Thanks to everyone who has been reading.

We're getting close to the end now.

x-x

Trip edged along the narrow shelf as water rushed through the culvert some nine meters below. The wall behind him was slick, and the water smelled of iron - Mississippi River water, rather than the Gulf - as it sent its spray up to coat his face. Malcolm, leading slightly, said something that he wasn't able to hear over the roar of the water. It didn't matter; they were almost there.

It had already taken them some time to make it this far, but they were nearing the end of their journey. No one seemed to be close on their trail. Thank God for that. He didn't wan to think about what would be done with them were they captured - even if they were simply thrown in some sort of prison, he couldn't imagine Malcolm doing at all well in that sort of situation.

Malcolm finally reached the end of the channel and looked back at him with the closest thing to a smile he'd seen since the drop, and Trip returned his own tentative grin. A short uphill hike would have them exit to street level just outside town, and then it was a five-kilometer walk to the meeting place.

He kept his back to the wall behind him, fingers tracing through the slickness as he moved. It was cold out here, and he was already soaked from the spray. He'd be glad to see this end.

That's when his feet slid out from under him.

Cold water closed over him, grabbing at his clothes as he struggled. Growing up on the Gulf coast, he'd always been a strong swimmer, but it was so dark, the rapids so disorienting, he lost track of which way was up. He broke the surface, only to go back under again. His head impacted something hard and he was pushed up again, gasping for air and swallowing water. The current pulled him along, tugging him back under, and he knew with sudden, shocking clarity that he was well and truly fucked.

x-x

He woke shivering and wet, lying on his back on something hard. Malcolm, face paler than even Phlox's treatment would allow, eyes a stormy grey, leaned over him.

Trip squinted. Dark sky arched above them, and he could hear the sound of water nearby. "Where are we?" He coughed, throat aching.

"Near the culvert. Can you walk?" Malcolm asked, voice kept soft despite the noise from the river. He pushed wet hair away from his face.

Trip nodded carefully, trying not to anger the ache in his head. There was a dull pain in his arm, and he felt as if the weight of the world was sitting on his chest, but if walking would get them out of here, then yeah, he could walk. With Malcolm's assistance, he staggered to his feet.

By the time they made it to the clearing which was their rendezvous point, Trip was feeling bleary, wet, cold, chafed, and hot, pretty much in that order. Malcolm lowered him to the ground near a tree, and he slumped against it with his head down, spent from the trek. A breeze stirred his hair and set the leaves on the trees around him to rustling. In its own way the sound, plus the darkness, was oddly soothing.

After a moment which Malcolm probably spent scouting for robbers or something, he sat beside him. Neither of them spoke.

Trip stared down at his hands, which rested loosely in his lap. Nothing to do now but wait. Wait and wait and... Trip frowned and blinked, hard. He was really out of it. His head was killing him. He was also seriously nauseous. Or was that nauseated?

"Sorry?" Malcolm said from beside him.

It was only then that Trip realised he'd spoken aloud. "Nothing," he replied, waving a hand loosely, then wincing when even that small movement hurt. He turned his head carefully and stared at his friend's profile. Malcolm's jaw was tight, and he was staring off into the dark clearing before them.

"Are you okay?" he asked tentatively.

Malcolm answered with a shrug.

"Malcolm, I'm sorry -"

Malcolm cut him off. "Let's not." He glanced to Trip, then away. "Not right now."

Trip tensed. "All right," he said after a brief hesitation. They sat in silence for a while, Trip picking at the dirt under his nails, Malcolm staring out into the dark.

He should never have left Malcolm back there in that room. He'd basically ordered the man to... He shook his head, disgusted at himself. He should have stayed.

"What did you learn?" Trip finally asked, keeping his voice low.

Malcolm didn't answer at first. Then he huffed a bitter laugh and leaned his head back against the tree. "They're not even alien. A group on Earth is planning the attacks."

"What?" Trip said as his focus snapped into place. "How do you...?" Trip cut himself off. "You trust that guy?" he asked, thinking of the man they'd left back at the house.

Malcolm's mouth twisted and he turned to Trip, eyes blazing with anger. "Trust?" he said with a hard laugh. "Hardly. But I believe the information he gave is accurate."

Trip shook his head, but that caused his headache to increase. Nausea roiling his gut, he closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the tree trunk, grateful for the darkness around them.

Malcolm went on. "They had local help, from this planet." An edge came into his voice. "The people here have a long history of terrorism and violence, although most of that's well in their past now."

That explained the extreme level of security that most of the homes here had.

"Still," Malcolm continued, "... Apparently some are willing to hire their knowledge out. I'd imagine the terrorists also used contacts here to help throw investigators off their trail. From what I can tell, they plan to blame the attacks on aliens."

"Why?" Trip asked, his voice just above a whisper.

"They're isolationists," Malcolm said.

Trip would have nodded, if he'd had the energy to do so. After his dealings with Terra Prime, a violently xenophobic terrorist group, the idea of another, similar group wasn't entirely shocking. Still, to have them have actually recruited alien help. And for those aliens to have agreed. What would be the benefit to the aliens?

As if reading his mind, Malcolm said, "The people here agreed to get involved for the promise of future support in their own 'activities'." He twisted the last word into something vile. "Some sort of technology exchange, although our contact wasn't clear on that last bit."

Trip found he had no response. What this group was planning to do was unimaginable. That they'd do this against their own people, and so soon after the Xindi attacks - it had only been a few years. By all that was holy. "Who?" he got out, chest tight. He forced his eyes open again and looked at his friend.

Malcolm had turned to face him, expression dull, spent. There was a bruise livid on one cheek. "Some group called PLTP."

Trip sat there, numb in his shock. PLTP. Pour la Terre Première. He'd heard of them. They were a bunch of isolationists who'd gotten a lot of press after the Xindi attacks, and then again after Terra Prime had been put out of commission, but hadn't done much since.

Suddenly woozy, Trip grabbed onto Malcolm's arm. Voice low, he asked, "The information we got - is it enough to stop the attacks?"

Malcolm nodded. "Yes. I think so."

"Good." He nodded and tried to stand. The world spun madly. The ground rushed up to meet him.

x-x