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.

12. Growth and Regression

Chapter 12: Growth and Regression

Saalle stepped into their new quarters on the Ramsar, and Taurik could feel her approval, her interest. "The quarters afforded an officer of your rank is much more spacious than I anticipated," she said, and put her bag on the couch along the wall.

"The double-occupancy quarters are more than twice the size of that for single-occupancy," he said, though she had only their messages during the few months he'd lived alone on the Enterprise to compare. "Though I'm unsure for what we could utilize the extra space," he said.

Saalle stepped back from her first look into the room on the right side of the main room. "It will be several years before we require a second room," she said, and he felt a spark of anticipation and desire in their Bond.

Their marriage was almost three weeks old now, and their Bond stronger and more transparent than he thought it might be in so little time. Though they couldn't converse in their minds without physical touch yet, he could nevertheless feel her constantly at this distance. Not every facet of her vast emotional landscape was obvious, but the most prominent features were as stark landmarks on his perception.

Taurik tried to restrain his anxiety before she could sense it. It was possible—though extremely rare—she hadn't conceived during their time, and she was illogically certain she could barely sense the development of a new life within her. A fetal brain would not be so developed for another five or six weeks.

Anyway, they had done nothing to prevent it. At some point in the past, which he was willfully not remembering exactly, they'd agreed.

He still approved of beginning a family at the first opportunity, but the immediacy had been less… immediate, then. He had no desire to wait another seven years. Though he envied very few things about them, the Human reproductive cycle was significantly more elastic. His own biology came with certain… benefits. That was not one of them.

A mild and faraway melancholy fell heavily on Saalle as she looked at the standard double bed inside the spare room. At least, Taurik thought it was the spare room. He always roomed on the left.

"I forget that Humans sleep off the floor."

"It is simple enough to remove the frame," Taurik said. He and Vorik both slept on the floor their first year at Starfleet Academy, even though there were no scorpions or alat to find shelter and cool in the dark spaces beneath rocky overhangs. It was a cultural habit, and harmless.

"It is illogical to maintain Vulcan evolutionary sensibilities in an enclosed and controlled environment." She looked at him, then. "I anticipate my sleep patterns will be disruptive to you shortly. Perhaps I will stay here while you occupy the other room."

Taurik glanced into the room and pushed away his disappointment. "If you wish."

"Of course, you may visit whenever you wish," she added. He was unsure if the touch to his neck was suggestive or only his response to it. He caught the shivering sensation before it bloomed.

With a small shrug, he said, "Then I fail to see the point."

It was strange to him that, not that long ago, his desire for physical intimacy was practically never on his mind. Any other thoughts to that end were suppressed, even comfortably.

To be so singly-minded seemed a thing of the past, at least for the time. Now, the desire for even physical proximity had required more attention than he'd anticipated—never mind sex. Perhaps maintaining separate living spaces would return his concentration to a more familiar state.

It was a hypothesis he had no desire to test.

Without making it clear what they'd decided, Saalle turned away from her amusement. "Is thirty degrees agreeable to you?"

"It is."

"And I have your consent to decorate?" Her interest and enjoyment of his mild discomfort was warm like a breeze in the early summer, just after the rains so it carried no sand.

"If you must," he said, and she apprehended a similar amusement from him.

He left her in the main room to decide what sculptures, paintings, and other items of no practical value to clutter the main room. Perhaps that could be the use for the second room…

Taurik arranged their clothing in the drawers of the bedroom they would share and stripped the bed of all but the sheets. Since he would not be rooming with a Human anymore, their quarters would be more comfortable in temperature and humidity. He could sense Saalle working in the next room: her sunny focus and cautious design. She was, he was flattered to realize, restraining her clutter for him.

Taurik was about to go join her when the communications console in the wall flashed at him. He went to stand before it, and accepted the message from Sam.

"Thanks for the warning, you son of a bitch. Also, congratulations." Sam threw a handful of flaky white material directly at the lens. They sounded like scattered beads when they hit the floor.

Taurik hesitated, and decided to ask. "What is it?"

"Rice."

Taurik stared, and Sam appeared less than pleased. "Were the rumors you spoke of before my leaving inadequate to prepare you for the practicalities of marriage?" When Sam didn't respond immediately, he added, "I am what you could call married now, in case that was unclear."

"I didn't know she'd be joining you on the Ramsar. And, no, the way you left didn't really prepare me for your hasty withdrawal from our room assignment a few days ago." Sam glared, and Taurik wasn't sure Sam had ever been this angry with him.

"I apologize for the oversight."

When Sam smiled, Taurik was only more confused. "But she's here now. Can I meet her?"

"The probability that you will are quite high," Taurik said.

"I mean now. Can I come meet her now? I happen to have your, uh…" Sam leaned forward, picked up a familiar meditation lamp, and presented it to the viewscreen. "Your lamp. A little scuffed, but I tried to clean it up." Sam proceeded to rub at the filigree with his thumb.

"How?" Taurik decided that mattered less than the fact that Sam somehow had the lamp he thought was destroyed in the Enterprise's crash. "Yes, bring it. I will introduce you formally."

"Should I change?" Sam looked down at his uniform.

Taurik wasn't sure if he was joking, but he ended the call even though he suspected Sam would be irritated about that, too. Taurik went to join Saalle in the main room. She was staring at him when he entered, surprised and satisfied.

"What's happened?" she asked.

Taurik hadn't realized how delighted he was to find his old meditation lamp hadn't been lost, after all. "Sam is coming to offer greetings," he said, even though he was sure she'd know immediately that wasn't what he was so pleased about. "Probably congratulations."

"How… unnecessary."

"Most of the things Sam does are." He didn't mean for that to sound so ungenerous, so he added, "It is an appropriate Human ritual."

Taurik looked around the room, much as he'd left it except for the furniture wasn't in the same configuration as when he'd left. The couch had been moved, to allow for the low table to be pressed against the back wall.

He crossed the room to the table and picked up the photograph of himself and Vorik.

"I considered the service ID photo to be too… sterile," Saalle said. "Not representative of him. However, if you prefer the other, I will replace it."

Perhaps she was correct. Vorik's neutral expression as displayed for his service ID was, perhaps, not characteristic. This was a photograph of a trip they took three years ago: they had climbed a mountain three days' journey from home, their tents perched on a cliff's edge. The view of the high desert and more mountains in the distance had been expansive. This image was of himself and Vorik setting up their tents together, Vorik glancing up from his work once to look at whatever Taurik said about the attention Vorik was paying the anchor points. Taurik remembered his response.

If this were only your tent, I would not be as concerned about its collapsing, since that seems to be your goal. It didn't mean anything.

In the end, Taurik shook his head. "I prefer this." He put the picture back down, and it stilled.

With a sense of gloomy nostalgia, Saalle crossed the room to stand beside him. "I have many photographs of you together," she said. "I didn't realize."

He glanced at her. "You can hardly be parted from your holo-imager whenever you go out." It was, of course, something of an exaggeration. "How could you not realize?"

Saalle frowned as if offended, perhaps embarrassed, very briefly. "I realize I have many photos. Certainly more than necessary. I have recorded them myself, after all. I didn't realize how many I have of Vorik, specifically."

"I see."

Taurik didn't tell her he would like to see them. The door chimed, and Taurik called for Sam to enter. The door opened, and he and Saalle both turned.

"Well, don't you two make a nice couple?" Sam smiled, and set Taurik's meditation lamp aside on the table Saalle had moved to be within arm's reach of the door.

"Saalle, if I may introduce to you Lieutenant Sam Lavelle," Taurik said as if in introduction to Saalle, though she surely knew his name. "My friend. And, my wife, Saalle." Taurik hesitated to realize he'd not introduced her that way, yet. It was an illogically pleasant sensation.

Sam looked somewhat surprised, though Taurik couldn't decide why. "Saalle. I feel like I know you already," Sam said, and didn't extend his hand for one of the more-standard ritual Human greetings.

Saalle gave a demur nod. "And I, you, Lieutenant. Live long and prosper."

Sam glanced at Taurik. "Should I be concerned I've only heard you say that maybe three times?"

Taurik hesitated a moment in a flicker of disdainful amusement. "I was dissuaded of the habit at the Academy. Humans seem to find it either unreasonably amusing or intolerable." Before Sam could induce him by any means to offer the traditional greeting, he nodded at the table. "How did you come into possession of my lamp?"

"Oh." Sam spun to look at it. "They're apparently working on cleanup, and lots of personal effects are being discovered in the rubble. I had most of my stuff recycled, but most of yours wasn't replicated so…"

"That is correct."

"Anyway, when you couldn't be reached, I gave instructions to deliver all your stuff to me. Because we were still roommates. Until about a day ago." With that, he looked at Saalle. "This guy doesn't tell me anything."

Saalle was amused. "He also tells me very little."

Sam's eyebrows shot up in what seemed to be shock as much as enjoyment. "You know, I think we're gonna be friends."

"I believe you may be correct," she said.

#

"Taurik?"

Taurik opened his eyes at hearing his name. The room was dark, and he knew the sound had to have come from his communicator. His sleep-addled brain for one very full second had expected his quarters on the Enterprise, his shared room with Sam. The softly sleeping form beside his quickly dissuaded him of the misconception.

"Taurik, you there…?" Sam whispered.

"Taurik here," he said, though he was sure this wasn't a work-related call.

"You okay?" Sam asked.

Taurik wanted to snap that he had been okay—but his sleep had been disrupted. He withheld the impulse. Now that Taurik was possessed of his more-conscious thought processes, he could hear the ragged and tired distress. "I am well," he said instead. "What's wrong?"

"Sorry to wake you."

Taurik turned his head discreetly to see if Saalle had been disturbed. She was just over three months into a twelve-month gestation period, and all the most disruptive symptoms had not yet begun. Her pregnancy would become visibly obvious to everyone else in another two to three months, but soon her mood swings might become wild—her need to meditate would increase dramatically while her desire to do so would decrease. Taurik had already noticed slight changes in her sleep patterns and his perception of their Bond had wavered with her inattention.

He could not be upset. That would be hypocritical. He did, however, find himself missing their closer association even after such a short time.

With a gentle brush against her mind to comfort her when he rose, he returned in a low tone, "It isn't so early as to disrupt to my schedule. Will you join me for breakfast?"

"Um… sure." Sam sighed. "Thanks."

Sam's bouts of insomnia were more frequent than he wanted to admit, but this sounded more like a nightmare or some other anxious thought process. He put on his uniform and requested two bowls of plomeek broth from the replicator before Sam arrived. He was also in his yellow uniform, and sat at the table with more than enough space for four without saying much more than a half-hearted good morning.

They ate in silence for a time, Sam looking miserably tired. Taurik directed his thoughts toward the day. His shift began at zero-eight-hundred hours. He wasn't leading the shift, though he had been placed in charge of warp maintenance and function since returning. He oversaw a small team of three engineers to that end.

"You read any of the reports from Deep Space Nine?" Sam asked.

Anxiety about the future, rather than the past. Taurik wasn't sure which was worse—the future was unknown but potentially malleable. The past was immutable but the outcome was solved. "Yes," he said. "I assume this is the cause of your insomnia?"

"I know whatever happens, we'll deal with it. But… the Dominion seems too big for us." Sam slurped more of the broth while he waited for Taurik to respond.

Taurik had nothing encouraging to say. "It has been some time since the Federation faced a credible threat," he said. "However, one benefit to a possible Dominion invasion is… it may convince the other Alpha Quadrant powers that an alliance is more to their benefit."

Sam scoffed. "The Klingons are acting even more insane than usual, the Cardassians are getting bolder, and the Romulans would never be happy interacting with anyone outside their own borders. I don't know what it'd take to get these people to put aside their differences long enough to look at each other."

"The threat of invasion by another totalitarian regime such as the Dominion is unfortunate," he said. "However, perhaps the threat of war will do what peace could not."

"At least we're agreed that peace with the Dominion isn't possible." Sam groaned softly and rested his forehead in one hand. "I think we're all used to the ideological differences that keep us at odds with people like the Klingons or the Romulans… but the Dominion hates us because of what we are."

"By that, I assume you mean our immutably physical forms," Taurik said, recalling the reports of a shapeshifting people rather unlike any other shapeshifters the Federation had come across before.

"The gall of these people," Sam said suddenly. "They can change the way the look, and they think we're the untrustworthy ones."

"As we understand it, they have free access to one another's minds. Perhaps their society is similar to Betazed…"

"Yeah, I guess that sounds like hell, too." Then Sam scoffed. "Not that I know anything about it."

Of course, Taurik's experience was greater than Sam's. "Vulcan telepathy is primarily projection. We cannot read minds in the Betazoid sense. The exception is those to whom we are Bonded."

"Do you hide things from Saalle?" Sam asked after a moment, his glance toward the closed bedroom door discreet. "Can you?"

"Of course," he said, though it occurred to him that might not have been as obvious as he thought it was. He could even hide things from Vorik once he'd learned the basics of control—he very rarely did, but he could have. Their relationship would have changed once he completed his Bond with Saalle, had Vorik been alive… "I do not, but I can."

Sam smiled. "Nothing?"

Taurik shrugged, realized he probably looked as uncomfortable as he felt. "I do not hide things from her. But I do not share everything, either." Taurik, too, looked toward the door to his bedroom as if afraid Saalle could hear, but she was still sleeping. Even still, he opened their Bond to allow her to hear if she wished. "For example, there are many thoughts I idly consider over the course of the day that she need not be troubled with."

"Troubled?" Sam asked.

Taurik should have used a different word.

Sam looked back down at his empty bowl of broth. "Like about the Dominion…?"

Perhaps that was a reasonable example. "The Dominion. The Romulans. My future with Starfleet, or our as-yet-unrealized family." Even though it had been seventeen months since Vorik's death, the irrational wishes and speculations drifted closer and further away at unpredictable times. Vorik should have met his first child. "Various things that have neither solution nor benefit to consideration, but nevertheless engage my attention."

"I always thought Vulcans were so great at mental discipline…"

"I have allowed my control to lapse in reference to certain subjects."

"Subjects like your kid," Sam said. He smiled, his eyebrows raised in pleasant curiosity. "That is a much nicer thing to think about than the Dominion."

Taurik wasn't sure about that, especially since he thought of the one in reference to the other often. He was unconvinced an unsteady peace was possible with the Dominion, but the areas of intergalactic politics and diplomacy were so far removed from his expertise in warp theory that he didn't speculate. Still, he recognized his child might be born in a very different galaxy from the one in which he was currently living.

"So how are you doing with the idea of being a father?" Sam asked, almost suddenly.

Somehow, it was a question Taurik had never considered. "Saalle's anticipation is… nearly palpable."

"Sure." Sam said it like that was to be expected. "But yours?"

"My concerns are relegated almost entirely to what will transpire after the child is born."

Sam almost laughed. "So you're concerned."

Since Taurik was sure he'd said that, exactly, he didn't acknowledge Sam's good-natured teasing. "I am aware of the difficulties inherent in raising a child. Vulcan emotions are unwieldy and intense. Children must be taught to restrain them. The concentration required by Vulcan parents to train them properly is immense."

"Hell." Sam grinned, and lifted his bowl without immediately taking a drink. "What are you gonna do if it's twins?"

Everything seemed to halt for a moment. His heart stopped beating, his mind stopped thinking.

For nearly a second, an irrational terror overcame his ability to see clearly, and he said, "Twins are exceptionally rare."

"Sure. But I was just saying if even one kid requires immense concentration—"

"It is not twins." At least… at least, he hoped not. "Though you are correct: they do require a higher degree of attention as infants. Twins are capable of better self-regulation later in life, however. Provided they are not separated."

His lower-than-average natural ability had led to higher-than-average skill in focused meditation and suppression. Vorik had to meditate very little when they were children to maintain control—whereas it seemed like meditate was all Taurik did some days. Without average control competency, he would have found coping with Vorik's death impossible.

It already felt impossible, though the fact that it was now easier made it clear it never had been.

"It is not twins…" he said again. "Saalle would know if it were. She would have told me."

The next time he looked at Sam, he looked ashamed or apologetic. "Sorry."

"There is no need to apologize. I simply hadn't considered the possibility." Nor how fervently he wished to never raise twins. He decided to examine that at length later.

"I can tell you this: I wouldn't want kids right now, twins or not."

"You're referring to the political instability of the quadrant?"

"Yeah. Seems scarier than usual."

He had no frame of reference to determine whether that was true—this was his first child, and the state of the quadrant was out of his control. It always would be. Waiting was illogical.

Now that he'd explicitly thought it, he didn't know if it was.

Saalle joined them shortly after though their conversation wandered into more mundane topics about the Ramsar. Their mutual acquaintances were a common topic, especially since Sam had begun dating again with little success. Taurik had resumed a weekly poker game with Sam, though the other attendees hadn't settled into any constancy. Taurik and Saalle arranged a weekly dinner with Lieutenant Alice Kane and her civilian anthropologist husband Laurence, who also played poker sometimes.

Saalle inquired about Sam's work and the tests he was taking. It was only six months until the Enterprise-E was to launch, and Sam wondered if he should return. Taurik could feel Saalle's tentative press on his consciousness to find what Taurik thought about that, but his thoughts were almost entirely elsewhere.

Sam left with what seemed to be good spirits.

Saalle noticed Taurik wasn't as much. "You are troubled," she said only seconds after Sam left.

"What if it's twins?" he asked, apparently more abruptly and decisively than she'd anticipated.

Saalle watched him for a long moment, then offered, "We will obtain two cushions for them to sleep on."

He didn't appreciate the flippancy, but that wouldn't be necessary immediately. He and Vorik hadn't tolerated being separated as infants. As late as five years old, Taurik would crawl into Vorik's bed despite having been tucked into his own. Taurik would wake up snuggled against Vorik, his arm around his waist. Only once, when they were nine and Taurik bedridden with an injury, had the process occurred in reverse.

"My question is sincere," he said.

"And so is my answer." She hesitated only long enough for him to frown his disapproval before assuring him. "I am not carrying twins. I possess none of the predictive factors, and none of the early imaging scans have indicated this." Saalle turned in her chair to face him more securely. "The thought distresses you. Tell me."

Taurik glanced at her. "I'm sure you could deduce the reason."

"I would like to hear you tell me, anyway." Saalle was, in her own way, more persuasive than Counsellor Troi.

Taurik slid the PADD he was reading onto the table between them. "Infants require close physical contact from their parents for several formative months, and we only have two arms each."

Her enjoyment was short-lived. "Reciprocity is balance. I apologize for my flippancy. I only intended to communicate that if it is twins, we will adjust."

Taurik nodded, since that was the only answer he could think of. It also should have gone without saying. "It is irrational," he finally admitted. "The benefits I enjoyed while Vorik was alive were many and continuous. The annoyances were few, and… also continuous." The pain in his absence was likewise. "I would be unable to objectively advise them as individuals. To protect them from this, regardless of how rare this state might be, the possibility would always exist. I would always seek to preserve them together, not separately."

She contemplated his answer, either surprised or concerned. "I believe you would adjust." She tilted her head slightly, and rose to stand beside him, touch his shoulder lightly with two of her fingers. "I remember so clearly how you were. It often seems to me you've completely forgotten what you were like before he died."

Her hand shifted to grip his arm as she must have felt his distaste for the observation.

"It isn't a criticism," she said. "But you hold the pain as if that will keep him with you."

He glanced up, and wished he could argue… but that was exactly what he'd been doing. He let himself feel the fear he'd lose him entirely just long enough for her to apprehend it. "What do you suggest?"

"You were never in this pain when he was with you," she said with a mild sigh, and let go. "From my unknowing vantage, it seems illogical to preserve his memory by so steadily maintaining this state now."

The remark was nearly insulting, but he withheld that. "I suppose it does," he said, and allowed himself to think about it from a more objective vantage. "However, all other states I might maintain seem to require a disproportional amount of effort."

He would never be who he had been again, but he held onto who he was explicitly without Vorik. In reality, the pain of Vorik's loss held no resemblance to Vorik.

"Perhaps you're correct," he said quietly, wondering what he was supposed to do about that… if there was anything he could do.

Saalle seemed to read his thoughts perfectly in that moment. "Perhaps," she said. "Time will yield clarity."

#

The past twenty-six hours had been absolutely bizarre, but that was life on board a starship. The Sadalbari had run in to a gravitational anomaly that scrambled everything inside the ship from relay to resting heart rate, but some ingenious thinking got them back on course. Still, it was this kinda thing that made Gabi pretty sure that space exploration and dying of old age were incompatible goals.

She'd have her work cut out for her tomorrow, recalibrating everything now that they were back in so-called "normal space." "Normal space" didn't describe most of their experiences, but the rest of the sixty percent of their time in abnormal space wasn't confined to any set of rules or constancy.

With a sigh, she sat down on her sofa and checked her personal PADD for any updates before putting it back on the table. She leaned back on the sofa for a moment of silence and tried to imagine herself a calm desert.

She'd settled into life on board the Sadalbari pretty quickly, but hadn't made any close friends—and that turned out to be a good thing. The entire fleet seemed to be reshuffling in anticipation of something big. Klingons were poking the Romulans next door with all the sticks they owned, and Federation shipyards were cranking out a new class of ship—a warship classed "Defiant"—like their lives depended on it. And maybe they did.

In happier news, the launch of the Enterprise-E pulled fifteen-hundred people from their current stations to complement it.

Gabi wasn't one of those people.

With a small sigh, she called up subspace communications and keyed in Taurik's comm line on the Ramsar. It was still on patrol along the Klingon border, which was a much more exciting place than she wished right now, especially since his wife was expecting a little logician in about six months.

The screen flashed on, and she wasn't surprised to see Saalle staring at her in what always seemed to be disinterest. She may have learned how to read Taurik, but the skill didn't seem to extend to other Vulcans.

"Good afternoon, Miss Dixson," Saalle said, and hesitated. "Taurik expects his work to be complete in less than ten minutes."

"Oh." Unless he'd changed hours, his shifts were running longer these days. "Should I call back or can we talk until then?"

Saalle always seemed confused when Gabi showed interest in talking to her, possibly in the same way Taurik had been confused when Gabi first started talking to him about her interest in osmotic eels. They'd never met in person, but Gabi always tried to strike up a conversation with her whenever she ended up talking to her.

It was very difficult. Taurik had always been at least mildly interested in passing the time by engaging in conversation, and it didn't seem to matter what the conversation was. Saalle wasn't like that. Sometimes she wondered what the hell Taurik's relationship with Saalle could possibly be like, but that wasn't any of her business. Maybe they didn't have a relationship. Vulcan marriages were arranged, after all.

All Gabi knew was that Taurik seemed to adore her—as much as she could understand, anyway. He talked about her often, and seemed to arrange for them to speak to each other at least more often than Saalle wanted.

"My skills in what you might call small talk leave much to be desired."

Gabi smiled. "No, they don't." At least, she didn't think so… but this was the first time that Saalle had even halfway verbalized that their interactions were awkward. "What are you up to?"

After what seemed to Gabi to be an unreasonably long time to answer such an elementary question, she said, "If you must know, I am ill and physically uncomfortable. Pregnancy has put my physiological systems into chaos."

That sounded kind of typical to Gabi, but what did she know? "That sucks." Since she thought about it, she wasn't even sure if Vulcans suffered from things like… morning sickness? Was that a thing? It was so far removed from her interest or experience, she didn't even know what to say.

"I am coping with the situation, but my concentration has begun to suffer." Saalle looked down for a moment, perhaps at whatever she'd been doing before Gabi called.

"I hope Taurik's been supportive."

"There is little he can do to improve the situation."

That was probably an obviously-Vulcan way to look at it. Saying that sucks wasn't improving the situation, either. "Do you have any kind of home remedies for, uh…? Whatever it is?"

"There are many natural remedies."

"Have you tried chamomile tea?"

"No." Saalle hesitated, looked to her left, and then back at her. "I will try chamomile tea."

"You're due in six months or so, right?"

"Correct." With a sigh, Saalle rose and the camera followed her. "Taurik has returned from his shift, and I must lie down. Thank you, Miss Dixson."

Gabi watched Taurik join her for a moment in frame, brush her chin with his thumb tenderly as they exchanged words. She focused on the sounds of their native Vulcan conversation rather than on whatever they were saying—it couldn't have been private, since they knew Gabi was listening, but it still seemed rude to hear. After a moment, Saalle walked away, and Taurik turned to the call.

"Good afternoon," he said. "I trust you're well?"

"Well enough. I'm being transferred to the Helena."

He hesitated, and nodded. "Another Miranda-class, I believe. Though it is equipped with a weapons package instead of a sensor bar."

Gabi shook her head in almost-annoyed awe. "How the hell do you remember stuff like this?"

Surprisingly, Taurik took a few moments to answer. He seemed to physically search his memory, eyes darting, until he looked back at her. "I do not know," he said finally. "Are you pleased with the transfer?"

She shrugged. She was going to miss everyone here, but she'd only been here thirteen months. "My chief warned me when I started to specialize in power distribution that shorter assignments would come with it," she said, and she realized that didn't answer the question. "I don't know how I feel about it. I'm looking forward to getting to know a new ship, but a year feels like barely enough time to get to know anybody."

Taurik hesitated, looking off. "I'm sure your expertise will be appreciated on the Helena as much as on the Sadalbari. I apologize, Gabi, but Saalle requires my attention. May we speak tomorrow?"

Gabi smiled and nodded. "Yeah, sure. Whenever. I hope she feels better soon."

He nodded, but looked perplexed. "Live long and prosper."

The comm clicked off, and she looked around her room. Gabi felt her heart sink at Taurik's pointing out that the Helena was more prepared for war than she was for peace… and it was looking like Gabi should start preparing herself for that, too.

#

The poker table was much quieter than usual, as everyone contemplated the empty space in the center of the table. Taurik knew play sat unmoving at Lieutenant JG Athena Oxley, but he hadn't seen her look at her cards.

Finally, Sam sighed, resting his elbows on the table. "Shit."

Everyone seemed to release some of their tension at Sam's whispered outburst. Even Taurik, though he wouldn't have classified his emotional state as worried, per se, felt some tightness in his shoulders slip away. It was illogical: their situation had not changed because Sam verbalized a vulgar interjection. Nevertheless, it was now explicitly clear that they were all facing the same difficulty.

Lieutenant Oxley heaved a heavy sigh and looked at Sam. Tentatively, she reached over the table and grasped his hand—a forceful reminder that they'd been dating the past month and a half. "Nothing's happened yet," she said, and glanced at Taurik. "Who knows? Maybe they'll be able to work something out."

"Jaresh-Inyo called the Dominion the 'greatest threat to the Federation of the past hundred years,'" Laurence said. Taurik had gotten the impression that he joined poker tonight only because his wife was on duty—he didn't like poker. "I've been living on Federation ships for the past ten years—and now…?"

"It's for everyone's safety," Lieutenant Oxley said. "I wouldn't want to be a civilian on a starship during wartime. What are you supposed to do during red alert?"

"What I've always done?" Laurence looked offended. "Look, I may not have a battle station, but I'm part of the Ramsar crew as much as any of you. I've been on starships for ten years." He hesitated, seemed to reconsider. "Right?"

"You're Federation, but you didn't sign up for this." Sam frowned, tapping at his cards. "Who the hell knows—you might be drafted for all we know, anyway. But the three of us have combat and tactical training I'm sure you didn't get while you're looking at ancient humanoid cultural development."

"Well, I'm still not happy with it…" Laurence glanced at Taurik. "How's Saalle handling the news?"

Taurik gave a small sigh, though not because of her reaction. "We haven't yet discussed it. The orders that all civilian personnel disembark by the time we leave Earth were not exactly unexpected."

As for him… he was not anticipating her absence, but it seemed like his experiences over the past two years had prepared him for the separation.

"I just know I'm not looking forward to heading into a warzone…" Oxley said, and Sam squeezed her hand. "But I'd rather that than whatever the hell the Dominion has planned."

Sam pulled his hand from Lieutenant Oxley's, and returned his cards to his hand. "So how about we get to gambling?"

The others at the table considered that mildly amusing, and the game resumed. The overall anxiety seemed to be helped in some way by the redirection of attention alone—nearly like a sonic shower with an unpleasant frequency or engaging in physical exertion.

Sam was the best poker player of the group, while Taurik was much more middling. Lying was too impractical a skill to cultivate among his telepathic peers—which was not to say he had not learned. He had decided over the past twenty-six months that Vulcans were, in general, exceptional liars… and he was not.

For the next hour, they engaged in meaningless speculation on each other's cards. Taurik didn't have the energy to attempt to mislead Sam, so fell into calculating the odds that Sam's hand was better than his instead. He had played enough of the game to know that it mattered only somewhat whether Sam's cards were better or not—it was much more important that everyone believed they were. Sam was good enough at statistics to pick his battles and only feign a successful hand at believable intervals.

Laurence soon excused himself with the explanation that his mate was about to return from her shift. Lieutenant Oxley left shortly after, depositing a kiss on Sam's cheek, and saying she'd see him tomorrow.

With a sigh, Sam tossed the cards on the table. "What are you going to do?"

"Saalle is due to return in approximately one hour."

"I mean about the Dominion."

There was nothing he personally could do. "The Ramsar is being redirected to the Cardassian border. I will either continue in my duties as directed or be reassigned to more tactically-focused systems like shields or weapons power systems."

Sam smirked, glancing at him. "That's what I like about you. You're so calm all the damn time."

He was calm. There was no reason not to be. Nothing, realistically, had changed. "We were involved in several tense situations on the Enterprise, even some battle situations. I believe our training has prepared us to some degree… also, there are many veterans of the past war with the Cardassians onboard the Ramsar. I believe their expertise will be invaluable, and we would be wise to imitate their response."

In general, they seemed to be a confliction of states. Taurik would only describe it as anxious tranquility. One of the former soldiers Taurik worked with in engineering had put it more colorfully: hurry up and wait.

"Doesn't mean we aren't heading straight to our deaths."

That was true. "I only intended to communicate we've faced similar situations before." And the universe was truly random. Taurik had accepted a very long time ago that this was a risk of his joining Starfleet—though at the time the possibility had seemed remote. He refrained from speculating on the anxiety he'd be experiencing if Vorik were still alive.

He let his gaze flick back toward Sam. "What do you intend to do?"

"Try for the Enterprise." Sam's grin had turned incorrigible. "It won't get me out of anything, but it'll be a hell of a ride. Also, I'd like to see if Riker is any less intimidating with Jem'Hadar on the other side of the view screen."

Taurik sighed. The notion that Sam would die in any of the battles that seemed inevitable at this point was extremely unpleasant to consider. At least he would be at ease knowing Saalle and their child would be hidden away safely in a desert somewhere.

"At some point he'll find some scrap of ambition, and he'll get his own ship. And I'll be there when he does. He's my nemesis."

"Remaining with those one finds important isn't an indication of lacking ambition," he said, though he hadn't intended to say it. Sam's tone was too facetious, his comment about Riker obviously intended to be taken as a joke. "Technically," he added. "It may be viewed as simply a different kind of ambition."

Sam eyed him. "You sure you're staying on the Ramsar?"

He hadn't considered that, somehow. It was somehow a foregone conclusion, but now that Sam mentioned it… "I do not know."

Sam rubbed his eyes and stared after the door through which Oxley and Laurence had gone.

"I should speak to Saalle," Taurik said, though he wasn't sure why he'd announced that.

Sam didn't look confused, nodded. "I should call my mom."

"Give her my greetings," Taurik said, and left.

Saalle hadn't yet returned from her shift, so he spent the time reading and waiting. He pondered whether they had much to talk about: the decision to have all non-Starfleet personnel disembark once they reached Earth (if not before) had already been made. Saalle had no choice.

Taurik did have a choice.

He felt Saalle's approach, and her mild unsettled feeling at the new orders that she would have to leave. Still, she projected a sense of calm—not because the situation was wanted or expected, but because it was entirely manageable. She stepped through the door and found his waiting gaze almost immediately.

"I trust your work was productive?" he asked.

"It was. However, you desire to discuss other things." She went immediately to the replicator and requested a glass of water. She now walked a bit unsteadily and was usually exhausted, expecting the birth of their first child in approximately three months.

Despite her usual discomfort, there was little he could do to help her besides provide a stabilizing telepathic anchor and for her physical needs when she requested—to attempt to help her when she did not request was usually ill-advised…

"I only wish to know what your plan is since the announcement," he said.

Her response was a mild curiosity. "I will disembark on Earth. I anticipate finding lodging there may be difficult, but I believe it is the most logical next step. There are many highly-skilled Starfleet and civilian Vulcan doctors on Earth that will be able to assist in the birth, which is perhaps an unexpected benefit."

She turned to face him, searching his eyes and expression as if she thought he was hiding something.

Perhaps he was hiding something. He didn't intend to, but he decided to simply illuminate it. "I am willing to resign my commission to return to Vulcan with you if that's what you'd prefer," he said. He waited for Saalle's response for several seconds, but she didn't say anything.

When he finally looked up at her, she was staring in what seemed to be confusion. "Vulcan? I do not understand," she said. "Why are you saying this?"

That, he wasn't so sure about. He could find interesting and meaningful work there. It wouldn't be what he had designed to do. It wasn't what he wanted. He would have to rethink his plans, but they were only plans. Plans changed.

"Are you afraid?" she asked quietly, taking a step closer to him.

"No." To be afraid would have been illogical, even in this situation—but he wasn't afraid. "No, I am not afraid. I would prefer to maintain my station on the Ramsar."

"I thought that was the case," she agreed with a nod of near relief. "But if you do not desire to return to Vulcan, then what has precipitated this?"

She was within arms' reach now, her hands folded over her expanded belly. For less than a moment, he watched her move, and then spoke. "I don't remember asking what you wanted… in regard to our cohabitation."

Saalle shook her head. "I know we spoke about it. We concluded that we would live together during your service, then when you obtained a posting at Utopia Planetia we would live on Earth. The modification required to these plans is only slight."

"I only recall the options being that you could live with me aboard starships… or you could not. You could join me on Earth, or you could not." He hesitated to look at her, since that was probably a fine line she didn't care to distinguish. But it was a line that made some difference. "I don't remember discussing my living with you, on Vulcan, so you could continue your work there. Be near our family."

Perhaps the revelation that she hadn't truly been consulted in all these years shocked her—that was the only thing he felt from her at the moment. "I see."

"I apologize for the oversight."

"I accept the apology," she said, and stepped closer. "Though I doubt you will understand it, being as single-mindedly ambitious as you were, my goals have very little to do with career advancement, and less to do with where I work."

She was correct. He didn't understand that. He tried, for several seconds, to imagine what she might have in mind to accomplish if not work. He considered the child he had yet to meet, the one he could only barely sense, and reached out. She desired children more than he had, so perhaps that was encompassed in her goals.

He should have been more aware of what those more abstract goals might have been. He should have asked.

Saalle seemed nevertheless unfazed. "I assure you, working with the Science Academy, living on Vulcan—neither of these things are necessary for me to be fulfilled in my life's purpose."

Taurik would just have to take her word on that. He gave a shallow nod. "You are truly… mysterious," he offered, and hoped she took the compliment as he intended it.

Saalle was pleased. "And you… are truly not."

She intended it as much as a compliment, and he couldn't take it any other way. She knew him well, even now that he'd changed so much. Perhaps he hadn't changed as much as he thought. At the moment, though he knew it wasn't true, it seemed that he had never loved her more.