Forwarded by the ASC-VSO Posted: 24 May 2004 20:39:17 -0700 In: alt.startrek.creative From: daria@ameritech.net (Daria) Title: Salvage Author: Daria Series: ENT Part: 8/11 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. *** One hundred meters away, Trip was pacing. It had been nearly a half-hour since he and Malcolm had entered the complex, and the weapons still weren't off-line. Until they were, he couldn't deactivate the generator. He had already examined the machine, found the locations of the myriad circuits he needed to close, and confirmed the location of each button, switch and wire he needed to access. It was a sophisticated piece of equipment, with several fail-safes built in, but he had poured over the schematics with Malcolm earlier, and had devised a turn-off sequence. Now, he just needed the weapons to go off-line. Trip had wanted to simply plant explosives around the generator and detonate it from outside, as they were doing with the weapons, but Malcolm had insisted that they verify the generator was off-line, with no possibility of re-activation, before they blew up the weapons. The risk was too great, Malcolm had argued, as long as the weapons were targeting Enterprise. His argument had persuaded Trip. What could be taking so long? Malcolm had estimated it would take him ten, fifteen minutes at the most, to make his way to the control room, and another five to turn off the weapons. So why were they still on-line? Trip saw a flicker in the power on his scanner's display. Finally. 'Good job, Malcolm,' he thought. But before he could take even a step toward the generator, the weapons were back on-line. He tapped the top of the scanner with his index finger, wondering what Malcolm was doing. The weapons went off-line again. This time Trip made it several feet closer to the first circuit he planned to deactivate, before the weapons came back on. Damn! What the hell was Malcolm doing? Trip grabbed for his communicator, but stopped himself. He didn't know Malcolm's situation. If for some reason the armory officer needed silence, Trip didn't want to create a problem for him. Malcolm would communicate with him if he needed to. Trip sat down to wait, his eyes glued to his scanner. *** Malcolm looked around the nearly submerged control room for anything he might be able to use to fasten the lever into position. There was nothing; anything that might have been of use was submerged. He grabbed the lever, and once more pulled it down, this time keeping his grip on it. His free hand still held the padd, and with both hands so occupied he could no longer grip the console. His heart, which had settled into a more normal rhythm, began racing again and he felt the choking sensation and tightening of his chest that always came with the fear. He tried again to ignore it, to use the calming techniques, but to no avail. He knew that a phobia was, by definition, an unreasonable fear but knowing that his terror was irrational did nothing to lessen it. The fear was too large, the danger too close and too real, for the techniques to be of any help. The chronometer embedded in his padd indicated he was running out of time. Trip should be very close to attempting to disable the generators. Malcolm couldn't let the weapons go back on line. If they did, and Trip had begun working, the tampering would be detected and trigger the fail safe, firing the weapons. The surge of energy could kill Trip, too. Malcolm would have to hold the lever down until he was either certain that Trip had succeeded, or until Trip came looking for him... and then realization hit. The engineer wouldn't be returning here; he would go to meet Malcolm at the rendezvous point. Malcolm tried to think rationally despite the smothering fear. If Trip was successful, the power and lighting in this room would go out and he'd know it was safe to let the lever go. The thought of crossing the water in the dark was chilling-- or it would have been, if he hadn't already been so cold. His convulsive shivering risked inadvertently pulling his hand off the lever. He gripped it harder, determined not to let that happen. He hoped Trip would hurry. *** "Youch!" Trip snatched his hand away from the open panel. He stifled his curses, remembering the need for silence. Shaking the sore hand, he realized he was getting careless, and climbed off the generator to take a break. Leaning against the wall, he checked his chronometer, and again cursed. Fifteen minutes. It should have only taken fifteen minutes to deactivate the generator, and it had now been almost three hours. The process had turned out to be more difficult than he'd anticipated. Several panels had refused to budge and he'd had to sneak around until he found tools, and then risk making noise as he pounded at the stubborn bolts and hinges. Fortunately the noise of the generator masked the sounds he was making, both his pounding and his too frequent cries of pain as he managed to burn both hands and acquire an impressive assortment of cuts and scrapes from the unfamiliar equipment. "If the damn things you're connected to weren't pointing at my ship, I'd just blow you the hell up, and let you shoot your weapons," he informed the generator. Wearily he pushed himself away from the wall and returned to work on what he hoped was the last wire. 'At least Malcolm's had plenty of time to get out of here. I just hope he doesn't get trigger happy and decide to give me up as a lost cause and blow the whole shebang up.' That thought hit a bit too close to home, making him slightly uncomfortable. Malcolm had been testy and jumpy since the start of this mission; he knew that Malcolm wouldn't *really* blow him up, but in his current mood the armory officer might be sorely tempted. They really had to talk. But that was for later-- right now he had to finish this job. 'Malcolm must be wondering what's taking me so long', he thought. *** What could be taking Trip so long? The lights had gone out. The rising water had reached the console and there had been an impressive sparking display followed by the overhead light blinking out. It hadn't electrocuted him, but he now had no way to tell when Trip killed the generator. He had a torch in his pack, but he had left it up above, hidden near the tunnel entrance. He had no way to judge time. The hours in the cold water had drained his energy, and his head sagged. His arm had fallen asleep. He had been holding the lever down with his left hand, and holding the padd with his right one, but holding his arms above his head was exhausting; between that and the numbing cold his fingers had lost feeling and he'd dropped the padd into the now shoulder-high water. At least he'd been able to lower his arm, and switch hands on the lever, resting his tired and cramping muscles. Nearly submerged in the freezing water, Malcolm alternated between believing Trip would return with the news that it was safe to release the lever, and fearing the engineer would be unable to turn off the generator... or would be killed trying. The generator held tremendous power-- an accident was not unlikely. How long should he wait before giving up and crawling back up the tunnel? What would Trip do when he discovered that Malcolm wasn't waiting for him at the rendezvous point? A terrifying possibility loomed. He tried to push it out of his mind, but it lingered, tormenting him. What if, when he didn't find Malcolm at the rendezvous point, Trip decided to destroy the weapons and depart? The possibility haunted Malcolm. Part of him insisted that he wouldn't be left here. Surely Trip would scan the complex and pick up his biosigns... unless they were masked by the water, or by being underground. If he couldn't locate Malcolm, might Trip decide that, in the best interest of the mission, it was necessary to blow the weapons up, even with Malcolm still inside the complex? Three months ago, Malcolm wouldn't have considered it a serious possibility. He would have had absolute faith that Trip, or any of his crewmates for that matter, would exhaust every possible solution before allowing anyone to be left behind. But doubt had been planted; it was corrosive and had eaten away at his confidence in the other man. He hadn't lied when he told Trip that he was no longer angry at him-- he had worked past that emotion-- but the confidence, the trust that had been eroded, hadn't been restored. As much as he wanted to have faith that he wouldn't be abandoned, once the spectre had been raised he couldn't dismiss it. And Captain Archer *had* made it clear that the weapons must be destroyed. Surrounded by water, deep beneath the complex, Malcolm knew he would almost certainly survive the explosions-- if the rush of water from bursting water mains didn't fill the room too quickly. Malcolm bitterly regretted having planted explosives by the pipes. But if he survived the explosion, he would almost certainly be discovered by the returning workers. The thought of being caught by the Vericans and turned over to the Dorlogians, in their hands again, panicked him; desperate to escape the water, the Dorlogians, and the uncertainty he nearly released the lever. Just in time, he caught himself. With an effort he forced deep breaths, regaining enough control to keep his hand firmly on the control. Enterprise wouldn't leave, he tried to convince himself. Captain Archer would never, ever, allow that. As long as Malcolm was alive, they wouldn't desert him. But what if they believed he was dead? What if Trip told them about the situation on the planet, and they decided he must have died, or that the risk in retrieving him was simply too great? As tactical officer he would have advised against putting anyone else at risk to rescue a single crewman. A small amount of light trickled down the access tunnel, but it didn't provide much illumination. In darkness, numbed by the cold, and surrounded by a terrifying amount of water, Malcolm's fear took on weight. He wondered, again, how long had he been in the freezing water. Surely there had been ample time for Trip to deactivate the generator. After all, it was just a matter of pulling a few wires, wasn't it? Of course, the engineer had to make sure the generators were completely and permanently destroyed, so that the destructive power could not be re-created, and double-check for any signs of Starfleet technology in the computer databases. They had decided not to destroy the databases entirely, since they contained information the people of this world would need to reconstruct their old technologies, and sorting through the files would be time consuming. But how long could that take? Freezing, Malcolm shuddered again. He tried to ignore the cold and focus on creating a plan for getting off the planet in one piece, but they'd already made a plan, and it was sound. There weren't any more details to figure out-- it was a poor distraction. The water, on the other hand, was a magnificent, albeit unpleasant distraction. It had continued to rise, and now he could feel it lapping at his chin. The lever was still above the water's surface, but it wouldn't be long before he would be forced to release it or drown. He shivered again, only partially from the cold. He wondered darkly if all their efforts had been for naught. They could have just waited until the control room flooded and shorted out the weapons circuits. But that might not have worked. It was possible that the first thing that would happen when water hit the wires was that the weapons would fire at Enterprise. Or at some other hapless ship in orbit. Their efforts were not wasted, he told himself. He couldn't let himself see it any other way. This was necessary. But oh, he wished Trip would hurry and turn the power off. He could drown here. The irony was delicious. He had come all the way out into space to drown. Somehow the thought didn't panic him, as it might once have. Perhaps he was too cold to care. He thought that he might have another ten minutes before the water was up to his nose. At that point he would have to give up and release the lever. There was no sense in allowing himself to be drowned-- the moment he was unconscious, his hand would release the lever anyway, and the weapons would be activated again unless Trip had been successful. He was torn with the need to make a decision. Not knowing Trip's status, he didn't know if holding out even a little bit longer might make a difference, might buy the critical seconds that allowed Trip to complete his work. It seemed unlikely that a few extra seconds could make a difference, and Malcolm didn't want to drown in a futile effort. Mentally he prepared himself to release the lever... but found he couldn't. A battle raged in his mind. Part of him, a loudly, clamoring part claimed leaving was the only sane thing to do-- if Trip hadn't managed to disable the generator yet, he never would. Trip had probably left already. Malcolm should give up too. But another part, a very stubborn part that spoke in a quiet voice insisted this was Dorlog all over again-- he was going endanger Enterprise to save his own skin. Malcolm, frozen physically by the cold water, and mentally with indecision, once again prepared to let go of the lever. No. He wouldn't allow it, wouldn't repeat his mistake. He would not risk Enterprise. *** The silence was shocking. For the last three hours, Trip had worked in an environment of constant, jarring, grating noise, accompanied by the huge machine's vibrations. The sudden cessation of noise took him by surprise. It was a few seconds before the implications sunk in. "Yes!" He pounded his right fist into his open left hand, and then choked back a cry at the pain from the burns, but even the pain couldn't quell his victory. The generator had at last been stilled, and could no longer send a message to the weapons to fire. Now, to make the deactivation permanent... Trip moved away from the generator. Time was at a premium. It wouldn't be long, probably only a matter of minutes, before someone came to check on the generator; he had to destroy it before that happened. Moving as quickly as he could, he moved toward several heavy pieces of equipment that resembled old Earth bulldozers. Ducking behind one, he pulled the detonator from his pocket. Hoping no one had reached the generator yet, he activated the device. A sonorous boom was followed by vibrations that shook the building. Immediately sirens shrieked warnings to anyone who would listen. Trip was already moving, making his way to the rear door. He listened for the sound of people responding but heard nothing. Odd. He knew there had been at least ten people in the building when they had entered; it was strange that nobody was responding to the emergency. But that wasn't his concern. He just wanted out, to get to a safe place where he and Malcolm could blow the much more powerful explosives to destroy the weapons. Trip slid out the back door, staying in the shadows until he reached the breach in the fence. It only took him a moment to clear the fence, and then he was on his way up the slight incline to their hiding spot. Glancing back, he couldn't stop a grin. Ten Vericans were standing outside the main entrance to the building, pacing back and forth, talking loudly and gesturing wildly. Trip could tell what had happened. They had been outside, probably taking a break, when the explosion had occurred. Now they were afraid to enter the building. Malcolm would get a kick out of it, even if he would be disappointed in their ineptitude. Trip hurried to the rendezvous point, the anticipation of telling the story giving his weary body energy. Malcolm wasn't there. *** Shielded by the water, and underneath the main complex, Malcolm didn't feel the vibration or hear the rumbling noise. His head was tilted back to keep his face out of the water, only his arm and the hand grasping the lever still above the water's surface. He was almost completely numb, and his mind wasn't working well. He forced himself to stay focused on two tasks: keep the lever pulled down, and keep his face above the water. Nothing else mattered. His shivering was continuous now. He wondered, yet again, how much time had passed. Surely Trip had deactivated the generator by now. Surely... his eyes drifted closed and he slid an inch deeper into the water. He jerked awake as cold water contacted previously dry flesh. He struggled to stay awake, to buy a few more seconds, hoping they would make a difference. *** Sitting against a tree, Trip anxiously watched the horizon where the sky was beginning to lighten. It wouldn't be long before the sun rose, and if the previous day was any indication the workers would arrive at roughly the same time. He needed to blow the weapons before then, or risk killing hundreds of innocent beings. Where the hell was Malcolm? Trip stood up, grabbing a tree for support. Head low and feet dragging, he began making his way back towards the complex, trying to decide what to do. Malcolm had to have reached the weapon's control room-- the weapons had gone off-line, and they hadn't fired when the generator died. So why hadn't Malcolm returned to the rendezvous point as ordered? Trip rubbed his weary eyes. There were only two reasons he could think of: either Malcolm had been discovered, or he had been hurt. But Trip had seen the evening shift workers outside the complex. There was no indication that they had discovered anyone. They would have been inside if they had. That left only one option: Malcolm must be hurt. Trip glanced back at the sky, now definitely a lighter shade, and picked up his pace. When he got to the hiding spot where they had spent the day observing the complex, he stopped. The workers were inside again-- undoubtedly they had discovered the damage to the generator by now, and soon they would realize the implications-- sabotage-- and would inform the Dorlogians. An idea struck Trip. "Tucker to Shuttlepod Two." "Shuttlepod Two here." The reply was immediate. "Travis, can you detect Malcolm's biosign inside the complex? The generator's off now, so there shouldn't be anything to interfere with your scans." "Aye, Commander. We read him." "Good! Ask Enterprise to transport him out of there, and deposit him right here, unless he's injured. I want to have a few words with him." There was a moment of silence during which Malcolm did not appear. Finally, Travis's voice returned. "Sorry, Commander. They can't get a lock. Something about where he is, underground or underwater, too many layers or something. They weren't very clear about the problem." "Okay, Travis. I'll be back in touch shortly. Tucker out." Trip snapped the communicator shut without looking at it; he was studying the horizon again, trying to determine precisely how much time he had; the first rays of sunshine were now visible. This would be their only chance to destroy the weapons. Once the damage to the generator was confirmed as sabotage, the workers were sure to do a thorough search and discover the explosives wired to the weapons. They would remove them and increase their security. If Trip didn't detonate the devices before the workers arrived, it would be too late. They wouldn't get a second chance; Starfleet's technology would be fair game to whoever could afford to purchase it. Trip hated what he was thinking, but he had to consider all his options, and he knew the smartest thing to do, the best way to make sure the mission was accomplished, was to destroy the weapons now. If Malcolm wasn't out of the complex in the next fifteen minutes, Trip thought, he would have to detonate the explosives rigged to the weapons, and hope his crewmate was under cover. They could try to retrieve him with the transporter later, although Trip knew that was an iffy proposition. He couldn't do it. If there was one chance in a hundred that he could save the man whose friendship he had been trying so hard to regain, he would do it. If necessary, he would detonate the weapons while they were both still in the complex. It might kill them both, or result in their capture... but he wouldn't abandon his friend. Trip ran. He ignored the need for stealth, the need for speed greater, until he entered the front door of the complex. No one was immediately in sight, but he could hear agitated voices from the direction of the generator. Reinforcements were on the way. Trip broke into a dead sprint toward the control room. -- Forwarded to ASCL by: Stephen Ratliff ASC Stories Only Forwarding In the Pattern Buffer at: http//trekiverse.crosswinds.net/feed/ ASCL is a stories-only list, no discussion. Comments and feedback should be directed to alt.startrek.creative or directly to the author. Yahoo! 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