§ 3 §

Archer turned back to the cave and reached for his own comm. device again. "You there, Trip?"

"Yeah, I liked the place and decided to stay, Capt'n."

Trust Trip to try and make light of the situation. But actually there was an undercurrent in his voice that Archer didn't miss, and didn't like one bit.

"Have you been able to contact Malcolm?"

"He's half-buried under the debris, Sir," Trip murmured back. "He's injured, although I can't tell how seriously, and confused. Don't need to be a doctor to know that he hit his head pretty bad and suffered a concussion."

The words had been spoken in a quieter tone, clearly meant not to be overheard by the person in question. Archer closed his eyes. "We can transport you out, Trip, but not Malcolm," he finally said, lowering his own voice. "He's too far inside. We can't read his bio signs, and still can't reach his communicator."

"It's probably broken. Apparently his left arm and shoulder are pinned under some rubble." Before Archer could add anything to that, Trip went on firmly, "And I hope you're not askin' me to leave him here, 'cause I'm not ready to, Capt'n."

Archer pinched the bridge of his nose. Well, he hadn't expected any different. "All right, not just yet," he agreed hoarsely. "T'Pol is checking if there is a way to get to Malcolm by gaining entrance to the cave through some other access," he added. "But if that fails... Did you check what I asked you? Would it be possible for you to dig an opening big enough to get to him?"

"Yeah, but I'd leave that as our last resort."

"If you could drag him to where you are now, we would be able to transport both of you out."

"Looks damn tricky. I might cause more rocks to fall on him."

Archer could almost see Trip shake his head. He drew in a deep breath. "All right. Let's see if T'Pol's plan works first." He paused. "I'm keeping the transporter locked on you, Commander," he then added meaningfully. "At the slightest sign of trouble you're out of there." Trip had to know that if bad came to worse, his Captain wouldn't hesitate.

The 'Aye, Sir' which floated dejectedly out of his communicator made Archer's chest constrict. He fervently hoped he wouldn't have to give the order to leave Malcolm inside this damn mountain.

"You know what to do, with someone showing the symptoms of a concussion," Archer said, more to steer their thoughts away from the pessimistic direction they had taken than for anything else. Trip, after all, was well-trained and conscientious.

"Yes, Sir. Try and keep them alert." There was a pause. "I'm worried about him, Capt'n," Trip's voice then added. "Crush injuries can be pretty serious."

Archer grimaced. "I know. Do what you can to take care of the both of you, Trip. I'll get back to you as soon as I have some news. Archer out."

As soon as he flipped his communicator shut, Trip's focus returned on the silence that surrounded him. Or rather, on the muffled sounds that came from the other side of the rubble. They were quite eloquent. Even without seeing Malcolm, he could tell that his friend was still awake, and struggling to be his usual stoic self.

"I won't think less of you if you let out a few groans," Trip said, hoping to get past Malcolm's pride. These were difficult circumstances. The man shouldn't ask too much of himself.

Just when the long silence was beginning to make Trip think that his friend was too confused to have understood him, his quiet reply drifted back.

"I'll keep that in mind."

"And neither should you – think less of yourself if you can't keep it all in," Trip pressed. "No need to play hero, Malcolm." He waited, frowning as he fidgeted with the bandage T'Pol had applied to his injured hand. Damn these long pauses…

"Thought you were the one playing hero," Malcolm eventually replied through gritted teeth. "You should transport out. There's nothing you can do for me anyway."

So Malcolm had heard. Trip wondered if his friend remembered at all their drunken conversation of those few months back. Under the strain, in Malcolm's voice, he thought he had heard a hint of something. He decided to ignore it and make an effort, instead, to lighten the mood.

"Can't offer ya any beer, unfortunately, but I thought you might prefer a bit of company to bein' all alone."

There was some shifting, followed by a pained groan. Trip bit his lip. Seconds ticked by.

"Company without any beer? Not much fun," Malcolm said at length in a throaty voice.

Trip allowed himself a bittersweet smile.

"But you're right… it's better than being alone," Malcolm added after another moment. "I'm sorry."

"It's ok."

Pushing from a sitting position back onto his knees, Trip switched on his flashlight again, which he had turned off to conserve energy, and returned to peer through the wall of debris. He didn't really know why he had felt the need to do that; he had acted on the rather irrational impulse of wanting to establish visual contact with his friend even though he knew his face was hidden from view. His heart skipped a beat when he saw the slight but perceptible tremor that was running through Malcolm's body. Was it caused by fear and pain, or was the man going into shock?

Damn, but they couldn't afford to wait for T'Pol. Plan B suddenly seemed like a good idea. Malcolm might be more seriously injured than he let understand.

"So," Trip said in a deceivingly light voice while he inspected once again the barrier between them, "Any progress with your EM field research?" If he needed to keep Malcolm alert, this particular subject might stir him enough to draw him into a conversation.

"Wh-- what?"

Trip ignored the halting reply and continued, "I wasn't exactly in a position to appreciate your application of it, the time when that alien creature stole a ride in our cargo bay. But T'Pol told me all about it. And when she's impressed by something, I know it's for a good reason."

Moving his hand over a few rocks, Trip tried to assess their size and stability. If he was going to make a passage it should be on the side of Malcolm's feet, he decided. His friend was lying at an angle about two meters away from the debris; far enough that he could not reach to touch him, but still close enough to risk being hit by any rubble that Trip might cause to fall. Trip wasn't going to take any chances. Finally he spotted a place where, with a bit of careful work, he might get some results. Ears still focussed on the sounds coming from the other side of the partition, he shifted nearer to the spot to get a closer look.

"Isn't there an easier subject of conversation?" Malcolm grunted.

"What, easier than T'Pol?"

Something sounding like a choked huff of a laugh rewarded Trip's attempt at humour.

That's it, Lieutenant, hold on.

"T'Pol to Archer."

Archer mentally crossed his fingers. "Go ahead."

"Captain, our scanners unfortunately show that many of the tunnels in the part of the caves where Lieutenant Reed is trapped are obstructed as well. I am trying to assess with Ensign Müller how risky it would be to use low-yield explosives to get past some of those barriers."

Damn, Archer silently cursed. "All right. But try and do it quickly."

Puffing out a tense breath, Archer grimaced. One way or the other this rescue was going to be a risky affair... well then, they might as well get started.

"Trip," he paged.

"Yeah, Capt'n."

Archer flinched at the uncharacteristically dark tone. "I don't think T'Pol's plan will be feasible. I want you to try and dig a passage to Malcolm," he said. "Right now that looks like our best option."

"Actually, Sir, I took the liberty of starting already," Trip replied. "Figured it was a good idea."

Archer heard the unspoken message in his friend's careful words and scrunched his eyes shut. Malcolm's condition must be serious, or worsening. "You'll need help and supplies," he said. "I'll send down a couple of people, support beams…"

"Woa, Cap'tn," Trip interrupted him. "There is barely enough room for myself down here."

"Dammit," Archer cursed under his breath.

"But I could use a shovel, some kind of worklight and, since you're at it, water."

"You got it," Archer agreed tensely. "Keep me informed."

"Aye, Capt'n."

"Water…"

Trip zipped up the pocket where he'd put his communicator away and jerked back to the debris separating him from Malcolm. The word had been seeped in despair. Quite unlike the man. Trip felt anxiousness grip him, but forced it away.

"Yeah, I just ordered some, Malcolm," he said gently. "I'll get it to you as soon as I can. But first I need to dig a gap big enough so that I can pass through."

The breathing on the other side of the partition got fast and furious.

Trip raked a concerned hand through his damp hair. "Easy, easy… If you breathe too fast you'll only…"

"Too bloody much of it…. It's rising!"

Trip's pulse accelerated. Water, rising? Was there water filtering through? That's all they needed.

"Where?" he asked tensely, shoving the flashlight closer to the slightly enlarged gap and peering through.

"All over… It's flooding the compartment!"

"What?" The place was as dry as a desert. But somehow it wasn't that much of a relief to find out. "What are you talkin' about?"

"We're sinking... The ice-shelf… Get to the escape pods!"

Trip frowned. "There is no water, Malcolm, relax."

But neither the words nor Trip's resolute tone had any effect. "Go! That's an order!" Malcolm said in a commanding tone that held a wiry undercurrent of fear.

"I'm not goin' anywhere," Trip replied firmly, feeling like an idiot as he spoke – not only had he no clue what Malcolm's delirious words were all about, but the man was quite clearly in no state to understand him.

"Must keep the engine running…"

Trip felt the anguish like a presence, beginning to infect him. Suddenly the space around him seemed too small and cramped, the darkness too oppressing. An icy knot formed in his gut and he felt panic rise. He had to stop this.

"That's enough, Lieutenant!" he barked, relying on the man's ingrained discipline to help him. Blessedly, it did.

"S… Sir?"

What 'Sir' was his raving friend thinking he was addressing? Some Royal Navy Officer, by the sound of it. Trip opened his mouth to reply, but words failed him. What was he going to say, anyway? Bite out another order? Haul down the flag? He was no sailor, dammit. He wiped a sleeve on his sweaty brow; then let his forehead rest against the rock wall and closed his eyes, as he tried to regain control over his emotions and accelerated pulse. It wouldn't exactly be smart if he hyperventilated himself unconscious. He became so focussed on himself that he actually lost track of time. When he raised his head again, he didn't know how many minutes had passed.

"Malcolm?" he called. No reply came. In fact, now that he actively listened, he couldn't hear a damn thing, as in 'not a sound'. No laboured breathing, no muffled grunts, no shifting…

Trip almost banged a hand on the mound of rubble that cut him off from his friend, stopping at the last minute. That wouldn't be smart either. He should rather get back to work, and fast.

Just then a shovel, a self-enclosed worklight and two canteens materialised not far from him.

TBC