"It can't have just vanished!"

Archer took a few steps forward; there was a clear indentation on the ground where the shuttle had been, but the vessel itself was gone. It had, indeed, disappeared into thin air. Archer found himself walking forward into the vacant space with hands outstretched, as if he might suddenly encounter a wall of metal indicating the presence of an invisible shuttle. However, there was nothing there, and he turned around in amazement.

"It couldn't have taken off – we'd have heard it!" Trip's tone and expression mirrored Archer's own stunned shock.

"That was our only way off the planet," Archer said, aloud, reaching for his communicator; "Archer to Enterprise – Enterprise, please respond."

They waited a long moment, but there was no reply. Archer shook his head; "Our signal's being blocked – seems to me that someone doesn't want us to leave..."

"We probably won't have to wait long before T'Pol decides to send another shuttle after us," Trip said, optimistically, "We can salvage a few supplies from the other shuttle, make camp and wait for rescue."

Agreeing that this seemed like their only option for now, Archer turned to head back towards the crashed 'pod, but in the light of day he caught his first proper look at Reed. The lieutenant had a nasty wound above his right eye, which was badly swollen and still oozing blood in a trickle down the side of his face. He had a split lip, but it was the awkward way he was standing supported by Trip that had caught Archer's concern – that, and the red stain slowly spreading across the right-hand side of his uniform jacket.

"Shit, Malcolm – you're bleeding!"

Trip jerked his head around to look at the lieutenant, who grimaced under the scrutiny. The engineer soon saw what had alerted the captain, and, unhooking Reed's arm from around his shoulders, he lowered him gently to the ground, leaning him against a convenient moss-covered boulder in a semi-reclined position.

"We need to treat this as best we can," Archer said, authoritatively, "all sorts of bacteria could thrive in an environment like this... Trip, start gathering supplies from the shuttle, whatever you can salvage. Our priorities are water, shelter and food."

"I'm on it, captain," Trip complied, shrugging out of his jacket and handing over his emergency kit, "here, you might need this..."

"Thanks, Trip," Archer took the extra supplies, as the engineer headed off in the direction of the wrecked shuttle.

Archer stole a quick glance in the other direction, disappointed, but not surprised, to see that the other shuttle had failed to miraculously reappear. Putting that element of their predicament to one side for now, he turned his attention on Malcolm. The armoury officer had closed his eyes, his breathing rough and ragged. Archer winced in sympathy. The lieutenant had been having a really rough time over the past couple of days. He reached forward, unzipped Reed's jacket, and pulled the fabric of his shirt to one side. He could not prevent a hiss of breath escaping through his clenched teeth as he observed the ragged wound – a large gash, approximately eight inches long, was torn into the flesh of Reed's right-hand side, across his waist between the hip and ribs. It looked like something had almost impaled the lieutenant, and the blood loss was becoming increasingly bad. Archer reminded himself that Reed was already suffering system shock and neurological trauma; concussion and blood loss on top made his condition critical.

Wasting no further time, Archer tore open their limited emergency supplies; from the basic field kit he treated Reed with a mild painkiller, reluctantly deciding to conserve the dosage, wondering if they might have to make it last some time. He cleaned the wound as best he could; muttering apologies under his breath every time Reed winced or gasped in response. Finally, he took sterile gauze and pressed it to the wound, trying to stem the blood flow. Reed hissed in pain but made no protest, holding the pad in place himself as Archer tightly wound bandages around his middle, securing the dressing in place. He then cleaned the blood from Reed's face, gently cleansed the head wound, and then taped a dressing over it. The captain then picked up a medical scanner and passed it over the lieutenant, and then swore at it – the dampening field around the planet was clearly interfering even with the handheld scanners.

"It's not as bad as it looks," Reed murmured, trying to raise a ghost of a smile, "I'll be fine to walk out of here, sir."

"Stay put for now, Malcolm," Archer told him, gently, "seems we've nowhere to go at the moment... save your strength. I'm sure Enterprise will send help soon."

"Let's hope so," came the slightly slurred reply, "sir, I... I feel..."

"Stay with me, Malcolm, that's an order!" Archer snapped out, but to no avail.

Reed's eyes rolled upwards and he slumped back against the rock. Archer reached out quickly, checking for a pulse; it was there, weak and irregular, but still there. The captain sighed, gently patted Reed's shoulder, and stood up slowly.

While he had been tending to his wounded officer, Trip had been stripping out the interior of the shuttle for anything useful, scattering even more debris around the crash site. Archer picked through some of it, scowling at their meagre supplies as he began to pack some things into a couple of bags. He had no intention of going anywhere, but he had no desire to be caught short if they suddenly had to flee this place, especially as they did not know if there was any indigenous life, intelligent, dangerous, or otherwise.

"What have we got?" Archer enquired, glancing up as Trip exited the shuttle with a small box of tools and supplies.

"Not enough of anything to last us very long," Trip answered, gloomily, "three days of clean water and rations, a few medical supplies, couple of spare phasers, communicators, tricorders – not that they're of any use. All of the stuff I brought was in the other shuttle – this one's only carrying the standard kit, and most of that's been destroyed in the crash."

"We'll make use of what we can," Archer sighed, "We should probably light a fire... we don't need the warmth but it will at least give us light when it gets dark, it'll be a useful beacon for any rescue party, and it might scare off any dangerous animals that could be lurking..."

"Agreed," Trip nodded, "I'll gather some wood... How's Malcolm?"

"Not good," Archer shook his head, "he's lost a lot of blood, he's got a serious concussion from the looks of things, and he's still weak from being attacked by that... what did he call it?"

"Tai'chu'un."

"Yeah, that."

"Is he gonna be okay?"

"Malcolm's a fighter," sighed Archer, "so I hope so, Trip. I'm also hoping T'Pol's going to realise pretty soon that there's a problem and send someone after us..."

"Me too, Jon – let's hope she decides it's the logical thing to do!"