§ 6 §

There was a louder snore as Trip turned on his side. Malcolm rolled his eyes and almost gave in to the desire to shake the sleeping man. But finally Trip's breathing evened out, dropping to a soft rhythm.

The night on this planet was quite a bit longer than on Earth, and there was no sign of dawn yet. Trip had crossed the line between holding a quiet conversation and drifting off a couple of hours before.

"Don't ya think we oughtta worry?" he had drawled tiredly. "Ya know, just a little? After all, we're stranded on a planet, no way to contact the ship, and our pod is dead."

"I only think we ought to think that we ought to worry," Malcolm had mumbled back, weariness blunting his own accent. His words had made no sense to his own ears, and he had not been able to blame Trip when, as expected, the man had chuckled and accused him of sounding drunk.

"I also think we have gone over this already and decided there is nothing to worry," Malcolm had slurred on. But Trip had not answered. A moment later his breathing had become deep and even, and Malcolm had realised his friend had fallen asleep.

Fighting his own fatigue Malcolm had sat up again and leant against the rock, well aware of the fact that if he remained horizontal, without a conversation going, the sound of the fire would lull him to sleep in no time at all.

Shaking out of his reverie, Malcolm yawned and rubbed his eyes. Well, he may not be worried – yet – but that didn't mean he'd let his guard lower; he was determined to keep watch. Keep them safe till the Captain came for them.

He'd give Trip another hour before waking him up. Or perhaps he'd let him rest until morning. After all, knowing the man, he'd want to work all day trying to fix the pod's systems, while he himself had little to do besides collecting wood. He could always catch a little sleep during the day.

Losing his battle to another yawn, Malcolm rubbed a weary hand across his eyes. Trip's sleep allowance would ultimately depend on how long he'd be able to keep his own eyes open. He pulled the blanket more tightly around him. It was colder now.

His eyelids drooped closed and immediately his head lolled. Blinking, he jerked it back up. Bloody hell, Lieutenant, stay awake!

Maybe he could gaze at the stars and ponder some profound matter like in the old days, he thought with a wry smile, shifting position slightly and leaning his head back against the rock. Who would have thought that, stranded on an alien planet, he'd get such a trip down memory lane… All Trip's fault.

"T'Pol to Captain Archer."

Perched on the Captain's chair, T'Pol turned to the Communication Officer, only to see the young linguist's brow crease. "The channel is open, Subcommander," Hoshi murmured.

"Come in, Captain."

Suppressing a sigh, T'Pol got up and went to check the science console, leaning over the shoulder of the crewman manning it. Still nothing. Still no way of knowing where the Captain and Mayweather were, or Tucker and Reed.

All she could read on her instruments were those threatening bursts of energy, still en route towards the planet. In a couple of hours they could very likely cross the thermo barrier. And there was nothing she could do to prevent it.

T'Pol felt something very close to anxiety grip her and was reminded that because of this emergency it had been a long time since she had last meditated. The tension of the people on the bridge was beginning to influence her.

Straightening up, she closed her eyes briefly. "Ensign, I'll be in the Captain's ready room," she told Hoshi. "You have the bridge."

The look in Hoshi's eyes, as she nodded her 'understood', was deeply troubled, and for a moment T'Pol wondered if she shouldn't ask her to join her. But this was hardly the moment to introduce someone to the complex art of meditation.

It was so bloody cold. Malcolm shivered.

Madeline must have opened their window, for he could hear the wind rustling through the leaves of the oak tree outside. What was she thinking? That it was summer already?

And the fire must have died out.

Fire?

Malcolm's eyes shot open. The planet. He raised his head a bit too abruptly and pain flared in his neck, making him groan.

Damn him! He'd fallen asleep like a sodding recruit. How long had he slept?

Another shiver ran through him. The fire had died out. And the breeze had picked up: now it was a light wind. Not only that, but he could see lightning far in the distance, where it was just beginning to dawn. Well, something akin to lightning: flashes of colourful light split the sky.

Drawing the blanket closer around his frozen body, Malcolm sat straighter and watched in mixed concern and fascination for a few minutes, while he rubbed his neck to work out the pain of having fallen asleep in an awkward position. Eventually he felt he could safely move his head again without risking snapping his neck in two, and slowly turned to check on Trip. It was still fairly dark without a fire, but he could make out his friend's form and hear his deep breathing: the man was sleeping like an angel, buried under the thermo blanket.

With a sigh, Malcolm returned to focus on himself. His right leg had gone numb; he needed to get his circulation going again. Slowly, he began to push to his feet, fighting another grunt of discomfort as pins and needles attacked his unfeeling limb. Bloody hell, he definitely preferred his bunk to sleeping around a campfire.

As he was rubbing some warmth into his arms, all weight on one foot, his stomach started to protest. Not that he hadn't expected it; it was something he had got used to already: be it the middle of the night or his usual wake-up time, whenever he got up after a few hours of sleep his body took it as a sign that it was time for breakfast.

He took a step, but his right leg betrayed him and he stumbled. As he very nearly collapsed to the ground, a string of muttered curses escaped his lips. Trip stirred, rolling onto his back.

"Malcolm?" he croaked out.

"Morning, Commander," Malcolm replied through clenched teeth.

Trip rubbed his eyes and sat up slowly. "Damn, I'm sorry, I must have fallen asleep," he mumbled as he looked up. "Why didn't you wake me up?"

Malcolm smirked. "I was going to, but I – uhm – fell asleep myself."

"Ah."

There was a pause, and Malcolm was grateful Trip didn't make any sarcastic comments. He wasn't in the mood.

"How long was I out?"

Absently rubbing his leg, Malcolm made a fast calculation. "I'd say four to five hours."

Trip's head snapped back to him. "That much? How about you, how much rest did you get?"

"More than enough," Malcolm replied wryly as he took a couple of hobbling steps towards the forest, "Considering the aches and pains I got from falling asleep in the wrong position."

Trip chuckled. "Hey, where are you goin'?"

"To water the flora. And then to get us some breakfast. I'm starving."

When he returned with a couple of ration packs, Trip was watching the lights in the distance.

"What the hell do you suppose that means?" Trip wondered, shooting him a brief look.

Malcolm pursed his lips. "I don't know, but if truth be told I don't like it." His voice had gone deep with concern.

"Some sort of energy discharge," Trip commented. Hands on his hips, he added thoughtfully, "We might be in for a rough ride if it heads this way."

"Well, there's nothing we can do about it," Malcolm said, handing him a ration pack. "Just hope that it will move off. But should it come closer we ought to take shelter inside the pod."

Travis considered himself an optimistic person. He wasn't, as a rule, given to despair. However, a feeling of hopelessness had been slowly growing and there was nothing he could do to quench it.

They had been searching for Shuttlepod One for close to five hours, and time was running short. The interference had made their going much too slow, and they had scanned only a third of the area assigned to them by T'Pol. To add to their troubles, they had lost contact with Enterprise. But the most worrisome thing was that they could now begin to see flashes of that mysterious energy crossing the planet's sky.

"Travis, let's try varying our altitude again. Take us up."

Archer's voice was hoarse.

"Aye, Sir."

Glancing over his shoulder, Travis saw the concern, the near-suffering on his Captain's face. Archer was doing his best to appear strong, but Travis could tell how deeply torn his C.O. was over his inability to rescue his people. This was a man who loved his crew and wouldn't think twice of risking his own life to keep them safe. Like that time in the Romulan minefield. Or on that automated repair station.

Well, after almost two years of mission it was normal that, being the small community they were, they had become close to each other. They hadn't lost anyone yet, but the day that would happen it would be felt very deeply by all of them. Travis bit his lip. He could not think of Enterprise without the warm personality of Commander Tucker; or without the quiet professionalism of Lieutenant Reed.

Archer's voice suddenly cut into his grim thoughts. There was urgency in it.

"Hold this altitude, Travis. Our readings seem to be getting clearer."

A silence heavy with expectation fell. It wasn't long before Travis could bear no more of it. "Sir?" he asked in earnest.

"Readings are definitely clearer and wider-range," Archer replied. "Come on," he muttered under his breath, "Where is that damn beacon?"

TBC