1. The Big Freeze

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_**Taking a Turn**_

_Summary: _The good old "Trapped on a planet" scenario. Archer and T'Pol find themselves caught up in something of a temperamental storm whilst on an away mission. Response to a challenge.

_Disclaimers:_ No, I don't own anything that already does to Paramount, Archer, T'Pol, C Deck etc. I do own the snowstorm however.

A.N: Okay, this piece is in response to a challenge set on The Logical Choice forum board by a one Tami. For that reason, seeing as it's due to be finished for the 4th, it wont be too long, two or three chapters. It will be fun though (to write at least –smiles–). 

"Think Antarctica."

………………………

Suddenly he sneezed.

They stood close together, the tips of their toes curled upon the crystal edges of a most magnificent and terrifying sight. Before them lay a sea of shimmering silver, of uncontaminated white with a splash of enigmatic purple, headed by the most spectacular of piercing jades in an indigo sky: A snow desert with otherworldly Northern lights.

"Well ah'll be damned…" And then he sneezed again.

"Commander, are you alright?"

The Vulcan had seen humans sneeze before, but often when she did, the act, if continued, eventually led to a trip into sickbay.

"Ah'm a Southern boy T'Pol, Florida born and raised. Ah'm just not used t' the cold, that's all. Ah'll be fine."

Standing just inches before them, fighting off a hybrid of anxiety and anticipation which churned and battered away at his ever-racing, ever-proud heart, Archer smiled, although it was something barely visible under the thick faux fur lining of his draping hood.

"You know I only needed T'Pol for this one Trip, so if you infect half my crew with the cold when we come back… well the brig _has_ been empty for a while, and it is looking for a little company."

T'Pol felt it safe to assume he was applying humour to the Engineer. So ignoring the banter she raised a scanner that was littered on its LCD screen now with tiny particles of beautiful ivory ice. Not appreciating the sight of them on her equipment however, she quickly brushed them away with a thick murky brown cotton glove.

"The Eisilium minerals are located two and a half kilometres due North of this landing sight, buried in a cluster of boulders."

The two men looked at her expectantly. She pointed slightly to her right.

"That way."

Together they nodded.

Then, with a quiet grunt Trip heaved a rucksack full of drilling equipment that sat quietly at his feet onto his back. Wobbling for a second on his knees he fought to keep his balance, then tenderly stood up straight ready to go.

Taking one of two other sacks left at the Commander's feet, Archer too struggled and wavered for a moment as he hoisted the chunky bag of equipment onto his shoulders.

In one rather graceful swoop T'Pol shouldered her own load and began walking through the due North course she had literally pointed out and set for them.

Their mission was relatively simple, in comparison to others they had executed before. Through luck alone, by putting a hand into the Vulcan database and quite randomly picking out a destination (a tact much objected by T'Pol) Archer had chosen their next planet to seek out and extend a handshake to. Their next planet, on discovery through the Science Officer's more regulated scans, turned out to be a place laden with a rich source of the rare Eisilium minerals, as discovered on a comet back in the youth of their mission. And this source of Eisilium was astonishingly close to the surface, buried in rock faces and boulders not centimetres from their surfaces. _And _the people who owned this planet (but for an unknown 'good reason' did not _live_ on it) had utterly no objections to them coming down with their handshake-manner to obtain a sample… or five.

Of course though, all seemingly perfect proposals had their drawbacks.

"Think Antarctica," Archer had said as way of example when briefing his two accompanying crewmembers on the planet's brutal weather conditions. Trip had let an involuntary shiver run through the cracks of his spine. T'Pol had looked on with a cocked head.

"It'll be cold Sub Commander, very cold. Probably like… 'the anti-Vulcan' planet."

Her head had remained tilted and on that the briefing had closed.

"So where's all these blizzards and snowstorms y' promised us Cap'in?"

Archer looked back on the audacious Southerner with a tilted smile.

"It's the middle of summer here right now actually, no storms due for another month I'm afraid. Ambassador Kraeke assured me the weather would stay relatively mild for us, if _we_ stayed relatively quiet. It's just going to be very cold."

Looking far from disappointed Trip threw his nose into a brief, biting wind and looked on at the two and a half kilometres they were destined to tread through.

"'Cold' would be an understatement, ah think."

His skin was on fire with a prickling chill, to be mildly descriptive about it.

"The walking and the rucksack should heat you up."

Engaged in her scanner T'Pol had been her naturally quiet self when half-listening to one of the Captain and Commander Tucker's conversations. Unknown to either however she felt her system take a hostile welcome to the sub-zero temperatures around them. Hardy though she was her people were an extremely warm-blooded race, as any one visit to Vulcan would capably show you. Humans had managed to adapt to life in the colds of such places as Canada and Scotland; such places on Vulcan did not exist. However though, and unsurprisingly, she continued without mentioning this.

Another brief and vicious arctic wind swept across the small parts of their faces which were bitterly exposed as they carried on steadily. Archer gritted his teeth and thought long and hard about the significant importance of collecting this elusive Eisilium. As ever he was able to will himself on with his bold and stalwart nature. Behind him his accompanying crewmembers carried on without complaint, only a few half-jokes, as ever uttered on Trip's behalf.

Archer had walked many times the length of two and a half kilometres before. He had run marathons, climbed mountains, desert trekked, completed triathlons, swam the English Channel even. Needless to say he passed his physical at Starfleet, quite literally at a sprint. The cold however had always been something of a weakness and downfall for him, and these two and a half kilometres would not be taken at any record-breaking speed by the fit Captain, or at any easy pace at all.

Before them the path _was_ clear however. The snow was immaculate, if not at least half a foot deep, and the air crystal. The skies were harmonic, not a cloud touched upon the swirling mass of jade and indigo above. The winds were sharp and vicious, but short-lived and generously infrequent. Only the cold and the depth of frost they had to tread through caused the slow pace. The weather itself was at a tranquil lull, and the three were ever grateful for it.

Keeping a steady pace they made better time than they knew, trudging through their path at a fair speed for the conditions they were enduring. Twenty minutes in Trip decided to pipe up again.

"How much d' y' reckon we'll be able t' dig up?"

Archer turned to T'Pol who just as quick went back to consulting her scanner.

"From what I can detect, at least six grams of pure, uncontaminated Eisilium, for each drill, perhaps more if we go closer to the core of the boulders than was first intended. I cannot be certain however until we are at the actual sight."

Instinctively the two men looked on, hoping to catch a glimpse of some archaic rock buried into the never-ending stretch of snow. They saw nothing of the kind. Before them though was a rising gradient that composed a rather steep hill. Archer squinted to make it out, finding the depth difficult to judge in a canvas so toneless. It was steep though, of that he could see, and it stretched far.

He shifted the weight of his rucksack as a thick billow of frosty breath escaped his red tipped nose. Quietly he grunted then bared a smile.

"Not far then?"

T'Pol shook her head. "No, another kilometre before we are there I believe."

He raised a brow, impressed by having travelled much further than he thought in just that time.

Moving on a few more steps they then hit the hill together, and the two men felt the flaming protests from their backs almost instantly. T'Pol, remaining in steady, flawless stride carried on ahead, unaware of how taxing the hill proved to be for her human companions.

"I believe once we are over this hill we will come across another flat and the boulders should be in that area within the co-ordinate radius the scans have set us."

Archer felt himself falling forward on every step, reaching to claw his way up the snow bank, of which with every powerful step the Vulcan took above him a drift of snow would dislodge under her rising heel and come down on him. As comical as the sight must have been, he imagined, he was not wholly appreciative of the accidental act.

Trip took liberty to stop for a moment, craning his neck up at the eerie, still sky as he scanned the remainder of the hill.

"Did it look as steep as this to you when we were down there?"

Archer threw him a grin from the corner of his lips.

T'Pol, it could go without saying, reached the top before them. Archer watched her as she came to a stop, then seemed to stand in puzzlement at what she saw before her.

"Problem Sub commander?"

She turned slowly, as if finding it difficult to tear her perplexed gaze from what she had discovered.

"I would advise that you do not rush to the top of this bank."

Archer's half smile slid from his face and Trip dipped a brow.

"Like I asked Sub Commander, is there a problem?"

Slowly, turning back to what she had discovered, she nodded. She did not indulge him with a vocal response however.

With a sigh and a grunt he heaved himself forward, pulling away from Trip's side and reaching the Vulcan at as much a run as he could manage, declining to obey her suggestion that he approach slowly. He found out in a moment why she had warned him to go slow. Sinking his feet into the snow he threw on the breaks as T'Pol extended an arm as a barrier and stopped his torso toppling forward as his heart leapt into his gaping mouth.

She threw him a side-glance. "I warned you."

Trip came up cautiously at their side. His brow shot up as his eyes widened briefly.

"Wow…"

Before them, not one hundred yards away past another slightly downward sloping hill, lay a gaping abyss in what had before appeared to be a flawless white desert. The crevice stretched on as far as the eye's vision could reach, curving with the wide arc of the hill, which went as far beyond the horizon as the black tear did. _Beyond_ that was the flat T'Pol had promised them. Somewhere a kilometre or so off, Archer barely managed to sight a cluster of lone boulders with a slight blue shimmer to their dull grey exteriors.

"There's our Eisilium."

She gave Archer another blank side-glance.

"So who's gonna sprout the wings an' fly across then?"

There was no question to whom Trip's elbow was pointing blame at as the three gazed on almost stupefied by the revelation.

"These co-ordinates _are_ correct, Commander. We have only walked one and a half kilometres, the boulders from here are still a kilometre off, and within the radius the scanner calculated."

"That don't mean to say there aint still a big helluva hole in the ground we're gonna have to _leap_ over first t' get to them!"

Trip's blunt exclamation bounced down the little hill before the crevice and into the gaping blackness with an eerie, endless echo. They felt a slight tremor underfoot. Archer threw him a biting frown.

"I told you Trip, the Ambassador had _one_ rule; keep it quite."

Slowly the vibrations caused by the shouting wavered away into the background. Trip looked both huffy and apologetic. He never did take kindly to being scolded, especially over breaking such trivial and seemingly pointless rules as 'keep relatively quiet on an utterly deserted planet'.

"T'Pol, is there anywhere else around here, on _this_ side of the crevice, which might have a source of Eisilium we can extract?"

Again she found herself buried in her scanner through the Captain's indirect order. Below she could feel the nerves of her toes freezing over, until she was all but standing on numb feet.

"There is an abundant source of the mineral fifteen kilometres due South West of here."

"Well I aint walking fifteen K in this!"

Again the ground below their feet shivered restlessly, this time though not settling into nothingness, but carrying on a low, mundane drum.

"Trip, one more yelp out of you…"

Mid-sentence he trailed off.

Instinctively the three turned slowly together and faced out over the void again as the vibrations underfoot began to pick up volume, just as a rather merciless wind began to kick up at their ankles in conjunction. Around them the temperature seemed to plummet drastically.

"What the—"

Trip's horror stricken eyes were forced up as a heavy shadow fell upon their three small shivering bodies. Overhead a menacing canopy of ebony clouds was gathering, quite literally it seemed from nowhere. Seconds later in the distance it began raining glossy black lightning.

"What happened t' summer?"

Trip's nervous quip was barely heard over the enraged thunder, which followed relentlessly after each brief, black strike. Archer took a hold of his coat's protective hood as the growing winds tried to prise it away from him.

"Either we brought it on somehow, or Kraeke made a miscalculation in his forecast that he's going to hear about when we get back to Enterprise."

T'Pol looked around at the horizon that lay far beyond, and suddenly felt even her nerves flinching. Although the lightning was at a distance, and seemed to be keeping that way, something else was coming…

"Sir."

Archer did not hear her as he protected his ears from the devastating sounds of above. The men threw their backs to the wind, which was coming from the horizon she was watching warily. She took a deep breath.

"Sir! I believe there is a front approaching from the North!"

Finally, as he continued to show his back to her, racing to make up his mind on how safest to abort back to the landing sight where their shuttlepod waited, she raised one shivering arm and spun him round as she latched a forceful grip onto his shoulder. From there as she snatched up his attention she pointed yonder North. Terror ran amok along his expression as he followed her gloved point.

"Drop the rucksacks! Back to the pod _now!"_

Together the heavy burdens were abandoned, leaving them to sink into the depth of shivering snow below, where they slowly began to slide down the hill towards the abyss.

The commanding officers didn't know it, but they were being given a most explicit first hand account of how very delicate this planet's eco-system was, and why it was uninhabited. That delicate balance was charging towards them right now in the full-blown form of an all out, enraged and highly temperamental snowstorm.

Behind, as they began to run forward, the tempest raced towards them like a creeping tilde wave of snow and ice and lightening. It moved in one slow, steady sweep, almost like an avalanche but airborne and growing in fury and strength as it traipsed on through the vast desert of snow.

They managed to break out into a flat sprint together, moving faster than they would ever have believed capable by their frozen legs before. Trip almost immediately took an unlikely slight lead, and could very easily have taken them over by one hundred meters or so by now, if not for he refused go on without his Captain. Archer could not help but notice this.

"_Move_ Trip!

"No way Sir, ah aint—"

"Move as _damn_ fast as you can Commander, that is a _direct_ order! And you _will_ be seeing the brig if you disobey it!"

Trip's legs were fighting with his conscience now. They begged to take on the full speed he was capable of. He begged that his Captain might let him be foolishly loyal, just this one time.

The unruly wind was creeping up on them now, taking lead over the blizzard and the lightning, biting down on their noses and ankles as the men duelled in a battle of will through their stern gazes. Finally though Archer won, and Trip's legs got the better of him as he sped off at quite an impressive pace, deciding he would use the lead as advantage to get the shuttlepod prepared for them all to leave as fast as it took to flicker on the engines.

Archer slowed himself enough that he could look behind him at the approaching front, and to see if he could not hoist his Sub Commander to his side, who, as unlikely as it seemed, appeared to have fallen behind.

As he found out however, stumbling on with his neck twisted back to see, she had not fallen behind, but simply vanished all together.

Amidst the tornados of loose snow and white winds visibility had plummeted with the temperature, and he felt he was staring on through a strange, artificial fog that threw the lands blind. Turning forward again he discovered he had lost sight of his Commander as well.

For a moment he was only aware that he was still running, and seemed to have no control over that. Then as fast as he scowled himself for being stunned by confusion, he pulled out his communicator.

"T'Pol?"

He received no response. A minute of hailing pulled up the same result every time he called her name. So quickly he tried another tact.

"Trip?"

The Commander struggled with his device as it sprung to life, trying to fish it out from under all manner of layers and pockets with woollen-laden fingers, of which he almost dropped the contraption twice as Archer continued to hail furiously on him.

"Yeah?"

"Is T'Pol with you, or ahead of you?"

In all honesty Archer would not have been surprised if she had bolted ahead amidst the terror and confusion, either dropping or ignoring her comm. in the process. He didn't know a member of his crew yet who could outrun her, Trip very much included. Even if he had taken an early lead she could still have stretched ahead of him easily. The Engineer's response though put the final hole in his hopes.

"No… Why?"

Trip knew 'why'. He had decided to ask anyway.

"Keep going until you get to the pod. Take off before the storm can fully hit you. There's too much of a risk the pod will be destroyed if it's left grounded."

"No way! I aint leavin' you both here!"

Archer had already slowed down to a casual jog. His mind was most defiantly made up.

"If I have to warn you one more time Commander about questioning my orders…"

In the background of the conversation the crunching of snow under running feet had stopped. Trip was at the shuttle. In the distance, over the expanding winds and flying loose snow, Archer thought he could just make out the two.

"Get in and take off now."

The very tips of the approaching front were nipping away at him now. The full brunt of the flying snowstorm was no more than a couple of hundred meters from him, coming like a tsunami on ice. He watched it without a flinch in his stance as he finally came to a complete stop, closing over the lid of his communicator.

Straining to hear, he could just barely detect the sound of a whining engine over the howling winds as Trip put into practise everything Travis had shown him from their first ever mission with Enterprise not more than seven and a half months ago.

Then with an abrupt blast from the twin ducts and a prompt from the thrusters he was reluctantly gone from the surface on his Captain's very insistent orders, and tearing out of the suddenly hellish atmosphere.

Archer turned to fully face the menace before him now. Staring into it with stern eyes and dry, twisted lips he moved his reluctant legs on the other way from where he had just been running to, preparing to throw himself into the gist of what he believed had just swallowed his Sub Commander. His last words came with a wiry smile, before he allowed himself to be thrown into the snowy eye of the storm.

"Alright, you son of a bitch; what did you do with my Sub Commander?"


	2. Chivalry Is One Thing…

**_Chapter Two – Chivalry Is One Thing… _**

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He didn't have the time or the energy to sneeze now. Wracked with shivers and a painful numbness Trip was in a general bad state, and he had only suffered exposure to the vicious turn for a mere fifteen, perhaps twenty minutes. It was almost not worth baring thinking about his Captain for now. Of course though, he could do nothing but.

"Ah gotta get back to the bridge Doc. Ah have t' find Cap'in Archer before that… whatever that was eats him an' has the Sub Commander for desserts."

Phlox had been flanking Trip with his scanner for as long as Trip had been out in the storm. The Southerner's patience not exactly healthy at the best of times, it was safe to assume it was wearing thin now.

"I'm surprised you don't have frostbite Commander. Consider yourself very lucky, taking it in mind the temperatures have now reached far into the sub terrain of the thermometer."

Trip flashed him a weak frown. "Ah'm aware of that. So ah'm ah free t' go?"

Phlox pondered over a short sigh, humming and consulting with his scanner. Trip had to admire the physician to some degree; his level head was a trait he had always dreamed of having.

"If not for the circumstances I wouldn't allow it. But… we have a missing Captain and First Officer and that is enough for me feel comfortable with letting you go, for now. Anymore numbing sensations and uncontrollable shivering however and you will be right back in my bay, you understand?"

Trip leapt from the bed to the doors in as few a leaps as he could manage, throwing the frown away and replacing it with a meek smile.

"Sure thing Doc."

As he disappeared down the corridor and took a sharp left, Phlox shook his head.

"Well, he wont be back."

. . . . . . .

"What've ya's got?"

The remaining senior bridge crew and a stand-in for T'Pol's station all turned and blinked a little stupidly as their commanding officer emerged from the turbo lift, looking brisk but with an ashen face and a quiver in his limbs. Malcolm rose from the Captain's chair.

"I thought Phlox had you in for hypothermia."

Trip gave him the eye. "C'mon Lieutenant, how long did y' think he could hold me?"

With some trace of scepticism as to the physical well being of Commander Tucker's health in his brow, Malcolm hesitantly handed over the seat and took his regular position on bridge. Trip immediately focused his attention on Hoshi.

"Tell me the scans have got somethin' Ensign."

Hoshi's face did not inspire him with hope.

"There's a lot of interference with this storm Sir. I'm finding it difficult even just to take a sweep scan. There's no way I could isolate a bio sign until things have calmed down to some degree or another."

Trip chewed slowly on his lip. The guilt was intolerable, but he knew sulking over it was far from the way to go. The least he could do now was command the ship as best he could.

"Have you tried their communicators? Ah know the Captain's at least was workin' before ah took off."

Hoshi shook her head slowly. "The communicators are down, or at least I can't find a clear enough signal down there to hail them on."

Trip leant heavily back in the chair, as bad as that felt because it was warm and comfortable. He then turned round and recognized Ensign Kelso as the one who had taken post at T'Pol's station.

"How's the weather readin' down there?"

Pushing aside his stringy fringe from his deep-set eyes the Ensign double-checked his readings then inspired as much confidence in the Commander as Hoshi was able to with his grim green gaze.

"The front is expanding, but it's not wearing. The temprature's stopped falling and the winds are holding at a reasonable speed though."

"How long till it tides over?"

The Ensign shrugged. "With it still growing I can only give you an estimate for how long until it climaxes, but not how long it'll last after that."

"Okay, how long's it got until it peaks?"

Again Kelso double-checked his readings. "Forty-five minutes, give or take a dozen."

Trip fancied he was too used to the deadly accuracy of T'Pol's scans, but nonetheless he found he was not entirely happy with this vague report.

"Try workin' on some more details of the storm. Ah want a full analysis, ah wanna know where it's gonna be safe to land a pod for rescue an' ah wanna know how hard it's gonna hit 'em down there."

He left a dismal silence in the wake of his commands as he slouched back on the chair and felt as useful as a hat and gloves would be down there for them.

. . . . . . .

"T'Pol?"

He felt as thought bit by agonising bit his face was being torn away by the 'reasonable speed' of the gale force winds. Lashing across his weak human skin like knives set in a deep freeze he was convinced he was now bleeding from the brutality of the snowfall, and that blood had frozen to his crimson cheeks.

"T'Pol!"

He wasn't sure whether he was furious or terrified. He had no way of telling how long he had been out here looking, throwing himself around the stomach of the storm, knowing this was useless because visibility was non-existent and he was sure even her noble ears could not hear above the wailing of the tortured winds. He realised he was anything but furious, and nothing but terrified.

"T'Pol, you better show yourself _right_ now, that's an order!"

He had long since given up calling on his 'Sub Commander', and went with the merciful briefness of her born title. His throat, the only hot part of his body, was burning red from foolishly competing with the volume of the currents, constantly calling out for her in vain hope. He needed another tact.

There was no sign that the frozen hell around him was ready to dissipate on a plea and a prayer to whatever God was watching over this monstrosity. He could already see that this was about the most ridiculous idea he could have acted on in the spur of the moment, as he had succeeded in no more than becoming just as lost she was, perhaps more so even. Yet he knew he would not have been able to lift even a toe into the shuttlepod and leave without her; he was a hypocrite for ordering his ever-loyal Commander to do so.

He realised as he pondered this, that the reason why he had charged ahead with this plans was because it was the only one he had. The communicators were now all but broken toys in the snowy mess and North may well have been East for all he knew. They had left the compasses and maps in the rucksacks, and _they_ were doomed to stay as good as lost. No doubt even that Enterprise was having as much luck with its scans as he was with his own eyeballs. It was a truly dire situation.

_"T'Pol!"_

He was beginning to push his luck with his vocal cords as they called for a strike. The winds sung high above him, taunting him on each howling note. He was beginning to feel the tiring effects of hypothermia fight their way through his roughed system. He held out little hope that his Vulcan crewmate was fairing any better than he at this moment. He tried not to listen to the part of him that taunted him more so by reminding him that Vulcan and extreme cold were never a good combination.

For a moment he pulled himself up and stopped, his hands pressed into his thighs as he doubled over for a few much-needed deep breathes. His tongue lolling slightly, his eyes still forward even though his head was crooked down he looked around at his surroundings. Nothing. Everything, every square inch, foot, meter and mile was all but the same as the last; a blanket of ivory below a blizzard soaked sky. He could see no horizon, no hills, no rocks, no boulders, nothing but the crystal white of the snow and ice. He could see… nothing.

His back snapped straight, his eyes wide with a sudden flush of horrid realisation. He could see nothing, not even if the gaping crevice that had originally spoilt their mission was inches from where his feet stood frozen now. Not until he almost stepped over it would he probably notice it.

His stomach churned and he fought to keep at bay the chocolate bar he had gulped down in the midst of his search. He still had three more buried in his breast pocket, at least two of which he intended to give to T'Pol when he found her. This had been an idea thought of when he had been more optimistic about his hunt.

Nerves rattling away he could feel the colour evaporate from his bloody cheeks and his knees regain enough feeling to ache with a terrified tremor. He took another look around and straining he could see he was nowhere near any crevice or dip, but that was nothing to say T'Pol hadn't ventured that way… and there was only one conclusion he could summon up for if she met the crevice again.

"Oh God please, no…"

Loosing a member of his crew had always been one of his biggest nightmares, as it was any good Captain's. Loosing his Sub Commander was a horror almost somewhere else beyond that entirely.

_"T'Pol"_

. . . . . . .

With a soft thud she heard her ankle crack under weight and her body go down into the snow. She felt nothing though.

Whatever take of hypothermia Vulcans suffered from had long since set in now, hard. Her fingers had seized up, her feet numbed, her joints flared, the very blood in her veins had all but frozen over under her blue skin. A warm fuzz had settled over her consciousness, begging her to rest enough that she would close her eyes and slowly but indefinitely fall asleep.

Amidst a flurry of pain from her knees she got back up. She was more than capable of surviving this. She was more stubborn than the High Commander as a whole, she could easily outwait the storm, she could hold out long enough for a rescue team to reach her, for her Captain to reach her. She had a stamina that could make grown men weep, a determination that put every other Vulcans' to shame. She was a fighter in the noblest sense of the word.

It was just that it was so cold… and she was so tired…

She hiked her gloves up her wrists with clumsy fingers and pulled her hood further over her frosted eyebrows. It hardly mattered now if she could see through the faux fur lining or not; she could barely see her own snow boots on the snow drenched ground below anymore.

A wind caught her from behind and propelled her forward a few steps before she crumpled to her knees again. Her fist punched into the solid snow as she surrendered to all fours.

The optimist in her (although she was a born realist) wanted to believe the storm had only an hour or so to go, and above and beyond that, that her Captain had stayed down on the surface with her to look for her. She had watched the shuttle take off in the far distance, and in the shuttle taking off a hurricane wind had kicked up and dragged her far off course. She wanted to believe only Commander Tucker had been in that pod, and that Captain Archer had insisted on staying grounded before he found her.

The pessimist in her mocked every hopeful notion she had. The pessimist in her was more powerful than the optimist, and right now the pessimist was being given strength through her ebbing will and stamina. The pessimist was beginning to mock her realist as well.

She began to believe that perhaps she had been abandoned. She knew seven months into the mission Archer still bared an infamous grudge for her kind which she still sometimes became a vent for. She hadn't come across a crewmember yet who did not, at least at first, view her with wariness and stern silence. She sometimes wondered if mutiny would not be a problem the next time she was left fully in charge for any extended length of time.

She wondered, yet again, why was even still aboard the human Starship and amused herself with the idea of finally resigning, calling this blatant abandonment of the First Officer the final pushing factor. She wondered if this was what 'hate' was.

Suddenly her eyes shot open. She had lain down on her side and curled into herself, settling in a soft bank of powdery snow. Her drifting thoughts had distracted her long enough that her subconscious was able to get to work, coaxing her into a lethal final sleep.

Pulling her cheek from the icy ground she sat up again, and then pushed herself onto her senseless feet.

The realist took a stand. Whether Captain Archer was down here with her or not was irrelevant; she was virtual untraceable wading through the very heart of the storm. It showed no signs of settling and certainly none of stopping. A rescue for now was impossible, as was contacting the Enterprise, who she was sure had not abandoned her.

She had limited options, but options nonetheless. Shelter had to exist somewhere, be it a cave or a cluster of boulders, and walking straight should, she believed, make sure she came across some. If her feet came to the end of their tethers though then she could just as easily, if not more painfully, stand and wait out the brunt of the beast. She was notorious amongst her peers at the High Command for many things, but above almost all was respected for her spectacular staying power and ability to withstand most anything; be it ridged High Command debates or chasing after rogue Vulcan operatives in the tropical heat of Risa.

Slowly she felt her feet move on again, carrying her forward tentatively inch by tiny inch. Still snow-blind she went on almost aimlessly, hoping she would be able to spot the smudged outline of a cluster of boulders before she walked into them. At her current foot-speed however she could probably only manage minimal damage from doing that.

It was a mystery to her how far she had come since the crevice. She had managed to sprint over a reasonable distance as they tried to outrun the storm, running at the very tips of the Captain's heels until she had tripped and rolled forward head-first, stunning herself long enough that she managed to lose sight of her two fellow crewmen and have her bearings destroyed as the storm had tumbled over her arched back. She could only hope she hadn't double backed on herself and was now heading towards the crevice again…

Something caught her attention suddenly, something shimmering through the winds – a rogue noise, a tune out of place amidst the high-pitched wailing of the air currents. She stopped dead and strained her sensitive ears to pick up on it. Then she chided herself. The optimist in her was playing up; there was no stray note on the winds. She was only willing herself to hear it, anticipating that it could be her Captain, or the Commander.

But then she thought she heard it again, a familiar name being called into the sky, and her heart started thundering away on a flicker of tentative hope.

"T'Pol?"__

She spun around on her heels, searching frantically with her dry eyes, trying to pinpoint the weak source of what she could make out to be a voice.

_"T'Pol?"_

The Captain's voice.

"Captain!"

He threw himself to a halt as he heard the faint voice over the powering winds answering to his own strained call. Adrenalin began to flow through his limbs and colour flushed into his cheeks as he managed to pull himself towards the source.

A few steps on and his eyes began to make something out in the white haze, a bent figure clad in thick layers of dark attire, no face visible but a familiarity that begged him to believe what he saw.

"T'Pol?"

She spun round fast, almost throwing herself into the ground as she caught sight of an equally hazy figure who she just as much willed to be who she thought it was.

"Captain."

He hobbled forward and came to a stop inches before her, panting hard with a smile that was beyond the capability of describing just how relieved and ecstatic he was at finding her. She thought she caught the slight shimmer of a shy tear in the thicket of his hazel iris, but amidst the clumps of snow that clung to his eyelashes it was hard to tell.

"You had me worried there for a moment Sub Commander."

She wrapped her arms around her frozen torso, looking uncharacteristically vulnerable as she shook and trembled almost till she was sick. He was no better.

"That was no my intention, and I apologise for this."

He looked around and then up at the ice blue sky, stamping his feet a little, uselessly. "Don't. Our only concern now is that we find a way of contacting Enterprise before we're able to snap parts of ourselves off."

She cocked her head, which caused unnecessary amounts of pain in her neck so she straightened up again.

"Sir, that's virtual impossible. The communicators have no frequency to travel on and trying to land a shuttlepod would be pointless and dangerous in these conditions. I suggest we find shelter and wait for the worst of this storm to pass before we try any attempts at contacting the ship."

He sighed, although it was an involuntary reaction. A billow of frozen breath crawled up his nostrils making him sneeze violently.

"I see no other logical choice here."

She saw none because she was right to begin with, and they both knew it.

"Fine, do you know _where_ there might be shelter?"

She looked around. "I can only suggest we walk on and hope to come across some."

He looked around with her. "I thought Vulcans didn't 'hope' – they found co-ordinates and plotted where to go."

She gave him a brow. "With no scanner I cannot specify any area of cover. We will just have to look."

He sighed again and sneezed again. Now that the gist of the drama was over and he knew his Sub Commander hadn't slipped into an unswayable sleep or come across the crevice again, agitation from discomfort was settling in. He wasn't so much exhausted as she was, but crabby and running on the adrenalin from that.

Nevertheless, she took his sigh as permission to carry on, and so began to drag herself forward once more at that painful snail speed. He took her side and ploughed on forth with her.

It was a few minutes before he decided to speak up again over the appalling winds, trying to ignore the desperateness of the situation and their limit to one option for the moment. He could almost feel the vibes radiate from her shivering form.

"How you holding up?"

She offered him a blank sideward glance. "I am colder than my body is use to being, but fine."

He rooted around his breast pocket, knowing that wasn't true and remembering the snacks he had savoured.

"Here." He waved a colourful wrapper under her nose. "It probably wont do anything to warm you up, but a little sugar never hurt anyone in a situation like this."

She sniffed warily, although it was hard to catch a scent in these winds.

"No thank you Sir."

He continued to insist. "Take it and eat it, that's an order."

She caught a sigh of her own in her tight throat. She had been able to tolerate such human food 'treats' as pecan pie and ice cream in the past, but the idea of chocolate had never appealed to her in the slightest.

He eventually went as far as unwrapping it for her (no small task in mittens) before he pressed it into her palm and wrapped her dead fingers around it for her. She gave him a long, insufferable look before she finally bit in and chewed thoughtfully.

They went on again in silence, eyes diverted from the winds, their bodies wracked with pain and running low from constant, hard shivering. Archer had not an inch of skin left that he could feel; every flake had seized and frozen over. Every step was a marathon, every stumble took him a lifetime to get back up from and he felt his powerful optimism fading with the strength his fit body usually held so dear. He was still fairing better than his Vulcan counterpart.

T'Pol had long since lost any feeling in her ears and face by now along with her fingers and feet. Her lips were a frighteningly dark blue along with her ear tips and, under the layers she wore, her finger and toe tips and the parts of all four limbs that bent. She had developed an aimless, glazed stare in her dry eyes and her lids were chapped until she could barely close them over. She was constantly battling with herself, wishing to lie down, knowing to keep standing. Twice she had felt the chocolate bar rising back up her throat, and twice she had had to swallow it down again. She dared not to devour in self-pity, and she avoided worrying the Captain to the very best of her abilities.

That did not mean she wasn't close to doing the chivalry thing and demanding that he go ahead whilst she slowly found her end in the snowy banks of this cruel and unruly planet.

"Sir."

She was inches from his ear, and yet he could not hear her. His eyes were fixed solidly forward, narrow and gritted. With his lips twisted and fists numbly clenched he had a remarkably stalwart determination for a man in as trapped a situation as this. There were so many reasons why he had made Captain; this was just one of them.

"Sir?"

She was a step or so behind now, but focusing himself only forward, searching silently for much needed shelter, he failed to notice.

"Sir, please."

She latched onto the hood of his jacket for a moment before she let the weight fall off her navy blue knees, crumpling to them in the thick snow. He spun round heavily on his heels and looked down. She peered back up with a quiet expression, and he knew exactly what she was asking.

"Sir, I think carrying on without me as a burden would be the best course of action now."

He stopped listening when she said 'without'. Carefully he crouched down, eyelevel with her.

"You know that's not going to happen Sub Commander."

Each with their own seasoned gaze they locked their eyes and sunk their stubbornness into the ground, refusing to back down to the other. She saw it best he went on, he saw it best he came through this disaster with his Sub Commander still at his side. As far as she was concerned in the warm fuzz of her hypothermia-soaked mind, this was the logical conclusion, and as far as he cared, he would knock her out and carry her over his shoulder if that was what it took to see them both through this alive.

"You would ask the same if the roles were reversed."

He opened his jaw to protest but she did the daring thing and interrupted him to carry on. She was beginning to feel the temptation to succumb to sleep creeping into the back of her mind again. She was less willing to resist this time.

"My body cannot withstand these types of conditions, certainly not for very much longer than I already have. The Vulcan race is built to survive extreme heat; every part of my anatomy is wrong for surviving in colds such as these. If I continue on with you, you will never travel far enough to find shelter. A ship _needs_ its Captain, a First Officer is easily replaced, and Commander Tucker is more than capable of the job."

She watched and ignored him shake his head on every true word she said. She saw his powerful human emotions resist her level headed logic until she knew he was beyond capable of doing what she asked, what she pleaded of him.

"Sir, please consider the circumstance objectively, and think of the consequences if you do not make it because of me. It is far better that one of us survives than neither, you cannot deny that."

Finally he stood up, his knees cracking and whining in pain.

"Get up."

Her eyes widened slightly, her chattering teeth grinding together gently.

"Get up T'Pol, that's a damn order."

Slowly she blinked up at him, her posture settled firmly in the snow now.

"This is not up for debate anymore!"

He reached down and swifter than she could follow his movements he grabbed her wrist and forced her onto the balls of her feet; not as difficult a task as it certainly would have been if she were at full strength.

Quickly she took her hand back as he glared at her from under his draping hood.

"Look, I didn't bust my ass in this storm looking for you just to leave you again to save my own skin. We humans don't work like that, at least not the ones with friends that they care for. And guess what, you're now a friend that I care for, whether the feeling's mutual or not. So either we haul ourselves through this mess together, or I knock you out and carry you home."

A tremor of agony shot through her leg muscles and she found her cheek buried in the snow a second later. She also lost her battle with the half digested chocolate bar. Chivalry it may have seemed at first, but now Archer knew she was begging with him because she saw her chances of survival shooting to Vulcan hell.

A gentle gloved hand cupped under her buried cheek and pulled it out from the snow, tentatively sitting her up again and moving her away from the mess that had tumbled out of her narrowed throat. He pushed himself onto his aching knees in front of her and tried to catch her blank gaze.

"I know human determination can be a royal pain sometimes, but it's the only thing I have for us at the moment, and for now it's as good as any shelter to get us through this. And between you and me, I'd sooner call it quits on the entire mission to save any one of my crew, especially my First Officer. It might be in your job description to go as far as laying your own life down for mines, but we Captain's have our own unwritten rules."

She looked at him through a daze, and listened past the deviant winds with intent on staying awake long enough to hear.

"One of them being you do what it takes to see your First Officer through any hell fate dares to throw at you. You hear that?"

Carefully she nodded. He wiped away the chunks from her jaw line and then shuffled himself over to her side. Bracing a volley of particularly icy winds he hunched his back up and then took his arms and wrapped them around the suffering Vulcan. A few seconds later she did the same. A tiny smile pocked at the corners of his bittersweet expression.

"Give it an hour or so, you'll see."


	3. Out Of The Snowstorm, Into The Igloo

_A.N_: A _bit_ delayed, I know, I'm really sorry, but hey, better late than never...

**_Chapter Three – Out Of The Snowstorm, Into The Igloo_**

_-An hour or so later-_

A grey smudge moved out of place along the bitter white horizon of the Godforsaken blizzard planet. Shuffled along just ahead of them, carrying on forward warily in the brief distance.

Archer lifted his head up slowly, pain crossing over the back of his head to overcome the acute numbness that had long since settled across the entire length of his ridged body. He blinked away the solidly frozen snowdrops from his eyelashes and stared on, slightly gaped mouth, his expression hardly anything more than a glazed wonder. The shadow took another step forward.

Carefully he wrapped his hold tighter around the sleeping form of his Sub Commander, afraid that if he held on any more he'd be able to check for whether or not she still had a heartbeat. It was cowardly and unprofessional of him, he knew, but she hadn't moved in what felt like to be a very long time…

_"Tai?"_ the shadow called out in a deep toned alien tongue. _"Tai-chi'iok?"_

The winds picked up again and for a moment the grey loom disappeared, swallowed up by the unrest of the storm as it carried masses of loose snow back and forth wildly. Archer had to knit his eyelids shut, biting down on his frozen lip amidst the bright pain that battered into him across any scrap of skin left exposed. 'A premature end to such a wonderful mission', he mused sarcastically, hoping that was the hypothermia speaking because it didn't sound like him at all, giving up so willingly.

He tried to move one solidly frozen leg. Torrents of agonising stiffness tore at his knee before he carefully relaxed and saw attempting to move a bad option.

Buried in his chest T'Pol made a sound, a quiet mumble over her navy blue lips. He felt himself go light-headed with relief as her fingers flexed and her nose twitched. She didn't open her eyes, but she was alive at least.

_"Shrika!"_

The grey figure was above him, hanging over his head, flaring red eyes fixed on the olive complexion of T'Pol's face and the wisps of her bowl cut hair that poked through the thicket of her hood. Archer jumped and then felt his breath catch in his icy chest as the alien locked eyes with him and let his expression go sour. He coughed violently from the surprise, tiring instantly as he did.

Then a solid bar of strong scented wood swung just behind him and landed square between his shoulder blades.

At least with that the numb pain was gone, as he spiralled into the sleep he had been denying himself for the past hour or so sitting in the taunting snow.

………………………

The Captain's ready room – not a place Commander Tucker spent much of his time in, certainly not alone. The ready room held more lesser keen memories in its four cool blue walls than it did fond ones. He was not a crewman who the Captain made a habit of scowling, but it happened at times, and it always seemed to happen in here. Or he would be told in the ready room that the mission had been terminated, or that his engines would have to be pushed to their limits, again, or that T'Pol had caught and reported him for taking more than the rationed allowance of food (in all cases pecan pie).

Trip preferred his times aboard Enterprise to be spent with his beloved engines, or in the mess hall, or in the Captain's dining room, or in his quarters, but not in the ready room. And not when the crew were hanging short of one Captain and one Sub Commanders.

He needed time and a place to think though, and the bridge for now was not suitably qualified as that place. Too many expectant eyes, and drumming fingers, and milling around because he had no orders to give because they had no leads to work on. Also engineering was a little too out of the way along with his quarters to retreat to for thinking. So the ready room it was for him, alone.

He considered the 'alone' part for a moment and then opened the door to the bridge, sticking his head out with weary blue eyes.

"Malcolm."

The Lieutenant raised a brow in acknowledgment.

"Could you come join me in here for now?"

The Englishman stood and nodded, the two both looking towards Mayweather for a moment who was perfectly aware that the first flicker of trouble or sign of a lead meant he was ordered to holler for them.

"Problem Sir?"

Tucked away in the ready room with company now, Trip took the liberty of heaving a sigh and sat heavily on the corner of the Captain's desk.

"Tell me y' have a suggestion to offer up that doesn't involve sittin' on our hands and broadcasting weather reports until things clear up down there an' then no, ah wont have a problem."

Malcolm relaxed his posture slightly and rested his weight on one leg, crossing his arms and realising with that statement that his stay in the ready room could be a lengthy one.

"It's still not safe enough to land a shuttlepod, and there's still too much interference from the storm to be able to pick up specific human or Vulcan bio signs. Hoshi can't get a lock on the communicators either, so I suspect the same applies for them. So I have no other suggestion to give you except for to be patient. If the Captain couldn't sit out a blizzard, then he'd never have passed his physical training and he certainly wouldn't be working on a Starship because of it."

Trip frowned, and the frown twisted his insides.

"Yeah, well the Captain's always had a thing about the cold…"

Malcolm's gaze sharpened into cautious interest. "Oh?"

Trip shrugged, trying to mute his own worry, failing miserably of course.

"Ah don't know, he always had some problem or other when we did the artic trainin'. He could do a desert marathon in half the time it took most the professionals to, but anything involving sub zero temps and he'd struggle. Not enough to fail him in the physical, but enough to give him a headache about the challenges. We used to joke about it, nothin' serious ever happened, it's probably not even worth mentioning right now. Ah just wish ah was down there with 'em. Ah don't figure T'Pol's doing any better. Ah hear Vulcans aren't good in the cold. It's about the only time humans have any physical advantage over 'em, when things get chilly."

Malcolm chewed on a lip and curled his toes, a habit of his that formed when he thought of compensating things to say to others. He wasn't a natural comforter, but he wasn't keen on watching his friend squirm in his own guilt, caused by nothing more than obeying the Captain's orders.

"Remember Coridan?"

Trip's mouth moulded itself into a tight, straight line. "Yeah."

"Remember how the Captain and the Sub Commander got caught by the rebels, used as hostages, were as good as dead no matter what, and were caught in a crossfire between the Coridan rebels and the Vulcans?"

Trip nodded silently. The point was obvious by now.

"Remember the Pernaia system, where the Captain and the Sub Commander had to alone to a planet on a mission we weren't allowed to know anything about. Remember how we had no contact unless they contacted us?"

"Okay Malcolm, I get it."

"Don't beat yourself up about this. Yes, they're not exactly down there in the best of situations, and okay worry about that, but don't feel this is you fault and don't feel like you're just sitting on your hands. There's simply nothing much you or any of us can do that wouldn't involve endangering other crewmember's lives."

Trip shuffled his feet and let Malcolm's words rattle through his remorse until it simmered down a little and he was allowed a modest smile.

"We'd make a good Cap'in and First Officer duo, don't ya think."

Malcolm shook his head, a smile gracing his own lips nonetheless.

"We spend one frozen weekend in a shuttlepod together an' all of a sudden we're Starkey an' Hutch."

Trip frowned. "Who?"

Malcolm shrugged. "I'm a classics fan. I apologise."

………………………

As many times as it had happened, Archer had never quite taken to receiving thorough knocks to the back of his head with solid planks of wood. With a grunt and a sniff he pulled himself awake and attempted to open his eyes amidst the shooting pains that ran circles around his temples.

"If I'm not in sickbay, I'm going to sue."

Blazing walls of white came at him from every angle, allowing no escape, nowhere to turn his eyes to get away from the piercing lights. For a moment, as he lay blinking fiercely, trying to win his sight back, he thought he might be dead.

"Sir, I would advice against making any sudden moves."

Cold breath trickled over his forehead from above as he tried to sit up, and a hand rested gently but firmly upon his stiff right shoulder, assuring him he was alive and… well enough.

"Please."

He squinted and tensed as he pushed himself up carefully, guided by the hand on his shoulder. Tenderly closing and then peeling open his eyes again he threw his gaze to the right and locked sights with T'Pol.

"Sub Commander." His brow dipped into a frown as he caught sight of the shallow cut along the left of her forehead. "What happened?"

She looked ahead. "I made a sudden move earlier."

Reluctantly he looked ahead with her.

There were three of them, huddled around a dying fire of mauve and burgundy embers. Beside them lay an array of primitive weaponry; knives, axes, bows and arrows, and amongst these sat two phase pistols, looking the oddballs in the crowd. The hulking figures paid no attention to their captives and instead ate away hungrily at strands of pinkie-red meat hooked onto long barbs of pale brown wood. All three had their backs to the couple.

There was nothing the Captain could do with those three. The rare and mild urgency sewn into his Sub Commander's hushed voice suggested clear enough to him that attempting contact would be futile, as curious as he might be about them, and as clever as trying to make an obvious and ungainly escape.

So he took better stock of his surroundings instead as he pondered their situation now that his eyes had stopped weltering in watery pain and instead had turned rather dry and numb, along with the rest of his body.

The accommodations were probably best described as a cubic igloo, tall and long and constructed from one corner to the next in solid, pale blue ice. There was no heating system and one exit carved out in the form of a bulky tunnel dug into the ground at the opposite end of the shelter. That was it. No furnishings or frilly decorations, just a few uncaringly carved log for the natives to sit on, and a small fire.

"So, who are they?" He mimicked T'Pol's whispered tone as he sat himself up properly and settled closely beside her, hoping to see if any amount of body heat could be shared in doing so. He tried to cross his legs but something pulled at his right ankle. They were both shackled to the floor.

"They appear to be the Zinok, but the Zinok were reported to have been wiped out as a primitive race some 60,000 years ago."

Archer tilted a frosted eyebrow up and she went on to fill his curiosity.

"They used to inhabit the neighbouring planet, Klaeon, where General Lamex and his people live. It was the Klae who hunted them to extinction, being more primitive themselves 60,000 years ago, although they have evolved at a phenomena pace from then. The Klae and the Zinok fought back then to secure a total claim of the planet for the superior race, and the Klae won."

T'Pol held her steady gaze on the three hunched figures for a moment before going on.

"It is possible that the Zinok have always inhabited this planet as well as Klaeon before, although these particular conditions would make life and reproduction of the race extremely difficult, no matter how well they could adapt. I assume more that there were probably survivors from the time when the Zinok were hunted to extinction on Klaeon, and have lived out of sight of the Klae since. If the Klae found the survivors recently then although now too civilised to want to kill them off with no just cause, it is unlikely they would take kindly to continuing to share their habitat. The history the people are taught has made sure they hold distasteful views of their old 'primitive and ruthless' neighbours. Relocation would have looked to be the most humane option for them, I would think."

Archer's brow took on the dark form of a scowl, one he was famous for shedding when such issues trampled on his own hard-set ethics. "Doesn't sound too humane to me."

She said nothing. She had given him all that she could hypothesis. Although extensive when compared with his, her knowledge of these two races was inferior, just as the Vulcans saw the Klae. Hypocrites though her people were for thinking it, they looked upon the Klae still as primitive for not bothering to make amends for their bloodshed past. The Klae had no shame though, only excuses, which they saw to be as reasonable and justified as the cause for drinking water.

"You okay?"

The small silence between the two was hacked away as Archer shuffled himself closer still to her, the cold biting down hard on his arms as he blew furiously on his cramped fingers.

"I thought…" he paused awkwardly as she peered at him, "I though maybe I'd lost you back there. It wasn't looking good, for either of us really. You had me worried for a moment though, to be honest."

She tilted her head to the side, noting the quiet concern in his hushed voice, taking note of it and appreciating it.

"I am fine. It would take a day or so before my body would begin to shut down completely in such conditions. Vulcans may not be well adapted to the cold, but our bodies are still durable enough to see through many hours of exposure before it becomes too much."

He looked her over sceptically.

"Your concern is unnecessary, but thank you. Are you alright yourself? You were unconscious for a long time."

With utmost care he rubbed the back of his head with one woolly-gloved palm. "Oh I'm just fine, don't worry about me."

Outside dying winds whimpered away, wheezing and coughing as they struggled to keep up their torrential strengths. It was still cold, but the harsh edges of the chill were beginning to ebb away, leaving a lull in the low temperature, allowing it to begin to climb again even if only by a handful of degrees. Archer assumed and hoped the storm was beginning to finally lose its momentum.

"Did they take my communicator?"

T'Pol sniffed slightly through a heavily blocked nose. "No, but I would not advice using it. I was struck across the head for trying to speak with them. I hardly imagine trying to speak with Enterprise would impress their tempers either."

Archer nodded, although he'd already guessed that for himself.

"Well maybe Enterprise could get a lock on the communicator instead, find us by tracking down the signal."

"And just so long as Commander Tucker does not try to contact us on it, I assume we will be fine."

Archer thought he detected the gentlest hint of sarcasm somewhere in her emotionless monotone, but he denied himself the luxuries of smiling, seeing her point.

"Talk about your Catch-22s."

"Catch-22?

He lost his chance to explain when one of the hulking Zinok stood up from his log and turned to face the imprisoned couple.

Archer bit back his tongue and swallowed a surprised gasp. Not an overwhelmingly shocked gasp per say, more a curiously surprised one at the sight of the alien coming towards them.

His skin was a divine white, as pure and clean as the freshly lain snow outside, almost glowing with a boastful radiance. Far more alluring though than his skin tone, he was covered in pale tan markings like splodges similar to that found on a cow and just as randomly spread. He had a patch across his nose, one running down his left cheek and across his jaw line and one across his neck which disappearing down his heavily lined coat. Even his small round ears were painted with the distinct markings. His eyes were a watery red and his many teeth a matching brown to the markings of his skin.

He had four fingers of which could be seen through pelted gloves and small horn-like bones producing from each wrist just enough to cause damage in a punch.

He was like a man of myth, the ones Archer had been taught about in his earlier school years for fun projects on Greek and Roman legends which often told of men with animal-like abnormalities such as markings and horns and discoloured eyes.

His awe had set him still and quiet and T'Pol threw quick, frequent glances at his side profile as he looked on at the alien's front one. She saw it unlikely that their host would appreciate the blatant staring. Her elbow dug into his side, an action easy to miss with them hunkered up so close together. He frowned but did nothing more than shut his jaw over and grunt quietly in protest.

_"Shrika."_

Archer turned to T'Pol. "What did he say?"

_"Shrika_ _tulov!"_

Then with a wipe of his nose the alien bent down on his knees and, pulling out a barb of metal, unlocked the shackles from around their ankles. With two dustbin lid hands he grabbed a shoulder of each and pulled them up almost clean off the ground. Shoving them in front of him he pointed forward. _"Ski."_

He pointed forward towards the tunnel exit.

Brushing himself off and rolling his shoulders Archer pivoted on one heel and dared to narrowly eye the towering figure behind them. He itched to say something but T'Pol hastily placed a hand on his back and guided him forward towards the tunnel.

In a whisper that was barely audible she urged, "I would advice against it Sir."

They said nothing more as they went forward, with their host's shadow hanging over their heads on every step. They walked past the other two who did nothing more to acknowledge them than hunch a little further over the fire and rip some fresh meat from an indistinguishable carcass to cook.

_"Ski," _the apparent leader of the trio prompted again, pointing once more to the tunnel with one dirty, gloved finger. Archer moved himself in front of T'Pol and smiled weakly.

"See you at the other side Sub Commander."

A heavy hand sat on her shoulder and held her back (although she had made no attempts to move) as the Captain dropped to his elbows and knees and began to push himself forward through the tunnel at a crawl.

The head captor stood behind T'Pol motionless, with a deviant red gaze that seemed to miss nothing.

There was a grunt and the crunching of gritty snow underfoot and then the foreign language spoken quietly by someone else before light began to drift in through the underground tunnel again. T'Pol turned back to face the Zinok. He was wearing a smile, a smirk on pale chapped lips that made her spine tingle in an unfamiliar and unpleasant way.

_"Ski ta."_

She held her gaze, dared to delay for a moment longer than was probably wise and he took a step forward, almost losing her in his bulky grey shadow. She was audacious for a Vulcan, but she knew her limits.

The tunnel was short and wide in thanks to the size of the figures it was built for. It dipped in a shallow U shape underground and before long opened up again to a camp of igloos, where T'Pol crawled out and reappeared before Archer, who stood at the mouth of the passage flanked by a couple more Zinok. One looked to possibly be female, shorter than her counterparts by a mere few inches, but slimmer too. She held no more of a pity for them in her runny red gaze than any of the males did.

The silence hit them immediately. A wave of dead air fluttered through their senses, tweaking at their ears and making them strain their eyes to see if they were being tricked into deafness. They were in the epicentre of a camp of a good half a dozen or so cubical igloos, all makeshift in appearance and all ready to be knocked down with the slightest touch of a hammer. Swarms of the Zinok weaved in and out of the shelters, hulking backpacks onto their broad shoulders, tying up sledges with tightly wrapped packages, extinguishing oddly coloured fires and rounding up smaller members of their species; children, Archer guesses as he took a second look at one youngster who ran happily in and out of his proudly constructed snow castles in utter silence.

With all the enigma of a desert at night, this camp was as silent and still as any lonely corner of any world could be. Only it was teaming with life and activity and should have been roaring with the sounds to go with it.

A familiar bulky grey shadow swept over the couple's heads and they looked behind to see that they had been joined by their new acquaintance at last. His body was shrouded with the same complete silence the camp was doused in. He pointed a couple of times to the ground and then began to walk away with the other male and female, keeping an eye on them for as long as was possible, making sure they understood that his instruction meant 'stay put'.

Archer turned to T'Pol. She caught his gaze. They said nothing.

The captor didn't take long to return, ambling back towards the couple with two very heavy looking rucksacks held tightly in one enormous hand. He stood in front of them and dropped them carefully at their feet. His intention as before was perfectly clear. The prisoners were not just here to look. The Zinok were on the move, and Archer and T'Pol were going to help.

"Gliko kalea'e, t'y thru ski."

The couple blinked. Oh how the Captain valued his linguist for times like these. These were the sorts of situations Hoshi lived for, and where she was at this moment was either's guess. Still in orbit of the planet with the Enterprise would be nice though, Archer mused.

The rucksack was thrown into his chest and his musing was over. He grunted as his reflexes caught the deadweight of his bundle and felt his knees tremble for a moment before he seized his bearings. The Zinok gave no further instructions – he just stood and stared, blinking with his watery red gaze as he waited.

Beside him T'Pol lugged her rucksack on. He did a sudden double take on her. Her lips were already blue again, billows of frosty breath escaping from her nostrils in quick, short succession. She was taking the hassle free option of obeying as they went as her body quickly began to plummet into hypothermia-mode once again. Saying anything to her would be as logical as asking her to admit defeat about something when she knew she was right though. He would just have to keep the worry for her to himself, and deal with whatever came when it came. Holding out hope for the Enterprise to come to their aid was easy; judging when that would happen was not. And 'when' was quickly becoming the curtail factor.

Someone came to a stumbling stop beside them and the towering Zinok acknowledged the newest figure with a hushed grunt and a sneer of his lips. He nodded curtly and then left. Archer and T'Pol viewed their new mentor, and surprise fought to surface onto their faces.

Instinctively they knew it was male, and one of a decent age, but this Zinok was short and under the layers of hide that he donned, most likely scrawny and near all bone. His pasty face held few markings like the other Zinoks that they watched traipse back and forth – a small splodge of brown on the bridge of his nose and one on his left cheek but nothing more, and he possessed impressive bags under his pink gaze. He was laden with one small rucksack and a sack attached to his left calf and neither looked particularly taxing to carry, unlike the Enterprise's captaining crew's loads.

He hardly looked upon them, his gaze trained firmly to the snowy ground for the better part, his feet rooted to the spot as he stood ridged and unmoving. Others brushed past him, bumping shoulders or rucksacks, but he said nothing and they barely acknowledged them. A mutual agreement that if they didn't bother him with grunts and complaints, he wouldn't speak to them. A pathetic display that neither the human nor the Vulcan commented on about out loud.

It was never said, but once the camp was ready to up and leave, everyone turned in the same direction and left. Piles of wood were left to simmer to extinction and strips of meat were discarded to the still frequent and strong winds. The storm was gone, but the temperature still shimmered in double negatives and the winds were still fierce and alive. T'Pol never said a word, and Archer pained for her.

The igloos were left as well. They would eventually crumble in the winds, but no one dared to make enough of a disruption by knocking them down that was bound to cause another uproar with this planet's Mother Nature.

Swarming together the clan of Zinok seemed to be made up of about forty to fifty adults and one or two dozen children. Archer wondered if this was all that was left of an entire race, of if there were more groups scattered around the edges of this planet and forced to execute this meagre living. For a moment he felt for them, acknowledged their plight and forgave them for their actions. Then he glanced over at T'Pol as the two were pocked on by the runt and made to walk at the back of the moving herd, and his compassion slipped away. If she made it through the day then he had obviously underestimated her and owed her an apology for it. Educated guesses told him she'd struggle, along with himself no doubt.

They dared to look on at the horizon. There was where the mountains lay, and there, inevitable, was where they were going.


End file.
