Chapter 1: The First Dark Night
"Petty Officers Dixson and Hill." Lieutenant JG Taurik looked up from his PADD. "We will be putting in at Starbase 234 in three months for refit. Please review hull plating and requisition for replacement with projections. Any questions?"
The small assembly of engineers made no sound. Some of them shook their heads.
"You are dismissed."
The eight engineers, three ensigns, and five petty officers of varying degree, split off to do their assigned tasks for the evening. Lieutenant Lorian was on the deck above, already engrossed in his work, though he had made a reassuring eye-contact with Taurik just before he convened the shift briefing.
He had never given a shift briefing independently before, and appreciated the opportunity. He'd arrived ten minutes early to review the schedule. He knew everyone assigned to the shift well. After six months on the evening shift, he was familiar with everyone's strengths and weaknesses, with whom they worked well and with whom they wasted time. He compared his list against the maintenance schedule and devised a plan to maximize efficiency.
Lieutenant Lorian had given him a few notes and good luck before returning to his station upstairs. As a Deltan, he was somewhat self-conscious among members of other species and had been coaching Taurik to lead the shift since his promotion four months ago. Taurik hoped that Lieutenant Lorian found him, as a Vulcan, easier to work with.
As Taurik was about to return to his own duties, a familiar hand clapped his shoulder. "How you feeling, Taurik?"
Taurik turned to see Lieutenant Commander La Forge, friendly and familiar as always. He schooled his amusement into something more respectful—as Commander La Forge asking a how one felt was as much an idiom as the sweet taste of Counselor Troi's singular tooth. He was asking if Taurik considered himself prepared for the task of leadership.
"I believe everyone will perform the duties assigned with no trouble," he said.
"Yeah, I saw your team layout. They'll get everything done pretty quickly." Lieutenant Commander La Forge tapped the PADD in Taurik's hands with the back of his fingers. "I look forward to reading your report in the morning."
Taurik could never quite tell if La Forge was being sarcastic or genuine with him when it came to his reports. He called them exactingly thorough and pedantically articulated. Taurik would have normally used those phrases complimentarily, though he sensed La Forge was annoyed when he'd said them.
Even still, he nodded. "Yes, sir."
La Forge chuckled and nodded. "Good evening, Lieutenant." With a parting point in his general direction, he disappeared.
How had Taurik never noticed that gesture before? It was clearly intended to be friendly, but what more subtle emotions it communicated were lost to him. He reflected on the motion, the broad smile, and open body language for a moment before going to his station at the warp console.
The enormous cylindrical chamber pulsed a series of progressively brighter blue light up through the open two decks above him. The soft illumination cast his hands in a green pale, the rest of engineering suffused by the energetic sapphire sun not two meters before him.
An internally-contained amusement bubbled up from a well that wasn't his, but he nevertheless felt constantly. His twin brother, half the quadrant away, had been listening through the door Taurik usually left open. Taurik turned a small portion of his attention to the telepathic bond they shared, projecting a mild bristling at being mocked.
But, as Vorik would say, reciprocation was balance.
Vorik stepped into that psychic space, allowing Taurik to feel his presence more clearly without devoting hardly any of his mental resources. This connection was a peculiarity of Vulcan twins, explained by the belief that they were one katra in separate bodies. Scientifically, it was less-easily explained.
You look at the warp core the way some sapients look at their mates, Vorik chided.
That, Taurik sighed internally, is a gross exaggeration.
You are probably correct. No organic figure could be held to such standards. Vorik took a drink of something cold and biting. The sensation was so strong that he must have had a more physical reaction to it than simply taste.
With an internal sigh, Taurik pulled up the warp core diagnostics from earlier in the day. It had been a day like most other days: a subspace anomaly (which Vorik found quite interesting), non-emergency repairs of replicators (except for the one in Captain Picard's ready room), and a regular irradiation sweep of the lower maintenance hatches. He executed evacuation procedures for the adjoining compartments.
I resent the implication that you think any differently of Voyager's bio-neural circuitry and variable geometry warp nacelles.
I never implied I do, Vorik answered, and physically rose from his position—somewhere on Voyager near the Bajoran system, Taurik assumed. He'd only just arrived on his new ship today. He walked, somewhere, and then paused. His external eyes focused, drawing him from the bond into his faraway reality.
How are you finding Voyager? Taurik asked, since Vorik switched focus from satirizing Taurik's personal relationships on board the Enterprise to speculating on his duties in his new assignment. Admitting that he did think of those things exactly the same way.
Fascinating. We should arrive in the Badlands within the next four hours—though I intend to be asleep then.
The transport was quite uncomfortable. Even though Taurik hadn't been on it, he knew it had been cramped, cold, and turbulent. The artificial gravity plating obviously needed recalibration. Possibly replacement.
Past Vorik's uninterested agreement, Taurik asked, Do you know how many Vulcans are onboard? Not that it strictly mattered. There were many Vulcans on the Enterprise, perhaps as much as ten percent of the ship's complement. He counted none of them among those with whom he spent his off-hours.
Two or three of us.
Two or three in a crew of approximately one-hundred-fifty. If they had wanted to spend time with Vulcans, they might have requested assignment on one of the Federation's entirely-Vulcan ships. Neither of them did.
Vorik sensed his wandering thoughts, tripping over their relationship to Vulcans, the planet itself and the rest of their family. It was an illogical idiosyncrasy they shared. Taurik considered the frigid ambient temperature of nineteen degrees the only significant drawback of ships populated by mostly Humans and others in their planetary range.
Vulcan was a desert, with only the hardiest plants and animals inhabiting the red and orange rock formations. It had a single large sea occupying slightly more than half of the southern hemisphere, with approximately twenty significantly smaller seas distributed throughout the dominant landmass. A modern myth put the planet as originally entirely lifeless rock and desert. Only the inevitability of the cycle of life and death coaxed the first single-celled organisms from its turbulent red-iron core.
Is that a metaphor, brother?
Taurik drew back from the idle thoughts that occupied him whenever he engaged in menial tasks. No, he said. Simple algebraic functions are not complex enough to maintain my attention.
Well, I regret to leave you to them alone.
Sleep well.
Vorik left the shared space with a feeling of contented wellbeing and anticipation of rising early for his first shift on Voyager.
Taurik returned his attention to his work. He didn't ignore his brother's restless sleep so much as exist alongside it. Like sitting back-to-back, even when they couldn't see each other or interact in a meaningful way, they were always in contact. Not always aware of what the other was doing, but aware of his presence. They could lock one another out, turn away from that connection until it was dim and misty, but the sense of being was always there.
Nothing interesting promised to happen on the Enterprise today, though that was usually true on the most exciting days. Spatial anomalies hid from sensors like a game played by children. New lifeforms introduced themselves in the most arcane ways. Malfunctions brought the ship itself to life. Even dull days had the edge of expectation.
Taurik initiated two minor diagnostics of internal sensors. The dolphins put in a non-urgent request for filtration system maintenance. Two of the ensigns stopped to flirt with Lieutenant Lorian five times. Anything could happen.
Taurik found himself in the Jefferies tube over Ten Forward performing maintenance on the air ducts with Ensign A'len. She was three months out of the Academy, as delighted as any ensign to have the Enterprise. Even Vorik's vicarious pride at Taurik's assignment had been palpable.
They completed their task ten minutes faster than projections indicated.
Everyone staggered breaks for meals, most eating in the small mess hall outside Engineering in sets of two and three. Taurik took his last with Petty Officer Dixson and Ensign A'len. Miss Dixson apparently thought a comparative analysis of Andoria and Vulcan was in order, considering her company. Of course, there was little in the category of similarities.
Since Lieutenant Lorian requested Taurik join him for the last hour of shift to review his first day as shift lead, Taurik made sure everyone was about their tasks. He answered questions and gave advice. He also asked for advice, since most of the petty officers in Engineering had at least double his years in experience on the Enterprise. Even Miss Dixson, two years his junior, had been on the Enterprise one year longer.
He started a final walk-through of Engineering, partially to spend the remaining half-hour before talking to Lorian and partially to ensure each station was prepared to hand over to the next shift. He was rounding the warp core when something felt suddenly wrong.
His vision blackened, and a strange pain screamed through his brain. For uncountable seconds, he could not breathe.
Taurik wasn't sure how much time had passed before he could see clearly again. He could breathe again. One of his hands steadied him against the wall next to the ladder up to the second deck, but no one had taken notice of his abrupt pause. It may have only been a few seconds—the pain stole most of his concentration until it largely subsided.
He blinked, noting the flashes of the warp core looked dusky. His sense of touch was dim, and he couldn't hear anything. His mind rebelled at the notion that all his limbs were in place and accounted for, and denied that his feet were on the ground. In fact, it seemed like all of gravity was displaced as Engineering tilted.
"Whoa, sir!"
Hands were suddenly on him, one pressing on his chest while another grabbed his arm. Something pushed him against the wall, and he found the floor supporting his weight—though his vestibular system refused to concede which direction was up.
"Are you alright?" Petty Officer Dixson peered at him, and he couldn't quite see much beyond the high contrast of her eyes, her skin, and the blaze of the warp core behind her.
"Yes, Miss Dixson…" He tried to straighten. The ship righted itself in his perception. The only thing that remained was a headache and the idea he couldn't hear anything, even though that was obviously incorrect.
"I should call Sickbay." Miss Dixson raised her hand to tap her combadge.
"That is unnecessary." Taurik took a breath, and felt his lungs fill as though nothing had happened. "I am simply… I am experiencing a slight dizziness."
"Slight?" Miss Dixson's thin lips pinched, frowned.
"It is subsiding."
"You almost fell over."
Perhaps she was correct. That was reason enough to visit Sickbay, even if the only thing they would say was that he was fine. Intermittent vertigo was not an uncommon experience in space, though the intensity might have been concerning.
He had every intention of telling her that, but a distant ache distracted him. The feeling that he could no longer hear. The world had gone silent, though he could still make out what she was saying.
Something in his mind was faulty. Something there—something wasn't there that should have been. Some light in the universe had been switched off, or a lyre had stopped playing. He couldn't see, couldn't hear, and yet he knew he still had command of all of his senses. Yet somehow he knew what was wrong, but he couldn't think of it.
"Yes…" he said, and nodded.
"Lieutenant Lorian?" Miss Dixson called up to the Deltan, still standing in the same spot he'd been two hours ago. He gave no verbal confirmation he'd heard, but he made eye-contact with the petty officer almost three meters beneath him through the glass. "Lieutenant Taurik's gotta go to Sickbay."
"I am fine, Miss Dixson." Taurik ran his hand down his left arm. It seemed to be where it was supposed to be… "However, a visit to Sickbay would not be amiss."
"He almost fell over he was so dizzy," Miss Dixson put in, her tone and expression one of concern.
Lorian nodded brusquely, mirroring her demeanor. "Someone ought to accompany you, Taurik."
"That is unnecessary," Taurik mumbled, knowing his weak objection would do no good.
He took a step, feeling his foot press into the soles of his black boots. The soft uniform fabric rested against the back of his leg, and felt a bit too wide across his shoulders.
That was normal. Something else was not.
"I know it's unnecessary, but orders are orders, you know?" Miss Dixson smiled at him. After a moment of waiting for a response, she frowned and reached out for his arm again. "Are you sure you're okay? You look, uh… sicker than usual, I guess."
"I usually look sick?"
"Green's not a healthy color for Humans." She smiled in the face of his distinct lack of amusement, but looked at him a bit more closely. "You're definitely paler than usual."
Taurik moved his arm beyond her reach and headed for the turbolift. Petty Officer Dixson hastened after him.
Taurik turned into the turbolift, shifting through his physical sensations to try to figure out what was wrong with him. He distantly heard Miss Dixson call for the turbolift to take them to sickbay. He almost saw her watching him, coiled like a compressed spring ready to catch him if he fell again. But he was certain he could catch himself if he—
Oh.
Oh—
His mind spun with the realization of what he was missing. The sharp impossibility of reality was unmistakable. No indication of concern sparkled across lightyears to reach him. There was no vicarious warmth of wonder or interest. No quiet calm of sleep or meditation.
Taurik closed his eyes. Concentrate.
It had never been so difficult to find Vorik before.
No, it had never been difficult at all. He reached the edge of his consciousness and found nothing and no one on the other side. Only a lightless abyss, empty and endless. He knew what this meant, but some part of him refused to think it. There was only one reasonable, logical explanation; and he could not acknowledge it.
Did people live like this? How could anyone live like this?
He was aware of the turbolift opening, aware that his eyes were open now. He was looking out at the ringed deck of the saucer section, and Miss Dixson was standing close next to him.
"Taurik?" she whispered.
"I believe I am fine." Vulcans did not lie. And, at the moment, he was sure he was not a Vulcan. At best, he was half of one. "You may return to Engineering," he said softly and stepped out into the hallway as steady as anyone with his condition could be expected.
Miss Dixson stepped out with him anyway. "Lieutenant Lorian told me to accompany you, sir, and, technically, he outranks you."
Only a petty officer would be so concerned with rank… "Very well."
Taurik was relieved to see Nurse Ogawa was not on shift. She was the only one he thought might know him well enough to suspect something was wrong even though all the scans returned normal. Miss Dixson argued that something else had to be wrong—and she was correct, but no one believed her. Taurik didn't offer any indication she was correct.
There must be some other rational justification that he'd been so suddenly cut off from Vorik. Now Taurik stood on the precipice of a black chasm bleeding silence and confusion.
Just to be safe, the doctor ordered Taurik to return to his quarters to rest. The minutes passed by in what seemed like an eternity, protracted by Miss Dixson's insistence that she see him safely to his quarters. He had worked with her every shift for the past eight months, and been one of her commanding officers since his promotion four months ago. They talked frequently, though usually about irrelevant topics of dubious interest. Now she said nothing at all.
"Are you sure you're okay?" Miss Dixson asked outside the door to his quarters.
"Yes. Relay my regret to Lieutenant Lorian that I am unable to finish the shift."
"Yes, sir." Miss Dixson sighed, spun on her heel, and left.
Taurik went into his quarters.
The quarters he now occupied was less than half the size that which he'd shared with Lieutenant Lavelle when they were both ensigns. He was reduced to two rooms joined by a narrow door, but it was only his. He had removed what meager decoration elements there were when he arrived, and neatly pressed his uniforms and off-duty clothes into the three drawers in the wall of the bedroom. Alone, he was free to keep the temperature at a coolly comfortable thirty degrees.
It had been almost two hours since he'd been in Engineering, and Vorik would be asleep. Taurik would send a message to Voyager and find Vorik alive. He'd be irritated at Taurik for waking him, and Taurik would return to Vulcan sooner than expected. He had to find out what was wrong with him, because no one could just live like this.
He turned on his communications panel. Ship-wide informational posts displayed prominently.
An all-fleet bulletin advised that the Voyager had gone missing from the Badlands between one and four hours ago. They had stopped transmitting updates and were not responding to any hails. An investigation was underway, runabouts dispatched from Deep Space Nine.
Taurik shut off the panel, turning back to the empty room.
The artificial lights buzzed, and the warp core beat the heart of some mighty beast that had swallowed him.
Is that a metaphor, brother?
He didn't hear Vorik say that. Because he was dead.
He had to be dead, even though that made no sense. Perhaps he was simply somewhere else. Too far away to reach? Taurik didn't know any distance beyond which Vorik couldn't be reached—except death. And he wasn't sure how he could have gotten so suddenly from the Badlands to somewhere Taurik couldn't reach.
It was still possible he'd perhaps slipped beneath the surface to another dimension or even another universe. The abysmally low odds of that were a figure not immediately available to him. But, still, it was possible.
He sounded insane.
Logically, there was one option. All others, while theoretically possible, were absurd. Logically, his brother was dead.
None of the words he knew to calm himself came, lost in that black abyss in his mind that Vorik had fallen into only a few hours ago. All he could think to do was stand on the edge of the empty chasm and look. Because he had to be there.
Taurik knelt on the floor and tried to assume a posture of serenity. For the first time in his life, it was completely still. The silence was a whirlwind, so loud he couldn't concentrate. He was only barely able to control his collapse, face to the floor. He couldn't think. He couldn't breathe.
Taurik covered his ears with hands shaking in panic, but he could still hear the silence.
Vorik had always been there. He always answered, even if it was just to say leave me alone. It made no sense that he should suddenly not be there. It was… it was illogical.
It was too quiet. He listened to nothing until he could no longer endure it, and screamed.