Chapter 2: Owed a Favor
"Hey!"
Gabi glanced up from her meal, saw the pips of a lieutenant JG and the maroon of a command uniform, and made sure she was the only one he could have been talking to.
"Petty Officer Dixson, right?"
So that answered the question. Gabi rose slightly from her chair. "Yes, sir?"
The lieutenant waved her attempt to come to attention away, offering a hand for a handshake instead. "Sam. Lavelle." So this wasn't a sir kind of conversation. Officers tended to use their rank in introduction. Sam motioned back to her place on the bench, and stepped into the chair on the other side of her table. "How you doing?"
"Good?" Gabi glanced around, wondering distantly if this was a joke of some kind. Not that she expected that kind of behavior from a lieutenant, but officers rarely interacted with petty officers outside of work hours. "You?"
"Great. Great…" He looked at her meal—a nutrient mix flavored to taste like strawberries and bananas—and then met her eyes again. "You probably don't remember me. I was at your promotion celebration."
"Oh, right." Didn't mention that it wasn't strictly hers. It was more like a promotion/anniversary celebration for a bunch of petty officers in Engineering a few months ago. For her, it had been both. Five years in Starfleet and promotion to Petty Officer Second Class. He had been one of very few red shirts in the room. Mostly talked with—"Oh, you're Taurik's friend. "
Sam chuckled, almost darkly. "I don't know if he'd call me that."
"You're gonna have a bad time if you want to argue semantics with a Vulcan." Gabi took a sip of her slush. "You're his friend."
He smiled, looking almost surprised or flattered that someone had noticed. "Well, as it happens, my friend Taurik is the one I wanted to ask you about. Has he, um… seemed okay to you?"
"I'm… not sure how to answer that." She looked around surreptitiously, though she wasn't sure who she was concerned would be listening. "Look, I consider him a friend, too; but arguing semantics with a Vulcan is a really bad time. Especially at this time."
Sam frowned, as though he didn't know.
Maybe he didn't know. "Voyager went missing." Gabi paused, expecting a nod of understanding, but got no real response from Sam. "His brother's on it?"
"Oh, my god." Sam leaned back in his chair, scrubbing his face in what seemed to be shock and embarrassment. "Why the hell wouldn't he tell anybody about that?"
"He hasn't said anything to you?" Well, that was concerning. She should have been concerned the second Lieutenant JG Sam Lavelle sat across from her in the engineering deck mess. He wasn't ever anywhere near here.
"No! I knew he had a brother—a twin, god. Vorik. I didn't know he transferred. He told you?"
"No, no," she said, realizing how very much that seemed like something one would tell a friend. "No, he didn't tell me. He had a—anyway, the day after Voyager went missing, he was acting kind of weird on shift. Like a Human would act if they hadn't slept enough or were really hungover. He's been acting like that almost every day since then. I spent two days trying to figure out what was wrong with him before coming up with this. Seemed to make sense."
"Oh, my god…" Sam sighed. "They've been looking for that ship for nine days. You know that?"
Gabi nodded.
"Explains a hell of a lot. Damnit." Sam leaned his elbows on the table rubbing his forehead. "I am such an idiot." He hesitated, staring into space in front of him.
"How were you supposed to know?"
"I should have guessed." He paused to drop his arms to the table to lean on them. "So, what, he hasn't said anything to you at all?"
"Why do you think he'd say anything to me?"
"He mentions you. You know, sometimes. More than anybody else in engineering, anyway."
So maybe they were friends. She understood Sam's expression at Gabi's confirmation of her opinion of his relationship status now. "Okay, well, no. As far as I know he's… playing it off like a Vulcan, I guess. If the Vulcan way is acting like nothing's wrong." She paused long enough to realize she actually hadn't interacted with that many Vulcans. She talked to Taurik almost every day, and there was another Vulcan engineer on the afternoon shift she talked to. Two or three more she interacted with regularly wasn't exactly a significant sample. "I actually have no idea what would be 'normal' for him."
"I don't know how I'd feel if my brother went missing in the Badlands. I don't even have a brother," Sam said. She watched him contemplate the white table beneath his arms for several seconds. "I should talk to him. Or maybe you should."
"Why me?" Gabi asked.
Sam shrugged. "You said he was acting weird. All I have is that he's skipped poker night, and—this is so stupid." He hid his face again, clearly embarrassed. "We get lunch every few days. He's skipped twice now… Not exactly a reason to panic."
Gabi hid her smile by slurping up some of her drink. "If this is panicking, maybe you should talk to him. He'd probably be proud." And tell him he was fine. Just… well, it was weird that a ship should go missing and then he should metaphorically drop off the planet.
Was that weird?
"Oh, no, yeah." Sam chuckled darkly. "This is not what 'Sam Lavelle panicking' looks like. But this is probably worse than what 'Vulcan panicking' looks like, and he'd never let me forget it."
Gabi nodded in understanding. Sam thought he had some kind of reputation to maintain where it came to Taurik, and Gabi… didn't so much. She could look like an idiot to him and nobody would care. Or, at least, Sam wouldn't. "I get it. I'll, uh… what do you want me to say? Lieutenant Lavelle missed you at lunch?"
"He stood me up! That's really rude." Sam frowned, then shook his head, waving his hands through the air as if he were clearing that from the space between them. "It's not about lunch."
Gabi sighed. He really was worried. "Yeah. Don't worry about it. I'll see if he's… okay?" She wasn't sure what a "Vulcan okay" would look like even if she saw it. "No promises."
"Thanks. I owe you one."
He owed her? One what? Not that she was at all insistent about keeping track of favors anymore, but from an officer…? Such things could come in handy, potentially. He was in a completely different department, a completely different color. He actually had rank insignia. Besides, this wasn't a professional conversation.
Gabi waved that away. "It's nothing. I've been worried, too, so… I guess this gives me a reason." To do something. No idea what. She slurped up the last of her drink and stood. "Well, I gotta get back on shift. Thanks for stopping by, Lieutenant."
"Come on," Sam offered his hand for a handshake. "It's Sam. Us friends of Vulcans have to stick together. It's a thankless, emotionally-draining line of work."
She smiled and took his hand. "Understood. Gabi, then."
"Gabi. Talk to you later." Sam strode out of the mess, catching the confused attention of one or two of the engineers on their way in. He'd been the only red shirt in here.
With a sigh, Gabi deposited her empty cup in the replicator and straightened her shirt. She was on the fourth day of ten in her shift rotation, usually the hardest day of the set. Well, longest day. None of the days were particularly hard, unless something extraordinarily exciting was happening. But today, she had something to think about.
She'd been monitoring the internal communications net, since a few bugs popped up last night for some reason. No reason to drag Lieutenant Commander La Forge down here, but no one seemed to have fixed it. She planned to track down the reason unless something pressing came up.
A visit from a command officer with no orders to speak of felt pressing, at least in comparison. She cast a subtle glance across Engineering to Taurik, standing at one of the warp field consoles. That was generally what he did when he wasn't very busy: stare at warp field equations and fiddle with efficiency. It was probably, to the casual observer, difficult to tell that he was acting any differently.
Gabi could tell. Not only was he slower about it, Taurik made very few, if any, adjustments,. He scrolled from one reading to the next, making no changes. Sometimes she wondered if he was even looking at it. Sometimes it took two and three tries to get his attention from across Engineering, even right next to him. He wasn't paying attention and he wasn't… normal.
Since she was thinking about it, this seemed like an absurdly strong reaction for him to have toward a missing brother. Of course, she'd be losing her mind if she didn't know where her sister was or if she was okay. But she was Human. That was what she was supposed to do.
For the first time in her life, Gabi picked through comms logs with only the sixteen hours of "Federation Sociology" from her enlisted training on her mind. Vulcans received an entire forty-five minutes of coverage, being one of the founding members. They championed logic above all else, suppressed their array of intense emotions, and were often misunderstood—by everyone, not just Humans. That was pretty much all she'd walked away from that class with in regard to Vulcans.
It hadn't applied to her. She wanted to learn how to work on starships.
Probably the first time she regretted not paying attention to something she didn't care about. Gabi tended to do that. Muttering a bland curse at herself, she sorted through the previous nine days and her exchanges with Taurik during that time. They usually chatted about things like… well, usually useless things. Whatever was on her mind from about she was reading about at the moment. The past few days, it was Earth-native entomology. She'd never been there, and never seen a ladybug. The way those comparatively huge wings folded up underneath those shells…
It didn't apply to anything, but she couldn't be reading manuals and technical journals all the time. She bet Taurik probably did. Of course, that was a stereotype, probably. She'd seen him play games with the people she called his friends in Ten Forward. She might have even classified him as fun. For a Vulcan. She hadn't known about his lunch schedule—but why should she? She didn't spend time with officers no matter what color their shirts were.
Gabi wasn't sure why that was. It was just… people didn't do that. The petty officers ate together, went to the holodeck together, exercised and played games together. The officers did the same.
Well, that was stupid.
They didn't talk about ladybugs, because they didn't talk at all. He hadn't been in Ten Forward, much less played games with his friends there. And he at least skipped two lunches. That wasn't normal, and somebody should care about that.
Shouldn't they?
With a sigh, Gabi recalibrated her search pattern, not seeing anything with her original parameters. She had almost four more hours of this.
The four hours went surprisingly quickly once she found her bug—not the ladybug. The comms error. She reported to Lieutenant Taurik, after saying his name twice, and got a brusque nod to install whatever fix she thought was appropriate. The independence and trust was certainly a benefit to being a Petty Officer Second Class. Most of the officers knew she didn't need babysitting. She knew more than any ensign and most Lieutenant JGs, including Taurik.
More about the ship, obviously. The officers had been to the Academy, and she hadn't. There were a lot of things she didn't know. The finer points of Federation Sociology, for example.
The Jefferies tubes, once an incalculable maze, were like the familiar streets of a hometown. Sixteen relays along one line were malfunctioning, mixing frequencies due to magnetic interference. She guessed it was from the edge of that ion storm they'd gone through two days ago.
By the end of shift, she'd crawled all over section fifteen of decks five through seven. The communication bug was gone, according to the logs. She'd have to confirm that tomorrow, of course. By the time she made it back to engineering, most of the shift had already turned over. She wasn't surprised to see Taurik still examining the warp field consoles.
He wasn't actually reading. She'd decided that a long time ago.
Vulcans would always be smarter than she was, and officers would always outrank her. But that didn't change that, the more she thought about it, the worse it seemed. He'd been forgetting assignments he'd given the crew, losing track of time and people, arriving and leaving late… making mistakes. Not as much as the average non-Vulcan, of course. But an awful lot of mistakes. For a Vulcan. He'd never been so slow in the two years she'd known him, from his first day on board as a fresh Ensign.
She'd reported to him now for the last eight months for six days in ten, and that was no reason to not talk to him like… a Human being? Those Federation Sociology classes would have come in real handy right about now…
Ultimately, no regrets about enlisting instead of going to the Academy.
Gabi turned back and stood a few feet away from him, where she knew he'd be able to see her in his periphery. "Sir?" she said, knowing she had been far too quiet. She tried again. "Lieutenant Taurik?"
Taurik straightened, blinked once, and shifted his focus away from that blank spot between his eyes and the screen. Turned toward her slightly, meeting her eyes. He was only a few centimeters taller than she was, if even that.
"Miss Dixson," he said. One of those sociological peculiarities. It was like he needed to verbally identify who he was speaking to before he spoke to them. Either that, or it was the Vulcan hello. "Can I help you?"
"I'm sorry, sir… shift ended ten minutes ago."
Taurik glanced at the screen and the ever-present chronometer in the corner counting seconds. "Yes. Eleven," he said.
She watched him press away from the console, like he was wading through water, spin, and look at the rest of the room. He glanced up at the lieutenant still up there from the swing shift. It looked like he was just chatting with the next shift lead, casually.
Taurik looked at her again, as if confused for a moment. "I'll see the results of your work on the communications network tomorrow afternoon."
"Yes, sir," she said, and realized in her contemplations that she'd forgotten to record even the barest report. She'd do that tonight. Right now, she hurried after Lieutenant Taurik on his way to the turbolift. "Sir?"
"Yes, Miss Dixson?" He paused his walk toward the turbolift to watch her.
She had no idea what her plan was. Probably, at this point, follow him into the turbolift and bring it up there.
That was actually a great idea! Away from the watching eyes of the other engineering staff, nobody would have to be embarrassed to anybody but… each other.
She reported to him. He was an officer.
"I was going to Ten Forward, and I thought—I mean, I wondered if you'd like to get a drink with me," she said.
"A drink." His eyebrow arched.
That question probably implied something she hadn't intended. But, he was a Vulcan, so hopefully he'd missed it. "Yeah, you know? Comes in cups. Shared between friends." Hopefully that fixed it.
"Flavored liquids from the bar or replicator." He turned into the turbolift and Gabi hurried to follow. Was that supposed to be a joke? "It's after midnight, Miss Dixson."
The whole day ahead of them, and plenty of hours before she should get up like a functioning member of civilized society. That was what she liked about Starfleet. Twenty-six hours a day, and no planetary rotation to get in the way. The ship's chronometer made the rules, and the stars always changed.
"Yeah…" Gabi sighed and watched the doors shut. Taurik ordered deck twelve, and she ordered Ten Forward. "Look, I just used to see you hanging out there with Lieutenant Lavelle and… and you haven't been."
Taurik watched the wall, the sliding lights by the door for a second. "Not for any particular reason. We're both busy with our duties."
She scoffed, though she didn't mean to. When he looked at her, eyebrows raised in surprise, she decided this was as good as it was going to get. "With all due respect, sir, do you really expect anybody to believe it's a coincidence you started hiding out in your quarters just a few days after your brother goes missing in the Badlands?"
"Computer, halt turbolift." Gabi almost lost her balance, though not because of the sudden stop. That was nearly imperceptible. Taurik had turned toward her, glaring as he did. "I was unaware my personal life was of your concern."
"Not just mine," she said, avoiding looking at him. Something about that glare… it looked impassively angry. She'd never seen that from him. "And I report to you, so it's always been in my best interest to figure out why the boss is off before someone…" Gets hurt? That didn't apply here. Taurik wasn't going to hurt anyone. Not on purpose certainly, and not on accident, either. "I mean, with respect, you've been off."
Lieutenant Taurik's head tilted, slightly, to one side. That, at least, was normal. "Do I understand you correctly: you—and potentially others—have been negatively affected by my performance these past several days?"
That was probably stating it a little strongly. She never would have mentioned it even if she was negatively affected. But Sam was an officer and he asked her for a favor, and…"No, I'm just worried."
"I see." He looked at the wall again, but didn't resume the turbolift. To her surprise, he sounded more open to that explanation. "And it will somehow satisfy your concern if I accompany you to Ten Forward?"
She should have thought about that more thoroughly, because the answer was probably no. She had no idea what he could possibly say to make her not be worried anymore. "I mean, it might go a long way."
"Computer, resume turbolift." The computer gave an affirmative tone, and Lieutenant Taurik said, again, "I fail to see how this matter is your concern. Enjoy your evening."
The door opened on deck ten. Gabi didn't move. "I consider us friends."
He was surprised. Even he couldn't hide that. "Excuse me?"
"Friends. You know. Individuals who enjoy one another's company?" And more than that.
Taurik sighed. "Who pry into one another's lives with little warning or reason." He gave her yet another pointed glare. One too many of those, and they started to lose all meaning.
"I told you the reason."
"Your concern is hardly reasoned."
She hesitated long enough to wonder if that was actually wordplay. Could just get back to arguing. "It's a good reason. Friends want to help each other when something is wrong."
Taurik pressed the button next to the door to close them into the turbolift again, but he didn't order a deck. "My brother is missing. How do you propose to help with that?"
"I never said I could help with that." She took a deep breath. "I said I wanted to help you."
Taurik didn't respond for several seconds, until it was clear he had no idea what she was talking about. Well, neither did she. In her defense, he shouldn't have been confused. He worked with Humans all day, every day.
"You're acting different. On shift and everywhere else. Skipping poker nights and lunches. Even I noticed you're never in Ten Forward anymore. How does that help?"
Taurik turned his eyes up to the ceiling in what she would have labeled as annoyance in anybody else. "It does not help."
"So what would it hurt?"
Taurik eyed her. "I will accompany you to Ten Forward on the condition that you will allow me my privacy in this matter from now on." She shrugged, since she didn't want to give her consent to that. Not that he didn't deserve it… "And you will tell Lieutenant Lavelle to do the same."
Gabi frowned. "You tell him."
"He apparently thinks going through you is a better strategy. It seems to be working." He pressed the button for the doors, and they once again showed the hallway outside of Ten Forward. Taurik held a hand toward the door in invitation for Gabi to go first.
Gabi was surprised to find herself self-conscious to be walking around with an officer outside of work hours. Probably would have felt like that even without the scolding.
Ten Forward was practically deserted. It was always like this just shy of midnight, as there were better places onboard to find oneself in the wee hours of the morning. Ten Forward was a calmer place with better food and less alcohol. A place to chat or play chess.
Lieutenant Taurik took a seat at a small table with only two chairs. Gabi took the other.
"Last time we spoke in a more… casual atmosphere was after your promotion, wasn't it?"
Gabi was surprised that he was making small talk. Also that he'd remembered. It was five months ago now, but she still added the "second class" part to her title whenever the occasion arose. "Yes, sir." She nodded toward a larger table back by the windows. "Over there."
Taurik had told her about his sister, T'Leall, accepted into the Vulcan Science Academy. She had told him about her sister wanting to go into Starfleet Academy. She wondered if the silence they'd shared communicated the same distance between them and their littler siblings. He'd also told her about his brother, Vorik, temporarily assigned to a transport vessel between the outer starbases and Deep Space Nine. Sam had been with him, but he'd looked severely out-of-place despite her attempts to draw him out with a conversation. Sam didn't have any siblings.
Kalis, the Arkarian bartender, stopped beside their table. "Can I get you two anything?"
"El Nath whiskey, assuming you still have the bottle…?" It was probably going to be a long night.
"Considering you're the only one drinking it, I bet I do," Kalis said.
When Taurik arched an eyebrow at her again, she said, "It's terrible, and I do not under any circumstances recommend it. But it tastes like home…" she admitted with a bit more fondness than she'd expected.
Kalis looked at Taurik with a helpful shrug. "I could order it up syntheholic if you really want to try it. But I really don't recommend it, either."
"I'll have the same," Taurik said. The look in his eye almost said it was a challenge of some kind.
Kalis walked away and returned a short time later with the tumblers and the half-empty bottle. Gabi took the liberty of pouring for them both, watching the silt settle in her glass before picking it up. Taurik had been inspecting his almost the entire time, probably noting its distinct odor with his superior Vulcan sense of smell. That had to be the worst…
She downed the shot and poured another. Taurik still held his glass in his hand.
"How do Vulcans do with metabolizing alcohol?" she asked, pouring herself another.
He swirled the muddy liquid in the glass for a second before answering. "Better than Humans," he said, adding, "to the point there exists a myth that Vulcans do not suffer any deleterious effects from its consumption at all. But Vulcan produces several excellent varieties of port, brandy, and ale that are enjoyed even by non-Vulcans."
"So you'll probably be fine." She gave him a sly smile. "El Nath whiskey is brewed on El Nath III, and I think you'd find just about everything produced by that place to be stupidly strong. The joke is that even our granite is harder."
"I assume you're from El Nath III. I've never met anyone from your planet."
More small talk. Gabi could have given him an essay on how it was to grow up there and how she hadn't understood how bad it had been until she enlisted in Starfleet because there wasn't anything else left she could do. How she'd brought her sister away with her, for all the good that did. But they weren't friends, apparently. Not that kind of friends.
"You're lucky, then. We suck." She nodded toward the glass in his hand. "You don't have to drink it. I won't be offended."
"I will consider it a cultural experience, since I will likely not be visiting El Nath III in the near future." With that, he downed the shot. If she didn't know better, she'd say he hated it.
Made sense. Everyone always said it tasted like someone had let a dead animal in at some point of the fermentation process.
"You are correct," he said, and took a deep breath. "That is deeply unpleasant."
All the same, he put the glass down on the table and didn't object when she moved to pour him another. She settled back in her chair with the second shot, folding her arms comfortably and watching him. She couldn't figure out what to say, except that she knew she had to say something… and only one thing was coming to mind.
"Tell me about him?" she asked, and added, "Your brother, I mean, just in case you were thinking about playing dumb."
Taurik returned his focus to the bits of glittering dust and mold settling in the bottom of his glass. "I have no intention of 'playing dumb.' What do you want to know?"
Gabi didn't know why she hadn't expected that. "I remember you said he was on the edge of the quadrant. I assume he looks like you. You being twins," she added.
"We are virtually indistinguishable," he said. "We derived an unreasonable amount of amusement from taking as many classes together as we could at the Academy. The mix-ups were a near-daily occurrence."
Gabi smiled. "So which of you is the prankster?"
He seemed to consider that for a while before giving a slow nod. "I am. Not that such behavior is a habit of mine," he seemed quick to add. "Vorik preferred situations to transpire more spontaneously. Organically. He was more… relaxed."
"Uh-huh." Gabi watched him even more closely and thought about her sister. How would she talk about Chloe? Had Chloe preferred to talk straight, or did she prefer it? Was Chloe more critical, or isn't she?
Taurik continued talking, telling her how Vorik was practically careless from a Vulcan perspective. All the things he was, and all as if he no longer had those qualities. Why he had joined Starfleet, and what his skills and aptitudes were. The more he talked, the more obvious it became. Taurik didn't just think Vorik was missing—he thought Vorik was dead.
Gabi forced a smile. "Is he a lieutenant JG, yet?" she asked.
"No, he didn't…" Taurik finally paused, his eyes on her as if he finally realized what he'd been doing. What he'd been saying. "No," he finished, his voice small.
"That's why you're acting so weird, isn't it?" Gabi found herself whispering, even though everyone but Kalis had left Ten Forward. "You don't think Vorik is missing. You think he's dead."
"I'm not sure how—"
"I'm not stupid." Gabi slid her chair a bit closer to the table between them so she could talk more normally—but still quiet. "You think he's dead," she said again, and she knew she must have been imagining it when Taurik almost flinched.
"Yes," he said, and his tone wavered. "Yes, he's dead."
"We don't know that, yet," she said softly, and laid her hand on the table between them. She wanted desperately to reach just a little bit further, touch his arm or hand in that familiar gesture of comfort that Humans so often shared. It seemed inappropriate here. "They're just missing. He might be fine."
He nodded and seemed to think about that for a very long time. That would explain a lot about his behavior. If Vorik wasn't just missing, then… well, of course, he'd respond to his brother's death differently. That he was dead was still a possibility, of course, but it was illogical to think he was dead at the moment, wasn't it?
Not that Gabi knew anything about logic. She barely got by with what her gut told her most days. And her gut told her Taurik was barely holding it together. Illogically, it seemed, since assuming he was dead was really just a shot in the dark.
But maybe… maybe that was a gut feeling, too. But Vulcans weren't supposed to put as much stock in that, right?
Finally, Taurik sighed. "No, Miss Dixson, I know." He took a deep breath and sat a bit straighter like he was standing up to some foe staring down. "Do you know what a telepathic bond is?"
She shook her head, since she really didn't know, but somehow ended up nodding anyway. She figured she could guess from context. She knew Vulcans were telepathic, but not to what extent. And between each other, she knew the extent was somewhat greater. But beyond that…
"It is a closeness attained by Vulcans, usually family. We learn at a young age to control our emotions, and for the first few years most of this is done with parents sharing through a bond initiated shortly after birth. We continue to practice sharing our thoughts as we age with other family members and close friends."
"Okay," she said, and slid closer again.
"Twins do not need to practice," he said, and she could feel the gravity with which he said it. "Our bond doesn't need to be initiated or maintained. It simply is. Vulcan twins can, without training, communicate thoughts and feelings over lightyears."
Was he implying he'd…? "So… that day you felt dizzy? That's when you knew?" she asked, her voice only a choked whisper. "You… you felt him die?"
"I believe I did."
"Oh, my god." Gabi covered her mouth with her hand, blinking at tears of sympathy as he averted his eyes from her. It was stupid, since… well, actually, he really felt something. No wonder he was acting this way.
"Perhaps the moment Voyager went missing, I knew something was wrong. I can't—" He paused. Shut his eyes a moment. "Couldn't reach him."
Gabi sat back in her chair and tried to offer a few meager objections, which he easily and logically shot down. Not only did he not know just how far away Vorik would have to be for this to have happened, but how would he have gotten so far away so quickly? Why would he be anywhere else—such as another dimension or universe? Even assuming those things were possible, they were nevertheless unlikely.
Voyager lost contact with Starfleet in the Badlands. By contrast, destruction in the plasma storms happened fairly regularly. The simplest explanation, the most likely explanation, was that Vorik was dead.
"Presuming any other explanation is the case is, as a Human might say, wishful thinking," he said, and took a deep breath.
"Illogical," Gabi whispered, as a Vulcan would say.
"Yes." He nodded, his return a soft echo: "Illogical."
She didn't realize it until just now, but tears had gathered to her eyes. She couldn't believe she'd made him argue with her about whether or not Vorik was alive. Of course, he'd considered all the angles and come to the most logical conclusion. Of course, she was right: Vulcans would always be smarter than she was.
"I'm so sorry…" she said.
He seemed to think about that for a very long time, saying nothing as he downed his second shot of whiskey.
She scoffed, averted her eyes off toward the ceiling. "It makes sense that you'd want some space. But… do you have anybody, you know, that you can talk to?"
"My family sent a message shortly after the news went out the Voyager was missing."
"You told them, right?"
"They know."
Right. Gabi sighed. What was he supposed to tell them? If he told them he couldn't reach Vorik, then they'd know. A bunch of Vulcans would know what a telepathic bond was.
"My father thought we were foolish to go into Starfleet at all, and my mother…" He considered, and then shrugged. "She has little faith in my ability to cope with the situation. She attempted for an unwarranted amount of time to convince me to return to Vulcan."
"She's worried about you."
Now that she'd said it, she wasn't sure. Could Vulcans do that? She liked to think so, especially where family was involved. But she'd also heard Vulcans describe the bond between them and their children as explicitly not love. That was a turn of phrase she'd only reserved for relationships like that between herself and her own parents.
"In a sense," he agreed, though hesitantly.
"What do you mean?"
He eyed her. "Despite our attempts to distance ourselves from emotional outbursts, pride is still very much a Vulcan trait. Emotional infirmity is not among the socially acceptable motives for ritual suicide."
Gabi coughed, or gagged. Wasn't sure which. "What?" she rasped as unwelcome memories filled her mind. None of them were of Taurik—someone closer, and yet somehow more distant in every way—but all of them were real. Bloody, dark, and horrifying. "My god, Taurik, you're not actually considering—?"
"No. But that is why she worries. In my case, such an action would be shameful."
She shook her head. "Of course. Because shame matters right now."
"It does to my mother," he said, and hesitated. "Of course, it wouldn't matter to me if that was my chosen course. Which, it is not. She is, of course, grieving, as well. It would be inappropriate for me to criticize her reaction."
She didn't believe him at all. "Yeah, because… because it doesn't make sense to apply a permanent solution to a temporal problem." That was what she always tried to tell herself, anyway. Hoped it sounded as good to a Vulcan as it had to her.
The odds of that were low. Taurik watched her, obviously as incensed as he could possibly be without actually being incensed at all. "Miss Dixson?" he said, and paused long enough for her to feel it. If she didn't know better, he'd say he was disgusted. "How long would you estimate my brother will be gone?"
Gabi wasn't convinced that was the question.
She had known a few hours ago something was wrong, but she had no idea it was this wrong. She walked into this room thinking that all she needed to do was convince Taurik to start talking to his friends again. Now, she was only sure whatever was happening was way outside the experience granted by her color and training. She didn't know what she'd want in his position—she didn't know what would have changed things back when it mattered. If there was something anyone could have said to talk her out of it, Gabi didn't know what it was—but she'd been there after the fact. That was the important part. Nobody had to die.
But if she couldn't talk him out of it, then she'd damn well better rescue him.
"I think…" She blinked at tears of both sympathy and fear. Sympathy, because she'd never heard anybody sound quite so empty as what she'd just heard a second ago. Fear, because why would he defend a line of questioning he didn't intend to follow through on? "I think Vorik being gone isn't the problem you're trying to solve. Even if you go through with it, he'll still be gone."
"Immaterial, considering it will no longer be, as you might put it, my problem."
"Like shame?"
He considered that, and frowned slightly. "The logical course of action is at times dependent upon priority. The needs of the many, Miss Dixson. There are six individuals remaining in my family besides myself who are affected by my decisions."
Oh. My god. "I think the problem you're trying to solve is your response to it," she offered, not sure if she was just trying to change the subject at this point.
He stayed quiet. Too quiet, probably because that was immaterial, too.
She shook her head and whispered, "I only know that as long as we're alive, we keep changing. Our synapses are constantly changing our brains, coping with new situations and figuring out how to live. Right? Isn't that right?"
She hoped she was.
"And if circumstances change us into what we find intolerable?" Taurik watched the drink in his glass as though it were doing something more interesting than settle.
Gabi pressed her palm over her mouth. That, too, sounded familiar. "Has it?"
"Don't misunderstand me. I have no intention of making any such… permanent decisions." He turned his gaze intently on her. Probably because she was crying and he had no idea what to do with it. "I will see you at our next shift."
She shook her head. "I don't believe you, sir."
"Why would I lie?"
"To get me to shut up?"
Taurik frowned. "If I thought that would be all it took to achieve that end, I would have started the conversation that way."
He stood up, and she watched him with what felt like panic edging in from all corners. What if he did go back to his quarters and she never saw him alive again? She'd know that wasn't her fault… but she'd sure feel like it was.
"Sir, please, no, don't go. Is there someone we can call for you? Maybe Counsellor Troi?" Hell—she would like to talk to her, too. About how to stay out of these conversations? No, but then it was just as possible that Taurik still wouldn't show up tomorrow and no one ever would have known why. She knew she'd think about that for a long time, too.
"It is zero-two-hundred hours."
"She wouldn't mind."
"Good night."
"Wait!" Gabi stumbled out of her chair after him, catching her breath as she cantered down the stairs toward the door.
Somehow he'd stopped and turned around. His hand rested hesitantly on her nearest shoulder, as if maybe she were tipsy and needed the support. She slapped him off.
Aside from seeming surprised, he didn't respond. Put his hands back behind his back. "May I walk you to your quarters?"
"No, sir, I'd like to walk you to yours." When he didn't answer for a moment, she asked, "May I ask the computer to monitor your lifesigns?"
"That is absurd."
"If I said to you what you just said to me, what would you do?" she snapped in a whisper. "Sure as hell wouldn't let me go off alone!"
"You," Taurik said, "are not Vulcan."
Yeah, that was true. She wasn't. "That's how I know you're not acting like one."
With a brief nod to Kalis, still behind the bar, Taurik walked out of the broad double doors with Gabi at his heels. She'd never felt more sure in what she had to do, nor hesitant in her ability to go through with it. What was she really going to do? Follow him all the way to his quarters? Sit outside?
Was she really going to call Counsellor Troi?
She should, shouldn't she? She could remember only one other time in her life she'd heard these words. And meager experience knew exactly where they were going. She knew how convincing they sounded.
Suddenly Taurik turned again, and she almost stumbled backwards to avoid running into him. "The notion that I am somehow acting unlike a Vulcan is absurd," he said, in a hurry, almost as if he couldn't wait one more second to say it. "However, I can't expect you to comprehend the mental and physical pain associated with my condition. A condition that is, may I remind you, permanent. I do understand your concern, but I assure you it is unnecessary. I will see you tomorrow."
"If you're trying to convince me you're alright, you're doing a terrible job."
"I have no need to convince you of anything."
That was it. She had nothing else. Almost nothing. Before she quite knew what she was doing, she took the few steps between them, wrapping her arms around him before he could react, and rested her chin on his shoulder.
He froze like a cornered animal for several seconds, finally raising one of his hands to rest on her back. "What are you doing?"
"Humans don't have telepathic bonds, so…" She shrugged and leaned back, finding his eyes dark with confusion. "So we do other… things."
"I see." Taurik brushed her off.
"I'm serious, if something happened to you, I think I couldn't forgive myself," she whispered.
"I assure you, I am as well as situationally expected. I will see you at start-of-shift tomorrow."
Yeah, right.
"What can I do to convince you?" Taurik asked, his tone slightly hesitant.
She looked down the hall toward the turbolift, back at the closed doors to Ten Forward, and backed away. She wiped her eyes. "I guess you can't. I want you to talk to Counsellor Troi, but you won't do that. I… I don't know what I'm supposed to do here."
"Let me be?" Taurik suggested, almost hopefully. He had to know that wasn't going to work. "I do not need to see Counsellor Troi, but… but if I contact her tomorrow at a more socially-acceptable time, would that satisfy you?"
"But what do I do until then?"
He sighed. "Miss Dixson."
"I'm not letting you out of my sight. Sir."
Taurik turned toward the turbolift, and she followed him. She didn't say anything when he asked for deck twelve, and she exited when he did. Deck twelve section two. Room twenty-two. On the front of the saucer section, on the inside ring. Lieutenant JGs probably didn't rate high enough for windows, either.
Taurik sighed as if severely put-out by her presence. "Return to your quarters."
She stared, wondering what to do now that he'd told her explicitly to leave. Was she supposed to just say no? What were the odds, really, that something terrible was about to happen? She decided it didn't matter. "Alright, just let me call Counsellor Troi."
"Miss Dixson—please." For a moment, she wasn't sure he wasn't going to snap in a particularly un-Vulcan way. And maybe she was doing this all wrong. Maybe she should have just left him alone. On the other hand, if he'd been in his right mind he would have understood why she was scared.
He would have thought it was illogical, because maybe it was. But he would have understood.
"Would you like to come in?" he asked, his tone calm but strained.
"I'm sorry," she said, quietly. "But this isn't my fault."
With a glare, he opened the door to his quarters and gestured inside. "What's that Human phrase?" He paused only long enough to pretend he didn't know it. "Make yourself at home?"
Gabi wandered into the room, glancing from one side of the room to the other. It was small, smaller than the room she shared with another technician. But, as a lieutenant, he had a room of his own, which was probably nice. Or, perhaps not. Gabi knew she'd feel better if he still had Lieutenant Lavelle to talk to. Taurik disappeared into the bedroom on the left, and Gabi had seen enough schematics to know just one bed, a small table, and a head barely fit in there.
The walls were even emptier of interest than other quarters, but the low table on the far side of the room hung with sheer gray fabric and lit faux candles. She went a few paces closer to see a frame holding what looked like Taurik's service ID portrait, but was probably Vorik's. It wasn't in the direct center of the table, which seemed to be reserved for a small black lamp with intricate metallic decorations etched in.
She sighed, her heart thudded heavily in sympathy again as she knelt before the table and took the picture in both hands. He looked almost exactly like Taurik. Only Taurik's eyes seemed darker, set back perhaps just a bit further. And, of course, there was personality, which she'd never be able to test. The way Taurik had described Vorik an hour ago, he was far superior even if he wasn't as ambitious or skilled in any one particular thing. She had to consider her source there.
Taurik reappeared from the bedroom. He was no longer dressed in his uniform, but in a gray robe. The style was simple, ascetic, Vulcan in every way except that it shimmered. He looked at her, then the picture in her hand.
She forgot she'd been holding the picture, and quickly replaced it as she stood. Even though he'd said nothing, she could hear the disapproving tone and the scold. "I'm sorry. I was just…" She sighed and gestured helplessly at the low table. "Vorik's service portrait?"
"Yes."
She was quiet for a moment. "You are virtually indistinguishable…"
"Monozygotic twins are often visually identical." He crossed the room, sliding his rank pips on a small stand by the door. He considered his combadge before putting that back on his robe.
"Do you have any other pictures?"
He took a small breath. "I'll be meditating."
She didn't expect him to say the words get the hell out, but that was pretty damn close. Too bad for him, she was used to standing her ground. Usually regardless of how logically solid it was. "And I'll be… here." She sat on the small couch, standard issue to every room. Surprisingly uncomfortable. "Let me know if… you know, you need anything. Or anything."
"And if you need anything, there is the door." He gestured at the door to the hallway.
Now that. That was close. Gabi still didn't move.
The room was exceedingly warm, even without a blanket to cover her, and she wondered if she'd be able to sleep. But, of course, she didn't know if she'd want to. She stretched out on the couch as Taurik knelt, lit his lamp, and dimmed the lights. The soft scent of something like sage filled the room.
For a while, Gabi watched Taurik kneel perfectly still on the floor. First for a few minutes, then five, then ten. She could only see that he was breathing in rhythm, his back as straight as a titanium rod. Just barely in the dim light and flickering, the shadow of his profile cast on the floor with his steepled hands before him. His elbows rested on the table in front of Vorik's picture so that she could no longer see it, fingers pointed toward the ceiling.
Her breathing seemed incredibly loud, and she didn't dare shift her weight on the couch.
She didn't know how long she watched, but she suddenly awoke. She wasn't sure how long she'd been asleep or what had woken her, as the room seemed to be largely unchanged. The candles were still lit. Her eyes glanced over Vorik's picture and noticed something shimmering where Taurik had been sitting.
Where Taurik was still sitting.
She gasped and slipped off the couch, her breath catching on the possibility that something had happened even though she was here in the room. She crawled the short distance between them and realized, to a different sort of shock and anxiety, Taurik was still kneeling with his face to the floor. Weeping.
She had no idea Vulcans could do that.
"Oh, no, Taurik?" she whispered, and carefully touched his shoulder.
If he responded, it was only with a quavering breath.
Should she interrupt or just leave him to figure whatever-this-was out on his own? Probably not. And anyway, given their conversation tonight, she imagined this was probably her fault. At least in some way. And even if Vulcans could cry, they probably weren't supposed to. Weren't they supposed to meditate to get rid of… emotions? Focus on logic, or whatever?
Yeah, probably. She had no idea. What had he been doing all this time if not meditating? Obviously that hadn't worked very well.
She pulled him up from the floor, almost surprised he let her. On the other hand, he seemed to be in no condition to resist much of anything. "I'm so sorry," she whispered, and he sobbed, hugging his chest like he'd been hit.
What else was she supposed to say? Get ahold of yourself? And what was she supposed to do? She could only think of what she'd do if this were her sister. So she wrapped her arms around him and said again, "I'm so, so sorry."
He leaned against her, and looked at his hands, wet with tears. "I think… I think I'm dying," he whispered, and looked at her. He didn't seem concerned with the revelation. "Am I dying?"
She shook her head, blinking at her own tears, returned once again. "I don't think so," she said. "I don't know. Can that happen?"
He didn't say one way or another, staring at his shaking hands as if mildly confused by them.
"Don't you…? Is it logical… to cry?"
He laughed. Extremely sarcastically. It was probably the scariest thing she'd ever heard. "Logic. Where would you suggest I find the logic in this? There is no reason; this cannot be rationalized." He took another breath, and whatever vaguely-humorous irony he saw in the situation was apparently gone. He covered his face with both hands. "It's illogical to live like this. How could anyone live like this?"
Noted. Logic: bad. "Alright, alright, so maybe it is." Well, she was sure that wasn't true. He was a Vulcan, which meant he had to find logic in here somewhere, someday. Maybe. "Maybe it doesn't matter," she said, as revision. She was pretty sure Taurik wasn't even concerned with precision at the moment, though. Maybe he was dying. "But aren't you supposed to meditate or something?"
He shook his head. "I can't." He gasped with another sob. "I can't. I tried, but I can't."
That… sounded bad. Assuming he wasn't dying, she was going to read everything she could get her hands on about Vulcan emotional responses and meditation. Not that she thought this would ever come up again.
His hands dropped into his lap.
Then again, she was pretty good at being where she didn't belong. She picked up his hands in both of hers. Pressed them together.
He looked at her as if confused, concerned, then at his hands held against her palms.
"I know you can't," she said, cutting off the objection she knew was coming. "But you have to show me how to do it." She crawled to his side and knelt, she thought, like he was. She folded her hands. "You have to show me how so I can help you."
For a very long moment, he only looked muddled—like whatever she imagined a drunk Vulcan would look like. Maybe worse, because he also looked sick. And tired.
Finally, he looked at his hands, rearranging his fingers as if it was very difficult to do. Three of them folded. She fell into her own rhythm of breathing, counting each inhale and exhale regardless of Taurik's inconsistent spasms of breath. Taurik rubbed his tears onto his sleeve and matched her inhale.
He lifted his hands slightly and showed them to her, saying nothing.
She copied his hands as well as she could in the dim light. "Okay…" she whispered, feeling an inexplicable sense of calm. Maybe because he seemed to be breathing again. Maybe it was helping. Well, oxygen did tend to help in these situations. "What now?"
Taurik closed his eyes, and she did the same. "You are in a desert." His voice broke, but he kept going anyway. "In a sandstorm. Battered by the winds and cut by the sand."
He paused several seconds, long enough for Gabi to open one eye to peer at him. His forehead rested against his hands, and another tear glinted in the flickering lamplight.
But it was just one. Maybe that was alright. "You're in a desert in a sandstorm… battered by the wind and cut by the sand," she whispered, and watched him just nod. "Then what…?"
Taurik took another shallow breath and straightened. "You are the sandstorm."
She closed her eyes, and echoed, "You are the sandstorm."
Step by step, he directed her to calm the storm—and she did the same for him. The winds died down, no longer buffeting the immovable rocks that were their beings. The sand settled again into dunes. The sky cleared and the sun reappeared. With every instruction, he seemed to become more and more like himself. They were still a long way from the Taurik she'd had drinks with a few months ago… but he was calm. He was breathing. That was an improvement.
"You are the desert," he whispered, with a tone of finality.
"You are the desert."
They sat in silence for several seconds. She could only hear their breathing, the distant thrum of the warp core. The whisper of the sand that she really shouldn't have been here.
"Thank you," he whispered.
She opened her eyes, but his were still closed. He looked more like he had when she fell asleep a few hours ago: stronger, more sure, more Vulcan. She leaned carefully, lightly tapping his shoulder with hers. Taurik's eyes opened, and he looked at her. He seemed puzzled that she'd touched him. And, yes, maybe that had been a weird thing to do.
But everything about this had been weird. She'd never meditated before, much less a Vulcan meditation. She was in a lieutenant JG's quarters, and after asking him to get a drink with her. She'd been sleeping on his couch maybe thirty minutes ago, and he'd been crying on the floor. Of all the things, that connection didn't even make the list.
She shrugged. "Anytime." After a moment, she added, "How are you now?"
"I am…" Taurik paused and searched the wall in front of him, as if the words he wanted might form there. After a moment, he shrugged helplessly. "I am."
She hesitated long enough to make sure her tone was anything not amused or mocking. "Not dying, then." As far as she knew, it wasn't a joke. "I guess that's good enough."
To her surprise, he nodded and echoed her words again. "Good enough." He closed his eyes again. Probably meditating. And hopefully in earnest this time. She doubted that simple exercise he'd walked her through walking him through was enough to get anything significant done.
After all… Vorik was still dead. No amount of meditation would change that.
She sighed and turned slightly to look at him. Like the sand after the storm, it never looked the same once the winds died down.
"I still think you should talk to someone. At least, see Counsellor Troi."
"I think you are correct."
Well, that was progress. Gabi closed her eyes and tried to focus, to meditate. She wished she'd known that sandstorm thing when she was younger… maybe it would have helped.