Night fell slowly over the tropical forest, as the largest sun set first, quickly followed by the much smaller sun. As the shadows lengthened, Archer's hopes of rescue faded slightly; without reliable sensors, any search party would have to be recalled and postponed until daylight, as they would be relying as much on their visual searches as their instruments. He said as much to Trip, who tried to lighten the mood.
"Sorry Jon – no coffee this time around."
"Any bourbon?"
"Bourbon?" Trip pretended to look surprised, "why would there be bourbon?"
"I know you keep some stowed somewhere on all of the shuttles. Ensign Mayweather once spent his entire off-duty rota searching shuttlepod two for the supply but he couldn't find it. He swears you keep it inside the impulse engine."
Trip grumbled something, but reached around, rooting in one of the boxes, producing a familiar brown bottle.
"My supplies are dwindling," he groused, but nonetheless unscrewed the cap.
He took a deep swig from the bottle, and then handed it to Archer, who similarly took a long swallow. The fiery liquid burned its way down his throat and sent a warming sensation through his body that was much more welcome than the sticky, tropical humidly. There was a soft laugh, as a dry voice said; "Please sir – can I have some?"
Archer glanced up and smiled his first genuine smile for several hours.
"Good to see you back amongst the land of the living, Malcolm," he commented, observing the younger man's pallor and pinched, pained expression, "sorry, I don't think this would do your concussion much good... how about some painkillers instead?"
"I'd... I'd settle for that," Reed agreed, quietly.
It was the closest Archer had ever heard the Brit come to asking for help, and he simply watched as Trip quickly administered a dosage from the hypospray. Reed's expression softened slightly as the pain eased, but it was clear he was still in a great deal of discomfort; by the light of the fire, Archer could see spots of blood soaking through the bandage around his head.
"How are you feeling, Malcolm?"
"I'll be fine, sir," came the soft, stoic reply, "no sign of rescue yet?"
"None – they'll probably have to wait until morning now," Archer shrugged, his tone deliberately light and casual, "looks like we're camping here for the night."
"Not exactly shore leave," Trip yawned, glancing up at the clear night sky, "too muggy, for a start..."
"Reminds me of where my parents live, in Malaysia," Reed quirked a half-smile, as he tried to shift into a more comfortable position, "too hot for me..."
Archer glanced up as something flew overhead, making a high-pitched chirping noise – some sort of night bird, he thought. He shuffled a little closer to the fire, reaching for a ration pack.
"We all need to eat something," he said, passing one to Malcolm, who paled even more at the thought, "it'll help keep your strength up."
The lieutenant nodded, but did not seem enthusiastic. By the time Archer and Trip had finished theirs, Reed had set his aside, having consumed barely a quarter of it, and had fallen into a fitful doze. He was still leaning against a mossy boulder; Trip had stretched himself out on the ground to Reed's left, with the shuttle immediately behind him, while Archer sat opposite to Reed, with the fire to his right. He glanced across at Trip, who yawned widely.
"Get some sleep, Trip," Archer told him, "I'll take first watch. I'll wake you in a couple of hours."
"You're on," the engineer drawled, not needing to be told twice.
Pillowing his head on an emergency blanket, Trip was soon snoring softly. Archer leaned back against the tree trunk behind him, cradling a phaser in his right hand and wondering what the hell they were going to do come morning if the Enterprise did not send rescue.
The coming of night did not bring any relief from the hot humidity of the day; if anything, the air felt thicker and damper than it had before. There was no breeze to speak of, but the night was alive with insects chirping and animals scurrying about in the undergrowth. The camp fire popped and crackled as it burned through the damp wood that kept it fuelled. There was little light beyond the glow of the fire, the distant stars, and a couple of lanterns Trip had located in the shuttle's emergency supplies. Reed, who had been dozing fitfully, stirred, and suppressed a groan as pain lanced through his side. He shifted uncomfortably, pressing his hand to the wound in an effort to relieve it; the bandages felt damp beneath his shirt, though whether this was from sweat or blood loss, he could not tell.
For a moment, he stared up at the stars, trying to get his ragged breathing under control. The air was so thick it was almost choking, the hot humidity unbearable. He focussed on the stars, fancying that one of them might be light of Earth's sun, though he knew it unlikely. They were a very long way from home.
He licked his dry, parched lips, and wondered how much water they had left. He desperately wanted a drink, but he was well aware that if it came to a matter of survival over a long term, his chances were extremely low. He would not waste valuable rations by consuming them when the other two might need them more than he.
Hot pain lanced through his side again and he gritted his teeth as he applied further pressure, willing it to subside. His head looped in nauseating surges, throbbing in time with the deep laceration at his waist, and he gasped in a few quick breaths, trying to ease himself away from the rock – if he was going to be sick, he did not want to do it anywhere near the campsite. However, a strong but gentle hand grasped his arm, as a familiar Southern voice drawled; "Where do you think you're going?"
Reed could not answer, but gestured towards the trees, and Trip's eyes widened slightly in understanding.
"Ah! Oh – okay then – here..."
Trip held out a hand and pulled Reed to his feet; once upright, the lieutenant staggered forwards and disappeared behind a tree. Trip winced in sympathy at the sounds of retching. Once he was sure Reed had finished, Trip stepped forwards, and found the other man leaning against a tree for support, eyes closed, shaking like a leaf in the wind, one hand clamped firmly to his side. Trip made a sympathetic noise, reached out, and took him by the shoulders, steadying him.
"Come on," he said, gently, "let's get you lying down – time for more painkillers, I reckon."
"Sounds lovely," Reed croaked, opening his eyes, "ugh. Sorry."
Trip offered him a supportive smile, and then guided him back to their makeshift camp. Archer was fast asleep by the fire, and Reed was relieved that the captain had not been woken. Trip eased him down to sit beside the fire, and this time Reed could not prevent a yelp of pain escaping him as his side flared agonisingly. Hurriedly, Trip grabbed a blanket, folded it into a makeshift pillow, and then eased Reed back gently, until he was lying down. Trip then fetched a lantern and the medical kit.
"I think we'd best check the dressing, Mal," he said, softly, "I'll give you something for the pain first – just a small dose I'm afraid, there's not much left."
"I understand, sir," Reed whispered back, his voice tight with pain.
Trip laughed softly; "You know damn well that you can call me 'Trip'."
"Yes, sir, Trip, sir."
With a snort, Trip was relieved that at least his friend's sense of humour was still intact. He still remembered the first time Reed had made a joke at his expense. He'd nearly fallen down a vertical Jeffries tube in shock. He offered Reed a grin as he delivered the injection of analgesics. His smile faded, however, when he lifted Reed's shirt, revealing the blood-soaked bandages underneath.
"Aw hell, Mal," he murmured, "what did this?"
"The support strut that was pinning me down," Reed replied, his voice sounding vague and distant, "I couldn't feel it, at first..."
He trailed off, and then bit back a cry as Trip carefully peeled back the bandages. The edges of the wound were raw and puckered, weeping with a mixture of blood and pus. The skin around the injury was an angry red, and hot to the touch. Trip swore long and low under his breath.
"It's infected, isn't it?" Reed's tone was resigned.
"Looks that way," sighed Trip; "oh, God, Malcolm – when are you going to catch a break?"
"I'd been wondering that myself," Reed replied, with a mirthless laugh, "don't worry about it, Trip – there's not a lot that can be done about it now."
Trip shook his head, and set to work re-bandaging the ugly wound. If the creature - Tai'chu'un – had not injured so many of the security personnel during its escape, Dr Phlox would have been available to come with them on this mission, and then at least Malcolm would have the benefit of a skilled physician... then again, if it weren't for Tai'chu'un, they wouldn't be in this mess... he shook himself out of his thoughts when Reed could not suppress a groan of pain.
"I'm sorry," Trip apologised, "I'm done... here; you really need to drink something."
"I'm not thirsty," Reid lied, but Trip saw straight through it.
"You're sick and you're probably running a fever – you need to stay hydrated," the engineer insisted, in a low voice, "don't make me wake Jon and get him to order you..."
Reed gave him a half-hearted glare, but accepted the proffered bottle of water. He sipped at it carefully, and then handed it back.
"We need to conserve our supplies," he reminded Trip when the engineer was about to protest, "Just in case..."
He did not finish the thought, as Trip sat down next to him, one hand resting casually on Reed's shoulder, as the engineer looked up to the sky.
"Enterprise will come for us," Trip assured him, quietly, "you'll see. Try to get some sleep, Mal. I'll keep watch."
Reed nodded, and closed his eyes, soon falling into a light, feverish doze, wondering if help really would arrive come morning.