§ 8 §

"How much more land have we got to cover?" Travis asked, trying not to let his true feelings show.

Archer didn't make any effort to conceal his. "We're about two thirds done," he said, in a low voice. "Readings are clearer, but still there is no sign of that damn beacon."

Travis felt the knot in the pit of his stomach tighten. He knew what the Captain was thinking: the beacon might have never been activated; the shuttle might have crash-landed, killing the officers on board. It was beginning to look like a definite possibility.

He swallowed past the lump in his throat, and returned to concentrate on his job. Their search pattern was taking them towards those bursts of energy again, and he'd better not get distracted.

No sooner had he thought that, than the pod rocked violently. Lights flickered on Travis's console. "Captain, for a second or so I lost power to the engines," he said tensely.

"That's all we need," Archer muttered. He pressed the comm. link. "Archer to Enterprise."

"Go ahead, Captain," T'Pol replied.

"Any luck with those sensors? Lieutenant Hess's modifications might not hold up forever."

There was a pause. "Then I suggest you return to the ship immediately, Captain."

Travis glanced over his shoulders and saw Archer frown unhappily. "I'm not prepared to leave two officers behind, T'Pol," he said stubbornly. "Let me know the moment you have any readings. Archer out."

Damn, he'd never realised headaches were so debilitating: he felt like a wet mop. As the stabbing pain in his temples finally let up a little, Trip released the breath he'd been holding, gulping in air raggedly. After a moment he got up on unstable legs to get some water.

He and Malcolm had been locked in the pod for the past two hours, and they had both been experiencing waves of headaches that were getting more frequent and stronger. They had injected themselves with a dose of painkiller, but it hadn't seemed to help much. They had little doubt, by now, that the phenomenon they had observed, and which was still approaching, had something to do with their condition.

Trip heard Malcolm's breathing getting more laboured, and turned to check on him. "How're ya holdin' up?"

"Same as you, I'd imagine," Malcolm groaned.

"Water?"

Eyes closed, Malcolm shook his head.

Dropping to sit on the bench across from him, Trip looked at his friend. He had to say this while his brain still functioned - and before it was too late. Because soon it would be too late, he knew it. This time Malcolm might have kept his pessimism in check, but his own innate optimism was fading fast.

"There is a place on this pod that is more shielded. Big enough for one of us."

Malcolm's eyes opened abruptly and Trip saw shock flash through them. "I don't know what you are referring to," he choked out coldly.

Trip steadied himself. "You know perfectly well what I'm tryin' to say."

"Not again, Trip," Malcolm growled. His eyes had narrowed dangerously now, and he was looking deliberately away from him. "No repeat performances, remember?"

Images flashed across Trip's mind. One and a half years back, in this same shuttlepod, the airlock would have served the opposite purpose, but the story – at least officially – had been the same: try and boost the chances of survival of one of them.

"There is no guarantee the Capt'n will get here in time, but one of us can stand a better chance of bein' rescued," he said with as much conviction as he could muster. He paused for a moment, building up resolve. "You get into that airlock, Lieutenant."

"The bloody airlock won't make much difference, and you know it," Malcolm countered, his voice growing angrier and hoarser with every word. "And if anyone should go into it, that is you, Commander. You're the ranking officer, for heaven's sake, and I am responsible for your safety." His jaw jutted out, and his eyes grew steely. "We've already had a similar conversation: don't make me threaten you with the use of a phase pistol again."

"Exactly. I'm the rankin' officer," Trip barked back, ignoring the last bit. "Which means you're my responsibility." Trip's vision swam, and he shook his head to clear it. "I'm orderin' you, Lieutenant…" Before he could even finish, Malcolm cut him off.

"Respectfully, Sir, I refuse to obey," he spat out. "And I would be grateful if we could end this argument here. You will have noticed that getting angry only makes a headache worse."

Silence fell while they avoided looking at each other and tried to catch their breath.

"There's no logic in it, Malcolm," Trip finally said, quietly. Out of the corner of the eye he saw the other man turn to him, and he did the same. Their eyes locked and he knew what Malcolm was going to say before he had uttered a single word.

"Who the hell cares about logic?" Malcolm indeed commented with a mirthless huff. "We are no Vulcans and…" Pursing his lips, he looked away.

"And what?"

Once again Trip knew what was stuck in Malcolm's throat. One and a half years ago this man had dragged him down from the airlock because of his strong sense of duty, more than anything else. Today it wasn't duty that made them argue over who – if anyone – should go into the airlock.

Malcolm's gaze became unguarded. "And if I have to die, I'd much rather it happened with my friend beside me than all alone in an airlock," he said in a low but unwavering voice. "So I really hope you feel the same."

Trip held the grey eyes and even managed a small smile. "Can't argue with ya there, Lieutenant."

Archer rubbed his eyes. There was a weight on his heart that felt much too heavy to carry. He had failed. He didn't care how many worlds he might explore and first contacts make. He had very likely lost two officers and friends. Being Captain on the first Warp Five vessel wouldn't be the same for him again after today.

Soon he'd have to give the order to return to the ship: their shuttlepod's systems had begun to show quite a few signs of malfunction and, much as the thought of giving up made him sick to the heart, he knew that he shouldn't risk the life of his helmsman, if not his own.

"T'Pol," he said in defeat, opening a link to Enterprise, "Any readings from the sensors yet?"

"No, Captain. But I am expecting them to come online any moment."

Archer was struck by the feeling that rang in the Vulcan's normally impassive voice.

"Captain," Phlox said. "I believe the Commander and Lieutenant still have time. Not much, but perhaps enough."

The Doctor had undoubtedly wanted to give him the hope that was no longer in his voice. What he didn't know was that their vessel was failing them for good.

"Our shuttlepod is giving up on us," Archer said in a hoarse voice. "We're heading back. Archer out." He slumped in his chair, emotionally drained.

"Captain?" he heard Travis enquire. Closing his eyes, he breathed out, "You heard me, Travis. Get us back to Enterprise."

"Any regrets?"

The question hung in the air, threatening because of the assumption that went with it.

Malcolm shifted position, buying time, hard hit by the realisation that not even the ship's optimist held on to a belief in a happy ending here. The other time Trip had at least pretended it till the very end. And after all he'd been proven right. So this sudden hopelessness was even harder to accept.

"May I have another question, Sir?" Malcolm asked, hiding his own despair behind a bad attempt at humour. "I'm afraid my brain isn't up to pondering such weighty matters at the moment." Too bad the effect was spoilt by a strain which, much as he tried, he could not keep out of his voice. Courtesy of his neocortex.

Trip, who had returned to sit beside him, didn't react: he seemed to be waiting for an answer, his blue eyes still on him, his face far too pale and expressionless for the man. Malcolm felt his heart clench. He knew why Trip wanted to keep a conversation going. He could feel how those energy bursts were scrambling his own mind, and talking would help them focus. Keep them from fading away – at least for the time being.

"Damn, Trip," he choked out brokenly as his mask shattered. "Of course I have regrets. Don't you? We're dying a rather untimely death, if you haven't noticed." He hugged himself, clenching his jaw against a bout of nausea that was probably mostly caused by tension.

"I don't have many," Trip murmured, managing to sound matter-of-fact even through gritted teeth. "I'm happy with the life I've lived. Did what I wanted to do."

He paused and brought a hand to his forehead, and Malcolm wished he could fool himself into thinking his friend was collecting his thoughts rather than bracing against the relentless tightening of the vice-like grip they both felt in their temples. Unfortunately it was quite obvious that it wasn't so.

"Would've liked to say good-bye to the Capt'n and my family though," Trip added after a beat, and this time his attempt to sound detached failed. "And live long enough to see my children."

Malcolm lowered his gaze to hide not only his physical and emotional distress but the impact the words had unexpectedly had on him. He had never thought about having a family, children. But now that the option was going to be taken out of his hands, he felt a sadness seize him. Trip's voice rang out again, though, too intense for him to ignore.

"What do you regret? Mind if I ask?"

It would have been easy to say, 'Yes, I do mind'. His reticent nature was all for it. Save your breath, it was screaming, you don't have much left anyway. But Malcolm knew there was another, albeit more hidden side to his character; one that had been quelled but actually liked to reach out. And spending their last hours – if they still had hours – in silence wasn't all that appealing, even to someone like himself, who had grown -- had been turned into a rather taciturn person. If speaking only aggravated his headache… well, so be it: better that than slipping into nothingness without a word.

"Things I said to people – or, rather, never had the courage to," he said quietly, fighting to keep his focus on what he wanted to say. "But most of all I regret drifting apart from my father, and that I'll never get a chance to remedy that. I'd always hoped one day we'd bridge the gap."

He closed his eyes and willed his mind to retrieve a happy memory, one he held dearest. It dated back to a very early time of his life, a time before his aquaphobia, before his allergies, before his own will had decided to assert itself and cross swords with that of Stuart Reed; a memory of himself on his father's knees, comfortable in each other's company. It flashed against the backdrop of his eyelids, making a lump form in his throat, but quickly vanished, cancelled by a new and unbidden flare of pain that forced a groan out of his throat.

"Gettin' worse, huh?" Trip asked quietly.

Malcolm pressed two fingers on his eyes. "Certainly not any better."

They might not be freezing, he mulled, but their situation was just as desperate as that other time, on this same vessel. They had been rescued that time, he repeated to himself, but his heart just couldn't believe it could happen twice.

"What is it with us and Shuttlepod One?" he wondered with a weak, sarcastic huff.

When Trip didn't reply Malcolm opened his eyes and turned to him. Trip's head had lolled forward, and he looked…

Malcolm's heart missed a beat. "Trip!" he growled, surprised that there should be anger in his voice. He grabbed him by the front of his uniform. "You're not leaving me like this, Commander!"

Trip mumbled something, cracking his eyes open. "Sorry," he murmured after a moment, regaining focus. "Just restin' my eyes a little."

Malcolm blew out a slow breath. He could hear his heart pounding in his ears.

"I think you can let go of me now," Trip added with a faint smile. "Won't go anywhere, I promise."

Indeed Malcolm was still clinging for dear life to Trip's uniform, so he slowly released him. "Don't you dare," he said darkly. He suddenly realised he didn't so much fear death as seeing Trip die. That would leave him alone, and he'd much rather spend his last moments in company.

They were in silence for a while. Finally Trip broke it.

"Hey, Lieutenant…" he said wearily, raising innocent eyebrows. "D'ya still think the way Columbus went about it – ya know, no computer, no power, no way to contact anyone – is such a great thing?"

There was just a hint of teasing in Trip's voice, but Malcolm didn't mind. It was good to hear. Trip was back.

"Bloody hell. No," he blew out with a smirk.

TBC