You Are the Desert

by Almedha

When the Voyager goes missing, one lieutenant JG on the Enterprise takes it especially hard. Unfortunately, one cannot control what one does not first possess. - Featuring primarily Taurik of TNG: Lower Decks.

7. An Unexpected Fear

Chapter 7: An Unexpected Fear

Gabi sat in the center of the Jefferies tube, pressing her fingers on her eyes. "You are the sandstorm," she whispered. "You are the wind and the dust and the heat. You are in control."

She was absolutely not in control. But she was still trying, and that was better than most other fear responses she'd had. The ship wasn't in danger anymore, having warped away just in time to not be crushed by a shockwave and then cooked by radiation. She wasn't sure what her last sensation would have been.

It wouldn't have been great.

But she was never scared of dying. She didn't remember a time she had been. Besides, she'd faced that who-knew-how-many dozens of times in her tenure aboard the Enterprise. Lethal doses of radiation were commonplace next to random T-cell mutations, subspace rifts, and the ship transforming into an ancient temple. Yes, that had actually happened once.

She was, though, terrified of war.

With the Romulans, the Klingons, Cardassians—any of the quadrant's major powers. The idea that she and her friends would no doubt be shuffled to different ships to face the danger was enough to frighten her.

She wasn't thinking clearly. She hadn't slept, and she wasn't used to working at this hour. The perfectly-normal hour of ten in the morning wasn't perfectly normal for her.

"Quin to Dixson?"

The tapped her combadge. "Yes, sir?"

"Labs on deck twelve are experiencing power fluctuations," he said. "Ensign Rice will join you."

"Yes, sir." She tapped her combadge and threw her tools back in her bag. She hoped Ensign Rice would be obvious in some way… somewhere on deck twelve.

She forgot this wasn't her usual shift and she didn't know many of the usual faces. With a sigh, she tapped her combadge again. "Computer, locate Ensign Rice?" Ensign Rice hadn't left Engineering.

Gabi went to deck twelve and waited outside the most likely turbolift for the ensign to appear, wondering what Taurik and Sam were up to. Well, Sam was probably sleeping. After his double shift ending two hours ago, she hoped he was asleep. Taurik also worked a double shift, but apparently out of some sense of… boredom, probably.

Fear didn't seem to be one of those emotions he experienced as much as anything else. He was concerned sometimes, troubled. He rarely admitted to any emotion, but he never displayed that one.

That didn't mean he was asleep, anyway. She pulled out her PADD and put in the direct link to Taurik's PADD. Are you awake?

The response came only six seconds later. Sleeping in Engineering would likely meet some objection.

I didn't know you were working.

I am.

Yeah, I know that now. Any news?

He took a bit longer to answer, which gave her as much anxiety as hope. Maybe he knew something. Maybe he didn't. All of Engineering was on edge.

It has been confirmed that the trilithium was obtained from the Romulans, though Doctor Soran used it to collapse the Amargosa star. A diplomatic solution with the Romulans is being arranged, though they remain skeptical that Doctor Soran is not a Federation spy.

Of course. But what about Commander La Forge?

Not that those other things weren't interesting. They were very interesting. Distressing, really. Why the hell would someone want to collapse a star? And if the trilithium was stable enough for use in a solar probe, then the Romulans were clearly further along in their research than Gabi knew.

Not that she knew much. She assumed Starfleet intelligence knew more.

No news, Taurik's message returned. Commander Data went to sickbay. He is exceedingly distressed and distracted.

Yeah, well, if Gabi had been in Data's place—well, she had no idea what she'd have done. It didn't seem unlikely she might have frozen like Data did. Fear was an extremely powerful emotion. I wouldn't be doing great if I let you get kidnapped by a rogue stellar scientist in league with a bunch of Klingons, she said, huffing as she put down her PADD. La Forge had been missing for a day, and who knew what those Klingons were doing while the Enterprise put their collective brilliant minds together to track them down.

If anything happened to Eliza or Taurik or Tommy or Sam because of her, she'd end up in sickbay, too.

The turbolift doors opened, showing an ensign in yellow. Seemed like a good guess. "Ensign Rice?" she asked hopefully.

"Petty Officer Dixson," she returned, smiling.

"Oh, good." Gabi forced a bit of a laugh, and offered her hand for a handshake. "I didn't want to have to call Lieutenant Quin back to admit I didn't know who you were. Would have been embarrassing. How do you want to do this?"

Ensign Rice looked a bit unsure. "I don't… I don't really have that much experience," she said softly.

Gabi grinned, nodding toward her and specifically the pip at her throat. "Sure you do. They don't hand those out for free, you know."

"I just fix things when I'm told to," she said.

Sounded familiar. "Alright, well, let's look."

Gabi went to the panel in the wall beside them, pulling up the deck schematic, and overlaid the power systems. She could see the problem was almost certainly due to the radiation exposure of the day before, affecting all the outer sections. Astrometrics labs were particularly sensitive to these types of things.

The next time she turned to Ensign Rice, she looked like a cornered rabbit. "You okay?"

"Yeah, of course. Where should I go?"

That was new. Gabi hummed in indecision, looking very briefly at the ensign's pip then at the map of deck twelve. "Well. We could probably get it done pretty quick if you took all the forward sections. Work in a zig-zag pattern, like this, starting with the labs that use their own sensor arrays." She stopped to draw with her finger on the schematic. "With these types of malfunctions, sometimes the error gets passed down and resolving it on the outer edge will eliminate some of the other problems."

"So…" Ensign Rice squinted at the schematic. "For example, section seven, then three, then two?"

"You got it."

Ensign Rice looked pleased. "Alright! I'll tell you if I have any problems."

"Yeah, of course. You go to the stern, and I'll take the bow."

"Yes, ma'am." Ensign Rice trotted off to the starboard-most section.

Gabi couldn't help but feel a bit stunned. She had been a Starfleet engineer for six years… which meant that she probably started learning when Ensign Rice was all of twelve or thirteen. Twenty-two was not old, but, damn, it was starting to feel that way.

She picked up her PADD while she walked. Taurik had responded to her previous message while she talked to Ensign Rice.

Your capacity for imaginative sympathy never ceases to impress.

With a sigh, she put her PADD back in its slot on her toolkit and stepped into Stellar Cartography. It was a neat lab—large and circular with displays covering all the walls. She didn't expect to find Captain Picard and Data there, though.

She froze like a small animal in the eyes of a predator when the captain glanced in her direction. Data did, too, but she'd actually interacted with him before. It was limited, but she had. Also, he was one of the night-shift commanders that worked with Sam. She didn't know why that made her feel more familiar.

Maybe because she heard stories about him a lot.

"Sorry, sir," she said softly, shuffling to one side. "There are—repairs."

"Yes, of course, Petty Officer, as you were," he said with a small smile, a weak smile, and a nod. He turned to Data, and Data turned to stare over the console in front of him. "Continue, Mister Data."

Gabi listened while Commander Data told the captain about something called a Nexus: a temporal energy ribbon that traversed this part of the galaxy every thirty-nine years or so. And, in forty-two hours, it was going to be right in their own neighborhood.

Gabi took a seat on the floor and pulled the cover off one of the lower consoles—it didn't matter which one, since they were all connected.

She didn't have to listen to hear that something was wrong with Data. She was beginning to think everyone on board was falling apart emotionally. Though, of course, she didn't know what was wrong with the captain. Data might find any emotion at all distressing to a certain extent.

"I am finding it difficult to concentrate," Data said, extremely softly. Maybe he was embarrassed to be sharing it in the room with Gabi there… Anything seemed possible. "I believe I am overwhelmed with feelings of remorse. Regret. Concerning my actions on the observatory. I wanted to save Geordi, but I experienced something I did not expect… fear."

Gabi sighed. Only an android wouldn't expect fear under those circumstances.

She wasn't even there, and she was feeling it secondhand.

Data redirected his ramble to the information pouring across the maps. "According to current information, the destruction of the Amargosa star has had the following effects in this sector: gamma emissions have increased by point-zero-five percent. The starship Bozeman was forced to make a course correction. Ambient magnetic fields—"

"Wait, the Bozeman?" the captain said, and Gabi pushed herself up to kneel to look at the console to see for herself.

She could see the gravitational forces in this sector were altered such that any ship going through it would have to make a minor course correction. Gabi glanced over her shoulder at the captain as he put the pieces together on where La Forge had to be.

"Where's the ribbon now?" Picard asked. "And can you project its course?"

Data froze. "I cannot continue with this investigation. I wish to be deactivated until Doctor Crusher can remove the emotion chip."

Gabi crawled back under her console at the near-familiar words and tremoring tone out at the main console. Coming from an android, of all people. Like that Vulcan, of all people.

Making mistakes and losing people was tough. Not that La Forge was for-sure lost… but he easily could have been. And she wasn't sure Data wouldn't be wrong to blame himself for that.

She knew she'd never have forgiven herself if something happened to Taurik that night, eight months ago, and that wasn't even her doing. Even now that she was leaving and it wasn't even that big of a deal—they were just friends—she hoped she would have regretted his leaving even if it was just to go back to Vulcan.

"You will not be deactivated!"

Gabi almost hit her head on the console at Picard's hard shout.

"You're an officer on board this ship and I require you to perform your duty. That is an order, Commander."

"Yes, sir," Data said. "I will try, sir."

Gabi started putting her tools away as softly as she could. She should have left just as soon as she came in, actually.

"Sometimes it takes courage to try, Data," the captain said gently. "Courage can be an emotion, too."

She looked at her PADD while Data got a firmer grip on himself and adjusted the course of the ribbon to show where it would be in the next fifty-two hours. Doctor Soran needed an M-class planet, because he couldn't go to the Nexus—it was too powerful, energetic for a starship to survive. And, just like Captain Picard predicted, there were two M-class planets in the Veridian system—but they weren't close enough.

Gabi watched intently, forgetting all about her work, while Captain Picard thought. "Data, what would happen to the ribbon's course if Soran destroyed the Veridian star itself?"

Data made the calculations, and the map updated its projection. Veridian III.

"That's where he's going…" Captain Picard whispered.

"It should be noted, sir, that the collapse of the Veridian star would produce a shockwave similar to the one we observed at Amargosa, destroying all planets in the system. Veridian III is uninhabited. However, Veridian IV supports a pre-industrial Humanoid society of two-hundred and thirty million."

Picard wasted no time, tapping Data's shoulder and then his combadge as he left the astrometrics lab. "Picard to bridge: set course for the Veridian system, maximum warp."

The doors shut after both of them, and Gabi was finally alone. After catching her breath, she picked up her PADD.

Think we found La Forge. Show-down at Veridian III, no Romulans invited.

#

Sam picked himself up out of bed at noon and remembered with a sigh that it was his day off. That meant it probably was Taurik's day off, too, so he went out to see.

The main room was empty and Taurik didn't answer the call to his room. The computer said he was in Engineering, which meant the guy probably hadn't slept in three days. He'd seen Taurik go eight days without a wink of sleep and still kick his ass at Terrace. He was pretty average at poker no matter how much sleep he'd gotten, though.

The sonic shower was as much a welcome wake-up as the coffee at eighteen-thirty in the evening. He always thought the night shift really shouldn't be this difficult to adjust to, except that all his friends didn't work the same shift that he did.

He would have liked to blame his unsuccessful romances on the same thing, but most of the evidence didn't support that conclusion. Sam knew he was the problem. Always looking for someone that wasn't there.

The news that Gabi was transferring put a lot of things in perspective, somehow. He wanted to work on the Enterprise, and it was great to have on his record. But he'd been on the Enterprise for almost four years, and the odds he'd get a new assignment at five years were really good. He couldn't spend his whole life here unless he was exceptional.

Sam knew he wasn't exceptional. He had a Vulcan roommate. Things like that tended to forcefully impose reality.

With a sigh, he set aside his French-press coffee on his nightstand and dressed in some casual clothes. He didn't have anything to do, or anybody to call at the moment. If for that reason alone, a change of scenery might do him good.

He went back out to the main room to take in the usual scenery. The metal-framed couch, the glass-and-rods table and the tall cornered bookshelf with aesthetic edges. Taurik's low meditation table was draped in sheer gray fabric, and the picture of Vorik didn't look pleased with the décor.

Sam sighed. "Yeah, me, either, buddy."

He sat down on the couch and picked up his PADD. Where are you?

Less than a minute later, the door to their quarters opened, and Taurik stepped through. "Here."

Sam tossed the PADD on the table and smiled. "I see. How was shift? Were you on duty?"

"I requested the extra time," he said, looking about the room for a moment before sitting at one of the chairs. "I have… news," he said, and the hesitation put a nervous flutter in Sam's chest. "While you slept, we have arrived in the Veridian system. It seems that Doctor Soran plans to use his trilithium weapon again to collapse this system's star."

"Unless we stop him, I assume?"

"I assume."

"Well, here's hoping we don't get caught in this shockwave," Sam offered.

"Additionally, Alyssa informed me that a prisoner exchange has been made for Commander La Forge. The captain seems to have offered himself."

Taurik frowned, and Sam could tell he almost didn't believe what he'd said. Hell, Sam didn't believe him. "What?" he asked. "I—he—what?"

"I understand a captain's duty is to his ship and crew, but this action seems illogical." Taurik rested on his elbows on the table. "I understand that Commander La Forge suffered some injuries at the hands of the Klingons, but he may even have returned to Engineering now."

"Torture?" Sam winced.

"Yes."

Sam sighed. "Damn." He thought about that for a second, then asked, "What do you think they wanted? Or do you think they just wanted to hurt him?"

Taurik lifted his folded hands, pressing his extended forefingers against his lips. "While I believe Klingons are capable of inflicting pain for no reason, I am nevertheless… disturbed by the idea that anyone might."

Sam, too, but that wasn't the question.

"He is chief engineer on the Federation's flagship," Taurik added. "He is informed on any number of secrets and a notable source of unclassified information. His experience is likewise unparalleled. Commander La Forge is possibly the first of the top-three highest-value prisoners on the Enterprise."

That wasn't surprising, but Sam had certainly never thought of it that way before. "Who are the other two?"

"The captain, of course. I also believe Commander Data would be considered valuable for a multitude of reasons, including but not limited to the reasons that Commander La Forge would be valuable." Taurik hesitated, then squinted suddenly.

"What? You just thought of something. What is it?"

"Logically, I would place Commanders La Forge and Data above the captain in terms of value as a hostage," he said. "Of course, possession of his person as much as his command codes are incredibly valuable. But he would be unaware of the day-to-day workings of the Enterprise's base offensive and defensive capabilities—shield rotations and frequencies, phaser alignments. Commander La Forge would be intimately aware of the pattern underlying all of these."

"Wait, wait, wait."

"Why would the Klingons agree to trade Commander La Forge with Captain Picard?"

"You're assuming the Klingons are as logical as you are," Sam offered.

"I'm assuming they are more familiar than I am with the calculus of hostage-taking."

Sam stood up from the couch, walked to the table where Taurik was, but didn't sit. "What are you saying?"

"I believe the Klingons did not want Captain Picard as a hostage." He looked up at Sam. "I believe they wanted Commander La Forge on the Enterprise."

"That's ridiculous, Taurik." At least, he wanted it to be ridiculous. He wanted to think that Taurik was wrong, because if he was wrong, then there wasn't any danger. Or, at least, significantly less danger with the only threat out there being a twenty-year-old Klingon ship and their greatest nemesis a hundred-year-old man.

"That may be." Taurik pressed up from the table. "I must speak to the commander."

The ship suddenly lurched, and Sam braced himself on the table next to Taurik. After finding his feet, he looked at him.

"Torpedo."

Taurik's whisper didn't do anything for Sam's nerves. He'd felt the hit of weaponsfire before—Taurik was right. "Oh, my god."

The Enterprise bucked again with another hit from a torpedo. Sam did his best to keep his feet beneath him while Taurik shoved off the wall toward their communications panel next to the replicator. Sam watched Taurik somehow manage to pull up the internal sensors report even with the gravity plates shaking beneath them.

"Decks thirty-one through thirty-five are breached," Taurik said. "The Enterprise is returning fire. The warbird is no match for our weapons."

"But it sure as all hell feels like they're shooting right through shields!" Sam hissed as the ship shuttered again.

It felt like a half hour, but it was probably only two minutes that the Enterprise was under attack. Just as suddenly, the hits stopped, and the ship came to a shuddering rest.

For a whole second, Sam gasped and looked to Taurik. "I think it's over."

"No." Taurik seemed to concentrate on something far away, and suddenly a dull roar became apparent even to Sam.

"What is it?" Sam knew Taurik could hear his whisper.

Whatever it was, it wasn't good.

When Taurik only shook his head and launched himself toward the door like a deer in flight, it felt like every last one of Sam's organs crawled up into his throat. Sam ran after him, even though there wasn't going to be anything he could do to stop Taurik even if he caught him. The only thing that came to mind that would wring that kind of reaction from Taurik was… well, just one thing that Sam could think of.

"What is it, Taurik?" Sam chased after Taurik toward the turbolift. Damn, it was kind of far…

"If I'm not mistaken, the Enterprise is minutes from a warp core breach," he said.

"And where are you going?" Sam finally caught up to him just outside the turbolift while Taurik waited for it to arrive. It never took this long.

"Engineering. They may require—"

"Oh, no, you're not!" With all the strength Sam had—nothing in comparison to Taurik's—he yanked back on his arm aiming for the wall. Taurik turned with him, but obviously not entirely because of Sam's use of force. "If there is a warp core breach, they'll be evacuating. You aren't registered as being there. You'd screw up evacuation counts."

"But the Enterprise—"

"Is just a ship!" Sam stepped into Taurik's space, and Taurik stepped back into the wall behind him.

"Gabi was on duty this evening," he added weakly.

Sam didn't get to answer that. The walls turned red, with the lines pointing to the evacuation areas for those from the drive section, and the computer's voice echoed overhead: "Starship separation in five minutes."

"We have to get back to our quarters," Sam said.

Taurik obviously didn't like that, but he led the way back down the hallway toward their quarters. Sam stepped into the room after him, watched him look around for a moment before sitting on the couch and tapping his combadge.

"Taurik to Petty Officer Dixson."

"Dixson here, but I'm a little busy!"

Sam had to admit he was relieved to hear her voice, too. She sounded like she was running, which… yeah, that checked out.

"I am simply—"

"Look, I appreciate the concern, but I've got other things to do!" Gabi then shouted for some ensign to follow her and haul ass. "I'll see you later, Taurik."

The line shut off, and Taurik looked at Sam with an almost placid expression. "We should assume brace position."

"We're not crashing," Sam said, after the computer notification that just over three minutes remained for evacuation to the saucer separation.

"It is doubtful the saucer section will clear the shockwave from the warp core explosion." He sighed. "Also, if we are unsuccessful in preventing Doctor Soran from collapsing the Veridian star, which seems likely given the current state of the Enterprise, we may anticipate a shockwave ranging anywhere from level ten to twelve."

Sam nodded dumbly, sat on the couch beside him. "We're gonna die, aren't we?"

"Our quarters are in an extremely advantageous position as far as structural integrity and the number of bulkheads between ourselves and anything outside the ship," Taurik said, but Sam saw the look in his eyes say something different. "It is possible," he added quietly.

"Oh, god…" Sam gulped in a breath and bent over his knees to ward off the intense wave of nausea crashing over his insides. It wasn't the brace position.

Taurik didn't immediately assume the brace position, either, as he stood up from the couch.

Sam rubbed his eyes with what felt like anger while he tried to figure out what Taurik was doing. Then Taurik stooped to pick up the picture of Vorik and hold it in both hands. He brought it back to the couch with him, sat down, and closed his eyes.

Sam sucked in a breath. "Are you, uh…? Are you scared?" he asked, and the ship announced saucer separation was imminent.

"Fear of death is illogical."

Of course it was.

#

Taurik returned to consciousness with a gasp, a headache, and blind eyes. He wondered briefly if he had disconnected his retinas from the obvious head trauma he'd received and decided to deal with that later. His head pounded with the pulse of a warp core, but everything was quiet.

He tapped his combadge, reporting the last location he remembered. He heard nothing in response.

No warp core… They'd had to abandon the drive section.

He didn't remember much, but he remembered that. The warp core had exploded, and the saucer section hadn't been able to clear the blast radius in time. Gabi was probably distraught. Wherever she was.

But this was too much destruction much more extensive than what he would expect with a warp core breach. Doctor Soran may have succeeded in his plans to destroy the Veridian star. If that was true, there were likely very few people left alive on the Enterprise.

"Oh, god…" Sam's voice was weak and he groaned faintly with pain. "Oh, my god. Taurik, are you—oh, god."

"Sam?" Taurik found his hands, the arch of something hard and metallic over him. He decided he was lying on the floor, though it was misaligned to the direction of gravity. Which meant something was wrong with the deck plating.

Not wrong with the deck plating… He couldn't put that thought together before he decided this metallic thing over him must be the frame of their couch.

There was the sound of rustling fabric, retching, a shivering groan.

"Sam?"

"I'm gonna die, Taur—" Sam whispered, and gave a wet cough.

"Please remain calm. I will… I'm coming."

Taurik found purchase on the frame he was certain had been the couch—though it could not have been only the couch.

"What are your injuries?" The metal creaked on the other side of his palms, giving way to his strength as he slid past the opening to his left. He only knew he was sitting on the familiar tight-pile carpet, which was a good indication gravity was rightside-up.

There was still something wrong with that thought, but he didn't know what.

"It's, um. Nothing. It's my leg," he said, and sobbed. "I think it's, uh…"

"Take a breath, Sam." Taurik took a moment to tactually inspect the rest of his aching body and found mostly bruises and relatively small lacerations considering the lack of power and disarray. He was sure he'd broken ribs and his wrist. A piece of shrapnel he hadn't registered before was lodged just beneath his ribs, fortunately nowhere near his major organs, and a second in the corner between his clavicle and manubrium on the same side. Both seeped blood down his shirt and trousers, but he decided they weren't life-threatening. He left them.

Dedicating a small part of his concentration to ignoring the pain blooming in areas of his body he'd never paid attention to before, he carefully slid along the floor—crouching. Limiting the space he took up would limit the debris he could catch as he moved.

"My leg," Sam said again, and then took another breath. "I can't find it." He tried, again, to breathe, but coughed and gagged. "Oh, god."

"Remain calm…" Taurik interrupted Sam's spiral into terror, slowly, never lifting his feet from the ground, in the direction of Sam's faint breathing. His voice fell into a whisper. "Please, remain calm."

With a quick tap to his combadge again, he reported their position, such as he knew, status, and the urgent need for medical assistance. He wasn't sure anyone was listening or would be able to respond or if the comms system was even working, but it took none of his quickly-dwindling resources to report.

Still silence.

Taurik estimated he had very few minutes remaining to save Sam from bleeding out—if his leg was, indeed, completely severed.

"I can't see," Sam said softly.

That answered one question. "I suspect that is due to environmental factors rather than injury," Taurik said. "I cannot see, either." Suddenly, his shoes found a thin and sticky liquid, and his hands found Sam's arm.

Sam seized in surprise, and he reached out with both hands. One of Sam's hands landed on his arm. "Oh," he choked, his fingers grasping at the jacket hanging damp on his chest, "you're bleeding."

"My injury is not life-threatening." Taurik laid his hands on Sam's arm and found the rest of him with context.

"Unlike mine." Sam laughed in the middle of a sob.

Taurik ignored Sam's flinch and whimper when he found his right thigh. He crawled his fingers down Sam's leg, past the torn and blood-soaked trousers, to his knee. The only thing beyond that was the splintered and mashed remains of a leg that seemed to have been crushed by some misshapen mass of metal and glass—the bookshelf. It was not severed, not completely… but Taurik didn't know what was worse.

He did know he had very little time.

Take a breath.

"Fortunately, your leg is elevated," he said, though he doubted it mattered much. "You are not losing as much blood as you could be." Taurik removed his jacket, carefully leaving the largest piece of shrapnel where it was in his side and blindly finding the lining of his sleeves.

Sam coughed. "What are you doing?"

"The lining of our uniform jackets may be removed and used as a bandage or tourniquet," he answered, and ripped out the lining that stretched the entire span of the jacket. It came much easier than he expected.

It was new…

Sam sniffed, his hand finding Taurik's shirt and holding on. "Right. Right," he whispered.

"Do you recall the class at the academy for survival in… catastrophic situations?" Taurik carefully—but swiftly—threaded the lining beneath his thigh.

Sam groaned, his fist twisting into Taurik's sleeve. "Survival Strategies?"

He didn't expect Sam to have come up with the answer so quickly. He had to be approaching delirium from blood loss…"Yes. Survival Strategies."

"I'm gonna die anyway."

"Please, remain calm." Taurik sighed, found the femoral artery, and adjusted the lining to the correct position. He carefully and unobtrusively started to pull it tight. "If I remember correctly, most Humans in the class required a mechanical advantage to cinch the tourniquet to effectiveness. None of the Vulcans did."

"Am I supposed to be impressed?"

"No. Also, if I remember correctly, this will hurt."

"Yeah—"

Sam screamed.

Taurik felt the broken bone in his wrist pop out of place as he cinched the tourniquet closed. The blood from his shoulder soaked down his gray shirt, but Sam wasn't going to die.

He couldn't allow Sam to die.

The screams had dwindled to shaking sobs, the knot securely in place and the makeshift bandage successfully cutting off the blood to his missing leg. Sam raked in a breath, his hand finding Taurik's chest and pulling in a handful of the gray undershirt. If he said words, they were unclear.

"Help is coming." How long it would take… he didn't know. Taurik hesitated only long enough to set his wrist back into place. Fortunately, the pain was minor, and he could ignore it. "You must remain calm. Measure your breaths."

Though Sam probably tried, tried to breathe or focus on anything other than the pain and his myriad injuries and fear, he was ultimately unsuccessful. He shook uncontrollably, and, though he seemed to be trying to speak, none of the sounds coalesced into words.

"Sam, please, be calm." Taurik whispered, and waited a few seconds before trying again. Keeping his tone low and even. "Sam."

He still quavered and was obviously in an incredible amount of pain, but at least he was calm enough to hear. "Mm?"

"May I help you? I can help you be calm."

"Hm?"

"I can share my calm with you through a mind-meld."

"I dunno." Sam sucked in another breath. "I dunno what that means."

All that pain would be for nothing if Sam didn't calm down. Though his leg was his most grievous injury, Taurik had no doubt he was losing blood from any number of other injuries. Taurik rested his forehead against Sam's shoulder and took a breath. Then another. It would be absurd to lose control now.

He could not allow Sam to die like this.

"Please. Let me help you."

"Fine. What the hell. I'm gonna die, anyway."

That was the most dubious consent Taurik ever considered, but it didn't matter. He shifted to kneel, and found Sam's face with his hands. Brushed away the tears with his thumbs. "Relax."

"You relax," Sam snapped.

Taurik cleared his mind and aligned his focus. Ignored the growing sense of pain and pressure behind his ribs and the obvious pounding behind his eyes.

He was not panicking. He wasn't even concerned. He didn't want to die, either… but he wasn't perturbed by the idea that he might. The other fears more distressing than his own death, he hid away. Instead, he brought to mind the simple meditation of a sandstorm as he pressed his fingertips beneath Sam's eyes, to his temples.

"My mind to your mind," he whispered, and Sam suddenly stilled. "Your thoughts to my thoughts."

"Oh, my…" Sam breathed as Taurik looked inside.

Pain. So much pain.

And fear.

Taurik closed his eyes and the pain shifted its grip, twisting and burning the terror that shook and shattered Sam's inept attempts at tranquility. Sam was naturally anxious and distrustful, but he still possessed a certain calm that came from his desire and ability to be adaptable, dependable. All Taurik had to do was find it—pull it back to the surface for Sam to hold onto when he left.

Taurik had never melded with a non-Vulcan before.

He'd always thought the mind of such an emotionally uninhibited species would seem hostile, but it wasn't. If he'd considered further, it would have made sense: Humans were uninhibited, but possessed comparitively tranquil natural emotions. That they did not control those they did have yielded what Vulcans considered an unreasonable illogic—but sometimes even Vulcans could forget their own emotions were far more violent, turbulent.

More, like all the minds Taurik had known, Sam's consciousness possessed what presented to his perception as color—a meaningless aesthetic not unlike hair- or eye-color, except it wasn't genetic by any means. Sam was red; shimmering and pale red like the hull plates of a Vulcan science vessel.

Sam's hand reached up to rest on Taurik's shoulder. "What—?"

Please remain still.

It occurred to Taurik he might find more than he meant to. Sam was mentally untrained, and uncountable thoughts sifted to the surface before disappearing again. Scraps of childhood memories, two smiling adults in blue Starfleet uniforms and a feeling of love… His time at the Academy and the sense of freedom… Arriving on the Enterprise and thinking he was both unprepared and invincible at once… Meeting Taurik in their shared quarters after months and then years and feeling…

Sam gasped and pulled away, begging him to get out, but Taurik drew him back—forcefully. He regretted that… assured him he didn't care about anything Sam might have felt about him, hatred or love, no matter what kind.

Sam was terrified of dying. He was angry that he might. That was more important than any residual embarrassment for feelings, no matter what they were.

No, Sam was somehow mortified. He couldn't fathom why Sam would want to hide, but it was a wonder to Taurik Sam was able to hide anything. He was unrestrained, untrained, and in incredible pain.

There's nothing to be ashamed of, Taurik offered. He gave Sam the word in Vulcan he'd use to describe their friendship—the broad and protective affection for a sibling—but Sam resisted.

New emotions, new considerations flew to the surface: thoughts and feelings Sam didn't attend to regularly. An annoyance that encroached on resentment and even undirected jealousy. It wasn't disgust, but it wasn't much better. Taurik was shamelessly rude, impassively stubborn, and obliviously selfish; Sam hated that. And sometimes, he hated Taurik.

Taurik withheld his shock and hurt. Apparently, Sam's ability to suppress emotion was more advanced than Taurik gave credit for.

Please get out, Sam whispered in his mind. I'm sorry; just let me die. Please.

He didn't let Sam go, to his own distant distress. He didn't even ask if Sam was sincere, because he didn't care what Sam wanted. I would prefer you didn't.

Sam was right. Taurik was all of those things.

Anyway, time and familiarity had tempered Sam's emotions. Tentatively, Taurik showed Sam his own perceptions of Vorik. Vorik had been consistently flippant, taking virtually none of the things that Taurik thought were important seriously. He was stubbornly flighty, putting off work when he discovered something else more interesting. Vorik was indecisive, acquiescent, maladroit with finer details, particular about what he ate, and casually dismissive of events and attitudes he thought were unreasonable or unhelpful. He was both frustrating and frustratingly perfect, and Taurik loved him more than anything.

The overriding sense of reconciliation convinced Sam there was no harm done.

Taurik carefully, deliberately impressed his own nebular blue peace on the surface, offering images of a calm desert, the striped maple leaves on the Academy grounds that symbolically joined their planets and their people together, and the thrum of a warp core that no longer existed. Finally, he felt Sam rest.

Sam's heartrate slowed. The panic waned. Tears slid onto the tips of Taurik's fingers.

With calm came lucidity. Only the immense pain he was suppressing on Sam's behalf distracted him. Sam's right leg had been crushed, and his left knee dislocated. He was bleeding internally and likely suffered other force injuries in addition to his concussion.

A significant portion of Taurik's mental resources held Sam's mind at bay, the rest beheld the sandstorm of his own thoughts as if from behind glass.

Sam was dying.

He couldn't think about it, and he couldn't let Sam see the fleeting realization. But Taurik had never seen anyone so injured and yet still breathing. It seemed cruel, though the characterization was sensational. Illogical. There was nothing cruel about the situation, nothing malicious about the universe.

An insignificant number of people would memorialize the loss for an equally insignificant amount of time. It would mean nothing.

Taurik fought to focus on Sam's physical injuries alone and ignore the thoughts and emotions Sam didn't want him to see. It had been eight months since he'd shared his mind with anyone, and over a year since he'd melded with anyone. His lack of practice would have been obvious. Not to Sam, of course. He could see Sam had never had an intimate telepathic experience in his life.

Sam shuddered, pulled back. Can you get out now? Just get out.

Taurik nodded, though he didn't move for a moment. Either Sam would hold onto the peace, or he wouldn't… The meld in its entirety lasted almost thirty seconds—a long time for a meld of this type.

Despite the surprised whimper, Sam remained calm, seizing Taurik's shirt in both fists. He gasped for breath, but the effect was more that he'd somehow forgotten to breathe during the meld. Taurik wondered if that was normal for non-telepaths.

"I, uh… I don't know what to say," Sam said, his voice weak.

Taurik wasn't sure what could be said. "It was only a mind-meld." To him, it was nothing. Almost nothing, anyway. It had been a while… And, anyway, the revelation that Sam had never very much strictly liked Taurik wasn't exactly new. Sometimes, Taurik was hardly convinced they were friends.

Except recently. Recently, he knew they had to be. And now more than ever he was sure Sam was an earnestly commendable person—better than Taurik. Sam wasn't selfish.

"You're so goddamn irritating, I can't…"

"I know."

"No—listen to me." Sam pulled him back by his shirt, and Taurik let him.

"Sam, I know."

"I may think those things all the time, but I don't actually think them."

Taurik didn't know what that meant. Maybe it was some sort of Human expression.

"You're important to me," Sam whispered, his hand finding Taurik's shoulder and pulling him closer.

Taurik put his hand on top of Sam's and answered, "And you to me." He removed Sam's hand from his shoulder. "I must see if I can go get help."

When Taurik tried to rise to leave to investigate the room, Sam's grip tightened on his hand, holding him back despite the lack of strength to do so. "Wait. Don't. Please. Don't go." Sam lifted his second hand, finding Taurik's arm and pulling the tattered fabric into his fist. "I don't… I don't want to die alone."

It was so quiet. No warp core; no one was speaking. Metal creaked. Taurik wasn't afraid to die.

But he was afraid for Sam to die.

"You aren't dying." He sat, anyway, drawing his feet in and away from the pool of blood no longer expanding, and Sam was quiet for a while.

Taurik touched his shoulder to Sam's, and Sam leaned his head on him. His hair brushed against his jaw, and his fingers twisted the fabric of Taurik's shirt first one way, and then the other. His breathing turned to painful wheezing.

They sat in silence for some time, long enough for Taurik to decide that Sam's heartbeat was regular, if faint, even if his breathing was not. Somewhere in the distance something huge snapped and crashed.

Sam startled into him. "What was that?"

"Based on the evidence, it seems the saucer section crashed on the planet." Taurik paused as the Enterprise groaned metallically. "On the planet," he said again, and continued, "under the stress of steady gravity it wasn't designed for. It explains why gravity is not oriented to the plates. It explains the upheaval."

Taurik turned his head to look in Sam's direction, though it was an entirely useless motion. It was too dark to see anything. He wasn't sure how many had survived. How far away rescue was.

"The planet had no properties which would preclude the possibility of beaming up survivors," he said, and irrationally hoped Sam would be among them.

"Hey…" Sam wheezed, followed by a wet cough and groan of pain. He tightened his grip on his sleeve for just long enough for Taurik to perceive the change. "Could you do me a favor?"

"Possibly." Taurik wasn't sure he could move anymore… The blood he thought he smelled had become a taste.

"Can you tell my mom that I love her, and… I don't know." He coughed, and Taurik could hear the blood and phlegm. "If you could hear one last thing from Vorik, what would you want it to be?"

Taurik sighed, leaned back, and looked into the blackness. Sitting here on the verge of death, Taurik knew what he would do. If Vorik were still here, Taurik would have already reached out, shared the pain and fear and said goodbye.

Vorik would have considered the consequences. A final goodbye would be a barb in Taurik's psyche for the rest of his life. Vorik would have quietly and deliberately closed the door between them, even if it meant his dying alone. It was the kindest thing he could do, and Vorik was kind.

Taurik was selfish. He was incredibly selfish.

"It seems likely Vorik was asleep when he died," he said, though he doubted that would be much help. "I believe that is the best-case scenario… I wouldn't want him to say anything."

"So, tell her that. Tell her I never woke up." Sam wrung his hand on Taurik's sleeve, turned his eyes into Taurik's shoulder. "Tell her I was asleep, and… oh, my god, Ma." Sam shivered. It may have been fear or pain or cold or something else. He pulled weakly on Taurik's sleeve once again, and cried. "I want to go home."

That faraway desert mountain, the river through the canyon. Vorik was there, sitting on the rocks halfway across the shallow river flowing over the red sands. Reaching to touch the smooth and cool water with his palms. Waiting. "I will tell her."

"What do you think it's like?" Sam asked, suddenly. Quickly. "Death?"

As far as Taurik knew, it was a yawning black abyss that silently listened to the thoughts Taurik once sent in the direction of something more vital. But that wasn't what Sam wanted to hear. Sam wanted to hear that, sometimes, that abyss spoke back.

"Many Vulcans believe in what Humans would call a soul," Taurik offered, softly, relieved to hear Sam quiet to hear his voice. "The essential being of an individual living, in a sense, beyond the body."

"Do you? Believe that?"

With a sigh, Taurik nodded. "I do."

Sam seemed more comforted by that than anything else Taurik had said or done. At least, he was for a moment.

They were quiet for a while, long enough for Taurik to direct some of his attention to ignoring the pain pressing against his organs and aching through his extremities. He wondered if soon the pounding in his head would become unmanageable in conjunction with everything else. If he was blind even in the darkness.

Sam gasped, drawing Taurik back to reality. "Taurik."

"Yes?"

"I don't want to die, I—I want to go home."

Sam's breathing accelerated, his words were chattered and slurring. That may have simply been an effect of the concussion, but there was nothing Taurik could offer to ease the dread.

"Keep your breathing steady. Relax." Taurik was sure he wouldn't agree to another mind meld, and Taurik liked to think he wasn't so far gone at this moment that he would ignore Sam's clearly-stated wishes, even if it was his best chance at survival. "Do not allow your heart rate to increase."

Only seconds later, Sam sobbed. "I'm dying—I can't die, no." He gasped, his body bracing as he struggled weakly against what seemed inevitable. "Help me."

Taurik closed his eyes, shutting out his own helpless panic. "Remain calm," he whispered, and took Sam's hand from its loose grip to hold in his own. "Match your breathing to mine."

Sam gasped thinly, and his grasp on Taurik's hand slipped. His struggle ceased, tension released.

"Sam?" It was illogical. He knew he would receive no answer.

Taurik was only consoled by the fact that he could still hear and feel Sam's shallow breathing. He was only unconscious, but he doubted that was a sign of a better outcome.

Taurik took a breath of his own, held Sam's hand against his chest, and tapped his combadge. Again he heard only heard silence.

Sam was dying. No one was coming. It would be absurd to lose control now.

It had been weeks since he'd gone to that empty edge where he used to find his brother. He'd finally stopped weeping, and he didn't come here every day anymore. In fact, it had been four days, two hours, fifty-four minutes. The black space emanating death and despair was familiar in a cold way. It was no longer an open wound.

Vorik? Even though it was illogical, he reached out.

The only emotions remaining were of finality and uncertainty. Not fear, just… ignorant speculation. Regret for not being together at the end. A little bit of relief. He dropped the thoughts off the edge of the abyss and sat in the radiating hollow, expecting to hear nothing.

But the distant echo of a scream carried over the pale of death, manifesting with shape and texture so he could almost hear it—

No!

Grief and rage and disbelief. His mind seemed to fill in the blanks with Vorik's response to the idea that Taurik was dying: a distant and frantic dismay. Or else it really was Vorik, if Gabi's theory was correct. If his katra had somehow found him all the way over here on the other side of the quadrant.

Because souls didn't need impulse power.

But why anger? Why grief? Wouldn't Vorik, of all the ghosts, understand? He'd been living this way for months… but he couldn't live like this.

At least… at least, he used to think that. He used to think nobody could live like this, but he'd found most people did. Sam leaned against him, the only connection between them their joined hands. Sam was still breathing.

He knew exactly how he'd lived like this.

The world crystalized and the familiar whine of a transporter brought him to the bright white lights of a medical bay. Blue voices chattered around him, and some of them were clearly talking about Sam. A leg and immense blood loss. Internal hemorrhaging and broken bones. Maybe some of them were talking about him.

An unfamiliar face leaned over him, frowning in concern. "Can you hear me, Lieutenant?"

He thought he tried to say something, but… a white cold pressed against his neck, and the world folded into black.