Forwarded by the ASC-VSO 
Posted: 24 May 2004 20:38:02 -0700  
In: alt.startrek.creative 
From: daria@ameritech.net (Daria) 
 

Title: Salvage
Author: Daria
Series: ENT
Part: 7/11
Rating: [PG-13]
Codes: Tu, R  

Summary:  After the disasterous mission on Dorlog, Trip and Reed try
Beta: This was beta'ed by A. who did an amazing job. You have no idea
how much she improved this story. Absolutely fabulous beta reader. The
mistakes are mine for continuing to mess with it.

Spoilers: Notably Minefield, Desert Crossing, Silent Enemy,  The
Catwalk, Shuttlepod One, and The Communicator, but possibly alludes
slightly to other eps from the first two seasons.

Disclaimer: All the characters belong to Paramount, not me. This is
just for fun, not for profit.

Feedback: Always appreciated, especially constructive criticism.

***

Trip woke to fading light and complete silence. For a moment he was
disoriented, confused by being surrounded by trees and grass, rather
than the gray walls of his cabin he had expected.  He shifted
position, and rolled over-- to find Malcolm staring coldly at him.

"Malcolm?" he paused to reach up and rub his bleary eyes, bringing the
armory officer into better focus. "What's wrong?"

Malcolm remained silent, and Trip's disquiet ratcheted up a notch.
"Lieutenant?" Trip sat up, trying to clear his foggy brain, glancing
around to identify what could possibly be upsetting the armory
officer.  They had been alternating ninety-minute rest periods, and
Malcolm had been fine when Trip went to sleep.  As his vision cleared,
Trip saw that Malcolm was clutching a padd. To be specific, Trip's
padd.  He was gripping it so tightly his knuckles were white.

"How long have you had this?"

"The padd?" Trip asked stupidly, still trying to clear the sleep from
his mind.

"No, not the padd," Malcolm snarled. "The files on the padd. How
long?"

Realization was dawning on Trip. "Malcolm, why were you looking at my
padd anyway?"

"I wanted to compare a scan I just ran to the schematics you got last
night, because something didn't seem quite right to me. I hadn't
downloaded them from your padd to mine yet. You were asleep and I
didn't want to wake you. I apologize for invading your privacy."

"Malcolm," Trip was scrambling on his hands and knees to the armory
officer's side, wanting to reclaim his padd. "I was gonna tell you
what I found. There hasn't been time. I haven't even read the file."

"Oh, certainly not. Why would you have read the file? You downloaded
it without bothering to mention it to me, but you haven't read it. Why
do I find that hard to believe?"

"Malcolm, ya gotta believe me... I wouldn't do that. I promise ya."

"Why should I believe you?" The words were mumbled under Malcolm's
breath, and Trip almost missed them. When he realized what had been
said, Trip stopped short, his hand still outstretched for the padd. 
Slowly he lowered it, as he dropped back into a seated position.

"That's it, isn't it, Malcolm? You just don't trust me."

Malcolm froze.  Trip did as well, his own words startling him. For a
moment, neither moved. Malcolm found his voice first. "We have a
mission to complete."

"Yes, we do. A mission that could be dangerous." Trip took a deep
breath before delivering the next words.  "One that I don't think I
want to undertake with someone who doesn't trust me."

Malcolm's face was red. Trip didn't know whether it was from anger,
shock, or embarrassment, but he was betting on the first. Fleetingly
he wondered if he'd gone too far.

Malcolm turned from his pack. His motions were precise, his words slow
and deliberate. "Commander, I don't think this is an appropriate time
for this conversation. If you had doubts about my ability to perform
this mission, you should have said something to the captain before we
left."

"I don't doubt... you know that's not what I'm talking about,
Malcolm," Trip said wearily, taking the padd from Malcolm. "I just
think..."

A violent popping sound interrupted them. Instinctively they dropped
to their stomachs, turning automatically to face the complex.  People
were swarming out the main doors, chattering excitedly. As they
watched, the building emptied.  They kept low, not daring to speak for
fear their voices would carry to the complex.  For what seemed an
interminable length of time, they remained that way.  Finally, Trip
inched closer to Malcolm and whispered in his ear, "Was that one of
our explosives?"

Malcolm shook his head. Leaning close he replied sotto voce, "It
wasn't large enough... and it didn't sound right to me." Together they
watched as Vericans continued to flow out the doors, and noticed a
change. The last people to exit were, to various degrees, wet. Malcolm
put the pieces together first.  "I think they had a plumbing
emergency," he whispered with a hint of amusement. "I suppose it's
possible that one of the explosives went off and burst a pipe."

The alien workers continued milling around the complex, disorganized
and waiting for guidance, showing no desire to re-enter the building. 
It was nearly an hour before a vehicle raced up to the gate. Trip and
Malcolm watched as the now familiar Dorlogians exited the vehicle. Out
of the corner of his eye, Trip noticed Malcolm pressing himself even
further into the ground to avoid detection. Turning his head, he saw a
barely detectable tremor run through Malcolm. Trip wondered if it was
the adrenalin from the unexpected excitement, or if seeing the
Dorlogians made his crewmate nervous. Trip's own heart had sped up,
and his palms felt sweaty.

Together they watched as the Dorlogians spoke to one of the Vericans,
arms gesturing emphatically, voices raised, but not enough for their
UTs to detect and translate the words. "This is when I miss having
Hoshi along," Trip whispered.

Malcolm twisted abruptly to face him. "I would never want Hoshi to be
involved in this!" The whisper was harsh.  "It's much too dangerous.
Can you imagine what they would do with her? I'll bet they'd just love
to question a linguist of her ability..." he cut off his words, and
turned back to watch the conversation in the complex.

Trip had been joking; he wouldn't want Hoshi here either, but he made
a note of his crewmate's response. Trip wondered if the interest was
simply the armory officer's desire to protect the crew, or if there
was something more personal involved.

The Vericans crowding the space between the fence and the building
were trickling out through the gate in the fence toward their
vehicles, as they had on the previous evening. Trip glanced at the
sky, noting that while the sun was setting, it wasn't as low in the
sky as it had been when the workers left the previous day. They must
be allowing them to leave early because of the malfunction inside, he
realized.  When nearly all of the workers had cleared the area, the
Dorlogians went into the building, accompanied by the Verican they had
been haranguing earlier.

A few more minutes passed while Trip and Malcolm waited to be certain
the Dorlogians wouldn't be returning immediately. Finally, Trip slowly
pushed himself up a little higher. He remained on his stomach,
prepared to take cover again, but his face was out of the dirt his
upper body propped up on his elbows. Malcolm followed suit.

"This could change our plans," Trip said.

"There are more people inside still than last night. If they don't
leave, it will be more difficult," Malcolm concurred.

Trip shot another look at the setting sun and then stood up,
stretching. "There's still some time. Maybe they'll leave. I wonder
what happened."  As he studied the building he couldn't detect any
visible damage. If it had been an explosive, it hadn't managed to do
much harm.

"It's possible one of the smaller explosives was somehow set off. If a
heavy enough magnetic or electric field came too near, it could
detonate. And I did set some of them near water mains."  Malcolm rose
too, brushing the dirt from his uniform as he did so.

Trip looked at him. "Near water mains? Why'dja do that?" He didn't
mean to sound critical, but he couldn't imagine Malcolm bothering to
destroy the plumbing. It seemed a petty thing to do, to cause more
damage than necessary. Not that it really mattered; they were going to
destroy virtually everything of value inside the building anyway.
Still, it didn't seem like Malcolm. At least, not like the Malcolm he
used to know.

"The fires." Malcolm was still watching the complex, and he didn't
meet Trip's eyes. "To help put out the fires the explosives start. So
no one gets hurt."
 
Trip understood.  He put a hand on Malcolm's shoulder, wanting to
reassure him that they would try to make sure that didn't happen.
Malcolm's reaction startled him-- the armory officer shoved him, hard,
pushing him into the ground, and then pinning him to the earth.  Trip
gasped for breath, trying to restore the air that had been knocked out
of his lungs.  He lay stunned at the inexplicable physical attack. He
had barely touched Malcolm. He had always known, in the back of his
mind, that the armory officer had the ability to defeat him in a
physical confrontation, but he had never expected to see it
demonstrated. He twisted in the dirt, trying to face the armory
officer, but still too breathless to speak.

"Be still, Commander," Malcolm's whisper was harsh. "They've come back
out, and they're looking right up here."

Trip went limp, lying motionless, his relief at the reason for
Malcolm's actions almost drowning out the worry about the situation.
He couldn't see the complex from his pinned down position, and he was
afraid to try to move, both from concern that the Dorlogians might see
him and, more acutely, by the fear of what Malcolm might do to him if
he twitched so much as a single muscle. The armory officer was frozen
in position. Only when Trip sensed Malcolm relaxing, and the arm
pinning him down was lifted from his back, did Trip dare speak. "Are
they gone?"

"They've left the area. They went to the vehicles." Malcolm's voice
was pitched higher than usual, and he was breathing rapidly.  "That
was close."

Trip wondered how close it had really been. They'd been hiding here
for two days, and no one had noticed them yet. It seemed unlikely that
the Dorlogians would look at the exact spot where they were. But
Malcolm was convinced they had narrowly escaped discovery. 
Surreptitiously, Trip studied him. The armory officer was jumpy, more
on edge than usual.  Not that he didn't have every right to be. They
were about to go back into a building that contained enough planted
explosives to do them significant damage.

Malcolm started back to his pack. His attention was drawn to Trip's
padd, lying on the ground where Trip had dropped it at the sound of
the explosion.  Picking it up, Malcolm tossed it on to the top of
Trip's pack as he walked past. Trip picked it up and shoved it in his
pocket without comment. Instead, he looked into the forest behind
them. "How far back do we need to be when the explosives are blown?"

Malcolm followed his gaze. "A bit further. Maybe another fifty
meters?"

"You remember where we stopped to rest on the way in?" Trip asked.
Malcolm nodded. "Let's rendezvous there. You should be back here
before I am.  If something happens... remember what the captain said.
We've got to get rid of those weapons."

"Right. But he also said to be careful," Malcolm reminded him. "Do you
have a detonator in your pack?"

"Yup. You?" Fueled by nervous energy, and unable to stand still, Trip
repetitively curled and uncurled his fingers, while Malcolm tapped his
foot.

"Yes.  I think we're ready." Malcolm ran a last scan of the building.
"The extra people left. It looks the same as last night." Malcolm
picked up his pack and tossed it over his shoulders.

"Fine. Listen, once we're inside, you get those weapons off-line, and
then you hightail it back here. I'll kill the generator, and join you,
and we'll watch the fireworks display."

"I'll come assist you with in blowing the generator--"

"No! You get back to the rendezvous point. That's an order,
Lieutenant!" Trip told him sharply. Then more softly, "Now, contact
Hoshi and tell her we're ready for Enterprise to send Shuttlepod Two
for backup."  Trip didn't say anything more, but they both knew the
rest of the order was implicit.  If, somehow, one or the other failed
to make it to rendezvous point in time, the other was to detonate the
explosives.

Malcolm began to protest the idea of leaving his senior officer behind
in the complex, but Trip narrowed his eyes and tightened his lips.
Malcolm gave up. "Fine." He raised the communicator. "Lieutenant Reed
to Enterprise."

The response was static-filled but understandable. "Enterprise here.
Is everything all right, Lieutenant?" There was concern in Hoshi's
voice, and Trip remembered his earlier thoughts.

"Everything's fine, Ensign," Malcolm reassured her. "We're ready for
Shuttlepod Two to move into position.  We'll comm them if we need
help."

"I'll tell the Captain. Good luck, Lieutenant. Commander."

"Thanks, Hoshi," Trip called toward the communicator. Malcolm shot him
a look at the blatant disregard of noise discipline.

"Thanks, Ensign," Malcolm said more quietly.  He snapped his
communicator shut. "We're ready. Let's go."

*** 

Malcolm looked down into the tunnel. "Damn. Damn, damn, damn." He
cursed freely and unselfconsciously with no one around to hear him. 
The previous evening there hadn't been time to recon the weapon's
control room-- they'd had to leave, racing the rising sun and arriving
workers, and rely on the information they had downloaded from the
complex computer system.

It had looked so simple on the schematics.  If his scans and the
schematics were right the weapon controls would be on the far wall.
All he had to do was turn them off, disabling the feedback system, and
Trip could deactivate the power generators safely; they would exit and
detonate the explosives, creating a beautiful display of pyrotechnical
firepower. Simple.

What the schematics hadn't shown clearly, the incongruity with the
scans that Malcolm had discovered earlier, but hadn't had time to
resolve, was that the control room was three meters underground.

And underwater.

Malcolm's earlier guess that there had been a plumbing problem had
been proven
correct-- unless there was some reason he couldn't fathom to flood a
control room a meter deep with frigid water. Perhaps to keep out
aquaphobic armory officers intent on deactivating the weapons, he
thought glumly.  One of his explosives might have been responsible, or
the pipe may have burst naturally.  It didn't matter, really-- the end
result was the same: a very soppy control room.
 
Staring at the water from his perch on the entrance tunnel's access
ladder, he considered the problem.  The water hadn't yet reached the
control console, which was set higher than would have been comfortable
for humans, but which fit the larger Dorlogian physique nicely.  He
could see panel, a foot above the rising water. He still had time to
reach the controls, deactivate them, and escape through the tunnel. 
There was no danger of electrocution yet, which was fortunate since
there was no way of telling if the wiring was insulated to prevent an
electric shock should the water reach the console.  That was all he
needed, he thought wryly, to electrocute himself and then drown. 
Worse, if the weapons short-circuited they might fire-- and they were
currently targeting Enterprise. But even his concern for the ship
couldn't eclipse by his most pressing worry-- the water itself.

It was dangerous.  Every instinct told him so, screaming that even
considering entering the water was foolish.  Malcolm continued staring
at it. If only the water weren't so cloudy and he could see the floor
beneath the water.  He shuddered at the thought of walking through the
murky water, unable to see what might lie below the surface.

'Get control of yourself' he chided.  'It isn't the first time you've
had to do this.' But that particular memory didn't help, so he pushed
the thought away. 'Just... don't think about it. In, get the job done,
and out. Simple, really. A child could do it,' he tried to convince
himself.

It wasn't helping, but he had no choice. Trip couldn't deactivate the
generator while the weapons were on-line. Malcolm had to turn them
off. Lives depended on it. Potentially many lives-- including those on
board the Enterprise.

It was those lives, not the thousands of faceless ones, that finally
got him moving.  Dreading the feeling of the water surrounding him,
anticipating the unpleasant sensation of wet clothing sticking to his
body, he tried to think of something else. He searched his mind for a
pleasant image. His birthday celebration.  That had been a challenging
day, but one where they had been successful, and he'd enjoyed a drink
and some pineapple birthday cake with his friends. That had been nice.

He had reached the spot where the tunnel access ladder disappeared
into the water. Tentatively he took another step down, his right foot
entering the water. He felt it rush over the top of his boot, filling
it. It was cold, and he hated the feeling of wet socks.  He kept
going, forcing his left foot to follow the right, moving down the
ladder.

Other nice things-- movie night. The movie they'd seen while hiding on
the catwalk. He hadn't enjoyed the eight days trapped there, but the
movie had been fun.  They had even coerced T'Pol into watching it,
something he would never have thought possible.

The water had reached his waist now; only a few rungs remained. 
Gritting his teeth against both his fear and the icy cold of the
water, he took the last steps to finally stand on the floor.  For
several seconds he held tight to the ladder, getting his bearings and
working to slow his breathing, using every technique he had ever been
heard or read about to combat phobias.  Standing chest deep in
freezing, opaque water he didn't find them much help.  Reluctantly he
released the ladder, and shuffling his feet along the floor, hesitant
to lose contact with the solid surface, he began moving.  Feared
slipping and submerging himself he took each step with trepidation,
the journey across the control room seeming interminably long, with
nothing to hold to provide security against the dark water. An
eternity later, teeth chattering and body shaking, he reached the
console.  He looked at the chronometer on his padd. It had taken five
minutes.

Holding tight to the panel he took several calming breaths before
turning his attention to his task. As his eyes roamed over the
console, he immediately noticed a simple lever, bright red, slightly
separated from the other buttons and controls.

He consulted the padd and Hoshi's UT program to confirm his
interpretation. The lever was in an "on" position, clearly labeled. 
The other position was marked "off".

It couldn't be that simple.  

Eyeing it suspiciously, he wondered if it was a trick, or perhaps a
mock-up. There had to be some sort of security designed into it. He
needed to proceed carefully; the consequences of an error would be
catastrophic.  But caution was warring with his desire to get out of
the treacherous water.  Fear clouded his judgment, made it hard to
think. Shivering so violently that he nearly dropped the padd into the
watery depths, he reviewed the information on it a final time. 
Nothing he saw contradicted the idea that this simple lever was the
main control.  Out of options, he pulled it.

The blinking lights on the console flashed off.  Machinery ground to a
halt, and then... silence.  The sudden quiet soothed to his tattered
nerves. Turning to leave, he released the lever.  Immediately the
panel lit up again and the lever sprang back into the "on" position.

He stared at it, listening to the machinery starting again, and tried
to ignore his mind's clamoring insistence that he leave.  He yanked
the lever down again, more forcefully this time, and held it there for
several seconds before slowly uncurling his fingers to release it.  It
immediately returned to its previous position, the blinking lights
mocking him.

"No! No, No, No!"  Letting forth a string of obscenities that would
have done any sailor proud he slammed the padd against the console.

The lever wouldn't stay in the off position unless he held it there.

***

--
Forwarded to ASCL by:
Stephen Ratliff
ASC Stories Only Forwarding

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