Chapter 5: Unproductive Use of Time
Sam planted his hands on the table before sitting down. "Come on."
Taurik looked up at him, his lowered brows and the light surrounding the floor-to-ceiling windows in Ten Forward illuminating his eyes. "Where?"
"The holodeck." Sam tapped the table with his knuckles. "Today apparently sucks for all of us, so we're gonna meet Gabi and drink."
Taurik looked around, unsure why today should somehow be worse for Sam than any others. After all, he'd been pleased with his romantic relationship and excelling in his work, especially lately. Even Commander Riker praised his quick-thinking in a maneuvering drill two days ago. Taurik had never seen Gabi upset—at least, not in a way applicable to this situation—and so had no frame of reference from which to evaluate. Even Taurik couldn't find a logical reason he should be less steady today than any other day recently.
He had a reason. It wasn't a logical one.
"I am no less—"
"Shut up." Sam sat down, but the way he sat on the edge of the chair, his chest almost pressed against the table's edge, it was clear he was only ready to stand again. "We share a room, remember? You haven't slept in three days, and you meditated for eight hours yesterday. Eight. You didn't even—I mean, what the hell? I didn't even know you could do that."
Taurik frowned. "I am capable of meditating for days, if necessary."
"That's not the point. It's been six months almost to the day Voyager went missing."
Consulting that always-active internal chronometer, Taurik acknowledged Sam was correct. It had been six months, as of yesterday. The time came and went without his notice, however. "Indeed. Six months, one day, three hours."
Sam pressed away from the table slightly, as if surprised. Possibly concerned.
"Fifteen minutes," he added, and counted the seconds that he didn't verbalize.
"How the hell do you do that? Have you been keeping track?"
"No." Taurik sighed, folding his hands on the table, and wondering if he was up to the task of explaining elementary arithmetic. Though, examination of the fact that it had been over six months since he heard his brother's voice was admittedly an unwelcome one. It was illogical, it was emotional, but it sounded worse when he said it that way. "I am aware of the time Voyager went missing, and I am aware of the time now. Simply subtract. Simplify."
Sam looked insulted.
"Anniversaries are not a Vulcan tradition," he added.
"Then what's going on with you? Did La Forge deny your test schedule or something?"
"Vorik and I had planned to visit Vulcan together on leave. I would have left three days ago."
He'd cancelled leave, and the transportation arrangements he'd made. He cancelled the accommodations they'd made for four—himself, Saalle, Vorik, and his mate—on the shores of a lake called, simply, Pla-kur, for the color seeping up from minerals in the lakebed. He'd cancelled only at the beginning of this month. It was illogical, but he still wondered if the others that still hadn't given up on Voyager were correct, and it was just missing.
If Voyager was just missing, Vorik was likely dead, anyway. If Voyager was just missing, he wondered what they would have done with his body. If Voyager was found, he wasn't sure he'd want to know. He would have no choice, then, except to go home and take part in all the ritual mourning and grief. All the same, he acknowledged he had closure that many others might never have.
Sam clicked his tongue. "You should've kept your reservations."
"To what purpose?"
"I don't know. Seems like you need a break. Process it a little bit more."
"Explain."
"If you don't understand, then I can't explain it. No one's supposed to be working right now, anyway, and I can see you don't have anything better to do. So come on." Sam started walking away, and Taurik knew Sam expected him to follow.
Taurik rose and straightened his shirt. Whatever he had planned, Sam was right: Taurik had nothing better to do.
Sam led him directly to Holodeck Three, and found Gabi waiting for them on the top of Fisolekau T'Ha'sular: the tallest plateau in the Osana Canyon. Some of the most treacherous climbs in the caverns were directly beneath it. Gabi dangled her legs over the edge above the shallow river below, her back to the town Taurik had once called home.
She turned toward them, smiled wanly. "I didn't think you were going to join us. Hi, Taurik."
With a nod of greeting, Taurik was momentarily surprised to hear that Gabi had been spending extra time with Sam. Quickly, he decided he didn't know why he should be surprised. They were both Human, and so probably had more in common with each other than they had with him. Since leaving Vulcan and excepting his brother, he'd spent all of his time with non-Vulcans. Perhaps most people didn't do that.
"Why does… rather, what has made your day unpleasant?" Taurik asked, diverting from his original intention to quote Sam's characterization.
She shrugged. "It's my sister's birthday and she got accepted to Starfleet Academy. Starts next semester."
Taurik frowned. "Is that news not desirable?"
"It would be if she was talking to me." Gabi smiled and took the glass that Sam handed to her. She looked at him. "I actually don't know what's wrong with Sam. What's wrong with you?"
With a sigh, Sam asked the computer to produce an alcoholic brandy, and poured for each of them. He filled half a glass and handed it to Taurik. "A year ago last week, we lost a good friend," he said, looking at Taurik meaningfully.
The calculation on that was simple, as well. He remembered the shock standing in Engineering, listening to the captain's commendation and realizing no one around him seemed distressed. Maybe they weren't, because they didn't react outside of a moment of respectful silence. Sam had been devastated for three days, illogically guilty and definitely angry—and then he moved to his new quarters, and Taurik shut away the grief. His new roommate was an ensign in Ops, and Taurik remembered how long it had taken him and Sam to adjust to one another. Three months later, Taurik had a new pip and room of his own.
No one spoke of Sito anymore.
Taurik looked at Gabi, and her confusion was tentative and polite. "Her name was Sito Jaxa."
"Oh, right, I remember her…"
Taurik briefly bristled to realize that, of course, Gabi would have known of her existence—Gabi had been working with Taurik for months before her death. She was one who didn't understand what about Sito necessitated an announcement from the captain about her death. She was one of the many that listened, meditated on the loss of a single insignificant life for a likewise insignificant amount of time, and got back to work.
Taurik had worked, but he thought about it for several days, sometimes for hours. Of course, then he had Vorik's silent support and reasoning to lean on. Taurik spent too much time trying to remember the words he'd thought were wise about the logic of the situation—but it was as if most of Vorik's encouragement had been lost the same way he had.
"Yeah." Sam poured a glass and sat down on the edge beside Gabi.
"You got anything?" Gabi asked, leaning around Sam to see Taurik on his other side as he sat.
Taurik looked down past his feet at the ground that appeared to be one-hundred-thirty meters beneath. Of course, it was not, being a holodeck. He didn't want to say that he was mourning a cancelled holiday in light of Sito's death. Yes, it was a cancelled holiday because of his brother's death, but he should have adapted to that by now.
As he'd adapted to Sito's death.
Still, he sometimes thought he should apologize to Sam for what now seemed like an idiotically banal attempt at comfort. The best way to remember her would be to excel in your new position? If it had sounded alright to Sam, then perhaps neither of them had known what loss was.
"It's six months since Voyager, and he just had to cancel a trip he was taking with Vorik." Sam answered for him.
Gabi sighed. "Well, that sucks. This really is a bad day. Don't even have to add my stupid stuff."
Sam shook his head, tapping Gabi's arm as he took a drink. "I don't have a sister—or a brother—but if I've learned anything in the past year… it's that I don't know if I wish I did or if I'm glad I don't." After a moment, he revised, "I'm glad I knew Sito."
This sort of speculation was so far beyond the pale of logic, he didn't dare look toward it. Taurik took a drink of what turned out to be Vulcan brandy.
"I think it's worth it. Family breaks your heart, but they're the first ones who teach you what love actually means." She smiled, offered her drink in a toast, maybe to the eponymous mythological ha'sular that were supposed to have landed here. "To family, then." She drank.
"And love," Sam agreed, and offered his glass to Taurik for the Human tradition of tapping the rims.
Taurik followed through with the ritual motion, and took another drink when Sam did.
"What are you toasting?" Gabi asked.
Taurik sighed, restraining himself from offering the initial stinging impulse to simply say he was toasting neither. "Conversations with other species about emotional states often translates to the most generic terms due to our definitional precision and other languages' lack of it."
Gabi and Sam both fell silent, apparently contemplating his answer. Finally, Sam looked at him. His grin was… mischief. "You mean you're toasting both?" Sam looked to Gabi a moment later, as if seeking endorsement.
"I can think of no less than thirty distinct Vulcan words encompassed in the Human expression for love—" he said, using the most generic Vulcan term for it, "even with my area of study, which brings me nowhere near adjacent to the topic."
Sam looked at Gabi. "That's a yes."
"Provisionally," Taurik said.
"I'm shocked," Sam said.
Gabi just smiled. Because, of course, she knew firsthand that Vulcans did have emotions. Taurik knew he had already admitted to Sam as much—at least in relation to his brother. If he had seen, it was only the shadows of what had been suppressed. Though, logically, everyone had to know: one could neither control nor suppress what one did not possess in the first place. Humans tended to believe their experiences more than logic, however.
"I think Humans could use a little bit more definitional precision. What kinds of love are there?" Gabi asked.
Taurik considered how to classify them in a way they would easily grasp. "Eleven distinct types of romantic love," he said. "Five for familial, also included in twenty for platonic love, four for—"
"There." Gabi interrupted, and gestured in his direction with her snifter. "That. What are those?"
Taurik could have listed the words in Vulcan rather easily, but unless they were listening to his words in Vulcan, they would simply hear the common words for friendship and love twenty times. He could try to describe them without using the words, but… "Our shared terminology on this topic is limited, and… your vocabulary is too imprecise. It will likely not translate."
Sam chuckled. "I wouldn't get it, anyway."
Taurik disagreed, but didn't say anything. Gabi was likewise emotionally perceptive for a non-telepath. "Perhaps not precisely," he allowed. "Humans seem prone to all thirty sometimes within the same day and even toward the same object." He took another drink.
Fortunately, Gabi had switched to Vulcan brandy as her preferred drink in lieu of her homeworld's whiskey, though the flavors were not at all similar.
"Let's see. Go ahead." Gabi nudged Sam. "Take a drink whenever the translator just says love."
"It would be advisable to change the subject." Taurik looked from Sam, who looked almost equally uncomfortable with the turn the conversation had somehow taken, to Gabi, who seemed… linguistically interested. She enjoyed comparing colorful metaphors as well. "Once again, our shared vocabulary could only lead to misunderstanding."
"I don't think so." Gabi shook her head and took a final casual drink of her brandy. "I love you, too."
Taurik squinted at her. Even Sam seemed surprised at the confession that Taurik considered he had very good reason to disbelieve. At least, not in the way that Humans tended to use that word.
After a moment, she grinned, dropped the empty glass in her hand off the holographic cliff. They all watched in what seemed to be morbid interest. "I'm teasing you, Taurik," she said, and the smallest sound of glass shattering on rock reached them.
He nodded, hesitantly. "I see." That made more sense than anything, anyway. He set aside his empty glass and noticed both of them looking at him, apparently, in expectation of response. "You are important to me," he said, deciding the definition was more illustrative than the word itself. It was one of very few phrases socially acceptable to verbalize between friends and family. Only the word one used for one's spouse was stronger… and considerably more emotional: to consider the object of affection to be a gift or valuable beyond calculation.
Gabi's smile turned from playful to genuinely pleased. "You're important to me, too!"
Sam scoffed and downed the rest of his brandy and poured another. "You guys are idiots."
Gabi accepted Sam's disregard as a stronger indication to move on. They talked about the Enterprise and the overhaul many of the systems were receiving. Taurik had negotiated himself into some of the work where he could, primarily where station procedure was concerned. He would have to know such things intimately if he desired a transfer to Utopia Planetia one day. When that was unavailable, Taurik worked on his personal project with the warp field. Still. He wondered if he would ever be finished with it sometimes.
Sam entertained himself on the planet, mostly. His relationship with Lieutenant Fratis was apparently going well. Gabi had directed her interest to octopuses, and the way their skin changed colors and limbs grew back.
It seemed they had moved on from the somber tone, nearly forgetting about their reasons to be off-balance today until they agreed they'd had enough and went their separate ways. Sam, having consumed three glasses of fully-alcoholized Trakian ale and two glasses of the brandy, went back to their quarters to sleep. Gabi, who replaced the brandy with something syntheholic after her second glass, said she had a letter to write and left.
Taurik sat alone on the edge of Fisolekau T'Ha'sular for fifteen minutes until he decided he should go to bed, too. He didn't have anything better to do.
Sam was in his room when Taurik got back to their quarters, his door to the main room left open like it always was. He could hear Sam breathing, but he wasn't sleeping. Taurik lit the lamp on the low table beside Vorik's service photo as he settled on the floor, brushing his fingers across the top of the frame.
As Sam said, he hadn't slept in three days. He'd meditated eight hours yesterday. It wasn't enough. He thought he was well past this level of distress, past the invasive speculation of whatever had happened to Vorik. He called to mind some of the suggestions Counselor Troi had offered, some of which he dismissed out of hand. He hadn't seen her in a month now… and he was better. He requested he see her only once a month, though their meetings were short.
After six months, he'd found his conclusion: he would always be alone, and he would never be whole. It was an undesirable one, but it was reality.
He heard Sam's socked feet on the floor behind him, his breathing from the doorway into his room. The slight brush of his sleeve on the door's frame as he leaned on it. "You okay?" Sam whispered.
Taurik blinked at the flame and realized he hadn't actually been meditating. He'd just been sitting here. "I believe I have reached a new equilibrium," Taurik said.
"What's that mean?"
He shrugged, brought his fingertips together with his elbows resting on the table. "I have adjusted to the silence. I am adapted to… to the sense of isolation."
"Well, that sounds terrible."
Taurik glanced over his shoulder to see Sam just as he expected he would: leaning in the door to his room dressed in his dark blue nightclothes. "That is an emotional assessment."
"I'm an emotional person."
Taurik couldn't argue with that. He looked back at the picture of his brother, then at the single flame flickering from the black lamp. "It is not terrible. It is… it is reality. I believe I will not suffer any negative effects should you choose to request a new room assignment."
Sam sighed and stepped into the common area. "Not that I don't miss all that space," he said sarcastically. Unexpectedly, he sat on the floor on the short end of the table, cornered to Taurik. "I know it's not really any of my business, but…" Sam took a deep breath, slowly pressed on the frame of Vorik's picture until it fully faced him. "I don't think you're okay."
Taurik looked at the picture he could no longer see. "That is—"
"An emotional assessment. Yeah. Obviously." Sam tipped the photo.
The frame fell on its face and sat there until Taurik righted it, put it back where it was supposed to be. "What are you doing?"
Sam sighed, pressing his fingers to the table top. Shrugged. "You've never been alone."
"That is correct." Taurik replaced his fingertips together, but looked at Sam in the dim light of the single flame. "However, I believe I am now more familiar with it. Your physical proximity was, perhaps, a necessary intermediary state between the imminent presence to which I was accustomed and… and solitude." He hesitated a moment, realized that Sam also had no reason to be here.
Sam owed him nothing. There was no reason he should have given up the privacy to which he was accustomed as an only child to offer his support. He'd already thanked Sam for his consideration, and somehow it wasn't enough.
"I find myself at a loss to convey my gratitude," he added.
With a sharp intake of breath, Sam suddenly looked away. "It's nothing." He stood, turned toward his room, but didn't move any further. "Pretty sure you'd do the same thing for me." Instead of going to his room, he went to the replicator instead and ordered a glass of ice water.
Taurik wasn't sure that was true. He wasn't sure Taurik would be on Sam's list on individuals to ask for such a favor, anyway. Taurik had to admit, Sam was the only person on his list. He had many acquaintances, but none approaching this level of intimacy. Sam had demonstrated an unrealistic degree of care that Taurik was quite sure he would not easily find in anyone else.
There was a word for it—a word in Vulcan which wouldn't translate for Sam. So he listened to Sam gulp the entire glass of water, say good night, and go into his room. He shut the door.
Taurik couldn't hear him breathing. He couldn't hear anything.
He said good night to Vorik, and meditated until morning.
#
Taurik restrained the sense of absurdity. The realism of the holodeck could only lend a certain amount of interest. His costume, a replica of historical Earth sailing garb, was surprisingly comfortable. It was significantly lighter than Vulcan sailing apparel from a similar technology level… obviously, as the sailing was under much different circumstances. Much less sand. But he was still cool, and the artificial sea breeze was perhaps purposefully similar to the ambient temperature in the rest of the ship.
It smelled like salt.
"Petty Officer Dixson?" Sam stood with his back to Taurik, voice booming over the water beyond the deck rails. It was the three of them and two holodeck characters to lend to the realism. A pilot cutter of this size, Taurik was led to believe, required very little crew.
"Yes, sir!" Gabi piped in response.
"Prepare the headsails. Lieutenant Taurik?"
He sighed. "Yes?"
"Yes?" Sam spun, frowning. "Come on, Taurik, you need to get into the spirit of things."
Taurik glanced around at the harbor and the open sea beyond. "In that case, I volunteer to retire to the cabin to simulate vitamin C deficiency."
Gabi cackled, handling a whole tangle of ropes that Taurik was sure she knew what to do with as much as he did. The holodeck character rushed to assist her—because, of course, only the computer knew what it was doing. Perhaps Sam, as well, to a certain extent. Taurik knew his hobbies trended toward arcane modes of transportation that possibly involved ancient sea vessels. He did seem to prefer higher speeds and faster acceleration, however.
"You know, you're the worst thing about serving on the Enterprise?" Sam asked, and for a moment, Taurik wasn't sure he wasn't being serious. He was almost smiling. Almost
"That's a pretty high bar," Gabi offered. "Considering everything else is so neat."
"Sure, the Enterprise and everything about it is great. But he's still the worst thing." Sam waved Taurik away. "Look, I thought it would be fun. Gabi and I can sail the English Channel by ourselves if you don't want to."
"I agreed to participate," Taurik said, though he wasn't sure why he had.
Because he preferred to be around people—and that had always been true. He was at once dismayed and gratified to find a piece of himself that remained intact in Vorik's absence. He'd spent untold hours in Ten Forward moving colored pieces of glass on boards of varying design because he appreciated the company. Chess in multiple levels, various games that generally involved a partner making illogical choices. Meanwhile, passing the time in the holodeck necessitated a certain type of interest that Taurik couldn't imagine rallying. Especially in this environment.
A year ago, he might have heard Gabi's plan to somehow "celebrate" the Enterprise's successful overhaul of the warp nacelles by arranging a holodeck outing to "set sail" on their own, and declined to attend. Of course, he hadn't been spending as much time with her a year ago, either… All things considered, he did prefer the logic puzzles presented by other, less imaginative diversions.
"Then what's the problem?" Sam asked.
Taurik sighed, edging closer to the barrier between himself and the sea approximately one meter distant to look down. "I don't swim."
Gabi glanced up, seeming uncommonly interested. "You don't swim, or you can't?"
"Does the distinction matter?" Taurik asked.
Gabi laughed again. "Well, if you can't swim, I probably won't push you off the ship. But if you can, I absolutely will."
Taurik stepped further from the railing with that information. "I cannot swim. I anticipated a career in space exploration would eliminate the necessity."
"The safeties are on though, so… you know, you probably couldn't even hurt yourself if you were trying," Gabi offered, and stepped closer to him. Taurik was comfortable with his strength versus hers. Perhaps even against both of them together.
Yes. He was confident. If any of them were going in the water today, it wouldn't be him.
"What if you have to go talk to the dolphins or something?" Sam asked.
"In the event I somehow fell into cetacean ops, it's unlikely they would allow me to drown."
"Well, you are the worst thing about the Enterprise," Sam said.
"It's actually probably real shallow." Gabi seemed to have abandoned any plans she had of throwing anyone overboard, and went to the edge of the ship to look down. Didn't seem to be listening to talk of the dolphins, either. "Jump in. I want to see what it does."
"You are interested in the outcome," Taurik said. "You jump in."
"But I can swim."
"Alright! So have we decided any good holodeck pirate program needs scurvy or do you want to take the helm?" Sam asked, obviously annoyed, and held a hand out to the wooden wheel in the back center of the boat.
"Very well." Taurik looked at the helm, and then at Sam. "Captain." He went to the wheel and inspected it, perhaps a little too thoroughly. Sam was still glaring at him by the time he took hold of the smooth wooden helm and followed the directions to starboard. Despite his certification and familiarity with piloting vessels… he had never set foot on a sea-going vessel before this replication.
Perhaps for obvious reasons.
It had been over a year since he had been on Vulcan now, and he rarely spent time near the water. Only Vorik's mate T'Pring possessed any affinity. The rest of them were more comfortable in the mountains they were all raised in, though Taurik had to admit to a certain pleasant familiarity with the rivers and reservoirs around his home. But Sam had been raised on a lake. He spoke relatively frequently about his experiences on the water, and once said he learned to swim before he learned to crawl. Possibly even in cetacean ops, since Taurik hadn't fully constructed a timeline of Sam's life. He'd been born on a starship.
Gabi sighed. "Damnit…"
Taurik looked to the side of the boat where Gabi sat on a barrel, her legs crossed and a giant rope laid across her legs. She didn't seem to have been doing anything that would warrant that reaction, unless she'd just loosened a knot she'd meant to tighten.
Sam looked up from his post at the railing, lowering his telescope from his eye. "What?"
"There's just no easy way to say this," she said. "I'm transferring off the Enterprise."
Taurik found himself staring at the back of Sam's head.
"Well, that… that's great?" Sam said, and Taurik couldn't be sure it wasn't a question. "When? Where?"
"Next month," Gabi said. She looked first at Sam for a second before her eyes drifted over to Taurik. She smiled and shrugged. "I'm sorry I didn't say anything, but I wasn't sure it was going to happen. And then last week it got confirmed."
"Where?" Sam asked again.
"The Sadalbari. A Miranda," she added, as if Sam would find that interesting or useful.
Taurik didn't know anything about the ship or care to, though he was, of course, familiar with the class of vessel. He made a note to look into the captain and chief engineer. For curiosity, he assumed. "The evening shift will find your skills and enthusiasm difficult to replace," he offered.
She smiled. "Thanks. I think it's overall a good thing. Honestly, it's a miracle I've been on the Enterprise as long as I have been. And I'll be day shift!"
That was an improvement over her current situation… possibly. Taurik didn't know how to judge shift placement compared to any shift on the Federation's flagship. But, she was enlisted. He sometimes overlooked that fact. "It seems you may have been transferred for reason of need on the Sadalbari," Taurik said.
Which meant she had likely been selected or recommended, possibly even by La Forge. A smaller ship like the Miranda-class vessel was, obviously, distinctly different with a mere three percent the crew complement of the Enterprise. It seemed likely her work would be more vital and varied than it was here… It was, he had to admit, a potentially advantageous move for her career.
He should be pleased. At the very least, he should be understanding.
"Yeah, seems like it. I'm apparently really good with power distribution systems. I even aced my last certification for warp field configurations, so… thanks to Taurik for that."
He looked at her, but didn't get to ask.
"Well." Sam shrugged. "That sucks. I'm happy for you, but that sucks." He smiled a bit.
Gabi slid off the barrel, letting the ropes fall to the ground. "Maybe one of these days I'll be a ship's La Forge myself. Probably a station or outpost, though. But how cool would that be?"
Taurik didn't know how to respond. She didn't like stations or planets.
"So," she said, and shrugged. "Sorry if I ruined it."
"No, it's fine. Thanks for telling us, and… we've still got a month. We can probably get to North America." Sam winked at Taurik, probably anticipating his inability to tolerate much more "adventure" on the high holographic seas.
"Not in this thing, we can't." Gabi laughed. "Alright, I'm back on the masts."
Taurik went back to the helm, his head a tumult for entirely irrational reasons. He had been in Starfleet for four years now. Change was inevitable. Sam would leave to increase the likelihood of his obtaining a captaincy one day. Taurik would return to Earth for certifications and education in pursuit of ship design. Gabi… would be transferred.
Of course, one day, one of them would leave the Enterprise. Taurik just didn't think it would be Gabi. And he didn't think it would be now.
The anger had only been ephemeral, and a facade. He was only put off-balance. Or perhaps that was only the physically unsteady sensation of the sailing ship bobbing on the artificial waters of the English Channel. Whatever it was, he was nearly overcome with the distinct desire to be anywhere but here.
It was ridiculous to be shaken by this.
They all redirected their attention back on the farce of an impending pirate attack. One of the holographic characters exposited the holoprogram's plot: the three of them were apparently spies of her majesty the queen of England, and had just plundered a Dutch treasure trove on a small island off the coast of Spain. The gold and jewels were stashed in their hold, and the envy of every Human from the Sea of Azov to the Gulf of Bothnia.
It was unclear how the pirates that were prescribed to attack knew they had the treasure.
This was not one of those more narrative-dependent scenarios. The point was to enjoy the working of the cutter and engage in swordplay. Fencing was a popular sport onboard. Taurik suspected that was only because it was one of the captain's pastimes.
Taurik couldn't remember what his own hobbies were anymore. He couldn't be sure anything he'd have come up with were truly his.
Not holoprograms about looting rival monarchies and fighting pirates. It had never been that.
"Hey, Taurik, you okay?" Sam had walked up behind him, his hand suddenly on his shoulder. "You're not getting seasick, are you?"
"Of course not," he said. "I am simply… waiting. For the pirates."
"Yeah. You seem real eager."
"I'm not."
"That was—yeah. I know. Look, if you're bugged about Gabi leaving, just say something." Sam looked across the boat at Gabi. "We can't change anything, but maybe… maybe we can help. At the very least, provide background noise."
Gabi was looking at them now. "It's not like you're never going to see me again," she said, and he wondered if that was true. Under what circumstances would they see her again? "You couldn't get rid of me that easy."
"Excuse me, but that is unlikely," he said, and looked at Sam. "It is only a matter of time before I return to Earth or you leave for a more advantageous assignment." He stepped back from the wheel, letting it roll listlessly on its own. "This is an unproductive use of time."
Sam scoffed, stepping forward to take the wheel. "Of course it is. That's kind of the point."
"Not the holoprogram," he said, though that also qualified. The energy generated by the Enterprise should be directed toward something more useful. "These social connections are a waste of time and energy."
"Hold on a second—" Gabi crossed the deck while Taurik called for the exit.
Sam turned away from the wheel to face him, as well. "What the hell are you talking about?"
Taurik looked more directly at Gabi, then Sam. "The time we've spent together seems to have resulted in nothing… or worse. I will one day return to Earth for additional education, you will leave the Enterprise in favor of other assignments, we rarely speak with Andrew and Alyssa due to their change in marital and parental status, and Sito is dead."
It was illogical, actually.
Judging by the silence… perhaps they agreed. The wheel clicked as it turned without anyone to hold it. "It's too disruptive when these connections are severed," he added, since the conclusion was the most important part of his musings. "The most viable solution would be to simply avoid them."
Gabi sighed. "How is waiting around in your quarters for your next shift any better use of time?"
He had to admit it probably wasn't. He could study or meditate, but everything at this exact moment seemed just as futile. He could do those things later, or perhaps not at all. He spent his efforts in pursuit of a goal, and he couldn't even remember why he wanted it anymore. He said he was going to Earth someday, but now he wasn't even sure why.
"I suppose it's not," he said, and took a step toward the archway, feeling an overwhelming sense of… apathy. Ordinarily, such a response would have been beneficial to his emotional state, but not, apparently, this one.
He could detect a slight change in the way Sam was breathing, conveying shock or concern.
Gabi blinked as if disbelieving. "Right."
He was struck momentarily by the slight sarcasm in Gabi's tone until she spoke again.
"Sure. Yeah, that sounds logical as hell. But you're still going to have to work with these people. And some of them are going to want to tell you about osmotic eels and play Terrace with you." She hesitated to gesture toward Sam. "You're going to have roommates."
That… almost made sense. He eyed her, calculating how much effort he would have to expend to try to avoid Gabi—or would have. She would be leaving. Soon it would be no effort at all. "That's true, however—"
"Logical or not, you don't believe a word you just said anyway," Sam said quietly, and turned back to the wheel.
Taurik turned to Sam. "You're suggesting I'm lying?"
Sam wrung his hands on the wheel spokes. "If you found out tomorrow that it was just one big mistake and Vorik was coming back, you wouldn't avoid him. You'd be on the first ship going wherever he was."
When Taurik didn't answer quickly enough, Gabi offered, "If I'd known eight months ago when we started hanging out like this that I was going to be transferred off the Enterprise tomorrow, I would want to spend more time with you guys. Not less."
"Hypotheticals are immaterial." He paused long enough to fend off the anger, glance away from Sam's gaze that had become uncomfortable.
Sam was correct. Even if he had a hundred years aching with his brother's loss before him, he would have optimized the twenty-three he did have. And certainly be the first to meet the Voyager's missing crew if that, by some unimaginable miracle, turned out to be the case.
And so was Gabi.
"Besides, you'll be fine," Gabi said
"Obviously." Taurik glared at the closed doors leading out to deck twelve. The worst thing that could have happened to him already had. He was… still here. Though in many ways it seemed his life had become as immaterial as a hypothetical.
With a sigh, Sam turned the wheel over to the nearest holographic character. "You can go if you want. I don't—do what you want. But I sure as hell would be worse off if you decided to never talk to me again. And not just because that'd be inconvenient. As roommates."
With a deep breath, Taurik nodded. "It would be inconvenient," he allowed. At least, he decided, for Sam, he could make an exception. They were roommates. And if Gabi reached out, he would respond. "I have never been particularly capable at managing change."
Gabi sighed, reached for his arm again in a gesture of comfort. "I'm kinda scared, too. It's been a long time since I was somewhere else. It takes… courage to keep going, especially when it can all go wrong so suddenly and for no reason. But I know we aren't supposed to be out here alone."
He wasn't sure he believed that, but it didn't matter at the moment. Taurik squinted toward the sea. "It appears we are not," he said, and pointed toward the black sails approaching, the black flag raised over the middle mast of the significantly larger wooden vessel.
Sam spun to see the ship. "Well… are we up to it?" he asked, looking first at Taurik, then at Gabi.
It would be overly selfish of him to say no at this point. Instead, Taurik told the computer to put away the exit and watched the oncoming pirate vessel. "I believe the term is Jolly Roger," he said of the barely-visible flag displaying the human skull superimposed over crossed stylized femur bones.
Gabi smiled. "Batten down the hatches!"
Taurik supposed that made sense, albeit metaphorically.
The holographic crew and the three of them made their preparations as the ship approached faster than Taurik thought was physically possible. Though they didn't try to outrun it, they wouldn't have been able to. Possibly due to program parameters.
As the larger ship tossed hooks into their vessel, the crews of both ships raised a racket. Gabi and Sam joined in the war cry, and Taurik didn't. He did, however, draw his sword when Sam and Gabi did.
The boarding was only half as chaotic as Taurik thought it might be. The pirates dropped onto their small vessel in only just as many numbers as the three of them—plus holographic assistance—could manage. Gabi threw herself into the part, slashing wildly with what seemed to be the correct edge of the sword most of the time.
Taurik had never used a blade of this type before. Indeed, he'd only trained with the most typical examples of classical Vulcan weaponry as part of his schooling as a child. Nevertheless, his coordination, strength, and speed served him well enough even if his knowledge of the forms for this style of fighting were well beyond him. He managed to dispatch two of the holographic pirates just as two others dropped down beside him.
It was, clearly, ridiculous. With a sigh, Taurik sheathed his sword and called, "Computer, create a lirpa appropriate to the environment's technology level, one and one-quarter meters long."
A second later, the weapon materialized leaning against the mast beside him just within reach. It was made of materials not unlike the cutlasses Sam and Gabi wielded, with black leather grips on either end of the pole and shining silvery metal for the fan-shaped blade. The club on the other side seemed to be made entirely of lead or iron, and not unlike the cannonballs he'd seen stacked in one of the corners on the deck.
"Hey!" Sam turned away from the pirate before him, throwing his hands wide. "This is supposed to be Earth! And that—" He paused to duck out of the way of the bearded man in the striped-red shirt comically missing his head with a cutlass. "That is not from Earth!"
"But it's the spirit, Sam!" Gabi crowed as if in triumph, kicked the pirate she was fighting away from her. The pirate yelped, flipping over backwards over the railing. She turned to Taurik and raised her sword. "The spirit!"
Taurik wondered that was supposed to be an encouragement, and Sam laughed. "Alright, well, anchors aweigh, then!" Sam said, and Taurik had to guess that was also supposed to be an encouragement. Metaphorically.
Of course, the lirpa was a far more utilitarian weapon than the cutlass, even if not as elegant—a club on one end, and a bladed fan on the other. The clubbed end was the preferred weapon, able to cause grievous harm but not necessarily kill. Meanwhile, the blade was intended specifically to cut throats—though, of course, it could cut almost anything. It was certainly created during a much different era.
Though he still didn't consider himself a fighter by any means, the fight thereafter was much more within his realm of experience. Of course, that experience was at least ten years old, and he'd only done ancient forms and participated in required exercises as a youth in school. It was more than Gabi had ever done with a sword, anyway.
A new pirate lunged at him from one side, slowly enough that Taurik's reflexes were an easy match. He saw Sam from his periphery making creative use of the ropes from the mast, attempting to catch his opponent's arms in the ropes to disarm him.
Taurik's method was much more straight-forward. His holographic adversary lunged, giving Taurik enough time to adjust his weapon to drive the bladed end into his abdomen.
The pirate stumbled away, clutching his oddly bloodless wound and screaming quite believably.
Both of Taurik's hands slid closer to the bladed end, and he swung. With a crack, the club connected with the head of the pirate and knocked him overboard into the sea.
"Hell, yeah!" Gabi cheered and dashed across the deck to hit the lirpa's blade with her own.
Taurik shook his head and shouted, "This is absurd!" over the cacophony of the holographic characters doing battle with one another.
"I know!" Gabi laughed, and jumped past him to meet a pirate who had apparently been winding up to lodge his sword in Taurik's head. "To Davy Jones' locker, you lily-livered toad!"
Taurik took back his gaze from the expired hologram to Gabi, who shrugged helplessly at his confusion. She didn't wait for Taurik to offer any more coherent criticism, scampering across the deck to meet two more pirates who'd swung over.
Another pirate danced threateningly just beyond the reach of his lirpa, apparently waiting for Taurik to engage. He'd found that completely ignoring the encroachers at this set level of difficulty wouldn't provoke any attacks—though the pirates often feigned impending attack regardless. It was bizarre to consider such programmatic behavior… fun.
Then again, he would consider the chaos of an actual battle with skilled and unpredictable opponents to be nothing similar to fun.
Gabi certainly seemed to be enjoying herself, skirting around the two pirates she'd attracted to engage in swordplay. Sam likewise engaged two other pirates on the other end of the ship with as much success.
In the spirit of the activity, Taurik knocked another pirate off into the water and went to join Sam as he locked blades with one pirate and shuffled away from the other.
Taurik stepped up behind the pirate, finding himself in an extremely advantageous position. The pirate dropped to the deck unconscious from the application of a neck pinch less than two seconds later. He'd never gotten that to work so dramatically outside of the holodeck…
Sam huffed, shoved his pirate off, and slashed his sword. "That's not from Earth, either."
Taurik looked around, first at the slashed pirate writhing at Sam's feet then to Sam and finally to Gabi on the other side of the ship wrapping a rope hanging from the mast above around her hand. "Neither are we."
With a laugh, Sam gave him a friendly slug on the shoulder. "Touché."
"Avast, ye—! Uh." Gabi hesitated long enough for Taurik and Sam to find her standing on the pirate's vessel, alone except for a single parrot wielding what looked like a butter knife in its beak as it flexed its wings. She lowered her sword and turned to them. "Did we win?"
"I think so."
The parrot squawked, dropping the knife. "Shiver me timbers."
Sam grimaced, looked at Taurik. "You're right. This is ridiculous."
There wasn't time for Taurik to agree that, of course, it was. Gabi jumped up on the railing, holding her sword above her head. "But it was fun!" Then, with a sudden sigh, she dropped her sword back down to her side. "I'm never going to find anybody on the Sadalbari who wants to do stuff like this."
"I'm not certain you've found anybody here who wants to do these things," Taurik said.
He knew he hadn't managed to convey the sarcasm appropriately when Sam nudged Taurik with an elbow as if annoyed.
Gabi smiled.
Before she could say anything else, the sky flashed red and the computer spoke over the water: "Red alert. Crew to battle stations."
With a solitary glance shared among them, they ended the program and left immediately.