Blue on Blue

Chapter Twelve

Jonathan had only enough time to loop an arm around the stalagmite as the undercut ground began to fall away.  He staggered, grabbed the massive rock formation with his other arm, hugged himself hard against it and clung.  The pack, with its length of rappelling line trailing out behind it, tumbled and bounced down a steep slope where a flat surface had been only moments ago.  The ring of glittering metallic objects raining from its open mouth was lost in the clatter of rocks pouring down into darkness.

“Captain!”  Trip fought for balance, then allowed himself a controlled drop to all fours, preparing to launch himself forward as soon as the shuddering ground gave him enough purchase to do so.  “Captain!” he called again, looking toward the spot where Jonathan had been. 

Where most of the plateau had been. 

Mustn’t panic, can’t.  There’s no room for it.  So Okay, let’s go!  One hand forward, one knee.  Now bring the other hand forward.  Careful, remember the training?  Scan right, left, up… Other knee forward now.  Any sign of the captain yet? 

Trip moved over drunken ground, squinting through clouds of rising dirt and debris.  The light!  Where was the captain’s light?

It had to be out there somewhere within the deepening greyness, fading, disappearing into dimness. 

No!  It’s in here!  That light!  The captain, the memory, they’re in here.  They’ll come! We know it!  We feel it on the edge of our mind! We’ve got to trust it!   Wait!  It’ll come! It has to come!

“Captain?”

Was that a glimmer coming from a rocky ledge that hadn’t existed a minute ago?

“Hey, Captain?”

Trip wasn’t sure if he’d shouted, only that it was faster, safer moving forward on hands and knees, distributing his weight on treacherous ground than scrambling to his feet. 

“Trip!” The word wavered with breathlessness, but it was clear and recognizable.  His helmet beam crossed the captain’s, shining up from where he sat on a narrow ledge ten to twelve feet below Trip’s vantage point.

Never been so glad to see a light, to hear a voice! 

Jonathan’s arms still circled the stalagmite.  His eyes  raised to Trip’s, wide with shock just beginning to give way to amazement.  If he hadn’t been setting up to make that toss, hadn’t been holding onto that stalagmite, or was already making his way across that plateau when the undercutting gave way…    

Trip shuddered, then drew a deep breath and shook it off.  “You okay down there, Captain?”

“Well, I’m not buying a ticket for another ride like that any time soon!”  Jonathan’s voice had lost some of its breathless quality as he looked around and kept his grasp on the stalagmite.  “I might say something different tomorrow when the bruises wake up, but I think I’m okay.”

In Trip’s opinion, he’d be more okay if that ledge still continued to where the path had been so Jonathan could make his way back up to safety or if the drop was shorter so Trip could inch forward on his stomach, reach down a hand to pull him up.  And if that noise rumbling down below would shut up, then they’d both be a whole lot more okay.

Within the meld, the uneasiness was still building. 

“Gonna get you outta there, Captain!”

Despite the gravity of the situation, there was that old, once familiar note of humor in Jonathan’s voice.  “As the captain, I can really get behind that plan!”

Trip glanced around.  His helmet’s beam flitted over jagged walls and broken rocks,   At least there was no sign that the newly exposed ground had been undercut.  But there was no pack now, no rappelling line.  Not even the damn coffee.  All Trip could see was the light from his head lamp gliding across the steep drop beneath Jonathan’s ledge, leading to a tiny, glistening reflection below.  There was something about it he didn’t much like, that vibrated a note of warning all through him before it flickered toward grey, then vanished like it had never existed. 

But we saw it!  Knew what the threat was.  What it is.  But- hey, did we tell the captain what we saw, or tell him to look?  If we did that, he might say something about what it is!  Name it, Captain, name it!  Because if we knew the danger before, we can’t find it, we don’t remember! 

The uneasiness was giving way to heart racing desperation.

Easy.  Breathe easy.  Slower.  A bit deeper if we can.  That’s it.  Good.   What did we say to the captain next?

Said?  We said?  Think we said…  

“Be right back, Captain.”  Trip was rising, turning, then looking back to shout.  “Gotta get-”

Greyness.  We must listen beyond the spreading greyness! 

“-my pack!  There’s another set of lines in my pack!”

That’s it!  That’s what we said!

There was a flicker of bright awareness in the mist. 

We are running with a purpose. 

There was an impression of the head lamp’s beam throwing huge, dinosaur teeth shadows on the passing walls before everything faded as Trip’s footsteps carried them onward into the grey.

Another brief awareness showed that Trip was pounding up the tunnel.

Get the pack… It’s in the pack! 

A sound was rising back in the cave, nameless white noise growing loud, louder still, then fading. 

Rodents squealed and ran, scrabble-footed beside them through the dimness.  Long, long tails flicked taunting tips across hurrying legs as the ground grew steeper.  Dirt and stones skittered and shimmied underfoot as the grey tried to swallow everything except the sound of panting-

in, out, in- and the drumming of heartbeats. 

Was that a glint ahead?  A pale glimmer out of the mist?  Had it become a true reflection growing bright, then brighter in the light of the head lamp?   

See it there, with a flash of color? 

Yes!  It was real.  It was the pack!

Great, Captain, I got it!  Over shoulder and…  Go!

Trip was up again, staggering a little and panting as he turned back down the tunnel, but almost smiling as he ran.

It’s gonna be all right!  Hey, Captain, I’m coming! 

The sound of deep rumbling swelled around him, coming from above, below and ahead!  It was more than white noise.

Debris was coming from the tunnel’s roof, first only a trickle, then a prattle, then a stream!  Dirt and rocks poured across the floor, covering the path! 

Mustn’t  get caught in this… 

Trip dodged to the right. 

Whew!  Close one there!  Way too close for comfort! 

Piles of dirt and rock grew larger every second!  He estimated the distance and leaped.

Gonna make it! 

Fah whoomp!

One of the backpack straps was snagging.

Damn!  Who the hell decided to put a lantern hook right there?

With the ripping of fabric, the backpack jerked free, falling away behind in a clatter of metal on stone as tools flew and scattered! 

Gotta turn back.  Got to get to the pack-   

Trip crouched, scrabbling in the dirt.

Don’t need the coffee.  Or the ballpeen hammer. Where’s the rappelling line?  Not the sandwich container.  Rock pick?  Oh, come on, gimmee a break here!  Field ration pack.  One extra glove.  No. No. No.  The pH gauge.  No! 

But there it was, coiled loops of rappelling line with adhered package of stakes.

Yeah!  Bingo!   Got what we need!  Leave the rest! 

Scrambling to his feet, Trip turned and began to run. 

On my way Captain!  Hang in there!  I’m coming…

And then a shout of shock and pain swelled through her mind and T’Pol was hurtling backward out of the meld.  The echoes reverberated through her head, through her memory, stretching beyond the mere two or three seconds when everything had changed.