Taurik's eyes popped open and he gasped. He realized that he had fallen asleep while meditating. Odd, he had not done that since he was an adolescent. Rahat's and Marianne's low voices had stopped. All was silent, and there was no breeze. He felt strangely uneasy, nervous, as though some impeding doom was hovering over him. Illogical, he told himself. He stood up and went outside his tent.

Rahat lay reclined in his chair at the table under the awning, breathing heavily. Marianne and Johnny were asleep in their tents. All appeared to be well. Yet it was not well. Something was not right. Taurik shook his head rapidly. He forced his body to relax and went back to his tent. He laid his head down, and after a while, fell back into a restless sleep.

"Taurik!" Marianne screamed. She was being attacked, but he knew not by whom. He tried to go to her, but his limbs would not move. There were no bonds, he was simply paralyzed. All around him was evil, taunting laughter. Marianne's voice was fading. "Help!" she called, reaching for him. "Taurik!"

"Marianne!" Taurik awoke with a start for the second time. It had been the most disturbing dream of his life. He was perspiring, despite the coolness around him. The dream was so vivid that he found he was still concerned about Marianne, as irrational as it was. He got up and went over to her tent. Upon lifting the flap, he saw that she was indeed inside. He noted with relief that her chest was slowly rising and falling. Ridiculous, he scolded himself. He would never drink Romulan ale again.

He made his way over to the makeshift kitchen and helped himself to another bowl of gumbo from the pot. It was still warm, he noted with satisfaction. As he sipped it, he realized that he probably would never taste Marianne's delicious gumbo again. It was regretful, though not as regretful as not seeing her. Tomorrow was when he had to go back to Cairo. He permitted himself a small sigh. He would miss her, raging emotions and all. He would miss her singing. Most of all, he would miss her beautiful brown eyes and disarming smile.

What would happen to her? he wondered. Then he reached the conclusion that, in all likelihood, she would enter into a romantic relationship with Rahat, who would in the end "break her heart," as humans said. Rahat was not a malicious person, Taurik conceded, but he was not a responsible person, either. The worst part was that there was nothing he could do about it. It was not any of his business, and yet… He admitted that he had been concerned for her welfare ever since he met her that day in the library.

Taurik could not lie to himself by pretending that she did not move him. In addition to her given physical attractiveness, he held her academic abilities and achievements in high regard. Despite her tempestuous emotions, she had already demonstrated on multiple occasions that she was indeed capable of rational, and at times brilliant, thought.

He set his bowl down quickly. A disturbing revelation had suddenly dawned on him. He was in love with her, he realized. He, sensible and reasoned Taurik of Vulcan, was in love with Marianne Broussard, the most impassioned human he had ever met. A twinge of fear began to creep up. Was this the beginnings of the blood fever? He had not yet experienced his first pon farr, so he did not know what exactly to expect. At the same time, however, he could honestly assure himself that he was not experiencing any of the described symptoms.

No, he was genuinely in love with her, he deduced. It was as simple as that. The solution was also as simple: he must forget her. She was not interested in him as a mate, as her attentions were instead drawn in Rahat's direction. He was a Starfleet cadet. She was studying to become an Egyptologist. Once he left Egypt at the end of the summer it was most unlikely that their paths would ever cross again.

Taurik stoically resigned himself to the logical course of the matter, and lay back down in his sleeping bag. Disappointment began to well up in his heart. He firmly suppressed it and for the third time went to sleep.

The next morning, they all awoke with hangovers. As Rahat and Johnny drank the most the night before, theirs were particularly acute. Taurik sat down at the table. Marianne was busy in her daily self-appointed task of making breakfast for everyone. She was normally bubbly and upbeat, but that morning she was considerably more subdued. "Good morning, Miss Broussard," he said to her.

Marianne set a cup of coffee in front of him. "Good morning, Mr. Taurik," she said with a small smile before returning to the task of slicing some fruit. Taurik sipped the coffee with satisfaction. His headache was at last beginning to fade. "Have you recovered from last night's…festivities?" he asked.

"Still recovering," she responded softly, "but I imagine that Rahat and Johnny will be feeling much worse this morning."

"I agree," he said.

Right on cue, Johnny staggered out of his tent and headed for the table. "Just shoot me now," he moaned as he sat down. His face fell forward onto the table. He took a deep breath, and then exhaled.

Several minutes later, Rahat slowly approached the dining area. He had come from the work tent. "The mummy," he said slowly, "is gone. And so is the Book of the Dead."

"What?" Johnny and Marianne cried out in disbelief.

"Don't…yell," Rahat winced, holding his hands to his temples.

"What do you mean 'gone'?" Johnny demanded.

"Just what I said: gone!" Rahat snapped indignantly.

The crew made their way to the sarcophagus. As Rahat stated, the coffin was indeed empty. The workers were chattering in Arabic all around them. As part of his preparatory studies for living on Earth, Taurik had learned French and Spanish in addition to Federation Standard English. He had not thought it necessary to learn Arabic at the time, however, so he was not able to understand them. What he was able to discern was the agitation in their voices.

"What are they saying?" Taurik asked to anyone who would answer.

Qismah appeared on the scene without warning. "They are saying that the Creature has been awakened. The curse is upon us" she said bleakly. "What have you done?" She was livid. Taurik met her eyes, and she nodded. "You felt it, too, didn't you?" Her words make his skin tingle.

"Felt what?" He had a strange, yet familiar notion of what she was referring to, but he could not place it.

"I am sorry that I blamed you, Taurik of Vulcan," she said before turning to Marianne. "Are you mad?" she asked her.

Marianne's eyes widened in anger. "I could ask you the same question!"

"Why did you read the spell?" Qismah asked, dismayed.

Marianne guiltily opened her mouth to respond, but Rahat stood between the two women. "Because I asked her to!" he retorted. "She read it because she is a scholar—it's part of her job, you superstitious wench!"

"I knew you were trouble from the moment I saw you," Qismah pointed at him accusingly. "I should have killed you when I had the chance! Now, we are all doomed," she lamented.

"You would not have succeeded," Rahat informed her cockily.

"Romulans are not immortal," Qismah warned, "but the Creature soon will be. Fly now, before you all perish!" She announced as much to the workers in Arabic. They panicked and scattered about like a flock of frightened birds.

Rahat glared at her, and then called out to the men. He spoke rapidly, but calmly. Their alarm seemed to subside, at least for the moment. He then stood threateningly in Qismah's face. "Leave now!" he demanded through his gritted teeth. "I am a gentleman, but you have pushed me to the very limit of decency. Do not cross the line!"

The woman realized that Rahat would tolerate no opposition. She backed down and got on her horse. "We will be back," she vowed. And then she was off.

John sighed. "Do you think she means that?"

"Yes," Rahat responded angrily.

"A police report must be made," said Taurik.

"Taurik is right," Marianne agreed. "We can't have them riding around threatening us. I'm willing to bet they took the mummy and the Book."

"Yeah," Johnny seconded dejectedly, "I think we'll have to postpone the rest of the dig for now. We can wait in Luxor until this blows over. With any luck, the cops will find them within a few weeks, and throw those zealots in the slammer in the meantime."

"Let us hope…" Rahat said sarcastically. It was clear that he did not share John's confidence.

"Oh, Taurik!" Marianne suddenly realized. "You have to leave now to catch your boat in Luxor, don't you?"

"In light of these events," he said, "I think I can be excused long enough to help pack up camp and accompany you back." By no means was he going to leave her there out in the middle of the desert while hostile forces were lurking all around. And there was something about that place that put him on edge. There was no rational explanation, but for the first time in his life, he did not care. He would seek to understand it after they were safely far away from that unsettling vicinity.

Relief spread across her face. "That would be great," she said eagerly.

"Yeah thanks, man," said Johnny.

Rahat visibly swallowed his pride. "It is not necessary, but appreciated."

They all got to work at once. And then it happened, just before noon. The body of one of the hands was discovered behind a rock. He had been "sucked dry," as Johnny described it, though how it happened was anyone's guess. The man had been missing the entire day, and it was believed among the diggers that it had been he who had stolen the mummy before running off during the night. No one said anything, however, because Rahat had given them strict orders not to speak of anything pertaining to "the curse" after the incident with Qismah that morning.

In response, they hastened their packing. Disassembling the base took nearly the entire day. It was soon evident that they would have to travel during part of the night. "The sooner the better," Johnny said irritably, "this place gives me the creeps."

The sun was rapidly descending. Marianne mounted her camel. She had not spoken a single word ever since the body was found. Taurik could see she was terrified. He also perceived that she felt guilty, as though she were somehow responsible for the death, because she had read the ancient incantation. In all the hustle and bustle, no one else took notice of her silence.

"It is absurd for you to blame yourself, Miss Broussard," he said gently. "You and I both know that he was in all likelihood murdered by the Medjai. Ancient spells are merely words. It is irrational to think that they have any power."

"You're right, I know. But Taurik," a tear streamed down her cheek, "I'm so frightened."

"That is a natural reaction to what has happened," he said soothingly. Another tear fell. "Marianne," he said as he lightly brushed it away, "do not be afraid. I am a Starfleet Cadet and therefore will not allow anything to happen to you. You will reach Luxor safely. I promise." His word of honor was of course unnecessary, as Vulcans did not lie. But Taurik had observed that humans found such vows comforting in dire circumstances.

She did find it reassuring. Her tears ceased and she managed a tiny smile. "Alright," she sniffed.

They proceeded to Luxor at a grueling pace, without objection from anyone. The journey went on long into the night. Taurik remained alert, paying attention to everything around him. The full moon rose, casting long shadows across the dunes. The unnamed threat continued to loom over him. It was pursuing them, he could feel it.

At 03:00 hours, they reached the city, completely and utterly exhausted. John checked the four of them into a hotel while Rahat dismissed the workers. Taurik sent a message to Dr. Wasem to inform her that he would not be attending class later that morning. Upon his inquiring of the ferry schedule, he noted that the next boat would be leaving at noon.

"Thank you, Taurik," Marianne said wearily as she went to her room. Taurik's heart sank when she closed the door. In only a few hours, he would depart for Cairo.

The noon hour came all too soon, and she and Johnny were there at the dock to see him off. Rahat was not there, as he was still at the police station.

John held out his hand. "Hey, it was nice knowing you, man," he said, "Hope we get to do it again sometime."

Taurik paused for a moment, but then took John's hand, returning his firm grip. He had come to consider him a friend. "Likewise, Johnny," he replied.

He turned to Marianne. "With all that's happened," she looked down unhappily, "I never got the chance to write anything for you."

"Perhaps we could write letters to each other?" he suggested optimistically. "Then you will have the chance, Miss Broussard."

"We've been through enough together to be on a first-name basis, don't you think?" She was trying her best not to cry.

"I have no objection to that arrangement, Marianne," Taurik answered. It pleased him, in a sad sort of a way, that his leaving was enough to move her to tears. She hugged him suddenly, and he was barely able to control his startled expression when she kissed his cheek. That was what was done by the Creoles in New Orleans, he remembered reading in Sam's book. She released him when she felt him tense.

"I hope I didn't offend you," she said. Her eyes grew remorseful.

"No, Marianne," he said quickly. "Vulcans do not touch. I was…unprepared. I assure you I am not offended." In truth, her embrace had thrilled him, and it made leaving her that much more difficult.

"Goodbye, Taurik," she said softly.

Taurik held her gaze for several seconds. "Goodbye, Marianne." With that, he turned and boarded the ferry. They waved to him as it pulled away from the dock. All the while he never took his eyes off of her, memorizing her lovely features to be sure he would never forget them, if that were possible. Now that they were going to write to each other, he would most certainly not forget her. He would have to come to terms with his feelings for her, then. It would be difficult, but he was a Vulcan, and therefore in complete control of his emotions. Or mostly in control, at least.