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"Missin' your boy scout days?" Trip asked with a soft chuckle as he approached the newly-built fire.

In the flickering light Malcolm's features were more difficult to read than usual, but he definitely seemed lost in his own world. Trip watched him re-emerge and shoot him a look.

"Not quite," Malcolm replied in a throaty voice from the flat rock he was sitting on. It was just the right height and was conveniently shaped more or less like a bench.

Throwing him a thermo blanket, Trip wrapped one around his own shoulders as he sank down beside him.

As expected, darkness had brought the temperature down; not dangerously so, but still enough to make one chilly. Malcolm had kindled the fire. He might not have rubbed any sticks together to do so, but he had definitely looked as if he was enjoying the task: hence Trip's question.

The flames were hypnotising, their crackling sound lulling. Trip's mind began to drift off but Malcolm's voice brought it back to the present. "I didn't really have all that much fun as a boy scout," he said quietly, throwing another piece of wood into the fire. Sparks went flying off.

Tearing his gaze away from them, Trip focused on his colleague. "I thought you had, the way you compared badges with the Capt'n," he commented, a smile in his voice. All that it did was to earn him a fleeting and furtive glance.

"It was one of those things in which I never had any say," Malcolm offered after a moment. "I was to go through with it - full stop. And... Well, my father always had a way of charging anything that had to do with me with such heavy expectations..."

He pulled the blanket closer around his shoulders, seemingly more to protect himself from Trip's clearly piqued curiosity than from the cold, and fell silent.

Averting his gaze, Trip thought of how different their experiences had been growing up. Even knowing as little as he did of Malcolm's past, he could tell. They might have been from two different planets. It was weird in a way that coming from such diverse backgrounds, here they were, serving on the same starship, friends in the middle of the universe.

Trip stretched. It had been some day and he was beginning to feel weary, from accumulated nervous tension as much as from fatigue. "Damn, but I'm done in!" he grunted. He let himself slide to the ground and leaned with his back against the rock, drawing his knees up to his chest and cocooning inside the blanket.

"Go ahead and sleep," Malcolm suggested. "I can take first watch."

"Watch? You think that's necessary? The planet is uninhabited, and the only fauna I've spotted so far was a funny-lookin' worm that would make Phlox's joy."

Silence met his words and Trip twisted to cast a look at his friend: the glare in his gaze was quite eloquent, but Malcolm must have thought it was lost in the darkness because for good measure he added flatly, "Let me do my job, Commander. Besides, we have determined our scanners cannot quite be relied upon."

Trip heaved a resigned sigh. "Ok. But you let me take first watch. After all the scoutin' and collectin' wood you did, and in this gravity, you must be drained."

"No more than after a good workout. I'll be fine."

"Oh, yeah, I forgot."

Malcolm made a frustrated sound. "Can't I ever say the word 'fine' without people making funny comments?"

"Nope."

"Grand."

Only the crackling fire could be heard, and when silence fell again Trip's eyes were drawn to the clear, starry sky. "Isn't it a beautiful night?" he wondered aloud. "Now that it's too dark to see those creepy plants, it almost feels like we're on Earth."

Malcolm looked up. "It does indeed."

Archer paced his ready room. Hours had passed since they had last heard from Trip and Malcolm, and he was experiencing that gut-wrenching feeling that he knew so well and for some reason often associated with his third- and fourth-in-command, especially when the two were on an away mission together; a feeling only made worse when they were on Shuttlepod One.

He made an effort to clamp down on it. T'Pol said there were no explosions, he repeated to himself once again. Trip is a competent pilot. They must have landed on the planet. But there was still that nasty voice in the back of his mind suggesting that the landing might have been a rough one, and the two officers might be injured and running out of time.

I'll be damned if I'll let the two of them out together again, he silently cursed.

The door chimed and he turned to it as he called, "Enter." T'Pol appeared. She took a graceful step inside and let the door slide shut.

"Captain, we have detected more of those energy bursts," she said, raising her eyebrows. A rare display of emotion flitted across her features. "They are getting stronger and closer."

Archer's brow furrowed. "Is that bad?" he asked outright.

Latching her hands behind her back, T'Pol held his gaze for a moment before replying with quiet urgency, "Not for Enterprise. But if they enter the planet's atmosphere they are potentially dangerous: they are strong enough to have devastating effects on any life forms there."

"When I was a child… out on those scout trips," Malcolm said quietly, "I often lay awake into the late hours of the night gazing at the stars."

Trip smiled to himself. When Malcolm forgot to be Lieutenant Reed – which wasn't very often and never happened for very long – he became intriguing company. Only he could sound both eager to show you something of his cagey self and still reluctant to do so.

"And plannin' to become an officer on a starship?"

Trip hadn't expected a serious answer; obviously he couldn't imagine that a – what – nine- or ten-year-old on a camping trip would be planning his future. This, however, was Malcolm.

"Not at that point, no," he replied dutifully, without any hint of having detected the playful mode. "Just… thinking."

"About what?" What would small Malcolm think of? How to blow up the camp's…

"Different things."

Trip twisted his head to look at him, but Malcolm's attention was riveted on the fire. Firmly so.

"For example?"

"For example what stars have represented in the lives of people, throughout the centuries."

"On a camping trip?" Trip blurted out in surprise. Neither could he imagine a nine- or ten-year-old on an outing with friends contemplating such deep matters.

Suddenly his mind conjured up the picture of a dark-haired boy lying awake and away from the group, intently gazing with eyes that were older than his age at the sky above him. Yup: no roasting marshmallows or devising ways to evade adult supervision and go take a midnight dip for little Malcolm Reed: he would have spent his evenings musing about things like the meaning of stars in history.

"Sorry, go on," Trip mumbled, becoming aware of Malcolm's uneasy silence.

"Not a problem," Malcolm said quietly, with a tight twitch of the mouth. "In some ways I wasn't your typical lad," he added, as if he had read Trip's thoughts. He pushed to his feet, mumbling, "I'll get some water." He headed for the shuttlepod.

Alone in the semi-darkness, Trip cursed his clumsiness. He had a real talent for making this man clam up; not that it took much, mind you.

Before long Malcolm reappeared with two canteens. He sat down on the rock again and handed one to Trip, who accepted it with a grateful nod.

"Ancient people thought that the stars shaped their fates," Malcolm went on unexpectedly, as if the awkward moment before had not happened at all. "Sailors used them for direction. Stars spoke of unfathomable vastness, of mystery, of the divine." He poked the fire with a stick; then threw it in the flames. "We may have scientific knowledge now, but..." With a soft laugh he concluded, "Looking at the sky these days is definitely less romantic." He took a swig.

Trip grinned. "I didn't know of your romantic soul," he commented. He looked up just in time to see a hint of amusement cross his friend's features.

"It's in the genes," Malcolm said, amending with a shrug, "At least in some of them." An enigmatic smile appeared on his face. "I'll let you know that while the first man was about to set foot on the moon, a man named Reed left family and friends glued to the TV screen to go outside, stick his nose up in the air and look at the real thing, thinking dejectedly that after that day the silver disk would no longer be the same romantic icon."

Trip's grin grew wider. "Are ya serious?"

"Incredible, isn't it? Not something my father would advertise, but I managed to dig it out."

"Ah – well, what I mean is, it sounds like a strange thing for anybody to do…"

"All the more so for a Reed."

Trip wasn't sure if that had been meant as a sarcastic comment, and twisted again to see if he could read his friend's expression, but Malcolm spoke again, his tone suddenly lighter.

"Did you know that in the Middle Ages people thought that whatever was lost ended up on the moon?"

Trip snorted. "Perhaps that's where the Capt'n is lookin' for us."

"The Commander and Lieutenant were somewhat protected by the Shuttlepod's hull and were only hit by one energy burst," Phlox, who had joined Archer and T'Pol in the ready room, was explaining, "So long as their landing was secure, they should be fine. But if they were to experience those bursts of energy without the protection of the shuttle, they could suffer neurological damage."

"Could?" Archer asked, holding on to a thread of hope. He sought the Denobulan Doctor's blue eyes, and he could tell right away that the answer would not be comforting.

"It would depend on how closely and how long they are exposed, Captain," Phlox said, jerking his chin back in that characteristic way of his. "The longer the exposure, the graver the consequences. Enough time and they could very well suffer permanent damage. And unfortunately I cannot determine exactly how much time enough time is."

Archer felt his muscles clench. He shot T'Pol a worried look. "Any progress in locating their pod?" he asked, still pacing and ducking his head rhythmically under the bulkheads.

"Our scanners are not reading anything below the planet's thermosphere, Captain," the Vulcan Officer replied. She crossed her arms over her chest in a gesture that reminded him of Malcolm when he got defensive. "I am afraid I am still unable to get past the interference."

"We can't just sit on our hands," Archer ranted. "I have two men, two… senior officers on that damn planet." Two friends, he had wanted to say, although he had no doubt T'Pol understood and shared the feeling. "We've got to find them before it's too late."

He stopped and turned abruptly. "Is there a way to reinforce Shuttlepod Two, so its systems won't be damaged by those bursts?"

T'Pol looked at him inquisitively.

"Is there?" Archer insisted.

"I believe so."

"Then have it done. I'll go down with Travis," he said firmly. "Perhaps if we enter the planet's atmosphere we'll be able to get some readings and find our people."

T'Pol's eyebrows shot up. "Captain, this planet is two and a half times the size of Earth. Even if your scanners worked, it could take you days to find the Commander and Lieutenant."

"At least I'll be doing something!" Archer burst out. Taking a calming breath, he added levelly, "Do you have a better suggestion, Subcommander?"

There was a moment of silence.

"I will analyse the data regarding Shuttlepod One's last known position and trajectory; perhaps I can determine the most likely area on the planet where Commander Tucker will have landed," T'Pol suggested. "That would limit your search."

"Get on it right away. And have Lieutenant Hess take care of the necessary modifications to Shuttlepod Two."

TBC