg; then moved his hips, and a groan of pain ensued.
"Easy, easy," Trip said tautly, watching his friend's lower body jerk back to its earlier position and his ribcage contract and expand in rhythm with the strained sounds that floated back to him. "What's your status?" No answer came. Trip felt his heart pick up speed.
"Malcolm?" he called again, "How badly injured are you?"
Malcolm's breathing was still coming in laboured gasps. With his left, bandaged hand flat against the rocks dividing them, Trip leaned his forehead on it and closed his eyes, heart thumping as he waited for a reply that wasn't coming. Interminable seconds ticked by.
"Malcolm!"
"Who…? Trip… is that you?"
Damn.
"Yeah, I'm here," Trip hurried to reply, wanting to hold his friend's focus. "But I can't reach you. There is rubble between us."
"Ru… rubble?"
Trip forced his brain to work fast. "Did you hit your head?" he asked. Malcolm definitely sounded confused.
There was a pause. "Don't know," Malcolm finally replied, in an accent that was a bit thick for the man. "I think…" Some more shifting was followed by a sharp cry that made Trip's stomach clench and his hand instinctively roll up into a tight fist.
"Easy! Don't move too much," he said in earnest, peering through the gaps again. "Just… just see if you can figure out how badly injured you are," he added gently.
Again there was no answer; only stifled grunts as Malcolm obviously endured the aftermath of the stab of pain he had caused himself. Trip waited patiently for the choked sounds to subside. Ages later they finally did.
"Lieutenant," Trip tried, hoping rank would help get Malcolm's attention.
"C… Captain?"
Trip cursed under his breath. Concussion it was. "It's Trip, Malcolm," he repeated, feigning a calm that he didn't feel.
"Where are we?" Malcolm asked warily after a beat.
"We were explorin' some caves, remember? There was an earthquake and part of the tunnels collapsed. The Capt'n's gonna get us out, he's workin' on it already," Trip said firmly, trying to sound reassuring. He had somehow to summon strength for both of them. "How're you doin'? What hurts?"
Silence. Just when Trip was thinking he'd get nowhere, Malcolm spoke.
"My left shoulder and arm are… pinned under something heavy," he said through gritted teeth.
For the first time he had sounded a little bit more with it, and Trip held on tight to that strand of hope. "Do you think anything's broken?" he asked, bracing for an answer he feared he already knew.
Uneven breathing was all that could be heard for another long moment. Trip swallowed and waited, reminding himself that a concussion and pain would certainly slow Malcolm's reaction time.
"Bloody well likely," Malcolm eventually choked out. "Hurts like hell…"
TBC