Chapter Two: Rescued
"Malcolm—you okay?" Trip asked, first to reach his friend's side. Breathless, Reed nodded, simultaneously struggling to stand and catch his breath. As Trip and T'Pol helped him hoist himself up he at last found his voice.
"Bloody hell…that hurt!" Had the blow landed much lower he was certain that the future of the Reed bloodline would have been in dire jeopardy. He looked down to inspect his EV suit for damage, half-expecting to find small hoof-shaped holes. His brow furrowed—though the suit was intact there was a smear of blood where the feet had struck him. That couldn't possibly bode well for the little fellow. "I believe he's injured," he told his comrades. "Subcommander, do you recognize his species?"
T'Pol nodded. "He is a Lehrite, but this is not a Lehrite vessel. And he is far too young to be away from his people."
"How old do ya think he is?" Trip asked.
"Perhaps two or three years of age. From what we know of them, Lehrites do not allow their children to come into direct contact with other species."
Reed spoke up as he stooped to retrieve the oxygen mask he'd been trying to put on the boy. "I don't suppose we'll be able to make him understand that we're trying to help him?"
The subcommander pondered the question for a full two seconds. "It is doubtful. He is injured, terrified, and unaccustomed to alien contact. Explanation of our intentions would in all likelihood be fruitless, even if we could offer that explanation in his own language."
"So what do you suggest?" Trip asked, a tad sarcastically. "We supposed to just walk away an' leave him here?"
"I advise waiting for the oxygen level to drop further. Once he loses consciousness—"
"With all due respect Subcommander," Malcolm interrupted tersely, "if you're seriously suggesting that we just stand here and watch this child suffocate in hopes of being able to resuscitate him later, then that is simply not an option."
"I did not suggest watching him suffocate, Lieutenant, merely that we wait for him to lose consciousness. You will then be able to put the mask on him without meeting any resistance."
"I'm with Malcolm on this one," Trip chimed in before tapping the comm button on his suit. "Tucker to Enterprise. Captain, I need Hoshi to check the Vulcan Database for a species called Lehrites. See if she can find somethin' ta help us tell the little fella we've found that we're tryin' ta help him. He's just a toddler, so make it simple. An' hurry—air's gettin' kinda thin over here, plus the little guy's pretty banged up."
"She's on it, Trip," the captain's voice came back. "Should only take a few minutes."
Watching the boy pant and gasp for air, Reed shook his head. "I'm not sure he's got that long, sir. I'm going to try getting this mask on him again."
Tucker laid a hand on his arm as Malcolm stepped toward the boy. "You tried a frontal assault before an' it didn't pan out too good. Maybe a diversion would help?" Reed nodded and Trip warily approached the child.
"Watch out for his feet," Malcolm warned. Nodding, the engineer circled around one side of the boy as the lieutenant cautiously moved forward, both men murmuring soft words of comfort. T'Pol watched silently, certain that this attempt would fail as well and familiar enough with humans by now to know that nothing she said would dissuade them.
Unblinking, the boy also watched the two approaching him, panicked attention torn between them. Fidgeting nervously he tried to discern which one posed the greater threat, finally deciding that the smaller one deserved more of his attention since that was the one that had come at him before. Plus, it had that ominous-looking thing that it had tried to put on his face. Remembering what had happened the last time an alien had put something over his face he readied himself to kick out again.
"You should avoid grasping his horns," T'Pol offered. "As I recall, they are deemed a rather…intimate…part of their anatomy."
"We'll keep that in mind, won't we Commander?" Malcolm replied dryly, his words directed toward Trip but his tone aimed squarely at the subcommander. Not an appropriate tone of voice to use toward a superior officer, he knew, but T'Pol's suggestion to wait for the child to lose consciousness galled him. Maybe someday she'd be stuck in a shuttlepod running out of oxygen and understand that it wasn't quite as simple as merely losing consciousness. There was the knowledge that one was going to suffocate, the sensation of the thinning air. Regardless of the child's youth he had to be aware, if only on an instinctive level, that something was wrong with the air he was breathing. Reed certainly had no intention of just standing by and watching anyone asphyxiate while there was some way to prevent it.
Trip either didn't detect anything wrong with the lieutenant's tone or chose to ignore it. At Malcolm's comment he merely nodded, his attention on the Lehrite. The whimpering boy seemed focused wholly on Reed, which was fine with the engineer. Another couple of feet and he could make a grab for the little fella, then Malcolm could get the mask in place so the tot could breathe. Piece of cake. Preferable to T'Pol's suggestion to let the toddler black out. This plan was much better.
He genuinely believed that right up until he actually lunged at the boy and got what he thought was a firm grip on the child's shoulders—being careful, of course, to not touch the horns. A sound like an asthmatic pig being slowly strangled erupted from the boy and tiny hooves again flashed out toward Malcolm as the little goatish, woolly head snapped around, the small but powerful mouth clamping down on the engineer's left hand.
Trip shrieked in pain, drowning out the muffled squeaks and squeals of the terrified tot. He reflexively tried to pull his hand away but that made the boy bite down harder. Inexplicably the Lehrite suddenly opened his mouth and Trip beat a hasty retreat, clutching his throbbing hand and cutting loose with several choice expletives. Maybe T'Pol's suggestion deserved further consideration, he thought, until he got a look at the child they'd been trying to help and realized that the tot had let go because he could no longer pull in enough air with a mouth full of hand. Flat on his back, the boy was breathing hard from the exertion, obviously fighting for each breath. Mouth gaping, the little guy looked like a fish out of water. From the looks of things, he'd also been frightened enough to have wet himself. Suddenly, Trip's hand didn't hurt quite so much.
"Enterprise to Commander Tucker," Hoshi's voice broke the silence.
Trip thumbed his comm button. "Tucker here. Please tell me it's good news, Hoshi."
"Sorry, sir," Hoshi said. "About all I could find about their language is that there are at least twenty different dialects, with no clear indication of which groups speak which dialects. I'm not sure where to even begin."
"Thanks fer tryin', Hoshi. Tucker out." Breaking contact with the ship he cast a look at the Vulcan. "Guess we'll hafta do it yer way after all, T'Pol."
"No," Reed stated flatly.
"Lieutenant," T'Pol said, "with no way to communicate our intentions to him there is little choice."
Malcolm shot her a near-lethal look. "I'll just have to find a way to 'communicate our intentions', Subcommander," he stated in his best 'you may now kiss my fine British arse' tone before again approaching the Lehrite. The boy struggled to sit up, still gasping for breath and pressing his back against the wall as he nervously watched Malcolm's approach.
"Lehrites have a frail constitution to begin with," T'Pol warned, "and he has already been subjected to a traumatic ordeal. To cause him further stress will do far more damage than the lack of oxygen."
Malcolm steadfastly ignored her, all his attention on the trembling, gasping child before him. Going down on one knee a few feet away he studied the lad, considering his next move. The boy's eyes locked on the oxygen mask, terror clear on his face. Deciding on a course of action Reed tapped the oxygen control on his EV suit, mentally berating himself for not thinking of it sooner.
"Malcolm," Trip called urgently, "what the hell are ya doin'?"
"If I can't tell him we're trying to help, I'll just have to show him," Malcolm answered quietly as he reached up to unlatch his faceplate, holding his breath: what was left of the ship's air would be, he was certain, rather unpleasant.
The helmet opened with a hiss and Malcolm, eyes watering, found himself hard pressed to keep from retching. He'd expected the air to be thin and stale, but this was absolutely foul. How had the little tyke been able to stand the fetid stench? Fixing his eyes on the boy, Reed spoke in a soft but strained voice. "It's all right," he said, trying to sound reassuring. He held the oxygen mask out with one hand—the boy flinched at the movement but continued watching in fascination as the lieutenant placed the mask over his own mouth and nose before drawing in a few exaggerated breaths. Holding the mask out to the child Malcolm was disheartened as the boy again drew away from him. He positioned the mask on his own face once more, gratefully filling his lungs before again offering the mask to the Lehrite.
The shackled hands at last reached out, though uncertainly, and tiny fingers tentatively touched the mask. Holding his breath Malcolm nodded before tenderly placing the mask on the boy's face and strapping it in place. Though not a perfect fit over the fuzzy muzzle-like facial features it would be adequate until they reached the shuttlepod. For a moment the child stared at him with worried, exhausted eyes, then took a hesitant breath.
Malcolm sighed in relief, smiling as the boy's breathing became more regular. "There's a good lad," he encouraged softly. Feeling himself rapidly growing lightheaded he fumbled to close his faceplate and turn the air back on.
Trip was positively livid. "That is without a doubt the stupidest thing you have ever done!" The boy cringed at the sound of the angry voice, shrinking back against the wall.
"No, actually, it isn't," Malcolm stated matter-of-factly, his voice soft and even. "And please don't shout like that. The little fellow's already scared half out of his mind. No reason to add to his anxiety."
Trip took a deep breath before speaking again, his voice a low growl this time. "You name me one thing you've done that's more stupid than poppin' yer helmet open in a place with almost no air." Still kneeling, Reed shifted to meet the commander's steely gaze before slowly and serenely uttering the two words he knew would silence the man.
"Subterranean…gardens." Though he couldn't be certain in the substandard lighting, Malcolm thought Trip looked a few shades paler at the reminder of their visit to Risa. Even if the engineer hadn't actually blanched it was satisfying to see the man's mouth start to open then slam shut. As he stood Malcolm was pleasantly surprised to have T'Pol end her silent observation of them to defend his course of action.
"Actually," she said dryly, "Lieutenant Reed's was a reasonably logical approach, though it was perhaps overly risky and certainly ill-advised."
Malcolm accepted this as praise—coming from a Vulcan, from this Vulcan in particular, high praise indeed—and considered their next hurdle. "I don't suppose the key to these damned shackles is laying about anywhere," he pondered aloud.
The ship lurched as if in reply and Trip cast a worried look at the Armory Officer. "Ah don't think we've got much time ta look fer it, Malcolm. This tub's gonna blow apart sooner rather than later." He looked at the restraints then back at the lieutenant. "What about the chain? Think the phase pistol could cut it? I mean, without blowin' a hole in the wall? We could worry 'bout the shackles once we're on the shuttlepod."
Malcolm took a quick scan of the chain before nodding. "Phase pistol should do the trick quite nicely." He noticed T'Pol taking scans of her own. "Find something, Subcommander?"
"Only that Commander Tucker's assessment of 'this tub' is correct. We should leave very soon." Moving to the doorway she crouched to study something on the floor.
"I'm sure our young friend here would concur," Malcolm replied as he drew his pistol. At the sight of the weapon the boy let loose with a fresh bout of wheezing squeaks of panic, shying away from Reed. Malcolm again knelt before the wide-eyed toddler to attempt an explanation. He held the pistol aloft with one hand, holding the other up as if directing traffic to stop. The god-awful sounds coming from the child stopped but the huge panic-filled eyes were still riveted to the weapon.
"It's all right," the lieutenant soothed, risking a light touch on the boy's hands. Heart-wrenching hiccupping sobs filled the room and tears spilled from the golden eyes, threatening to break Malcolm's heart. "Here now, no need for that," he cooed, not quite daring to wipe the dampness from the lad's hairy face. Instead he stroked the child's shoulder in hopes of drawing the boy's attention away from the weapon. Their eyes met.
"Everything is going to be all right," he said. "I'm going to use this to cut this," he explained, tapping first the pistol then the chain. He repeated the gestures then continued by patting the boy's shoulder. "You need to look away." He tried to turn the child's head on the word "away" but the Lehrite jerked his face away with a frightened squeak as the lieutenant's hand made contact with his muzzle.
Before Reed could try again T'Pol spoke, holstering her scanner as she picked up what she'd been studying and cautiously approached them. "Perhaps this will provide an adequate 'diversion'," she offered, standing near the boy.
"Watch out for his feet," the lieutenant warned.
"Never mind his feet," Trip advised, "steer clear of his mouth."
Solemnly ignoring them both she dangled the objects—a large cloth pouch with a long broken strap, and an ornate earring—before the child. "I believe," she explained, "that these are his."
The Lehrite's reaction seemed to bear out T'Pol's theory, unwavering golden eyes locking on the items as manacled, begging hands reached for them, pleading moans falling on their ears. His gaze followed as she strategically moved his possessions to make him turn his head. T'Pol shifted her body slightly so that she was between the still-whining child and the lieutenant, grasping the chain near the shackles with her free hand. Malcolm wordlessly motioned Trip to pull the other end of the chain. When the offending links had been slowly drawn tight Reed sliced through them with a single shot.
The unexpected sound and flash startled the Lehrite into silence. Seeing fresh fear and uncertainty in his eyes, T'Pol gently placed the earring and pouch in his hands. A sparkle of joyous gratitude lit his eyes before his eyelids closed. Clutching his belongings to his chest, not even the renewed shuddering of the ship could purge the expression of bliss from the tiny hairy face. Only when Malcolm's hands gently gripped his shoulders did the boy's eyes flicker open. This time there was no fear as the child stared into his rescuer's eyes.
"We have to get you out of here," Malcolm gently urged. The boy merely blinked slowly in reply, offering no resistance as Malcolm carefully lifted him. Cradled in Reed's arms the Lehrite barely noticed as he was carried through the ship, consciousness slipping away long before they reached the shuttlepod.