Chapter 3: Somewhere to Stand

Taurik considered the selection of teas he had programmed into his personal menu. It seemed like an overwhelming number, though there were only twelve. He'd never had this much trouble simply selecting a drink before, but his routine this morning was already thrown off.

Any suggestions? He thought it before he could stop himself.

He suppressed the flare of anger, regret, and grief as quickly as he could.

Lying on the floor in front of the low table was Miss Dixson—he'd given her a pillow about an hour ago and she hadn't really woken when she took it, tucked it under her head. He retrieved a blanket from his bedroom and covered her with it. She'd been curled up, so he assumed that meant she might be cold, though he wasn't sure how that could be. It had to be extremely warm by her standards.

He looked back at the list, thinking again that nothing seemed appealing. His chest hurt.

Obviously, it wasn't a physical injury, which only made it more noticeable. For all the pain being psychological, it seemed to have referred enough of the ache to his corporeal extremities to make the distribution bearable.

Because it was bearable. He wasn't lying when he said he hadn't considered suicide—except, perhaps, as academic: a solution that existed, but not for him. And, of course, when his mother blatantly brought it up as something she feared Taurik might do. Her statistical population of how many Vulcan twins survived their deceased other-half by more than a couple of weeks was skewed significantly older than Taurik by well over a century. He never thought her perspective on him was quite correct, but he'd never felt so distant from her as he had at that moment. He hadn't spoken to her since.

In a moment of honesty, he acknowledged death could seem like an attractive alternative to the torment of a too-quiet mind. But he was convinced Vorik would have been just as angry and grieved if that was the choice he made. It didn't seem to matter that Vorik wasn't here—all he could think about was what his brother would want him to do, and die was never on that list. Mother would be disappointed if he chose that course. Humiliated. Father would probably consider it inevitable… but he hadn't spoken to him. He hadn't spoken to Taurik in five years. He was… he was angry. Probably only more so now.

However illogical it was to live with this much pain, it was equally illogical to stop for that reason alone. Because it was… it was bearable.

And possibly ephemeral, though that remained to be seen. Miss Dixson was at least correct that everything changed. One day… he might not register it at all.

How could anyone live like this?

Right now, Taurik was just exhausted. Every muscle to his bones ached—and it wasn't because he hadn't slept. He still wasn't sure he wasn't dying. It would just… not be on purpose. It was likely just a chemical imbalance brought on by the lack of sleep, lack of nutrition, lack of meditation, and a surplus of emotion. It would correct itself once he adapted.

Because Miss Dixson was right. He would adapt. One day, he'd stop compulsively returning to that open wound to weep when he found what was inevitable, and it would stop pulling him back. One day, he'd realize it had stopped hurting so much and he hadn't noticed. Or else he'd feel this way forever and forget what it was like to feel anything different.

He wasn't sure what option he preferred.

"Computer, tea, Vulcan white with lemon, fifty-five degrees," he whispered, and the computer complied. A small dark blue teacup appeared, and the figure under the blankets stirred.

He retrieved his tea cup and turned. Miss Dixson was looking up at him, seeming almost confused. Perhaps because of her unfamiliar surroundings. Taurik experienced a light confusion to seeing her here this morning, as well. A soft feeling of gratitude that he thought he should express, because what she had done was not logical… though, admittedly, in retrospect, appreciated. She owed him no duty, and he could think of no reason she should have been here expending personal resources.

He remembered saying thank you last night, and, for once, it was not just a social futility.

"I apologize. I tried not to wake you." He went to the small table next to the door. Only two chairs were here, and he'd only ever used the one. He glanced back at the replicator. "Can I get you anything?"

"I don't know yet." Miss Dixson stretched her back and arms while she sat on the floor. "How are you?"

He momentarily bristled at the question more than the immediately obvious answer, but that was easy to get under control before he even sat down. She only meant to be… kind. And she really wanted to know. She wouldn't be here if that wasn't true. "Tolerable."

"That's good. Better than bad, anyway." Miss Dixson picked herself up from the floor, straightening her uniform shirt and running her fingers through her black hair. She looked at him. "What the hell am I going to say to Eliza?"

Eliza Clarke, her roommate in the ops department. She'd mentioned her several times. He wasn't sure what there was to tell, unless she was particularly protective of some self-imposed curfew. "Perhaps you should have considered that before insisting you stay last night," he said, and almost immediately regretted it.

"Yeah, well…" With a sigh, Miss Dixson wandered the few steps to stand next to the table. "I'm glad I was here, anyway."

She sat with him at the table, looking at his cup of tea for much too long. He could have agreed, or offered an equally encouraging comment. Continuing to complain, to act like he would have been better off left alone, felt like a lie now. It had been surprisingly welcome to wake up in a room where he could hear someone else breathing. It was unreasonable how silent everything seemed now, even in a room full of people talking.

"I did not realize how… unstable I'd become," he said, just in case she thought anything about last night was normal. He knew she didn't think that, but he had to say it. Had to remind himself he couldn't let this happen again. That would kill him. "For the record, you were incorrect in your concern. Though… I have sent a message to Counsellor Troi. She will meet with me today." He had, reluctantly, told the counsellor it was urgent.

"She's really nice," Miss Dixson offered, as though that were a variable in the calculus of whether he should pursue other processes for coping. "One of the best counsellors in all of Starfleet."

That was hardly surprising. "I'm sure she is. This is the Enterprise." Of course, he hadn't meant to sound what could have been labeled as condescending. He took a gulp of his tea. "What will you say to your roommate?" he asked, realizing that he actually did care about her answer after he asked the question.

Miss Dixson shrugged. "I don't know. It probably doesn't matter, because she won't believe me no matter what I tell her. Even if it's the truth." That sounded uniquely unpleasant to Taurik, but she smiled like perhaps it wasn't. "She's always trying to set me up. She'll probably drive herself insane trying to figure out who I spent the night with. Should be fun to watch…"

That, too, sounded uniquely unpleasant. "I regret the inconvenience…" he said.

"Nah." She leaned across the small table and hit his arm with the backs of her fingers. A gesture of goodwill and, perhaps, teasing. "It wasn't an inconvenience at all. Besides, she wouldn't know what to do with herself if there wasn't some drama going on. Hell, she might be happy it's me for once."

But… would Miss Dixson be happy with that?

"You, uh… you aren't concerned you might be in some of those rumors, are you?" she asked.

"What kind of rumors do you expect to be circulating…?"

"I don't know." Miss Dixson shrugged, looking away as if embarrassed. "Nothing happened," she added suddenly, glancing at him.

He wasn't sure how she could say that. Of course, something had happened. He had completely lost control, crying like a small child. Of course, all the emotions he'd been unable to handle as a child felt like nothing at all in the face of this. He'd never felt physically unable to meditate before, and he couldn't remember a time he'd felt more… anything. Last night, it felt like everything.

Or was she saying that, if anyone asked her, she would lie? She would tell them nothing had happened…?

"I mean, you know, nothing, um… intimate," she added, and flushed even more than she was already. When he said nothing, still trying to figure out what she was talking about, she said, "Sexual."

"Oh." He paused, and finally understood. "Oh." He nodded, feeling a small amount of relief that the rumors they'd care to tell were ones he did not care about. "Yes, I'm sorry. I still sometimes forget Humans are perennially fixated."

"Yeah. Some of them. Vulcans are lucky."

He considered that, and decided. "Yes." It was not a perennial fixation. Only a deadly animalistic obsession once every seven years. Ignoring those frankly horrifying biological urges, he had always believed the Vulcan method of choosing mates was superior, and never before had his opinion been so unequivocally confirmed. Humans tended to waste much time and effort even with rumors of romantic entanglements, it seemed like an anomaly they ever got around to the real thing.

As for Taurik… he had Saalle, and Saalle had him. There was no mystery to distract those around him, and no uncertainty to distract him.

"But, of course… I mean, I would never be…" She hesitated, and never finished her thought.

Perhaps she had intended to assure him that she would never consider him a viable partner for herself? That would have been welcome news, since the sentiment was mutual if that was true. But just in case she thought that he was, he should eliminate that as a possibility. Immediately. Humans could be sensitive.

Humans. He didn't know what he was thinking. He had been the one uncontrollably weeping last night, not her. Other Vulcans might have been able to view a relationship like this one from a position of superiority. He could not.

"You are aware that Vulcans have their mates arranged from a very young age," he said, sure to not phrase it like a question. It didn't matter, necessarily, whether she had known or not. "Any affair outside that would be inappropriate. I have known my..." He hesitated, knowing the Vulcan word for what Saalle was to him would not translate properly for her, and redirected. "I have known my mate since I was seven years old, and…"

And what? He'd forgotten what he was going to say, since he'd only just now realized that Vorik's mate would have received news that he was missing. If any of the family had passed on the news that he was most likely dead, she would find a new mate. Maybe soon.

That made him incredibly angry.

"What's her name?" Miss Dixson asked.

"Saalle," he said absently.

"Pretty."

Taurik supposed it did have a certain melodic quality. He wasn't sure if it seemed so because he'd gotten used to it or because the collection of sounds was intrinsically more pleasing. Vorik's mate T'Pring had an extremely common name, but it was just as lyrical.

He should not be angry with her. It was… illogical.

"Does she know?"

"She sent me a message."

"And?"

Actually, she'd sent three. He hadn't responded. She'd expressed condolences. Said all the appropriate phrases. He could even feel residual shared grief between them, which meant she could have some awareness of his destructive spiral… and hiding it was pointless, anyway. "I haven't spoken to her."

Miss Dixson didn't seem to think that was an adaptive strategy, judging from her look.

"She will eventually know…" he said quietly, and didn't know why he was sharing this in particular… except that he couldn't tell Saalle. Pride… perhaps it was more a familial trait. "About this," he added.

That he had lost control. He would never recover.

"Miss Dixson?"

"You can call me Gabi," she said, her low tone matching his.

He watched her for a moment, distracted. Gabi? Some of the other petty officers did call her that. He only ever called her Dixson. It almost sounded like a name, unlike Gabi, which didn't at all. He shook that off.

"If you need to be forthright with your roommate," he said, "I would, of course, understand." Should he tell her he wished she wouldn't?

He didn't have to. She slid her chair as close to him as she possibly could with the table between them. "Of course not," she said quickly. She reached, tentatively, for his hand. "Kinda feels like… like I wasn't supposed to be there, like I saw something I wasn't supposed to see. I would never tell anybody."

Taurik turned his attention to her fingers gripping his. "I would be grateful, and… I apologize for my behavior. It should never have happened."

"Seriously…?" she said. She looked at him as though she expected an answer.

He held her hand for a moment before extracting his fingers from hers. Went back to his tea. "If you must know, I did…" He didn't know if Miss Dixson would understand when he said he thought he was dying if she would take it as literally as he intended. Though, he wasn't sure how much histrionics he could handle in only twelve hours. "It was a highly unusual response—"

"No, no." Miss Dixson waved her hands between them, effectively cutting him off with word and action. "No, I mean… you can't apologize for that. That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard."

He hesitated. Perhaps it was ridiculous. For some reason, he needed to explain, anyway. Needed her to know that was not normal and he was ordinarily very much in control. Even these days. At least, he thought so. Less than normal, but still… more than, say, she was.

Maybe. He wasn't sure anymore.

"Never before have I been completely unable to choose how to respond to a situation. Unable to choose… how to feel. It was overwhelming."

"Well, I don't know what the hell else you could choose to feel."

Of course, a Human would say that. Choice was the essence of control. Regardless of a broken heart in more pain than he could comprehend—silent laughter and unshed tears were a choice. That was what it was to be Vulcan.

Taurik would have liked to have someone more rational sitting here with him at the moment… because, last night, he would have agreed with her. He couldn't rationalize this. He couldn't lean on logic because there was nothing logical in this. Vorik had died, and it was meaningless. It was random. There was no logic in chaos by definition, and it would make no sense to expect the response to be logical—would it?

There was no logical response to Vorik's death except grief. Except guilt. Except anger.

He emptied his tea cup and stood.

Miss Dixson looked up at him in concern at his sudden rise. He ignored that, depositing his teacup back into the replicator and watching it disappear.

"Look, I know I'm already up to my eyeballs in something I shouldn't even be in, but… can you promise me you won't do that again? You can't hide out in here alone when you're like that. You need somebody."

That, at least, was clear. "It isn't anybody else's concern."

"Well…" Miss Dixson sighed. "What if I'm concerned anyway?"

Taurik wasn't sure how he'd managed to overlook that, and the fact that she would go to extreme lengths to assuage her anxieties even when it demonstrably had no effect on her. "It's… unnecessary."

"I know. But, frankly, Taurik, I don't think you can stop me."

Evidently, she was right. "Can I get you anything?" he asked, quietly.

"I guess some scrambled eggs wouldn't be bad…"

Taurik ordered scrambled eggs and delivered a plate of fluffy yellow material that he'd seen many Humans eat for a morning meal. Perhaps even most Humans. He knew it was nutritionally sufficient, but that didn't explain it.

He sank back down in the chair, leaned back, and folded his arms.

"So what do you want to do for the rest of the morning?" she asked after a few bites.

It took him a moment to realize why she'd said that. She wasn't leaving. She still didn't trust him. He couldn't even think he'd given her a reason to. "Until I talk to Counsellor Troi," he said, and hadn't meant it as a question.

"Well… what if I just like hanging out with you?" She smiled, and he knew she had to be teasing. "You listen to me ramble about dumb things, which is more than I can say for, uh… anyone? Yeah, anyone. Thanks, by the way." She took another bite.

Taurik hadn't considered that any sort of favor. "While your interest in natural mechanical and energy systems isn't exactly useful, it is interesting," he offered. "I cannot imagine why I would need to know that the Denobulan osmotic eel can cauterize wounds, but… I now know that."

She smiled even more broadly. "How do you remember that? That had to be something like six months ago."

"Seven months. It was the first of many pieces of trivia that are completely useless to me but nevertheless fascinating to know. Vorik… found them amusing as well."

"You told him about the eels?"

He nodded. He told Vorik about everything. He had always been there, and there was no reason not to.

She went back to her eggs. "Well… if we're looking for something to do other than talk about osmotic eels, sometimes I do some anbo-jyutsu, if I can find an opponent my skill-level. Which is low, by the way. Maybe a run. A climb, if I have the holodeck credits." She suddenly stopped. "Climbing? You climb?"

He had no idea how she'd divined that. He must have responded somehow.

"There. We can go climbing."

He shrugged. "If you insist."

"I don't want to make you do something you don't want to do."

Evidently, she did. He didn't say that, though. He just stared at the tabletop. He and Vorik climbed various mountains on Earth's North American continent while they were at the Academy, and summers in mountains and canyons around their home on Vulcan.

That didn't explain anything. "I would prefer to do nothing," he said. "But I am too… tired to resist."

"I'd be just as happy for a nap, to be honest," she offered.

He would not. Leaving Miss Dixson to her breakfast, he went to his room. It looked foreign to him somehow. He'd hobbled in here around four in the morning like some decrepit and mindless animal, but he'd had the foresight to change before meditating. His shoes were out of the way by the door. He'd slept for two hours—Vulcans could theoretically go for twenty days without sleeping, but he'd never done it. Excepting a few one- or two-hour periods like this morning and in spite of his constant fatigue, he hadn't slept for one-hundred forty-six hours.

He may as well go climbing.

The sonic shower had become the only reprieve from the quiet. He wondered if it was the frequency that was distracting—before, he'd been impassively annoyed by it. It gave him a headache. Now, he sometimes took as many as five minutes longer than required because, for the first time, he found it did have a relaxing quality. It only occurred to him just now that perhaps he could attempt to meditate in the shower, if something like last night were to happen again.

So he took too long in the shower, contemplating the floor tiles and rubbing the beginning of a headache off his forehead. He didn't think about anything. He dressed in his old Academy work uniform, left his hair in the mess it was in, collected his climbing shoes, and went back out to the main room. Miss Dixson sat on the couch, curled up with a raktajino and a PADD. He saw stills of beetles.

"Climbing it is, then," she said, and stood. She looked at him from head to foot, leaving him feeling like perhaps he'd missed something. "I can't believe you like climbing," she said after a second.

"I do not like climbing," he said. "We are required to report two hours of physical activity each week, and I have experience."

"That's so uncharacteristically… fun." She grinned.

He wasn't sure it was fun, since that was not only an emotional assessment, but a subjective one, as well. But… yes, maybe he did consider it something close to what she would call fun. It was challenging, and the reward of reaching some height or precipice with a new perspective was incentive. "My family lives in the mountain range Vokau on Vulcan. I spent a great deal of my childhood climbing the canyons and caverns there." And now he knew which location he was going to recreate for their climb. It was a relatively obscure location on Vulcan, known mostly by locals of the surrounding region. Miss Dixson had most likely never been there.

"You sure you don't mind…?" Miss Dixson asked hesitantly.

Taurik considered her hesitancy and whether he "minded." He was sure he didn't. He was also sure the reason she was hesitant was because she assumed—correctly—that he had done the majority of that childhood climbing with Vorik. But if he was going to avoid things that reminded him of Vorik, he may as well stop. Everything. His mind had considered everything from engineering to waking up in the morning the ideal moment to think about Vorik.

"Climbing," he said with a small sigh, "is a physically demanding activity." And, like sonic showers, could be distracting from the silence.

Miss Dixson stood. "I'll take that as a yes."

Taurik nodded and followed her out of his quarters.

She chatted pleasantly about the beetles she was studying and discussed taking up origami, which she explained was an ancient art practiced by some Human cultures. It was supposedly quite difficult to master, and he wasn't sure how beetles and paper-folding had managed to intersect in her labyrinthine mind. They stopped at her quarters on deck thirteen—only after she was sure her roommate would have gone to the lab. She took an extremely quick shower and returned to him in the main room dressed in exercise clothes as well. Hers were obviously not holdovers from her days in enlisted training on Mars, prompting him to wonder why he hadn't recycled these and replicated something new.

Because these fit. He wasn't sure why he'd waste the energy.

Taurik expended two of his rarely-used holodeck credits to reserve a holodeck to recreate the Osana caverns for three hours. The holodeck provided one set of standard hiking socks popular on Earth and another toed version more common for Vulcans to choose along with other rigging. The caverns were a short hike from his home on Vulcan through a narrow canyon. They would have to wade through knee-high water before arriving at the caverns. He and Vorik had left lanterns along the paths that the holodeck would not have programmed.

"Three hours?" she wondered, following him into the holographic environment. "In this heat?"

"The temperature can be adjusted."

They stepped into a steep canyon under a white-orange sky. Plants, trees, and shrubs with green and red leaves lined a river emerging from the canyon before them. Taurik strapped the provided climbing belt to his waist, changed his shoes, and selected other tools from the array the program presented, including as many lanterns as were provided. He handed her a flashlight, a belt with ascenders and carabiners, and ropes.

"I wouldn't want to cheat…" she mumbled.

"The temperature drops between five and ten degrees as we progress into the canyon." Taurik pointed down at the river from their perch on a red rock where they seemed to have appeared from an archway in the canyon wall that was not an archway at all. Of course, it would have turned into an arch if they called for one. "This is the Rala River. You may be interested to know it gets its name from its similarity in structure to a salamander-wing where it becomes a delta and empties into the sea. Its source is within the caverns."

"Where is this?" Miss Dixson shaded her eyes and looked up at the sky.

"The canyon and the caverns are both Osana, on Vulcan." He turned away from the canyon, pointing down the path that would, as it rounded the plateaus and climbed up and down hills, become well-traveled. "The village Neik-kaiden lies approximately five kilometers in that direction." He arranged the string of lanterns on his belt, looping them several times to conserve space and allow free movement. "I grew up there."

"Oh." Miss Dixson sounded much more interested with that revelation, looking around the canyon once again. "Did you come here often?"

He nodded. "Yes." All the time. Most summers, it seemed like they lived here.

He and Vorik learned the proper names to all the rock formations around the village and the ones that didn't have any they named themselves. Their most-frequented climb was in this canyon, a treacherous rise in one of the meanders, the tallest of the surrounding plateaus. Its proper name was Fisolekau T'Ha'sular, and it took three days to climb. The caverns, by contrast, took as little or as much time as they desired. Depending on the route, it could be treacherous or simple and take less than a day to traverse if they desired.

"How hard is it?"

Taurik looked back upriver toward the cavern. "My first attempt was at seven years old, though I was twelve the first time I successfully completed the route to the spring. I think it is perhaps a moderate difficulty."

"Alright, well… we'll see. Anyway, the safeties are on, right?"

He eyed her, wondering how she trusted him so little. "I would never consider turning them off."

"Not for you—I mean… I'm not clumsy or anything, but odds are if I was gonna fall, it'd be the day I decided to go rock-climbing with a Vulcan officer," she said, sheepishly stepping up beside him. "You guys are surefooted, right?"

Taurik was, probably by most standards, but that did not translate to "you guys." "I am unaware of any reason you would have that stereotype."

"Oh. Okay, then. Lead the way?"

Miss Dixson followed him down to the river, where they stayed on the bank between the canyon walls. Recreated Vulcan fauna scurried into the rocks and dove into the water. Neither of them said anything, leaving Taurik to wonder at length if he would ever come back here in reality.

Taurik stepped into the water when the canyon walls encroached on the river. The water was clear and cold. The holodeck would not naturally create rainy conditions, which would have turned the water ruddy with runoff. During the monsoon seasons, hundreds of waterfalls plummeted from the high canyon walls, throwing rainbows with the mist into the air. It was a dangerous time to be in the canyon, as flash floods were common, but there were several rocks along the canyon large enough to be out of harm's way and observe the occurrence. He and Vorik, when they were sixteen, had been trapped on one of the rocks a bit further into the canyon for two days due to rain and flooding. They had nothing to eat, one blanket between them, and the most comprehensive lecture their father had ever delivered when they finally returned home. Nevertheless, they agreed it was the best two days of their lives. They agreed to prepare and do it intentionally one day…

Those were still the best two days of his life, and he would never return to this place in reality.

"When's the last time you did this?" she asked.

"Approximately five years ago." The weather had been optimal for their three-day trip through the canyon and up one of the sheer walls. From here, he could even see one of the narrow ledges on which they camped for one night. He hesitated, and added, "It was the last thing Vorik and I did before leaving for the Academy. I suppose it was the last time."

She fell silent, swishing through the water behind him. After a few seconds, he thought he heard her apologize. That wasn't his point.

"It seemed appropriate to go through the canyon today," he continued after a few minutes of pushing through the strong current now rushing around his calves. "We always returned to the Osana caverns, to the springs, before undertaking any major life event. Like our own kahs-wan."

"Your own what?"

"Test of maturity undertaken in Vulcan's Forge for ten days." He'd thought his ten days—and Vorik's—were almost fraudulent. They avoided each other for the integrity of the ritual, but it didn't stop them from maintaining almost constant telepathic contact. Taurik wouldn't have made it the whole ten days alone. On the last day, they met at the edge of the desert and left together.

Miss Dixson picked up a rock out of the river and threw it back in ahead of her. "That's… that's kind of beautiful," she said.

Beautiful. Taurik looked at their surroundings, wondering which specific part of the environment she was talking about. Beautiful was, indeed, an adjective ascribed to some locations on Vulcan by outsiders, even though the majority of it was dry and dead. Taurik preferred Earth, even though the majority of it was too cool. Comfort had no bearing on beauty.

"I suppose," he offered. "We should recreate the canyon in the rain one day. Most climbs are too dangerous under such conditions, but—"

"No, I meant…" She stopped suddenly, and sighed. "I mean, coming back here. Undertaking a major life event."

"Oh." He had no idea why that should be beautiful.

"Thanks for sharing this with me."

"At the risk of being blunt, Miss Dixson—" He paused, and looked back at her. She took the few remaining steps between them. "Gabi. I cannot think of anything more personal than what you've already witnessed. A hike through an unrestricted canyon is quite possibly the least compromising thing I've shared today." And, with an appointment with Counsellor Troi, later that wasn't likely to change.

They had arrived at the entrance to a vast black expanse before them that disappeared into the rocks where the canyon appeared to stop.

"Kinda makes me feel like I should reciprocate," Miss Dixson said, hooking her thumbs in her belt and looking at him.

"Reciprocate what?"

"Something compromising."

He shrugged, pulling out his lamp to guide his path just before he stepped into the darkness. "My volatility was not your choice."

"Doesn't really feel like it was yours, either."

"I fail to see how that is relevant."

Miss Dixson pulled out her own flashlight, turning the beam around the stalagmites set back into the large cavern. Pla-kur yonkallar, tiny dragon-like creatures with six appendages and bright blue eyes, hung from pockmarks in the ceiling. Their tufted lizard tails curled around their heads like little toupees. She stopped to look at them, and he waited for her.

While she observed the wildlife, he knocked one of his lantern-sticks into the wall next to him. He counted his lanterns and estimated one every three or four meters would get them nearly to the springs. Then, at the end, they would be able to see their circuitous route through the cavern beneath them.

"Are they domesticated?" she asked suddenly, her beam on one of the lizards.

"They do not tolerate captivity," he said. After a moment of watching a pair of them crawl a bit closer to them along the ceiling, he added, "They chew off their limbs when confined."

"Ew, what?"

"Nature is…" He searched for the correct word for some seconds. He couldn't think of any that weren't anthropomorphizing or sensationalizing. "Harsh," he decided.

"Harsh." She repeated the word like she was tasting it. "Sure. Like weather. Ice and heat doesn't mean to kill you, but it will." Leave it to a Human to sensationalize even what he tried to make impassive. "Or a sheer cliff."

Taurik stopped beside Miss Dixson at the wall and looked up. The configuration of the hand- and foot-holds were not exact to his memory, but even holodeck technology could not be perfect to the smallest detail of an obscure cavern wall. Some of the climbs ahead were quite difficult, and, though they would be in no danger for a fall, he'd decided that success was more important than challenge.

Also, he had no idea what Miss Dixson's level of competence might be.

"Computer," he said, and knocked the lamp into the wall. "Adjust the difficulty of this face to Class Four."

"Is higher or lower easier?"

Taurik glanced at her. "Computer, adjust difficulty to Class Three."

"It was just a question…" Gabi muttered.

Since she'd guessed correctly, he didn't answer the question. "How much experience do you have free-climbing?" He took a step away, and she followed into the lantern light. He was perhaps only a centimeter or two taller than she was, but he was, of course, stronger… but she seemed at least equal to the task.

"A little? Nothing formal, but I used to climb around the mountains back home. And, of course, in the holodeck, but I don't know what difficulties I'm climbing or anything like that. I guess I've finished one or two of the easiest routes for El Capitan on Earth, but over the course of a month or whatever it takes. I can only reserve a little holodeck time at once… besides, the whole thing would take days."

"I will climb ahead of you and tell you the pattern of the holds. If it is too difficult, we will adjust. Does that seem agreeable to you?"

Miss Dixson grinned. "And if it's too easy?"

He turned to the rock face. "Then we will climb El Capitan."

It took several minutes for him to find his bearings, but soon he found a rhythm. The slower pace due to his unfamiliarity with the climb seemed to be helpful to Miss Dixson, as she kept up with relative ease. It was to her benefit that he was hanging lanterns as he went. Still, he relayed the locations of his grips and steps, but she didn't seem to need them and she took a diversion or two to reach the top only shortly after he did.

"Hey," she pulled herself up on the ledge next to him, gasping a little for her effort. "Is it too personal a question to ask how old you are?"

"How is something as insignificant as age too personal?" He stood and offered her a hand.

"Considering the kind of day you've had, I'd say you're allowed to be protective of insignificant things." She slapped her hand into his, and he pulled her up.

"Twenty-four standard years." And she was approximately twenty-two. "Would you consider it an invasion of privacy that I know your age?"

"I'm sure it's come up before." She looked down the path behind them and then turned to face him. "Age gets to be a weird subject for Humans around forty, but I know Vulcans don't age like Humans do. You could have been eighty for all I knew."

He doubted he would have this reaction if he were eighty. For one thing, emotional control improved with age. The perspective of decades and the assurance that at least Vorik had lived four-fifths of a century instead of not even one-quarter would have been helpful. Still too short, but… he might have had children, maybe even made commander.

"I am not."

"Yeah. I know that now. Thanks."

They continued climbing, Miss Dixson even taking the lead on the next face.

"I'm twenty-one," she offered after a few meters.

Taurik glanced up in her direction.

"I lied on my enlistment papers. I was sixteen, not seventeen." She paused and planted a lamp. "Of course, by the time training was over and I was actually serving, I was seventeen. I don't know if that matters for disciplinary boards, though."

Taurik didn't know, either. It was a strange admission, considering she could be disciplined, demoted, or even disqualified from service entirely if someone presumably more important than Taurik knew. "Why?"

"I was impatient," she said, as if that was all the explanation needed.

He wasn't sure whether he'd meant to ask why she'd lied or why she'd broached the topic at all. She'd just asked him his age—and with that information, perhaps age wasn't quite as insignificant as he thought. Past a certain age, it was.

"I figure that's reciprocally compromising," she added.

"The most my situation could do is relegate me to medical leave on Vulcan," he said. Possibly for years, depending on how far gone he was. He would estimate at this moment of lucidity… it might take him three years to successfully suppress the effects of Vorik's death. Optimistically.

He already knew that he would never recover. So it was simply a matter of learning to live with that. Learning to live with the misery seemed easier to contemplate at the moment than learning to live without him…

"And I'm pretty sure the worst they'd do to me is demote me," she said, and reached up for the next hold. "I don't know for sure, but I was sixteen and my service has been pretty good."

"Exemplary," he said, as if a correction. He didn't know why.

She smiled and reached for the next grip. "There, see? Reciprocal. It makes sense, trust me."

"Very well…"

They lit the way with lanterns enough to watch each other's grips—making sure each of them had something to hold onto. Taurik hoisted himself up onto the next ledge and turned back to help Miss Dixson up the rest of the way when the comms overhead buzzed.

"Counsellor Troi to Lieutenant Taurik."

With one hand, Taurik pulled Miss Dixson up, and with the other he tapped his combadge. "This is Taurik."

"I'm ready for you now."

"I will be on my way shortly." The comline buzzed into silence and Taurik looked at Gabi. "I asked that she meet with me at her earliest convenience."

She looked pleased enough, smiling but her eyes were sad. "I hope she can help."

"As do I…" Taurik looked down the cliff now behind them, past two climbs and down to the lanterns he'd left along the river leading out of the caverns. "Your… consideration today has been appreciated. I cannot guarantee I will see you at shift."

She nodded, kicked some gravel off the edge. She seemed to listen to it rain on the surface below and then said, "If you ever need anybody to sleep on your couch while you meditate… you know where to find me."

Taurik wanted to tell her that he would not, but thought better of it at the last moment. Nothing was guaranteed. And he had appreciated waking to something other than silence. So, he only looked into the blackness where the door should have been, unless he'd gotten completely turned around. "Computer, save program—Osana-One—and exit."

The blackness switched on into the familiar illuminated yellow grid.

Miss Dixson was staring at him. "Save program?"

"I assumed you would want to see the source of the river. Was I incorrect?"

"No, no, I, uh…" She shrugged and grinned. "When do you want to finish it?"

Taurik looked at the door, thinking he shouldn't keep Counsellor Troi waiting too long. He collected his shoes, nodded a farewell, and turned to leave. "Perhaps tomorrow."

The door shut behind him, leaving him to walk down the empty hallway toward his room, a few sections away. He thought he should go get dressed in his uniform. It wouldn't add more than five minutes to his arrival time, and he would be more comfortable. He turned the corner away from the holodecks to a long hallway.

A distant sound, a shape shimmered like a mirage or a reflection on a lake—a feeling, or a memory of one, like a gilded echo from the other side of a misty canyon, lightly brushed his consciousness. Unmistakably trickling through the emptiness was a sense of safety. Longing. Peace.

It was Vorik. Wasn't it? How could it be? As quickly as it had come, it was gone.

Any other time, that smallest contact would barely have been enough to reach him, but now? Now he took in a sharp breath, hand against the wall, and breathed into the back of his hand. He went back to that bleeding black place between them and found nothing, still nothing there. He fought back the tears that threatened to resurface, angry at his lack of control and afraid of what it might mean. Afraid he might have to go home.

How had he imagined that? And why?

He really must have been dying. Or losing his mind. He considered it a good sign he was afraid of that possibility. Regardless of admission, no matter how deep the fear was buried, most Vulcans were.

He shifted his weight back onto his feet. Straightened. Gripped his hands behind his back, his shoes still hanging from his fingers. It took a moment to weigh what he wanted to do next, but in the end decided not wanting to see the counsellor still dressed in this was only vanity. He went straight to the nearest turbolift, and requested deck nine.

#

Taurik sat on the rocks, switching out his shoes for the climbing socks. Gabi watched, comparing her own climbing socks to the ones he was wearing. He'd brought his own, apparently some Vulcan style in gray with two extra latches and adhesive fabric.

Gabi itched to ask him how his talk with Counselor Troi went. He hadn't gone to shift yesterday, and she had practically lost her mind. She restrained herself from calling, though. He was probably meditating. He was probably fine.

Well, not fine. But okay. And she shouldn't interrupt. And then he'd called this morning to ask if she wanted to continue their climb. She'd nearly lost her mind again, but for completely different reasons. Return invitations were one of her favorite things.

"Even without telepathy, Miss Dixson, I could hear your anxiety."

That was fair. She'd looked at him maybe six times in the last minute. "Sorry."

"My health and emotional state are both adequate."

"I know." She kicked her toes against the rocks on the ledge where they'd stopped yesterday. A trail of lamps flickered in the dark cavern below, showing their path up the cliffs. "I'm just… concerned." She let go the breath she didn't know she'd been holding. "I can't help it."

Taurik stood. "You might consider meditation as an avenue to alleviate it."

"Does it work?"

He eyed her with an almost painful expression. Didn't answer.

"Or I could just ask you how it went."

"Does that… work?"

"I don't know. How'd it go?"

"Counsellor Troi is quite capable in her profession." He didn't sound too sure about that, but she really shouldn't pry. It was none of her business. It felt like a miracle he was even speaking to her, after yesterday. "Starfleet would not declare Voyager destroyed based on my experience alone, of course."

That was unexpected. "Did you want them to?"

"No." He turned to the rock face, testing the grips before pulling himself up. "It is simply… everyone remains hopeful they might be found. Not that I begrudge anyone their ability to hope, however futile it is."

Gabi waited a moment for him to get a few meters above her. "You mean Counsellor Troi is still hopeful they might be found, too." That was what she assumed the implication was, anyway.

"Regardless of whether Voyager is lost, Vorik is gone. She hasn't argued that point, as, clearly, my grief is real." He paused his climb to put in a lamp. "I believe I unintentionally overwhelmed her at first."

"Damn." She hadn't meant to say that out loud, selecting another route to the left instead. Thanks to the lamps Taurik was laying, she could see a series of what seemed to be good grips there. "I mean, emotions are her job, aren't they? If it's overwhelming for her, then… I don't know. Kinda makes it seem more reasonable that you should be having a tough time…" Maybe not to Taurik, and maybe not to other Vulcans. But maybe to everyone else in the galaxy.

"I hadn't considered that."

"Not that it didn't seem reasonable to me—it always seemed reasonable," she added, taking a breath and propelling herself up to the next grip, at the same time latching her toes to one of the holds she'd selected for it.

She couldn't help her grin that she'd managed what felt like a feat of coordination, and reached her other foot to the nearest ledge to brace her next reach.

"Ordinarily, she would sense very little of a Vulcan's emotions. But I have apparently lost all control." With the barest coil, he sprang and grabbed a ledge above him.

Well, that sounded angry.

Gabi paused her climb to watch him struggle to find footing, hanging from his single grip that didn't seem too stable. She turned her wrist-light to the wall next to him. "Left foot, here," she said, and he followed her direction. "You know, maybe it's small steps right now. You aren't, you know… crying during the session or something."

Unless he was. She probably shouldn't have said that.

"That," he said, sounding almost disgusted as he paused to reassess his position, "is quite possibly the least I could do."

"Okay, so what's wrong with just expecting the least you can do right now?" Gabi sighed and continued her path upwards. Taurik still beat her to the next ledge.

He sat on the ledge while he waited, apparently giving the question some thought. "I… am not sure," he finally admitted, and offered her a hand.

She took it, scrambling up to the next ledge. He silently offered she take the lead this time, handing her a ring of lamps. They climbed most of the next walls in the dark and in silence, though Taurik told the computer to increase the difficulty at some point. Gabi had no way of knowing how close they were to the end until she realized she could hear the sound of moving water—many small streams trickling. It had been incredibly faint farther down, but now they were almost on top of it.

Taurik paused to wait, and Gabi caught her breath. "I believe this is the last wall," he said, and looked up. "Possibly. The program has changed some of the layout to accommodate the difficulty."

"Lead the way, then." She gestured at the wall and wondered how the hell he and his brother had ever gotten back down from here. Or somewhere like here.

At the top was a small pool that spilled water to the side of the cavern, away from where they'd been climbing. It slid down the rocks in its own tiny canyon to the floor below, where other pools sat waiting on the way outside. Taurik directed his light into the pool, dipped his hand, and drank.

Gabi turned to the rest of the cavern behind them.

She had to wonder what kind of environmental factors would create a cave like this. The back wall of the cavern seemed covered with pools like this one, fed by the weeping rock wall. The rock above them, though, didn't drip. Strange honeycomb patterns extended from the ceiling and obscured the view of the caves below. She could move from one side of the pool to the other to see their entire route—lit by the lanterns they'd left—but never the whole path at once no matter where she stood.

She shined her light on the honeycomb features. "Do you know why it does this?"

He glanced, and she thought she almost saw amusement. "Underliers. Sandworms grown to mythical proportions."

"Really?"

"No. The likely explanation is erosion acting upon different types of rocks and sands compacted from a millennia of sandstorms and other environmental phenomena." He contemplatively turned his own light around the space around them. "Fascinating. Perhaps I should ask Saalle." He noticed her confusion, and added, "She is a geologist."

"I don't know about you, but I'd like to know. Especially if Underliers exist." She smiled and sat down on the ledge, kicking her feet off the ledge and listening to the small pieces of rocks she'd loosened clatter down below.

Taurik sat beside her, wrapping his arms around his raised knees in a relaxed posture. "Was the climb satisfactory?"

"Very nice. Cool view." She nodded. "It's also much better to climb with someone than alone."

"Perhaps we should arrange to fulfill our physical activity requirements together. If you dislike climbing alone," he added, as if that was unclear.

Maybe it was, but she had to admit that climbing with him did hold a certain appeal over, say, Eliza. She'd never do this, anyway. Gabi smiled down past the ledge into the blackness, seeing part of their path lit off into the darkness. "If you don't mind me coming along. We could pool our holodeck time."

"Mine is usually sufficient."

"Huh. Do officers get more time than petty officers?" She wasn't sure what she thought about that… but there were twelve holodecks on a ship with over a thousand people most of the time. Hours in a day were limited resources, and some hours were rarer than others.

He didn't seem to be thinking about that, and didn't answer in the end. She took that to mean that he didn't mind. They looked down into the blackness together, and Gabi started counting the lights.

Taurik rested his forehead on his wrists. After a bit, his hands clenched into fists until they shook.

She watched for a moment, thinking that was probably more than he intended to show. Or maybe not. Still, with a sigh, she edged a bit closer. Tapped his shoulder with hers. "You okay?"

His hands let go of their iron grip on the air. "I believe we have established that I am not." He moved his hands to interlock his fingers behind his head. "I will adapt. I must adapt," he said, like a mantra. "I am in control."

She didn't say anything. Probably couldn't go wrong with that. She never knew what to do at times like this. She felt like she'd always done the wrong thing, said the worst thing. She sighed and leaned on his shoulder. She didn't know if that kind of contact was helpful, but it made her feel better.

She sighed. "Tushah nash-veh k'odu," she said in her best approximation of the pronunciation guides she'd listened to.

He lifted his head to look at her.

"So I looked up some stuff about Vulcans yesterday. It's a nice phrase." She shrugged. "But I suppose the word I'd usually use is kind of similar. Condolences: to feel pain or sorrow with someone else. Con-dolor."

He put his forehead back down and took a breath.

"I know it's not… anything, actually," she added, in case he felt insulted by the suggestion. What she felt was so small it probably wasn't worth talking about. Her empathy about the topic wasn't relevant. She was just glad she wasn't telepathic. She could feel his heart breaking even from here.

"I appreciate the attempt," he said. "But consolation is impossible."

"Yeah…" She didn't expect it to help, necessarily, in any immediate way. But being alone during times like this was hell. That, she knew for sure. "But I'm here. I guess that's all I mean."

He nodded, as if he knew. As if they'd been doing this for days instead of just one. Maybe, eight months ago, she wouldn't have been here. She would have just been someone else in Engineering who noticed something about him was just a bit off. He would have come on duty, left again, and no one would have noticed. Even if he was dying, no one would have cared.

Well, Sam would have noticed.

"I know Sam is, too." She leaned back on her hands and looked at the honeycombs. "And I'm pretty sure if there's anything we can do… we'd try to help. That's all."

Taurik lifted his head, his arms still resting on his knees, and looked at her. "I don't understand why you're doing this."

Gabi shrugged. "They say compassion is adaptive."

He nodded, like maybe that made sense even though she wasn't sure it did. It sounded good, though. She had no idea how much of her life she spent standing on things she just said once, for no reason, because it sounded good. Not that she didn't believe them… she did. But she didn't have a good reason. At least, no reason a Vulcan would find good probably.

"Because it increases the likelihood of reciprocal behavior in the future?"

Okay, so maybe it didn't sound good. At least, it didn't sound anything like what she'd meant. Gabi shook her head, shrugged. "Can't someone just do something because it's a nice thing to do?"

"It's…" He suddenly stopped, and seemed to redirect from whatever he'd been about to say. "It doesn't make sense."

Gabi smiled. "Maybe. Maybe not. We're all kinda stumbling around in the dark on our own anyway. Why not leave lamps?"

"A metaphor." He said it like that meant something more significant than Gabi thought it did. Maybe Vulcans didn't use metaphors.

"Yeah. Sorry."

He sighed and finally stood up. "Since you've offered twice in the last twenty-six hours, would you be opposed to joining me for meditation? I used to think I preferred silence to meditate, but… it seems I didn't know what silence was." He paused. "It seems I owe Lieutenant Lavelle an apology."

With a smile, Gabi stood up next to him, nodding. That was exactly what she said she'd do. Also, she had some reading to do… probably on Vulcan funerary practices. Seemed to fit the mood. "Sure. Computer? Save program."

He arched an eyebrow. "Save program?"

"I assume you'll want to climb back down," she said.

Taurik looked back down at the lamps leading through the darkness. "I suppose we won't be finished with the climb until we do."

#

It was broken. Vorik sat back in the Jefferies tube with a sigh and fiddled with the spanner while it flickered unhelpfully. Their power reserves were not yet at a critical level—he could replicate a new one. But if he did, that would put them one spanner closer to dangerously-low levels. They would have to learn how to fix what was broken and work with what was less than optimal.

He should have spoken to Tuvok. Vorik had plenty of opportunity. Tuvok's schedule was exact, even to the minute, for the past week. These last seven days were the first of the next seventy years of his life. Vorik could interrupt his breakfast or dinner, ask to speak to him privately.

But what was the point? What did he expect Tuvok to do?

He slid the cover off the spanner's handle and inspected the chips and wires within. Two of the smallest ones were offset from one another. He'd have to remove them and manually realign and reset them.

His telepathic abilities remained intact: he could sense Tuvok, so he had no need of reassurance that his telepathic abilities were undamaged. They weren't close, but Tuvok was a Vulcan. His presence stood out like a star in infinite blackness. So perhaps only the sudden distance had snapped his connection with Taurik.

It had been demonstrated over hundreds of years of space exploration that the Bond was exceptionally elastic—it could stretch over lightyears without any known limit. Twins were rare; rarer still were those who went separate directions in space exploration. But not rare enough to know that their form of communication from the corners of the Alpha and Beta Quadrants still ran unimpeded.

He should be able to reach Taurik. A few ten-thousand lightyears shouldn't make a difference.

Sometimes he wondered if he couldn't hear Taurik because he was dead.

The timing would have been incredibly coincidental. The likelihood that something catastrophic had happened to Taurik within the same few minutes that he'd been ripped from the Alpha Quadrant was incredibly small. Logically, he had to believe Taurik was fine.

He just might never see him again.

By contrast, Taurik probably reasonably thought Vorik was dead. Believing that Vorik had been thrown across the galaxy instead of the much more likely explanation of destruction in a plasma storm would be illogical. Which meant he was in even more pain than Vorik was right now.

Vorik pressed the two chips together; the spanner sparked a charge onto his palm.

With a reflexive gasp, he dropped the spanner.

"You okay over there?" Crewman Dalby spoke up.

"Yes." It was so quiet. Ordinarily, if he was paying any attention at all, Taurik would have felt that. He would have asked what he was doing, annoyed, because Vorik was comparatively clumsy and careless and… With a sigh, Vorik sighed and picked the spanner back up. "The spanner malfunctioned, and shocked me. I'm uninjured—it was just… unexpected."

Dalby chuckled. "Alright."

He could cope with silence. Even though Crewman Dalby clicked away at his own task one junction to his left, it was as if Vorik was the only one left in the universe.

That wasn't quite true. Tuvok was always on the bridge. He was the only bastion of calm in a storm of nerves and distress. If Vorik was having difficulty remaining calm and controlled, he could only assume his Human crewmates were worse.

Vorik… never had trouble with that before. Between himself and Taurik, Taurik was the more unsettled. Taurik was affected by criticism and found adjusting to unexpected change difficult. He knew what he wanted—Starfleet Academy had been Taurik's idea, with Utopia Planetia being the foreseen object of his career.

Vorik never had any concrete plans, but learned whatever he could whenever he could. Being useful was itself a reward, and he rationalized that aimless pursuit would prepare him for myriad situations. Even if Vorik wasn't as technically intelligent as Taurik was, he considered himself extremely adaptable. He would never have chosen to be lost in the Delta Quadrant, but he was equal to the challenge. Even if he wasn't, he would eventually be. It was the nature of growth. He accepted the most unorthodox assignment on the most interesting ship every time it was available to him.

Voyager. Bio-neural circuitry. Variable geometry warp nacelles. More environmentally-friendly designs came with unique challenges.

He had never been afraid of anything before, but now he was. He simply didn't know how Taurik would manage losing their Bond. Vorik wasn't worried that he would return to the Alpha Quadrant to find Taurik gone—at least, not barring catastrophic circumstances beyond his control that were, admittedly, not as rare as he might have wanted from a career in space exploration. But he knew Taurik. He wouldn't give up. He'd retreat. He'd leave his goals on Earth and Mars, his designs for engineering, and return to Vulcan. Everything was safer and more familiar, even if it wasn't better or what he wanted.

Vorik paused to replace the hatch cover carefully.

Seventy years was such a very long time… Anything could happen. Nothing was predictable.

Even though he knew their Bond was broken, he paused to reorient himself toward the Alpha Quadrant where he was sure Taurik was alive. It was most likely.

He wasn't sure a message would reach him, and he didn't know how to communicate compactly for Taurik to continue on the path he'd chosen, so he didn't. He just settled for the only thing that seemed to matter at the moment. He was as safe as could be reasonably expected.

He missed him.