by S. D. Perry
“So you’re all aware, these proceedings are being recorded,” Kira said. “Holoconferencing isn’t currently available with the security restrictions, and there are several people who weren’t able to make it to this briefing on such short notice. Now, I hope you’ll all forgive me, but I’m going to forgo the formalities and get to the point. The situation is this: Seven days ago, First Minister Shakaar Edon was assassinated here on the station, just as he was about to sign Bajor into the Federation.”
Ezri blinked, her attention finally pulled away from Taulin Cyl, a half-dozen questions pushing for priority through her astonishment. Obviously aware of the statement’s impact, Kira held up one hand and quickly continued.
“The assassin was a member of the Trill ambassador’s entourage, a Trill named Hiziki Gard.”
Ezri froze.
Gard? No. It couldn’t be . . .
“After shooting the First Minister, Gard beamed out from the Promenade. Sensor readings suggested that he had fled the station for Trill, and I immediately left with the U.S.S. Gryphon, in pursuit.”
Ezri felt a flush of real anger. Kira and Shakaar had been lovers for a time, shortly after he’d been elected Bajor’s First Minister; he’d been a good man, and a good friend to her. And as independent as she was, as convinced as she was that she was autonomous, Kira needed her friends, perhaps more than most. Ezri knew, through Jadzia and herself, that Kira had spent years trying to overcome her own defenses, built up from a childhood brutalized by the Cardassian Occupation, to learn how to let people in . . . but very few actually made it inside, and the loss of any one of them was devastating.
“While we were on our way to Trill, Lieutenant Ro tracked down Gard, still in hiding on the station,” Kira said, “and between his interrogation and the autopsy data on the First Minister, it was discovered that Shakaar had been taken over by a parasitic alien, presumably at some time in his travels through the Federation earlier this year. He was no longer Shakaar Edon.”
Ezri’s breath caught, her hands curling into fists as dark memories flooded her mind like water. She shot a look at Cyl, saw that he was watching her, his expression affirming the truth of it, explaining his presence. It explained everything, the knowledge hitting her deep.
. . . after so long . . .
Dax had hoped never to hear of the parasites again, had actually dared to believe that the threat had passed. A parasite had killed Jayvin Vod, Audrid’s husband and Neema’s father . . . a parasite that the Trill Symbiosis Commission had covered up just over a century earlier, the lies about which had been the cause of Audrid and Neema’s long estrangement. Ezri felt a sudden chill, remembering what Audrid had experienced on the day of Jayvin’s death—an icy darkness, running exhausted through a twisted black labyrinth, chased by the raging screams of what had once been her husband . . .
And now something else came back to her: memories of the Dax symbiont’s personal ordeal during the “cathedral” encounter . . . which, she now realized, may have been a confrontation with its own reluctance to probe deeper into that earlier parasite incident.
“These parasites are known to both the Federation and apparently Trill, though very little data is available,” Kira continued. “What information there is, we’ve encrypted into a file that has been made accessible to each of your personal clearance codes. I suggest you all read it as soon as possible . . . but for the sake of this briefing, I’ll give you an abbreviated rundown.
“What we know at this time is that they have a limited group consciousness, but are capable of individual action. Unjoined, they’re small and mobile, and use a chemistry similar to that of a Trill symbiont in order to subjugate their hosts. Their goal appears to be the destruction of Trill. We know that they thoroughly dominate their unwilling carriers and are difficult to detect through medical scans. We don’t know how many there are, or where they’re currently based, but we must assume through their actions thus far that they are uninterested in pursuing a diplomatic course.”
“The Starfleet conspiracy,” Vaughn said, glancing between Kira and Akaar. Ezri looked around the table, saw that she wasn’t the only one who’d never heard of it . . . and that Cyl’s gaze had dropped, his expression carefully blank.
The admiral nodded. “We have been reevaluating the data on the parasites’ last incursion twelve years ago, in which they attempted to take over the Federation by infiltrating Starfleet,” he said. “Knowing what we do now, we can see that their redeployment of Starfleet personnel and forces at that time was putting a great deal of firepower specifically within striking distance of Trill.”
“And we now have reason to believe this latest incursion was initiated with the same goal,” Kira said. “Only this time their plan of attack was to entrench themselves first on a single world on the verge of Federation admission.
“Prior to the assassination of Shakaar, another parasite had taken over the first officer of the Gryphon. It manufactured evidence to suggest that Gard had fled for Trill. It did this in order to take Gryphon there and use the ship to cause widespread destruction. Fortunately, we were able to stop it at the edge of Trill space, though not without . . . sustaining losses on board.”
She took a deep breath, then went on. “Before it was stopped, the parasite talked to me. It said that its species meant to change things on Bajor and in the Federation, and made it clear that they despise Trill, though it was less than specific about why. General Cyl has explained that he represents a group on Trill that has been preparing for the parasite threat for some time, and that this group began to suspect Shakaar’s takeover at a point when it was already too late to save him. For the present, we are accepting the general’s word that Trill’s secrecy and the operation to assassinate Shakaar was unavoidable.”
Which means they haven’t been able to get through to anyone on Trill who’s willing to talk, not yet, Ezri thought. Cyl turned his gaze on Kira, his expression still bland, but Ezri understood what Kira hadn’t said: When all this was over, the Trill government could expect Bajor to demand a full investigation into Trill’s handling of the crisis. From Akaar’s neutral expression, Ezri had no doubt that the Federation was with Bajor on this. Not that Ezri would blame them. Trill’s need to keep secrets, time and again . . . it was their undoing.
Only now we’re dragging other planets in with us.
Kira went on. “Once the immediate threat to Trill was neutralized, Starfleet and Federation officials met with General Cyl and the Bajoran Chamber of Ministers and proposed this quarantine. With Bajor’s go-ahead, and with the generous assistance of the Cardassian military,” she added, nodding at Macet, “we’ve instituted the lockdown of Bajoran space in the hopes of containing the threat. At this time, however, with the exception of government officials and key Federation personnel, it’s generally believed that the security measures we’ve taken are related only to the assassination. We’ve made it known that there’s a vague possibility of anti-Federation terrorist activity, nothing specific, we don’t want to cause a panic—but more important, because the nature of the threat involves the total appropriation of individual identities, we don’t know at this time who can be trusted. So it’s vital that the truth doesn’t get out. We’ve found six infected people on board this station thus far, all of whom are currently in medical stasis.”
Kira looked around the table. “Admiral Akaar, General Cyl, Dr. Girani, and Lieutenant Ro all have statements to make regarding what’s been done and what needs to be done. You may want to hold questions until everyone has spoken. Admiral?”
Akaar unfolded his large frame from his seat, nodding at Kira. “As the Colonel has already stated, the Federation and Starfleet have instituted a class-one lockdown of Bajoran space. Bajor’s new First Minister, Asarem Wadeen, agreed—with understandable reluctance—to support the Federation’s efforts on Bajor’s behalf, but there is some civil unrest both here and on the planet.”
Ezri nodded inwardly. How could there not be? As far as Bajor
knew, they’d lost their popular First Minister to an assassin while he was under Federation protection, apparently while in the act of signing Bajor into the UFP.
“Five days ago, a parasite attacked Gul Macet, here on the station,” Akaar continued. “But it was ultimately unable to take hold over his system. Preliminary data suggests that Cardassians are immune to this species, possibly through a biochemical discrepancy . . . which may explain Shakaar’s apparent reluctance to forge ties between Bajor and Cardassia in the last weeks of his life.”
Jake was right, Ezri thought numbly. The Cardassians are here because they’re immune.
The admiral stated it aloud. “Because of their resistance to parasitic infection, the Cardassians are ideally suited to help enforce the lockdown and assume point in the detection process.” Akaar then looked directly at Vaughn. “We attempted to contact Defiant, but when we learned the GQ relay had gone dark, we had to begin preparing for the possibility that one or more persons aboard the ship had been infected prior to its departure from Deep Space 9, and that it would return as an enemy vessel.”
That explained Macet’s unwillingness to reason. Vaughn nodded, looking over at the Gul. “No hard feelings, I hope.” Macet inclined his head, but did not otherwise respond.
Akaar continued: “Several Federation starships have been deployed to secure adjacent sectors—but they will not be docking here. Their purpose will be to stand by in case an emergency evacuation becomes necessary.”
Ezri saw Vaughn’s gaze sharpen, saw that Kira’s jaw had gone tight, and understood immediately. Next to her, Julian shifted uneasily. Akaar hadn’t said it, but he hadn’t needed to, either.
Not just for emergency evac. If the infestation were to get out of control . . . Containment was necessary, at any cost.
“Just prior to and sometime after the assassination, a small number of ships departed the station,” Akaar continued. “We have sent transports after each one, and have managed to find and scan the crews of all but four, three of those transports bound for Bajor. The shuttle passenger lists were accurate, but a number of the people we are attempting to track work and live in remote agricultural communities, so it’s taking some time. The fourth ship was a civilian freighter headed for Andevian II at warp, we were not able to contact them before they slipped into the Badlands . . . but they were reached yesterday, and have agreed to remain quarantined until a Federation ship can rendezvous with them to perform examinations. So far, there have been no new cases of infection reported.”
“What about ships that left here after Shakaar’s return to Bajor?” Vaughn asked, his expression suggesting that he didn’t really want to know. Shakaar Edon had been back in Bajoran space for months, and had been to the station a number of times. “And those he was in contact with on Bajor?”
Akaar glanced expressionlessly at Ro, who looked down at one of the padds in front of her before answering. “We’re doing what we can to meet with the people he had personal connections to on Bajor; fortunately, as First Minister, his movements were well-documented, and those who were with him on a day-to-day basis have tested negative, including his own personal assistant. We now believe the parasites are either slow to spread, or their numbers are small. As for the departures from here . . . what can be done to follow up on them is being done, but of more immediate concern is the number of Bajoran civilians we’ve been unable to track down.”
“How many?” Vaughn asked.
“Including the three shuttles that left around the time of Shakaar’s death . . . there are one hundred and seven civilians currently unaccounted for,” Ro said.
One hundred and seven. Ezri felt sick.
“Right now, there are several different search-and-screen teams working the surface, under General Lenaris’s supervision,” Akaar said. “And though we have tried to keep their presence as low profile as possible, the citizens have become aware that there are Cardassian ties to the process; we have met with resistance to voluntary scanning procedures. Commander Vaughn, I would like you to assist General Lenaris and coordinate additional teams.”
“Understood,” Vaughn said, the flicker of despair in his gaze there and gone almost too fast to see. Knowing what he’d been going through since the death of Prynn’s mother, Ezri caught it, and felt her heart go out to him. “Of course. Do we know yet how they breed?”
“Dr. Girani has reviewed the available data,” Akaar said. “Doctor?”
As Girani stood up, Ezri felt the memories again, too clear for an event a hundred years gone, recalled the words of the parasite that had worn her husband’s body for one terrible night, its hateful litany screamed and echoing in her helmet. It had called itself the Taker of Gist, and had insisted that it was paving the way for many, that however long it took, nothing would stop them from destroying their enemies.
They finally made it . . . and we are the enemy, Ezri thought helplessly, as the doctor began to speak.
* * *
Girani had a number of interesting things to say, but Ro had already heard it, at the briefing that Kira had held when the Gryphon had returned to the station. Ro found herself tuning out the repeated information, watching the Defiant’s crew instead as they struggled to digest the crisis and its implications.
Vaughn was entirely focused, his quick gaze missing nothing. Dr. Bashir was paying close attention, as well, though Ezri Dax seemed to be in a state of mild shock. Nog seemed fairly shocked as well, with that trace of Ferengi nervousness that seemed to come at the slightest hint of danger. Ro didn’t really know Bowers or Merimark, though both looked tired and unhappy, as one might expect.
Shar’s attention was completely focused on the doctor, so much so that it seemed obvious he was avoiding his mother’s gaze . . . and the Andorian councillor was doing the same, her countenance carefully poised, rapt to the doctor’s words. Ro had never been particularly at ease with emotional matters, her own or anyone else’s, but she decided to make a point of approaching Shar with a sympathetic ear, when there was time. She remembered the conversation they’d had after he’d translated the Ohalu text, how interested he’d been in her motivations for not following the religion of her people . . . and after learning the facts of his own private rebellion, she finally understood why. Andorian biology was fragile and complicated, and by leaving the station when he had, Shar had caused incredible stress to his three bondmates and his mother; Shar, it seemed, had gone against his sacred duty to marry and procreate, a necessity to the slowly dying Andorian species . . . and one of his mates had killed herself while he’d been away, apparently convinced that her own life was worth nothing without the children their rigidly-structured culture demanded. It was tragic, but unlike his own mother—who had apparently dragged his bondmates to the station in the first place, hoping to make her child return to Andor—Ro didn’t think it was Shar’s fault; the girl had been unstable. Ro liked Shar, he was the first real friend she’d made on the station, and she hoped she could offer him some kind of support.
“ . . . the only visible sign that someone is infected is a tiny barb that protrudes from the back of the neck,” Girani was saying, quoting almost directly from the Enterprise’s files. “However, in two of the cases we found on the station, the barb had been plastimasked to the skin, making it impossible to detect on sight.”
Ro had read the reports several times. The Federation’s only extended contact with the parasites had been during the coup at Starfleet HQ on Earth over a decade ago, in which several key officers had been infected. Jean-Luc Picard and Will Riker had been instrumental in stopping it. The conspiracy had been rather widespread, a number of key Starfleet personnel infected throughout Federation space, but Starfleet had managed to keep it quiet, dealing with the matter internally. It had all happened well before her own struggling stint on the Enterprise.
Girani continued. “As the colonel said, while they can act individually, there’s reason to believe that they prefer to operate in numerous hives or colonies, with one
central creature controlling the actions of those surrounding it—a mother parasite, if you will. She breeds a small colony inside her carrier, then sends her offspring to find their own hosts. The mother transmits direction and purpose to her spawn telepathically. We’ve hypothesized that such a female can communicate with the other females within range. But at what range, we don’t know.”
But we do know there’s a good chance that there’s a female on board, Ro thought grimly, remembering the attack on Macet. So far, the only cases on the station had been infected with the sexless, sterile offspring, Shakaar included. They’d been assuming that he had smuggled one of the females to Bajor from wherever he’d been infected.
“Have there been any attempts at surgical removal?” Bashir asked.
Girani shook her head. “It would kill the host. Starfleet’s Dr. Beverly Crusher documented the complex neurological connections, chemical and physical, that would make such an attempt impossible beyond a certain point; her notes are in the file. Data from Shakaar’s autopsy and Gard’s own testimony also suggests that there can be no separation beyond a certain window, probably a matter of three to four weeks for humans and Bajorans, based on the sim runs. This window may vary from species to species—longer in some, much shorter in others.
“When the mother parasite on Earth was killed, the ‘soldier’ parasites were then easily removed from their respective hosts. We don’t understand the exact reason at this time. We do know that those who carry the mother parasites can’t be saved, the internal damage too great, and these hosts became dependent on the mother for survival.
“Each parasite has the ability to access the short-term memory of a host, creating further difficulty in detection . . . though long-term memory is beyond their reach, which is another way they can be spotted.”
