Chapter 9: Our Own Kahs-wan
"The Sadalbari reported they'll be at Starbase 234 on schedule, so…" Gabi leaned over her bowl of granola, stirring contemplatively. "So I guess that means I'm out of here tomorrow." Good things and bad things. Good things… and bad things.
Taurik nodded, almost toasting her with his cup of tea. "Two other Enterprise crew members have been permanently assigned to the Sadalbari," he said.
"Oh?"
Taurik just nodded, because there wasn't really anything else to say to that. Over the last three or so weeks, their friends and colleagues went off to join other ships.
Some went back home. Sam's father came to the starbase to accompany him home three weeks ago. Gabi tried to say several times that she didn't think Sam was coming back. She knew Taurik knew that, but still she felt like saying it would somehow make her feel better.
Others, like she and Taurik, had settled in for a longer assignment here. They worked on the station almost like they belonged here.
Some more than others. Taurik was more or less a warp field specialist, and there weren't a lot of warp fields on a starbase. Gabi, of course, tended to fit wherever she was put.
"Any engineers?" she asked.
"No."
"Oh."
She guessed it didn't matter, since there were two-hundred engineers on the Enterprise. Gabi knew of most of them, but that was all.
Taurik had run out of cactus leaves, anyway. It wasn't the weirdest breakfast ever, and certainly not anymore. He ate it almost every day he had breakfast at all, and he seemed to think her regular order of scrambled eggs was less than appetizing. Probably not because he was a vegan—because what wasn't vegan from a replicator?
He stood up, tugged on his shirt, and collected his plate. "Will I see you at the Qixingyan?"
"No." The Qixingyan was a twenty-year-old Nebula-class vessel docked for refit, and Taurik was working on that for the foreseeable future. "I think the difference between you and me is that you're basically refit staff and I'm station staff."
"Until tomorrow."
Of course, he just had to bring that up. "Yeah. Until tomorrow."
"Have you found work on the station engaging?"
"It's a heck of a lot more boring maintenance work than the Enterprise." Also, she hated stations. Planets. Anything that sat still.
Or ran in circles. However the metaphor went.
He seemed to think about that for a few seconds. "Yes," he said finally. With that, as if his agreeing to anything at all being a heck of a lot was normal, he walked away.
Gabi jumped up and followed him to the replicator, tossing her bowl on top of his plate before he could finish ordering the recycle. "What do you mean yes?"
She followed him out into the station's broad hallways, toward the airlock where he'd board the Qixingyan. From there, she'd find a turbolift. Go wherever she was assigned for the day. And then go back to her quarters and to bed for an early day tomorrow.
"Stations experience significantly fewer spatial anomalies," Taurik answered. "It eliminates much of the unusual repairs and maintenance a ship like the Enterprise required." Even Taurik's voice got quiet when he mentioned the old ship. It was still somehow like someone had died. With a sudden blink, straightening, he said, "Moor Five," to the turbolift and it shifted beneath their feet.
"I'm still kinda shocked it's gone," she said.
"There will be another ship to bear the name Enterprise," Taurik said, as if that made any difference. His hesitation after he spoke said he realized that. "That was not intended as a direct answer to your statement. Simply… I read yesterday that the Sovereign currently under construction at the San Francisco shipyards will receive the name."
"Enterprise-E." Gabi didn't know how illogical Taurik would say it was that she was glad the next Enterprise was going to be Sovereign class. It was new, but she'd seen plenty of renderings of the finished design. Still, he noticed her smile, and seemed almost confused about it, so she had to explain now. "I like Sovereigns."
"They are impressive," he agreed, then looked at her a bit pointedly. "Also, I assume, aesthetically pleasing?"
"I think so."
He nodded, she thought, maybe understandingly. Or maybe just like that was exactly what he'd expected her to say. She didn't mind being predictable. It seemed to make him happy, anyway. Or whatever.
"Don't you?" she asked as they stepped off the turbolift together to find the corridor before them open and empty on the way to the Nebula.
"Its tactical systems are impressive, though it is slower than the Galaxy-class," he said, as if that was somehow part of his consideration. "Also, its interior area is smaller, though the ship itself is the longest ever built and possesses many primary and secondary labs that even the Galaxy did not have."
"I'm not asking for its technical specifications," she said.
"I'm aware. You're requesting that I make a subjective judgement on how the ship appears." Taurik sighed, glancing at her once. "I know you only ask the question to irritate, and not to know whether I find the ship's appearance pleasing."
She frowned, even though she knew he didn't mean it. "That's not fair. I do want to know."
"Then an overview of ship's systems will answer the question perhaps more aptly than a discussion of its color or silhouette: there is function in form. I find the ship's function to be… exceptional. Therefore, its form, as well."
"How logical."
"Your notice is gratifying." It was almost sarcastic, but she knew he almost meant it, anyway.
She followed him to the airlock leading to the Qixingyan, where Taurik stopped, faced her. "In the event that I do not see you before you leave tomorrow—"
"You will."
"But should events transpire such that we… miss one another, I would prefer to say goodbye twice than not at all." Taurik faced her, raised a hand in the customary Vulcan salute that she had only seen from him a few times. "Live long and prosper, Miss Dixson."
She smiled, stepped up to him, and wrapped her arms around him. "Live long and prosper, Taurik," she said over his shoulder.
Seemed as shocked as ever, but he returned the hug stiffly.
"And," she added, stepping away again, "we'll have to work on your hugs, so, you know… expect to see me every now and again for a pop quiz. We'll see if we can't teach an old dog new tricks."
"An old… dog?"
"Maybe a Vulcan dog. You aren't old. We'll see if we can't teach a Vulcan dog Human tricks."
Taurik's frown belied his clear amusement. "I'm sure the education will be most illuminating." With a parting nod, he stepped past the airlock into the umbilical connecting the Qixingyan to the starbase. She watched him past the glass until he turned the corner, and she turned back to the corridor.
Even though she would probably see him tomorrow morning—she was due on the Sadalbari at zero-seven-hundred—she was already feeling the separation like it was, probably, more important than it was.
It wasn't. He'd literally saved her life. The way he put it, she had a piece of his soul with her now. It didn't sound like that was what he thought happened, but some Vulcans certainly did. She didn't know why she should trust some random Vulcans she didn't know over Taurik… but he'd told her multiple times, he didn't believe in souls. He believed in memories. Whatever the hell that meant.
Anyway, it didn't matter, because she knew she'd get over it in a few days, and only be sad once every few years when she learned about some this-or-that life event she hadn't been there for and realize maybe she'd made a mistake in her choosing this transient way of life and relationships.
She knew before that they were important. She just didn't really realize how important.
With a sigh, she went to her assigned deck for maintenance, set up her tools in the tunnel, and settled against the familiar bulkheads to rearrange and replace some relays and cables to be up to new standards. It was boring work. Somehow more boring than same boring work on the Enterprise. Because she hated sitting still. Running in circles.
She'd only done a few cables when she realized she was working too slowly to reasonably call her efforts productivity, and hadn't been spending all this time with a Vulcan without learning a thing or two about introspection.
With a sigh, she pulled her personal PADD out of her case and set it up next to her. "Computer, record new entry and save in folder: Chloe, letters."
The PADD beeped in affirmation, then intoned, "Ready."
"Begin recording." Pause. Breathe. "Hi, Chloe. I hope the Academy's treating you well. I know you've only been there for a few weeks, but I couldn't be more proud of you. I'm about to head out on the Sadalbari tomorrow. I know it's stupid, because it's a huge fleet, but I think sometimes how neat it might be if, in four years when you're an ensign, if we got assigned to the same ship once. I'd like to see you."
She hesitated. Sighed. "Computer, delete previous sentence." Another breath, and she resumed recording. "I know that probably won't happen, though."
Now, to say the thing she actually wanted to say. She didn't know how to say it, because somehow she felt like she was an entirely different person than she'd been just a year ago. She wasn't sure if it had anything to do with the near death experience or what. She wanted to hope it didn't: she wanted to think she'd been changing on her own, maybe becoming better, and it had nothing to do with that dark hole Taurik pulled her out of.
But why not? He'd say she'd done something similar for him, maybe.
"I'm leaving what feels like a lot behind this time, so, you know, that got me thinking of you. How I always, kind of… leave. Eventually. I know I really hurt you when I enlisted, but I was such a mess. I thought it'd hurt you more if I stayed with you. And you were going to be fine. The Smiths are a great family, and you fit in great there."
She sighed, shook her head, and tapped on the PADD with a boiling heart and cloudy eyes. "Delete recording," she mumbled, and the computer beeped helpfully.
She had friends that came and went, because in some ways she came and went. That was what she'd liked about Starfleet. She never sat still long enough to think about what she was missing except whenever someone just told her.
But now, somehow, she could feel it in the pit of her stomach and the very lowest parts of her lungs that she'd made a mistake. She'd kept living and changing, because that was what life was. But there were something she didn't want to change. There was something to be said for that Vulcan stability.
She'd left Chloe to the nice foster family on Earth because that was better for her. She'd made a mistake once, in giving up on life under the mistaken impression it was never going to get better. She'd never been more wrong, but she didn't blame herself for that. It was just a lot of the things she'd done after that she blamed herself for. She got away from home and immediately abandoned everything that made home actually alright sometimes.
It would have been like if Gabi sat with Taurik that one dark night, and he switched shifts to be away from her. That would have sucked.
Somehow she'd gone from not wanting to have any lasting relationships, any reason to stay in any one place—because, granted, this having to leave and being left sucked, too—to thinking maybe it was worth it. More worth it than she thought. Life might have been short, but some of the stuff inside it could last. She'd certainly figured out how to keep moving, come in and out of people's lives, because everything was temporary, anyway.
She hadn't figured out how to sit still. Run in circles. Whatever. Maybe there was a benefit to it.
She crawled down the maintenance tunnels, dragging the length of cable behind her and snipping the appropriate lengths as she did. It was a boring puzzle the first few times, figuring out which things to replace and move to be up to the newly published station standards, but after that it was as rote as if she'd been doing this her whole life.
As much as Gabi didn't want to leave, she still couldn't wait to get on the Sadalbari.
It would be fine.
"Computer," she said, with a bit more finality this time. A bit more courage. "Record new entry and save in folder: Chloe, letters."
There was really only one thing she wanted to say. "Chloe…? I made a mistake. I'm not saying I wish I did something different, because I really like where I am now. And I hope you do, too. And I'm so proud of you. But in a whole galaxy of things happening and moving around, I think I should have picked to stay with you. Maybe not forever, because nothing is… but, then again. You're my sister, and you always will be."
Gabi sighed. She couldn't decide if that said what she wanted or not. But it was better not to think of it too much. "I can't change anything about what I did, but I can change what I do now. If you want me to change what I'm doing, too… send me a message. I'll answer. Computer, end recording and deliver via subspace to Cadet Chloe Dixson, Sol, Earth, San Francisco, Starfleet Academy."
The computer beeped once to acknowledge, and then again to let her know the recording was on its way. There was no catching that back now.
The rest of the day, Gabi crawled through tunnels and slipped at the coiled cable. In the end, she was pretty productive. Tomorrow, someone wouldn't have to do this same section. And tomorrow, she wouldn't have to do another one. She'd be on the Sadalbari.
Taurik worked long hours, and Gabi wanted to get to bed early, anyway.
The next morning, she hurried to pack her few things, wishing she'd done that the night before. She made it to the normal mess hall with only about ten minutes to eat before she was due on the Sadalbari, but Taurik wasn't there. She tapped her combadge. "Dixson to Taurik."
No answer.
Well, he wasn't getting rid of her that easily. She tapped her combadge again. "Computer, please locate Lieutenant Taurik."
"Lieutenant Taurik is not on the station."
Gabi frowned. That son of a bitch was avoiding her on the Nebula?
Well, she didn't have the time to go to the docked starship, find him, hunt him down. Say good bye. Again, granted, he'd pretty much told her this would happen. But she wasn't just going to let him cut off these connections just because they were disruptive.
They were disruptive, though. He was right about that. Couldn't argue with a Vulcan even when he was wrong.
With a sigh, Gabi tossed the rest of her clothes in her luggage and snapped the lid shut. If she ran, maybe she could still get to the Nebula in time to fine Taurik and subject him to a good-bye hug and not make the Sadalbari late for wherever they were going next.
It would be embarrassing to hold up the whole damn ship departing Starbase 234 on her first day, though. She wanted to make a good impression, and she knew that Commander La Forge had recommended her to Chief Ellis. Maybe not personally, because she doubted La Forge knew her work personally, but she knew that if a recommendation came from the Enterprise it was as good as having La Forge's name on it. She couldn't embarrass him like that.
She couldn't. She couldn't say goodbye to Taurik. She didn't have time to find him.
Gabi slung her bag over her shoulder, took one last look around the room, and then left. She would not miss this place.
"Damnit, Taurik," she muttered as she walked down the empty hallway toward the transporter. Once she was on the Sadalbari, there would be no going back.
So she decided she'd drop her things off in her room, introduce herself to Chief Ellis on schedule, and then go back to her room after shift and scold Taurik with asynchronous message. If she never saw him again—
Well, she knew she'd see him again. She had to. He'd saved her life, and there were just too many traditions throughout the galaxy where she owed him something in return—including, apparently, Vulcan tradition. She had part of his soul now. Even if that was metaphorical, it was one hell of a metaphor. Especially, probably, for Vulcans. There had to be something to that.
Taurik would tell her that was incredibly illogical.
She'd also send Sam a message to complain about what an ass Taurik was sometimes. They agreed on a lot of things, but that most of all.
Gabi nodded pleasantly to the transporter chief who beamed her directly to the Sadalbari pad, and then paused to look around.
The Sadalbari's transporter room that she'd ended up in didn't look too much different from the Enterprise's, except the Sadalbari was almost fifty years old. The back wall of the transporter was equipped with the old-style reflective discs rather than the panels, and the top of the pads were set off the rest of the ceiling. In practice, the rest of the ship was very similar in design to the Constitution-class, except that it was missing a separate drive-section like the Enterprise-D had. Overall, a very small ship.
"Thank you, Petty Officer," she said, stepping off the pad.
The transporter officer standing there looked surprised to have been addressed, but smiled after a second. "Welcome to the Sadalbari."
She went out into the hallway. Working on this old thing was probably an adventure in itself. She couldn't fathom how many lightyears were on these engines, wondered how many stars it had seen first. It wasn't looking too bad at all for her age, actually. Pretty old for a starship…
She walked the few sections to the turbolift and took the lift to the second deck where most of the crew quarters were. She paused outside her door in section three, realizing two things. First, her quarters must have been huge. She was right across from a room with windows. Most of the crew quarters in a Miranda were on the outer ring, and most of them did have windows.
Keep this up, and she could be looking at space all the time.
Gabi stepped into her room and almost cried. Two rooms, just for her.
She didn't have time. She dropped her case and left again, hurrying down to deck four where she'd find Engineering in the back half of the ship.
It was nothing special. Smaller than the Enterprise, of course, because most ships were. That ship was truly an engineer's playground. But stepping into the Sadalbari's comparatively little main engineering deck, the glass floors surrounding the warp core like they did back home, the consoles lining the walls and shining despite their age…
She was going to like it here.
"Petty Officer, you are two minutes late."
No, she was going to love it here.
Gabi whirled around at the sound of the familiar voice she'd somehow not imagined she'd hear again, in person, anytime soon. "You jerk!" Still, she squealed and almost hugged Taurik before she restrained herself. She clasped both her hand in front of her to make sure she didn't. "What the hell are you doing here?"
"I was temporarily assigned to the Sadalbari," he said, and hesitated, apparently to watch her reaction, which didn't disappoint. "Yesterday."
"How!" She wondered if he requested it and then decided, of course, he must have. Otherwise, that was a crazy coincidence.
"I contacted Chief Ellis since you told us that you would be transferring. Since the Enterprise's destruction, he requested that I transfer to the Sadalbari crew when they arrived to pick you up, due to my interest and experiments in increasing warp field efficiency." He said it like that happened all the time. Like lieutenant JGs just chatted up random chief engineers for no reason and got invited to hop on new starships whenever the mood struck.
Maybe that was how officer transfers happened. Gabi had no idea. Even if it wasn't, she was sure they could happen that way for Taurik. Dedicated people were always in high demand, no matter how annoying La Forge thought they were.
It was hard to argue with results.
Actually, it was just hard to argue in general.
"I can't believe you didn't tell me!" Gabi slapped his arm.
"It was only confirmed last night, since I haven't received new orders." A convenient excuse, probably because there was nothing at all logical about a surprise. "I will continue with the Sadalbari until assigned elsewhere."
"And when will that be?"
"I do not know."
Even better! Sort of. It could have been a month, or it could have been a few days. Either way… "That's fine; we'll be running this place in a week."
#
The birds were singing and the sun was shining. Mom was working in the hills, Dad was in the den, and there was no reason Sam should be lying around like this. There was always work to do, and Sam wasn't doing any of it. Mom was still recovering from nearly losing her only son, and didn't even let Sam help clean the kitchen. Dad was more pragmatic, and he'd always been gentle, but Sam could see his injury had shaken Dad more than either of them wanted to admit.
So, maybe, he was doing some work. Sam was surprised how exhausting physical therapy was. All the things that used to take no thought were taking an incredible amount. And, also, the muscles he'd been used to using were not the same muscles he had now.
The Enterprise had crashed four weeks ago, and he'd been here for three. He was fine.
"Sam!" Dad's baritone echoed through the house. Certainly not something Sam had inherited… "I'm headed out to the Fints! One of the sensors is malfunctioning, and I got back a ping I'd like to check myself. Want to come?"
"Sure."
Sam eased himself up off the bed, grabbing for the ever-present cane leaning against his nightstand. The physical therapist as much as the counsellor had advised him to stop using it. If he was going on a two-kilometer walk today, he didn't want to leave it behind.
Hobbling down the hallway without it, he swung into the kitchen holding onto the door jamb and hopped across the floor to rest on the counter next to Dad. He was cleaning his trowel in the sink.
"You know Mom hates it when you do that."
"I know, but the pump just doesn't do it."
"It's a wonder you guys are still together." Sam nudged Dad with his shoulder, reaching for the bowl of fresh fruit Mom kept on the counter. Sam had never tasted mulberries like these. Not even the freshly-grown berries on other planets could compare, and, of course, replicated fruits all tasted exactly like whatever pattern created them in the first place. It took some getting used to, eating the same bowl of strawberries over and over again. Even if they were really great strawberries.
"Well, I'll just pick her some flowers or something on the way. She'll like that." With a conspiratorial grin, Dad dried the trowel and hung it up next to assorted spatulas before turning to Sam. He looked at Sam, first his hair; then his eyes; his shirt; and, last, always, his leg. "Ready?"
"Yeah. Let's go." Sam tapped the wall with the cane as he made his way to the door, leaning more on the house's architecture than anything else.
Dad sniffed. "You keep acting like a monkey, and we'll have to have you put in a zoo."
"It's easier."
"Yeah, well." He could hear Dad biting back his words as Sam stepped out into the mid-morning sunlight.
Sam waited to watch Dad close the door behind them, leave a message for Mom, and join him on the walk. Dad stuffed his hands in his jacket pockets, and Sam heard the muffled crystalline chime of his access and download rods.
"If you want to say something, we have a long walk," Sam offered, starting toward town.
Dad shook his head, falling in step beside him. He had a similar stride to Sam, though Sam could remember being a child running to keep up with him. Felt kinda similar now.
Sam sighed, looked up at the blue sky populated by the fluffiest white clouds promising nothing but a sunny day. "I know… look, the therapist says it shouldn't hurt like this, but it does. I'm not making it up."
"I believe you."
Sam cast a glance at him sideways. "Then why does it sound like you don't?"
"No, I really do." Dad slapped his arm around Sam's shoulders, rubbing his arm affectionately as they walked. "You know, this is all as new for me as it is for you? I don't know what to do or what to say. I wish there was something I could do to make this easier for you."
Sam looked at the ground passing beneath them at a slower pace than usual. "That'd be nice…" He sighed, and wasn't sure if that was what he should have said. "I just wish… I didn't scare the hell out of Mom."
Dad smiled. "She gets teary-eyed whenever you walk in the room anymore. Always been a sensitive about her little man."
Sam sighed. "Dad."
"You may have grown out of being a baby, but she'll never grow out of being a mother." Then he sighed, patted Sam's shoulder again.
There was an aura of unspoken fear around him, now. It didn't matter if he didn't say it, because Sam knew what it was. The hours between the news the Enterprise went down and the news that Sam got out of surgery okay were impossible for Sam to peek into. Mom only scolded him once that she didn't know what she'd do—and cut herself off from even finishing the thought, like it was a jinx or something.
They were scientists, too smart for superstition. Except, apparently, when it came to their son. Sam didn't realize when he came home everyone was as scared as he was. Even Dad talked around the subject, checked on him in the middle of the night when he thought Sam was sleeping.
The town looked almost exactly like it had when Sam left. Some of the pre-fabricated buildings that were falling apart when he was a kid had been replaced with permanent brick and stone ones. The market that sold the locally-grown fruits and vegetables, the repli-café, and a primary school… The high school was down the road and on the other side of the ravine. The wilderness supply was on the road headed to the hills and about halfway between town and the training center.
"Mind if I stop at Donovan's before we head out?" Dad asked, pointing to the wilderness supply. "I bought my tent to him to repair before I left for the conference, and Sally didn't pick it up."
"Sure, yeah. Go ahead." Sam figured he'd like a break before they left for the backwoods.
It wasn't a tough walk, but it was a long one. The slope up to the hills where Dad's equipment sat in the shelter of a big boulder in a copse of trees was gentle, and the ground was only traversed by the local wildlife on a regular basis. The only thing was that some of the mole-type creatures in the area grew three and four times the size of a groundhog. It was easy to spot their entrance and exit holes, but sometimes they dug too close to the surface. Broken legs and ankles were a bit of a hazard to even the most boring geologists like Dad.
Death by running into the nearest rock was a bit of a hazard, even though, in terms of density, the odds of actually hitting a rock with a spaceship were really low. Didn't seem to matter, though.
Sam browsed the display of new climbing gear while Dad talked to Donovan, the local mountain man. Fluffy beard, always wearing patterned flannels over the heat-retentive jumper. The man had a reputation to maintain, apparently.
"Gresham Lavelle…?"
Sam turned toward the voice, unable to help his smile or the laugh that followed when a familiar head of curly black hair with a strong jaw ran across the street. "Oh, my god, Cris Ashley! I had no idea you were still here!"
Without regard for his cane or the way he was standing, Cris stepped directly into Sam's space, wrapping his arms around him and thumping his back. "What the hell are you doing here?" Cris stepped back, but held on long enough for Sam to find his footing. Concern flickered briefly in his impossibly blue eyes as he glanced at the cane, but looked back. "I guess you're here for some R&R."
That… was possibly the most diplomatic way anyone had put it. "Yeah."
"Had this year's mulberries?"
"Made myself sick on them my first week back."
Cris laughed, looking at him like… like something Sam hadn't seen in a long time.
"You know," Sam said, glancing toward Dad. Dad showed no signs of his conversation being over. "You're the only person in the galaxy who calls me that."
Cris shrugged, winked. "If you had someone else calling you that, I don't know if you'd be here. So, uh… can I ask?"
"Go ahead." Sam sighed, and Cris actually didn't ask. Sam explained anyway. "I was stationed on the Enterprise. It kind of… it crashed a month ago." Saying it sounded ridiculous, even still.
Cris hissed a vague curse, his grip on Sam's shoulder increasing ever so slightly.
"I'm fine, obviously." He looked down at his leg that wasn't strictly his. The cane. "Maybe a little less than fine. You know, standard biosynthetic replacement leg for this side, new knee here, a new spleen, a—"
"God." Cris's whisper was a stake in his chest, and Sam stopped breathing for a second. It did sound really bad, didn't it? "Gresham." It was enough to make him stop everything.
Everything except the good news. "I lived." Lots of people didn't. And Sam wouldn't have except for some weird alien medical intervention. "Everyone I cared about lived." And that—that sounded terrible. Because he actually did know a handful of the people who died.
Asha Sawyer lived across the corridor from him before Taurik asked him to be his roommate again. She was a lieutenant JG, too. He'd asked her to dinner once. She'd been crushed. Not by furniture or anything like Sam's leg—most of the front sections deck fourteen were compressed. She was caught somewhere between the floor and the ceiling, and it made him sick.
Sam should've died, and the only thing standing between him and the black was an emotionally fragile Vulcan. Sam could never tell him that his brother died so Sam could live. He could never, ever tell him that. He thought about that a lot. Probably too much.
The universe was… really weird.
The silence caught a light breeze, jingling the set of carabiners enough to wrest him from his thoughts. He didn't realize he hadn't been looking at Cris until he looked back.
Without another word, Cris pulled him to him again. Sam took a breath and tried to fight off the anger that somehow Cris had managed to see him so completely even after all this time. In the end, he returned the embrace. Rested his chin on Cris's shoulder.
"I'm alright," he said.
"I know." Cris didn't let go, though. He always had been… touchy. That was something Sam didn't miss about a Vulcan roommate. Taurik's personal space bubble was skin-tight, but it still didn't allow a breach. Except, apparently, for a mind-meld in dire situations. Cris, on the other hand, couldn't get through an evening of quiet entertainment without cuddling the cat or slinging his legs across the nearest open lap. Maybe Sam did missed it a little.
When Cris finally did let go, Sam brushed at his eyes and looked around for anything else to talk about. He landed on the place across the street he'd seen Cris walk out of. "You're still bowling?"
"I like bowling." Cris smiled. "Hell, you should see my trophies."
"You're such a nerd." Sam laughed, though it suddenly felt hollow.
Seeing Cris was… something. A reminder of everything he'd left behind when he went to Earth, and a reminder of everything he could have had. His own two legs, the kidney he'd been born with. That smile, his given name, and bowling trophies, apparently.
Maybe, or maybe not, because the universe was weird.
Dad approached, looking just as happy to see Cris as Sam had been. Maybe even more. "Cristofer Ashley, great timing. It's been, what, six months? How'd the survey go?"
Cris's eyes brightened. "There's pods of cetaceans up there that rest on the beaches for hours before heading back out into the ocean. They let us just walk out there and touch them."
"They aren't intelligent?"
"No. There's a contingent of dolphins out there somewhere studying them. These things are to dolphins as monkeys are to us." Cris glanced between them for a moment, then said, "Well, I don't want to keep you. Looks like you're headed out. Catch you later, Gresham?"
"Sure. I'll call."
With a pleasant threat that he'd better, Cris walked off.
Dad looked at Sam. "Gresham." He smiled.
Sam gave him a whack in the shin with his cane. "Don't look at me. You're the one who gave me the name and proceeded to never use it." Not that he minded. Sam seemed much more practical in terms of space in a sentence. On the other hand, its compilation of common sounds and length gave it a bunch of bizarre meanings in alien languages, some of which weren't friendly.
It seemed like everyone had gotten over that type of thing, though. Sam met a Vulcan called Trek once and didn't even think about it until he was reading a novel six months later.
"I do." Dad frowned and started walking down the road toward the training center again. "On special occasions."
"Yeah, for happy birthday and… that's actually it. I can't think of anything else." Sam sighed, and decided the whale in the transporter room was probably better addressed than left alone. "Cris wanted me to stay, and I didn't. I think… I think he still wants that."
Dad considered that for a lot longer than Sam thought he was going to. He was silent long enough for Sam to listen to the birds chirp, and the breeze rustle the new birch leaves. The town's quiet bustle left behind them, and only the open fields and distant hills beyond them, the entire planet seemed open.
Even after decades of settlement, this planet was frontier enough for people like Cris to find things to do that no one had done before. Animals to see and touch that very few people knew existed. Sam knew he'd seen stars that only the crew of the Enterprise had seen. He'd touched areas of space and felt the effects of anomalies so thoroughly undocumented they still weren't quite sure what happened.
They had that in common a little. Sam just had a measure of ambition to go along with it. Civilian science wasn't ever enough for him. The lack of external structure probably wouldn't be great, either…
"What do you want?" Dad sighed, as if the question itself was difficult to ask.
Somehow he hadn't thought the follow up would be so hard. He kicked a rock as he stepped, leaning on the cane. "I think I can't go back like this."
"But you could," Dad said, as if his infusion of reality was all Sam needed to know where his head was. "You might not be doing the same things you were doing for a while. But you could go back tomorrow if you wanted to."
Sam leaned away from him, looking at him. "I don't want to be doing anything else. I want to be on the bridge. Dad—I don't think you get how hard I worked to get that promotion last year." How many hours he worked and how much training he did. And still was doing before he smashed into a planet.
"You're probably right. It sounded like hard work."
The look Dad was giving him now was knowing—like maybe Sam said something he didn't know he'd said, answered the question in a way he hadn't realized. And maybe he had. Because he wanted to be somewhere else.
The weather was nice, and old friends and family being around all the time was great.
Dad sighed, and changed the subject to his geology readings when he pulled out his specialized tricorder and recording unit. Sam could talk to him about it was a reasonable level of competency, but he wasn't exactly interested in rocks. He wasn't interested in any of this stuff.
"Can you reset that probe over there?" Dad asked, pointing toward a nearby pole resting on a rock and blinking red. Probably dislodged by an animal or strong wind or something.
Sam scrambled up the rock, dropping his cane to hop over to the probe and realign it until it flashed green again. He reset it into its hooks in the rock before turning around to look for the way down. His cane sat about three meters away from the bottom of the rock in the tufts of grass where it rolled.
With a sigh, he kicked out his new leg and sat to wait. Dad was fiddling with one of his bigger instruments and a tricorder. Mumbling to himself about strata identification or something.
It would be easy to stay here. Based on their talk, he was sure he could pick things up with Cris like he'd never left. He might even be able to work with Cris in his surveys. Hell, he might even be happy. It wasn't the conn or ops of a starship with a thousand people on board… but it was safe.
The moment he thought it, he realized that wasn't what he wanted. He didn't care about being safe. He wanted a challenge. More than that, he wanted to be scared.
He'd never been to Earth, he saw space as a poetic existential threat, he was terrified of responsibility, and he beheld any social situation with the distrust of a Romulan. But every day, he'd left his room, he'd done what he had to do, and he became someone he wanted to be.
He didn't regret it, either.
He requested the Enterprise because he wasn't sure he'd get it. He shot for the ops position because it was one of the most complex stations on the bridge. He accepted the Vulcan roommate because, of all the aliens out there, Vulcans were possibly the least like Humans.
"You okay, Sam?" Dad started to walk his direction, saying, "It turns out it was nothing, by the way. I think some animal must've just bumped it or something."
If only everything were as simple as that. "That's good."
"And you?" Dad stopped walking, squinted up at him.
"Yeah, I'm fine."
"You sure?" Dad stooped to pick up the cane in the grass, held it toward him head-first.
Sam looked at it. For too long, he looked at it. "I can't stay here. I have to go." Sam took his eyes off the cane to meet his father's.
With hesitation enough to make Sam wonder if Dad was going to argue with him, he pulled the cane back to grip it with both his hands. "You know, Sam, I think you were the only person who didn't know that."
#
There were tears in her eyes, but Gabi restrained herself. "Well, you bought me another two weeks," she said. "You'll do great on the Ramsar."
The Ambassador-class starship waiting to pick him and one other ensign up hung just outside the window behind them in his quarters. In three hours, this would no longer be his ship, and he would assume his station there. "I will maintain regular contact with you," he said.
He should have known that statement wouldn't alleviate any of her distress, though that had been his goal. She smiled, and her tears spilled. "Don't go out of your way. I know it's not important."
Taurik nodded distantly, though he didn't agree. It was important. He was the one still maintaining regular contact with his dead brother by saying goodnight every night for almost a year. He didn't intend to stop. "It depends on what is meant by important," he said finally. "Your consideration over the past year was instrumental in my ability to maintain my station on the Enterprise. And therefore, my transfer to the Ramsar."
She laughed. "Sounds like Starfleet itself owes me a debt of gratitude."
He wanted to object that, obviously, his continued service in Starfleet was insignificant, even though he knew she knew her hyperbole was unrealistic and he was only intended to take it as a compliment. "Whether Starfleet owes you such a debt, I do not know. I do know that I do."
Gabi wiped her eyes. "Can I give you a hug?"
"If you must."
Taurik held his breath, as he always felt the reflexive need to do when she did this. He wasn't sure why, and less than a second later forced himself to breathe normally. He returned the embrace and very briefly examined the levels of intimacy communicated by such physical closeness. To many Humans, perhaps Gabi included, a hug was certainly not as intimate as such an embrace was to him. He had observed even new acquaintances engage in the behavior.
Though, perhaps not to this extent. Gabi didn't let him go for at least four seconds.
When she finally released him, he was compelled to straighten his shirt while she regained her composure. In an almost Vulcan-like bearing, she lowered her head for a second, and then straightened. Except that he knew her well, he might not have been able to tell she was upset.
"You know the Enterprise-C was an Ambassador?" she asked.
He gave a brief nod. "I was aware."
"You going to try to transfer to the E when it's done?"
He hadn't considered that. Not even once, actually. "I have no reason to."
"I bet you could get it."
Even though he could hear a similar statement Vorik had made almost five years ago in her words, Taurik wasn't sure about that—though, he had managed to attain a station on the D directly out of the Academy, he wasn't sure whether his service had continued to be suitable to the degree required. "Will you request transfer?" he asked.
She shook her head. "I don't get to request stuff like that. I get sent where I'm needed."
"Of course." Noncommissioned officers of her rank had very little, if any, say over their direction. To be where one was most needed, Taurik thought, was a benefit on its own. "And, indeed, the Enterprise needed you." More specifically, perhaps… he did. He sighed, gripped both his hands behind his back. "Keep me informed of your location and work."
"As long as you do the same. Don't hesitate to send me a message whenever you, you know… if you get lonely or whatever." She frowned, perhaps wondering if it was correct to put that label on it.
It wasn't, but he understood her meaning. "I will not be lonely. I will, however, miss you."
She smiled. "I'll miss you, too. I have a shift, so… see you later, Taurik."
The Human version of live long and prosper, perhaps: a charge to live long enough to see later. He took a step backward, away, and raised one hand. "Live long and prosper, Miss Dixson."
He watched her slowly walk away, out of the single mess hall on the Sadalbari toward the door. It was, really, quite a small ship, and despite only having been here for two weeks, he had already come to know her colleagues. Taurik was sure she would do as well here as she had on the Enterprise. The crew, with the exception of one Betazoid and a Bajoran, was entirely complemented by Humans.
Eighteen of the Ramsar were Vulcan. He consulted his PADD to set an alarm in the morning of the third day of every week to record a message for her. She would, of course, hold him to his promise to maintain contact.
Since there was nothing else on the Sadalbari for him to do, he went to his room and collected his things. He'd already packed his few sets of clothing, and his lamp and Vorik's photo were in his bag. He didn't collect extraneous items. The photo was, perhaps, the only physical evidence of a pervasive illogic he allowed himself.
The Ramsar was not as old as the Sadalbari, with a dedication ten years later—that did put the ship as being a contemporary of the Enterprise-C that Gabi mentioned, though this ship had seen numerous refits and upgrades. One such upgrade replaced all the old-style consoles with LCARS displays. The blue and green colors of the old console displays were harsh on his eyes. The warm yellow and orange was more centrally within his vision spectrum favoring the lower frequencies.
He would have ignored the discomfort, of course. Possibly he would have even become accustomed to the blue and green—though both colors were alarming to the evolutionary theories of Vulcan color perception. Blue and green prompted largely negative emotions, arousal, and had been associated with death. Red and yellow were colors of peace and rest.
"Red alert," of course, was triggering to action for multiple other reasons.
The Enterprise, and especially Engineering with the obvious exception of the warp core, had been mostly beige. The Ramsar seemed to be mostly cool gray trending toward blue.
He was familiar enough with the corridor layout to arrive at his quarters without assistance and found them, like those he'd been assigned on the Enterprise, decorated with the standard paintings and sculptures. He returned the smaller sculptures to the replicator for recycling, and set the picture of Vorik on the low table he would move against the wall later to serve as his meditation table.
These quarters were nearly identical to that which he'd shared with Sam on the Enterprise. He had a main room, and two rooms. He wasn't sure what he was supposed to do with the second one. It seemed like a waste of space, but clearly this was the type of obscene luxury afforded someone of his rank on a ship of this size.
He'd always occupied the room on the left when he shared. He went to the room on the right first, and looked. There was a bed in both of the rooms. He wasn't given a roommate assignment, so the extra accommodations left him puzzled.
Since he would be serving on board the Ramsar for the foreseeable future, he decided to take his meal in the engineering deck mess. He didn't have the benefit of a roommate like Sam to introduce him to potential friends like Alyssa, Andrew, Sito… He would be left to his own devices, probably to socialize primarily with engineers. Perhaps some of them like Gabi. So, he replicated a small kal-toh board and went to the engineering deck mess.
Three-hundred officers—approximately one-third of which were engineers. Seven-hundred noncommissioned officers brought the total crew to one-thousand, not counting families and civilian science contingents. The Ramsar had many of both, despite its classification as a heavy cruiser with armaments to match the Enterprise despite its smaller size.
Taurik sat down at the table, alone. He didn't doubt it would only be a few weeks before he found others to take his meals with, spend evenings with. In the meantime, he had a new ship to learn and new officers to develop a stable working relationship with. He watched the comings and goings of his new colleagues, seeing that many of them sat together to discuss work as much as their personal lives.
After finishing his meal, he returned to the table and set up the small board. He preferred Terrace—he imagined most Humans did, as well—but kal-toh could be engaged alone. He intended to stay here for at least an hour, reordering the strings of chaos into a lattice of order not because he enjoyed it, but to take advantage of the primacy effect. Playing kal-toh was significantly more inviting to conversation than studying, and he'd had some success with this method of meeting people at the Academy.
Initially, it had been accidental. Vorik simply refused to play with him. He wasn't very good.
Also, engineers tended to be interested in the strategy involved, even though the majority of them took an excessive amount of time to break the habit of introducing spatial balance in their efforts.
It had been perhaps a year or two since he'd tried to solve one of these… Taurik didn't mind the game, but Vorik's disinterest had bordered on emotional. He selected the first t'an and considered.
"I'm told you might be looking for a roommate."
Taurik stood. "Sam." The sense of shock and disorder was truly unreasonable.
Sam smiled, watching in apparent amusement as Taurik searched his face, his uniform, for some indication he wasn't hallucinating for some reason. "Why didn't you tell me you were going to be stationed on the Ramsar?"
"I would have. I planned to send you a message tonight." Taurik caught back his string of questions he wanted to ask, and tied down the feeling of most gratified bewilderment. He settled for just one. "How are you here?"
"I requested it. Turns out that Gabi continues to be a more reliable source of information on you than you are." Sam gave a dutiful nod, apparently of greeting. "Good to see you, too, by the way."
Taurik nodded, considering. Maybe he should respond. "Yes, of course, I am pleased to see you. I wasn't sure you would be returning."
"Neither was I." Sam gestured to the seat Taurik had occupied only moments ago, an invitation.
Taurik took the seat across the table as he returned to his seat. Tried to settle mentally as much as physically. He put the t'an back in the puzzle. Sam watched the board rearrange itself to respond to Taurik's careless placement.
"I wasn't joking about the roommate-thing, though. Rooming on my own on the Half Moon to get here was terrible. Turns out I'm as jazzed about being alone as you."
"My quarters has two bedrooms."
"So does mine."
Sam stared at him, and Taurik couldn't decide what he was supposed to read there. That he was still recovering from the psychological effects of his near-death experience. He'd decided to move on, but he was still leaving the lights on low at night.
Taurik couldn't argue with any of that. He was still saying goodnight to Vorik.
"Then what do you say we consolidate to the level closest to the center of the saucer section?" Sam said, a tone of macabre humor there. "That way, even if the ship crashes upside-down, we still have a chance."