Verkiir stood in the navigation room of the Zavellan, his mind anywhere but on his duties. A star map was pulled up before him, beacons placed on various locations. Names filled a screen, scrolling by one by one along with anticipated times of arrival. The Pathfinder was speaking, his voice settling into that rhythmic cadence it gained when he was working through a problem.

But though Verkiir could sense all of these things, he was not focused on them. Instead, his attention was with his mate.

She was not happy here.

He knew she'd had reservations. She'd agreed to live on the Zavellan out of fear rather than a desire to be here. But Verkiir had hoped those reservations would fade away when she saw space as he did. And while she'd obviously been awed by her surroundings, finding beauty and purpose in the world around her, Mei'gahn was still unhappy. He could feel it as clearly as he could feel his own turbulent emotions.

He tried his best to please her. He allowed her freedoms she might not otherwise have, encouraged her to meet new Karuvar that he thought she might like as friends. When they had time alone, even when he was exhausted, Verkiir expended every last fragment of his energy with her, making certain she felt every bit of adoration she deserved from him.

But it was not enough.

He knew that was in large part due to his current position. As First Guardian, he was typically in charge of Drann's protection and, to a lesser extent, Drol'gan's. But now he was overseeing the safe arrival of dozens of Karuvar on Earth, each and every one of them seemingly eager to find a mate of their own. It was an important task. Monumental, even, as it would ensure the continuation of the Karuvar people.

But there was a part of him that resented it. He'd found his mate. The first Karuvar to bond with another in many orbits. He should be spending every waking hour with her, and yet he was forced to ensure other Karuvar young and old found their own mates. Mates they would undoubtedly spend more time with than Verkiir had spent with Mei'gahn.

He tried to do his work and avoid commenting on Drol'gan's tasks, but in this particular instance, his disdain must have been palpable.

"You are not pleased with me," Drol'gan said, sounding vaguely amused.

"You are my Pathfinder," Verkiir intoned. "I will do as you bid."

Drol'gan ceased his scrolling, the screen before him fading with inactivity. Apprehension tightened Verkiir's gut, but he had never known his Pathfinder to approve of warriors who held their tongues, so he made the decision to speak. Unfortunately, Drol’gan spoke before he had the chance to do so.

"I know you should be spending this time with your mate. It is unfair to the both of you, and for that I am deeply sorry," he said, his voice genuine. "But what you are doing will lead to the betterment of our kind. You will be remembered eons from now."

Verkiir felt a twinge of guilt at that, his attention focusing on the map again. Of course he knew how important this was, and he was honored to make any sacrifice for his people. But the part of him that just wished to feel Mei'gahn's soft body against his wished Drol'gan had chosen someone else for the task.

"That said," the Pathfinder continued, a glint in his eye, "I would feel the same as you, if I had just found my mate. I know it is little consolation, but once this is over, I would free you of your duties for a time."

Verkiir looked up, his eyes searching Drol'gan's for any hint of mirth. There was some, but not in any way that was cruel. The offer was genuine.

"I thank you, Pathfinder."

Eagerness hummed within him, pushing aside his dark thoughts. Perhaps Mei'gahn was not happy now, but she would be. He would make sure of it.

* * *

When Verkiir's meeting with the Pathfinder concluded, he went straight to his mate, all too ready to share the good news with her. He had already planned out things they might do together. Much time would be spent in their quarters, yes, but perhaps they could take respite on one of the tropical planets, too. Azh'lee could accompany them and they would simply enjoy their freedom and the majesty of a lush new world to explore. It called to his blood, and he hoped it would call to Mei'gahn, as well.

But when he saw her, all of that hope crumbled in an instant.

She was seated on their bed, her back to the door. There was something in her hands, and he could feel her sorrow as she gazed upon it. He approached slowly, letting out a breath to steady himself.

He could make this right.

"Mei'gahn," he said softly.

She did not startle. No doubt she heard him coming. When she turned to face him, the smile on her face told a different tale than the wet streaks left behind on her beautiful face. He went to her in an instant, sitting beside her and swiping at the remnants of her tears with his thumbs.

"What is wrong?"

He looked down at the offensive item and saw a digital capture--what humans called a photograph--tucked safely within some kind of book. It was creased and faded and frayed at the edges, but the two smiling humans within it were still recognizable. They bore striking resemblance to Mei'gahn, and he could only assume they were her parents.

"Nothing. I just found this in one of the boxes I hadn't unpacked yet." She turned the book toward him. "This is the last picture ever taken of my parents."

He had assumed her parents were gone. He did not know how long humans lived, but it seemed a very fragile life without the adaptations of the Karuvar to help them.

"What happened to them?" he asked.

Mei'gahn tensed, and he could feel that her unease went beyond simply the fact that they had died. She glanced down at her implant and Verkiir's brow drew tight in confusion.

"Something happened with their implants. They were fine on a Wednesday, then dead by noon that Saturday."

The pain in her voice etched away at his own defenses, and he slid his arms about her, not knowing what to do other than offer comfort. Mei'gahn relaxed somewhat at this, but some of that tension lingered on.

"I... blamed the Karuvar for a long time. I didn't trust them. I always assumed the implants were directly responsible for for Ash and I losing our parents."

Something in Verkiir balked at that, and he was unable to stop himself from saying, "Without the implant, humans would still be living underground."

It was not the right thing to say. Mei'gahn stiffened and pulled away from him and Verkiir cursed himself. He had come here to tell her good news, not to make her feel worse.

"I don't think that way anymore," she admitted. "Your people have welcomed us here, and... my implant helped me find you."

He wanted to reach for her again, but he could tell there was more she wished to say.

"But I can't help feeling like we don't belong here."

It was said so quietly and in such a pained tone that Verkiir almost did not hear her. Or perhaps that was his heart trying desperately to ignore what he already knew deep down. A low growl of protest rumbled in his throat, but he channeled it into something actually productive.

Denial.

"Of course you belong here. You are my mate."

Her eyes were filled with moisture as she looked upon him. Verkiir's chest tightened and his stomach dropped. No. He would not accept this. He had fought too hard for this. For her.

"I don't want to lose you, Verkiir. But this isn't my home. It isn't Ashley's home, either. She's done a great job of pretending--maybe we both have--but she's miserable here."

Miserable. Misery was not something he wished for his mate or her kin. And yet it tore at somewhere deep inside of him. Why was he not enough to make her happy? Why was the universe he had to offer her not worth more than one single planet?

"You are my mate," he repeated, "and you are Karuvar now. I know it has been difficult, but the Pathfinder is granting us time, as soon as the other Karuvar reach the Waystations."

She looked at him, disappointment shining in her eyes. "That's the solution, then? We're just supposed to suck it up until you become available? That might work for me, but what about Ashley?"

Verkiir's jaw set like stone. "I thought you would be pleased."

"How can you not understand?" she asked, rising from the bed to pull further away from him. "If I'd demanded you live on Earth, away from everything you knew, you'd--"

"It is hardly comparable," he said. "Earth is a single, failing planet. The Zavellan offers so much more."

Mei'gahn just stared at him, her lips parted. He did not know what he had done, but he knew it was quite bad.

"Wow." That single word was uttered as if after the worst kind of betrayal. "I can't do this right now. I can't be here."

"Mei'gahn," he said, reaching out for her.

But she moved past him, her arms wrapped around her body as she shook her head. She stepped into the corridor, and in no time, Verkiir was left alone in a cold, empty room.

* * *

Hours later, Verkiir felt numb as he walked to the Pathfinder's quarters. His fellow Guardians greeted him, as did Drann, but he said nothing in return. He kept his attention focused on putting one foot in front of the other, lest he be consumed by the ache in his heart.

He knew what he had to do.

He'd known it for some time. Perhaps he had always known it, and this was merely his feeble attempt at some kind of perfect, happy life. He had come so close, had wanted it so badly, and yet it was not to be.

He could not make his mate happy. In fact, he had actively made her unhappy. And to the Karuvar, that was a most grievous offense. It gnawed at him from the inside out even as his implant hummed and burned and attempted to warn him away from his current path.

There was nothing for it, though. It had to be done.

"Pathfinder," he said, forcing all emotion from his face.

Drol'gan looked up, then gave a little nod, acknowledging Verkiir's window to continue and his last chance to back out.

But he would not. He was Karuvar. He was bound by honor. He would do what he must.

"We must set a return course for Earth," he said as if it were mere fact. And to him, it was. "Mei'gahn and Azh'lee must be taken home."

He heard Drann protest behind him, but Verkiir's attention was fixed solely on Drol'gan. The Pathfinder's ears twitched, his eyes widening ever so slightly. Pain and understanding overtook his expression, and he reached out a hand to clasp Verkiir's arms.

"You know what this will mean," he said softly.

Verkiir nodded. He did know. Once a Karuvar found their mate, they were bound to them for life. Without Mei'gahn, he was condemning himself to a lifetime of isolation and loneliness. Perhaps even worse.

But he could not keep her happy, and he loved her too much to be the cause of her misery.

"I do."

Drol'gan sighed, nodding slowly. "Then I will set the course immediately. May the stars grant you mercy, Verkiir."