Lesser Evil

by Robert Simpson

  This is my fault, he thought as he stared at her face. I consigned her to this, as surely as if I’d stabbed her with the assimilation tubules myself. She’s endured seven years of hell because I was never able to put her before duty.

  Strange, how easily the old emotions resurfaced, even after seven years. He thought his reconnection to Prynn following his encounter with the Inamuri would finally unshackle him from the past. I should have realized. I should have known that something like this was coming. The signs were there, the coincidences too numerous….

  “Sir?”

  Bashir had walked up to him. Vaughn pulled his eyes away from Ruriko’s pale visage and refocused on the doctor.

  “Her condition remains stable. Using records from our database on the previous attempts to reverse Borg assimilation, we’ve neutralized the most dangerous elements of the Borg technology, but we’ve had to leave intact the ones that are keeping what’s left of her body alive.” Bashir paused to allow a reaction from Vaughn. He offered none, so Bashir pressed on. “Something else you should understand, sir: the extent of her assimilation is far greater than anything we have on record. It’s possible that in time, we’ll be able to restore her human appearance, but she’ll never be able to survive without extensive biomechanical help.”

  “What about brain activity?” Vaughn asked.

  “There’s some, but it’s difficult to be precise, because of the Borg modifications. As best I can determine, she’s in a coma. But it’s impossible to know how much damage she endured after spending two years on minimal life support. I’ll know more after we’ve returned to the Alpha Quadrant, where the proper facilities can be utilized to—”

  “No,” Vaughn interrupted. “You’ll do the work here.”

  From the corner of his eye, Vaughn could see that Sam had turned suddenly in his direction. He’d overheard them.

  Bashir hesitated. “Sir, please try to understand. I’ve done all that I can safely attempt to do for her under the present circumstances. Defiant’ s medical bay simply isn’t equipped to handle a case like this. Certainly not without replicators. The degree of mutilation alone—”

  “We’re not leaving orbit, Doctor,” Vaughn said. “I’m not putting Deep Space 9, Bajor, or anyone else in the Alpha Quadrant at risk of exposure to Borg technology until I know it’s safe to do so. And only after her mind has been restored.”

  “I don’t know that I can do that.”

  Vaughn’s eyes narrowed. “Well, you’re going to try.”

  Bashir met Vaughn’s challenging stare and held it. “All right,” he said quietly. “But I want to be clear that this is against my medical judgment. And I fully intend to enter it into my log that your orders are putting this woman’s life and the safety of the crew at risk.”

  “You’re certainly at liberty to—” Vaughn began, but was interrupted by the worst sound he could imagine.

  “Mom…?”

  Vaughn spun around. Prynn stood there, in the open door of the medbay, staring in mute disbelief at Ruriko’s still-standing form across the room.

  “Get out,” Vaughn snarled, moving to block Prynn’s view as he marched toward the door. “Get out of here now!”

  “But, Dad—”

  “Now!” Vaughn shouted, forcing his daughter into the corridor. “Mr. Bowers, confine Ensign Tenmei to quarters.”

  “Sir?” Bowers said.

  “Do it, Lieutenant.”

  Bowers hesitated, but finally came out to usher Prynn along, who stared at her father in disbelief. “C’mon, Prynn,” Sam said gently. “Let’s go.”

  Mouth agape, Prynn shook her head uncomprehendingly at Vaughn as he retreated into the medical bay and sealed the door behind him.

  “I think he’s losing it,” Sam told Dax sometime later, alone with her in the captain’s ready room.

  Dax frowned as she listened to Bowers’s report from behind Vaughn’s desk. News about the crashed ships on the surface, the discovery of the surviving drone and its identity, as well as Vaughn’s confinement of Prynn had spread throughout the ship. “He’s got to be under a lot of strain, Sam,” Dax said.

  Bowers nodded. “I’m not disputing that, Ezri. I can’t begin to imagine what he must be going through right now. But you didn’t see him down on the planet, or in the medical bay. He’s lost his perspective. He’s made it personal.”

  “What do you expect?” Dax asked. “Ruriko Tenmei is the mother of his only child. To find her transformed into a Borg drone, after believing she was dead for seven years—”

  “This is about more than Commander Tenmei,” Bowers said, raising his voice. “We’ve discovered evidence of a Borg incursion into the Gamma Quadrant. Our first priority is to report it to Starfleet. But Vaughn’s even suspended transmissions to the station.”

  “This incursion is over two years old. We’ve never encountered any evidence of Borg contacts in the Gamma Quadrant before this. It may be an isolated incident. The delay of a few more days or even weeks isn’t going to make—”

  “Lieutenant,” Bowers said, “this is the Borg we’re talking about. We don’t know what the hell they were doing, or when they might return to finish the job. And judging by the fact that the wrecks down on that planet went untouched until we found them, it’s a safe bet the Dominion never found out that one of their ships encountered a Borg vessel. I don’t know about you, but I for one don’t ever want to have to face a Jem’Hadar drone. And God help us all if they ever manage to assimilate a Founder. We need to do something about this now.”

  Dax was silent. She knew Sam was right. And as ship’s first officer, the responsibility of addressing the situation fell to her. “All right,” she said. “I’ll talk to him.”

  Bowers sighed and nodded.

  “How’s Prynn?” Dax asked.

  “Mad as hell,” Bowers said. “Not just at her father, either. She’s pretty pissed at me for refusing to tell her anything, and for confining her to her cabin.”

  “I’ll deal with that, too. Anything else?”

  Bowers shook his head.

  “Take the bridge,” Dax said. “I’ll relieve you as soon as I can.”

  Bowers nodded and left.

  “Computer,” she said when he was gone. “Locate Commander Vaughn.”

  “Commander Vaughn is in his quarters.”

  Dax sat back and sighed, wishing she knew what she would say to him.

  10

  “Have you questioned him yet?” Asarem wanted to know.

  Seated around the wardroom table and facing the viewscreen with Lenaris, Ro, and Ambassador Gandres, Akaar listened with his brow knotted in turmoil. Gard’s capture, while a major step in solving the mystery of why Shakaar was assassinated, had raised a whole new set of questions…questions he almost feared to learn the answers to.

  “He’s not cooperating,” Ro said, responding to the first minister’s question. “He’s obviously been trained to resist interrogation. He might even be resistant to the standard truth drugs. Unfortunately, we can’t even try those in his present condition without killing him.”

  “The injuries he sustained were life-threatening, First Minister,” Lenaris elaborated. “Dr. Tarses was able to stabilize him, but he reports that Gard will require several days to recover before he can be released. He is currently confined to the isolation ward in the station’s infirmary, under guard.”

  “But if you have the assassin alive, there aboard the station,” the first minister said, “then what is the Gryphon chasing?”

  Akaar and Lenaris exchanged a look before the admiral replied, “We do not yet know, First Minister. Perhaps Gard’s accomplice. If so, Gryphon’ s mission would be essentially unchanged. It was my intention to have Gard interrogated again before updating Captain Mello and Colonel Kira.”

  Asarem frowned. “And can you explain the isolation suit, Admiral? Can you, Ambassador?”

  Akaar shook his head. “Not conclusively,” he said. “Not yet, at any rate. Starfleet uses is
olation suits for the express purpose of conducting covert cultural observations of prewarp societies. But the technology is closely guarded. I have contacted Starfleet Command to see what they can learn.”

  “I don’t think I need to tell you that this is beginning to look more and more like a conspiracy by forces within the Federation, gentlemen,” Asarem said frankly.

  “I agree, First Minister, that it looks that way,” Akaar said. “But I am not yet convinced that that is what we are really facing.”

  “First Minister, I assure you,” Gandres chimed, “that my government utilizes no such devices for any purpose whatsoever. If there is a plot against Bajor, then it may be by a handful of rogue elements, but certainly not by the people of Trill or the Federation. If Gard—”

  Gandres was interrupted by the wardroom doors parting to admit Dr. Girani. She looked pale and exhausted. No, Akaar thought. She looks as if she has just experienced a shock of some kind.

  “Doctor,” Lenaris said, “do you have something to report?”

  “Sirs, First Minister, pardon my interruption, but I’ve finally completed the autopsy report on Minister Shakaar.”

  “And?” Asarem prompted from the viewscreen.

  “First Minister, my preliminary examination showed none of this, but upon a detailed scan of the body, I discovered two anomalies that I cannot explain. Shakaar’s brain and nervous system contained an alien biochemical, which I’ve now identified conclusively as isoboramine.”

  Everyone in the room looked at her blankly except Gandres. The Trill ambassador seemed stunned. “That’s impossible.”

  “I ran the tests four times, Ambassador,” Girani said. “There’s no mistake.”

  “And what is isoboramine?” Asarem asked.

  “It’s the unique neurotransmitter that facilitates the integration of host and symbiont in a joined Trill,” Girani said.

  Akaar’s eyebrows went up.

  Asarem positively stammered. “Doctor, are you…are you saying Shakaar was joined?”

  “He couldn’t have been,” Gandres insisted. “Only Trill can be joined to symbionts.”

  “That is not entirely true, Ambassador,” Akaar said, pacing the room thoughtfully. “Starfleet is aware of at least one instance in which a Terran served as host to a symbiont, at least temporarily, and under extraordinary circumstances.” The admiral turned to Girani. “However, if Shakaar was somehow joined, then there would be a symbiont in his abdominal cavity. Was there, Doctor?”

  “No, sir,” the doctor said. “Despite the presence of isoboramine, Minister Shakaar’s abdominal cavity showed no indication of ever carrying a symbiont.”

  Akaar scowled. He felt as if all the pieces were there, but the picture eluded him. There was something familiar about all this…but what?

  “However,” Girani continued, “a microcellular scan of the wound did reveal traces of symbiont DNA. Or something very much like a symbiont.”

  “What do you mean, in the wound?” Gandres asked. “The wound was to his neck.”

  Akaar froze, the realization hitting him like a kligat. He looked up at the face of Gandres, at those of the Bajorans around him and the first minister on the screen, and suddenly he knew that everything about the situation had changed. Blood of my father, not this. Not again…

  “Admiral,” Asarem said, watching Akaar carefully. “What is it? You know what this is, don’t you?”

  “First Minister,” Akaar said, “I fear that I do.”

  Akaar walked into the infirmary’s isolation ward, where Hiziki Gard lay stretched out on a biobed, seeming to study the ceiling. His eyes didn’t move to acknowledge Akaar as the admiral stopped at the foot of the bed.

  “I will come right to the point. I know why Shakaar was killed. We found traces of foreign DNA in his neck. We also found a match in the Starfleet database. Shakaar was host to a parasite, one of the creatures who infiltrated Starfleet twelve years ago and attempted to take over the Federation. The same species as the creature that a joint team of Starfleet and Trill civilian scientists encountered a century before.”

  Gard said nothing, just continued to stare straight ahead.

  “What are you protecting?” Akaar persisted. “Why continue this subterfuge?” Again Gard refused to answer. Akaar slammed his hand on the edge of the biobed and stepped around it, leaning in close. “If these creatures have indeed returned, then they threaten all of us. This is about more than just Trill.”

  Gard’s eyes suddenly met the admiral’s. “You’re wrong, Akaar. This is all about Trill, from beginning to end.”

  “Tell me how.”

  “Why ask me? You know about the previous encounters. You have the DNA. So you already know the truth: outward appearances notwithstanding, the symbionts of Trill and the parasites are essentially the same species.”

  “I don’t know enough,” Akaar said. “How long was the parasite controlling him?”

  “Months,” Gard answered. “We believe he became infected at some point during his diplomatic trip to the Federation. Unlike most symbionts, parasites completely dominate their hosts. They don’t even access the hosts’ long-term memories. That’s how your people detected them during the last incursion, but only after they’d already overplayed their hand. There are also subtle indications in behavior and body language, but these are more difficult to detect. That’s why I was called in. I’ve spent many lifetimes specializing in the behavioral psychology of joined beings. I was sent to DS9 specifically to evaluate Shakaar, and if our suspicions were correct, to deal with the matter.”

  “But what did the creature want from Shakaar? What was it trying to do?”

  Gard arched an eyebrow. “To take Bajor into the Federation. Isn’t that obvious?”

  “But why Bajor?”

  Gard shrugged. “A new direction of attack, perhaps? Infiltrate the Federation through a single species? Maybe to manipulate the sociopolitical landscape in this region as a prelude to some grander scheme? Take your pick. The only way to stop whatever plan they had was to stop Shakaar from signing the agreement, but in such a way that Federation unity couldn’t go forward.”

  “That’s why you waited until the signing ceremony,” Akaar realized. “But why was it necessary to kill him?”

  “He’d been infected too long. There was no longer a way to free him from the parasite. To all intents and purposes, Shakaar Edon was already dead.”

  “Are we still in danger?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “You said you were sent to DS9,” Akaar continued. “Is Trill behind this?”

  Gard smiled. “That depends on who you ask.”

  Akaar turned away, emotions seething. Finally he spun back around and grabbed the folds of Gard’s tunic in his great fists. “Do you think this is a game?”

  “I’m growing weary of you, Akaar,” Gard said quietly. “You think you’re old? Believe me, you don’t know what old is. I’ve died more times than I can remember. Next to me, you’re a newborn. So don’t think you can intimidate me.”

  Akaar slowly released Gard, but the two men continued to stare at each other. Finally the admiral said, “Gryphon is on its way to Trill.”

  That seemed to give Gard pause. “Why?”

  “Captain Mello believed they had detected the energy signature of a cloaked vessel, heading in the direction of Trill. We assumed it was you, so she set out in pursuit of it.” Akaar watched the shock seep into Gard’s face. “But if you are here, then it begs the question…what is Gryphon chasing?”

  Gard did not respond at once. Clearly he had not expected the news. So the Jem’Hadar was right, and Gard had heard only part of Akaar’s conversation with Mello.“If what you’re telling me is true, then you’ve all been duped. Captain Mello is being manipulated by the same kind of creature that controlled Shakaar. Gryphon is going to Trill for one reason: to retaliate. Not for the death of Shakaar, but the thing that was inside him.

  “You have to stop that ship, Akaar,” Gard said.
“You can’t allow it to reach Trill.”

  11

  Chief Petty Officer Miles O’Brien tended to think of himself as uncomplicated. He lived life by a very fundamental rule: If something’s broken, you fix it. And if his long career as a Starfleet engineer had taught him anything—from his time aboard the Rutledge, to the Enterprise, to Deep Space 9, to his current posting on the faculty staff at Starfleet Academy—it was that people needed fixing as much as machines. More so. Especially family.

  So when Kasidy Yates had contacted him all the way from Bajor with her unexpected request, O’Brien didn’t hesitate. Privately he was skeptical about what he could accomplish—after all, he’d only met Joseph Sisko a couple of times and had no special influence on the man. But O’Brien also had a fierce loyalty to Ben Sisko, his former commanding officer, and there was no way he would hesitate to do whatever he could for the man’s family, especially after what had happened to him…and to Jake.

  New Orleans was literally minutes away from San Francisco by shuttle—only seconds by transporter—and O’Brien still had months of accumulated leave time he hadn’t used up. Once he’d explained the situation to his current C.O., Admiral Whatley—commandant of the Academy and another old friend of Captain Sisko’s—O’Brien quickly put his affairs in order and returned home, announcing to his wife and children that they were all taking a summer vacation to New Orleans.

  Keiko had been none too pleased at first, rightly anticipating that August wasn’t exactly the most comfortable time of year to visit the sultry city on the Louisiana bayou. But once Miles had explained the reason for their impromptu holiday, all thoughts of the temporary inconvenience promptly vanished. Keiko arranged to take time off from her research, and the kids, Molly and Kirayoshi, both seemed genuinely excited by the idea of a visit to a new city. O’Brien pulled a few strings with some friends in the Corps of Engineers, and by evening the family had materialized on the pavement directly outside Sisko’s Creole Kitchen.