§ 7 §

Leaning on outstretched arms on the piloting console, Trip closed his eyes and let his head fall between his shoulders. He was having difficulty concentrating, and the job at hand definitely required some focus. Perhaps they had stayed up too late, he and Malcolm, the night before, forgetting that in their present situation they had to remain clear-headed and alert. But he had enjoyed their conversation, the comfortable friendship they sometimes managed to share. It wasn't every day Malcolm was in the mood for chatting.

Malcolm had tried to give him a hand. He'd patiently handed him tools, but half an hour ago he'd suddenly got up and told him he needed to stretch his legs. Trip took a deep breath. Perhaps a break would do him good. After all he'd been going at it for hours on end.

Stepping out of the shuttlepod, he caught sight of Malcolm: he was standing near the extinguished fire, with his back to him; seemingly finding something in the trees deeply fascinating.

"Studyin' which flora is in need of more water?" he asked tiredly. Malcolm didn't respond: unlike himself at the moment, the man didn't seem to have a problem focussing.

"At least we aren't riskin' a diplomatic incident, like that time with Porthos," Trip continued, approaching him.

"Hello, Tucker to Reed, can you read me?"

Trip's brow creased, more puzzled with every meter gained.

"Malcolm?"

With a few last hesitant steps Trip was beside him and reached out to touch Malcolm's arm.

"Hey…"

Panic swelled within him when Malcolm didn't react: he was immobile, seemingly lost to the world.

"Malcolm!"

Trip grabbed both of Malcolm's shoulders and shook him with a force born out of deep worry. It gave its results: Malcolm blinked a few times and slowly focussed on Trip's face, looking surprised to see him there. "What…?" he breathed out, his grey eyes dark like the clouds in the sky.

"Are you ok?" Trip asked waveringly. "You were like… gone."

Malcolm brought a hand to his forehead. "I… I think I blacked out for a minute," he said in a deep voice, averting his gaze. He looked thoughtful for a moment; then cast Trip a self-conscious glance. "I didn't get much sleep last night," he murmured; and although his words were graced by the hint of a smile, it didn't look very reassuring.

Trip took a moment to assess him. Malcolm did look tired, but zoning out the way he had wasn't exactly a common reaction to missed sleep. He'd seen the man work double shifts without much of a problem.

"Perhaps you oughtta get some sleep now," he said seriously.

"Later."

There was finality in Malcolm's voice, and he averted his gaze again, in that way Trip found so infuriating because it was meant to shut him out.

"Lieutenant," Trip started. But Malcolm cut him off, stiffening up and looking very resolute.

"I will rest, Trip," he said, "But first I need to think of our safety; get some wood for the night; just in case we're still here."

Hands on his hips, Trip tried once again to put his thoughts into some kind of order. Why the hell was it so hard to think straight? Logic, he mulled, all you have to do is pretend you're Vulcan.

It was undeniable that they were going to need a fire again if they were still on the planet by nightfall. But Malcolm's blackout had him worried. Physical work in this kind of gravity would drain whatever energy the man had left. And if he fell into that disquieting trance away from the camp…

Trip pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. Damn! He was in charge of this away mission, and enough things had gone wrong already. He wasn't going to risk any more trouble, not to mention the well-being of a colleague and friend.

As if he had read his thoughts, Malcolm added, "Look, I won't need to go far." He raised a hand and pointed. "Yesterday I found a spot, ten minutes off in that direction, where there is plenty of wood. I'll be virtually around the corner."

Trip looked into Malcolm's unwavering grey eyes one moment longer and sighed.

"Alright. But take it easy. And if you don't feel one hundred percent, I want you to stop and rest. Understood, Lieutenant?"

"Aye, Sir," Malcolm dutifully replied, straightening his shoulders to stand virtually at attention. With a nod he moved off.

Trip followed him with his gaze, mildly amused at his friend's ingrained discipline. He watched him disappear through the vegetation and turned to raise concerned eyes to the flashes that were still offering their disturbingly beautiful show, and getting closer.

"T'Pol to Shuttlepod Two."

Archer exchanged the briefest glance with Travis. The interference was clearing up; now they had communication with the ship again. Locking eyes back on the readings in front of him, he opened the link.

"Archer."

"Captain, the phenomenon has crossed the thermo barrier, but it appears that it is having a positive effect on the interference: it is clearing up slowly."

"Yeah, I've noticed both things. And I don't know if I should laugh or cry," Archer replied tautly. "We haven't picked up the emergency beacon yet, and time is running out for Trip and Malcolm." He felt his heart clench. Somehow hearing it said made it all the more real.

"Enterprise's sensors are still blind," T'Pol added, "But I am confident they won't be for long now."

Archer knew she had meant to reassure him, and felt grateful. Enterprise's sensors were more sophisticated than the Shuttlepod's, and if they managed to get through the interference they would undoubtedly be able to locate their people faster.

"Captain, this is Doctor Phlox," a well-known up-beat voice said. "The energy has entered the atmosphere at much lower latitude than the Northern hemisphere."

Archer felt hope reborn. "Does that mean Trip and Malcolm are safe?"

Phlox's voice came through again, a lot darker. "Unfortunately not, Captain," he said. "The bursts are travelling fast and are headed north. The Commander and Lieutenant will probably be experiencing only mild headaches and disorientation for the moment. But their symptoms will only get worse, and the problem remains: the longer they are exposed, the more they are in danger of suffering serious damage."

"In other words, we have a little more time but not too much?"

It was T'Pol again who answered. "Yes, Captain," she said. Archer could almost see her eyebrows lifting. "It would be best to find them soon."

Trip massaged his throbbing temples. All he needed now, on top of everything else, was a damn headache. He smirked. If his fears were right, unfortunately it might only get worse.

When he glanced at the time his anxiety escalated another notch: Malcolm had been gone for forty-five minutes now. Damn! What had he been thinking? He should have ordered him to rest. Night was still a long way away, and there would have been more than enough time to collect the wood after he had taken a few hours of sleep. Why hadn't he thought of that? But he knew why: his brain had been in fog. And probably also Malcolm's, or he would've realised that too. Hell, something was definitely wrong. He'd better…

"Any luck?"

The voice was clearly strained, and Trip's relief in hearing it lasted only as long as the time it took him to swivel to its owner: Malcolm looked like hell. Pale, exhausted, and drenched in sweat.

Trip felt his chest constrict. "What's wrong?" he asked, easing out from under the piloting console and pushing to his feet.

"What?"

Malcolm tried to give him one of those half smiles of his, but Trip ignored it. "You don't look too good," he told him, frowning.

"It's nothing, only a mild headache," Malcolm murmured. "As I said, I didn't get much sleep."

Stepping out of the pod, Trip went up to him. "Any difficulty concentratin'?" he asked, dead serious. He tried to capture Malcolm's eyes, but the man was too fast and looked away, stubbornly pursing his lips.

"Answer me, Lieutenant."

There was a pause.

"A little," Malcolm admitted quietly. Crossing his arms over his chest, he added, "I'm tired, that's all."

He had succeeded in infusing some strength in the words, but not much conviction. Trip studied him. Malcolm was no idiot. He'd have figured it out too. "You know as well as I do that's not the reason," he said, finally managing to lock eyes with him. The grey gaze eventually became less impenetrable, and Trip read in it his same concern.

"That… lightning," Malcolm said with a grimace.

Trip nodded. "The energy in it must be a helluva lot stronger than anythin' you'd experience on Earth," he commented with a mirthless huff. "The phenomenon is still far away but I'm pretty sure it's havin' an effect on us. I've got a headache too; and find it impossible to concentrate on anything that requires serious thinkin'." Looking Malcolm straight in the eye he added, "I have a feeling it's the same energy that killed the pod's circuits. If it is, I'm afraid it's strong enough to fry also our nervous systems. Do serious damage."

"And kill us?"

"Possibly."

There was tense silence.

Malcolm sighed. "Might be the lesser of two evils," he said in his deep voice. "I don't fancy remaining alive if I'm left a dribbling idiot."

"Yeah…"

Trip knew he should put his wheels in motion, consider their options, but he just couldn't find the thread of his thoughts. It was as if it was always a step away. Suddenly, he saw Malcolm wobble. He grabbed him by one arm just as the man put out the other one to lean on the pod's outer hull.

"Hey!"

"It's nothing," Malcolm mumbled.

"You must be kiddin'," Trip said darkly. "Let's get inside the pod." He dragged and almost bodily hauled Malcolm into the vessel. A moment later he had slammed the hatch closed. While Malcolm stumbled to a rear bench, he went to get the medical scanner, hoping it – at least – would work properly.

Biting his lip in concern, Trip returned to the back of the pod and held the instrument over his friend. Malcolm had leaned his head back and closed his eyes, but opened them again at the soft buzzing sound.

"If it is that lightning that's giving us problems, do you believe we'll be safe in here?" he breathed out in a low voice in which doubt rang clear.

"Perhaps not safe, but certainly better off, at least for the time bein'," Trip replied as he studied the readings.

"So? What's the verdict?"

Collapsing beside Malcolm, Trip blew out a slow breath. "We can't rely on instruments, not on this planet," he murmured. He made to pocket the medical scanner, but Malcolm put a hand out and stopped him.

"Commander?"

Trip passed a hand through his hair and grimaced. "According to this," he said after a moment, lowering his eyes to the scanner, "And as far as I can understand, something is not quite right with your neocortex. But as I said…"

Malcolm silently took the scanner out of his hand, and glanced at the readings. Then re-set it and held it in front of Trip.

"My neocortex isn't the only one to be acting up, it would appear," he said grimly a moment later. "Yours seems to be in slightly better condition, but that's probably because you've been spending more time inside the pod."

"Damn," Trip ranted, massaging his throbbing temples. "If only I could get at least some juice flowin'… We could put up the pod's shields."

Malcolm didn't seem to have heard him. "The one time I wasn't concerned…" he murmured without humour as if to himself. "It's ironic."

Trip felt a twinge of irritation at the idea that Malcolm might start with his pessimistic comments. "The Capt'n will come," he said firmly. "I haven't lost faith in him."

There was a sarcastic huff. "I know he will, Trip. That's not the point. The problem is that when he gets here he'll probably find only a couple of…"

"Malcolm!" Trip turned in anger, but the rest of his tirade died in his throat at the sight of his friend bent forward, head in his hands and face scrunched up in pain. "Are you all right?" he asked tensely, gripping his shoulders.

"Just lovely," Malcolm eventually choked out, slowly pulling back up. He took a deep breath and shot Trip a self-conscious glance. "Look, I'm sorry. I promise I'll try not to give a repeat performance of that other time, when we were stranded on this shuttlepod."

Trip repaid him with a meaningful look. "You better not, Lieutenant." he warned softly.

TBC