Unity

by S. D. Perry

  Akaar broke in. “Finding them is difficult; subduing them even more so. We know that low-level phaser fire has no effect. Because they have the ability to neutralize pain receptors in the host body, and control adrenaline levels, anyone infected by one of these parasites can resist physical trauma . . . and is capable of enhanced physical strength, at least for short periods.”

  No kidding. All six parasite cases on the station had fought when they’d been detected. One had managed to break a security officer’s arm and two ribs before the med techs could sedate it; a second had given Corporal Hava a concussion.

  Dr. Bashir had a few more technical questions for Girani about the isoboramine connection, the neurotransmitter that was apparently shared by both Trill symbiont and parasite, most of which Ro couldn’t follow. From the slight frowns around the table, she figured she wasn’t the only one left behind by the medical jargon . . . though she noticed that both of the Trill present seemed to be following along without much trouble. Girani answered as best she could, but it was apparent that research on the parasites was still in its earliest stages. That much, everyone could understand.

  Girani seated herself and Cyl gave his brief, noncommittal speech: There had been a chance encounter with some kind of a parasite nearly a century before, a joint Starfleet Trill science expedition that had resulted in several deaths—but the Trill files on the event had been lost, nothing was definite about the symbiont parasite connection, he had come to investigate on Trill’s behalf and to offer his assistance. He offered up a few “theoretical” ideas about how the parasites might communicate with one another if there was, in fact, some relation between them and the symbionts beyond a similar genetic code, and then took his seat again.

  Just as with the first time she’d heard it, Ro was convinced that he wasn’t being entirely forthcoming, but she had nothing solid on which to base her suspicions. Kira had told her that the general had appeared just before the Gryphon’s return to DS9, claiming, as Gard had, that the parasites wanted to destroy Trill. Their motivation still hadn’t been explained to Ro’s satisfaction. The Starfleet file on the century-old incident wasn’t particularly helpful, nor was Gard, and the general would say only that the parasitic threat to Trill was part of an ancient mythology, so ancient that no one could remember the circumstances surrounding it. As Quark would say, an utter load of—

  “Lieutenant?” Kira asked, and Ro realized that she was asking it for the second time, that everyone was watching her.

  So much for making an impression. Ro quickly stood and gave her report, referring to the padds at hand a number of times, though she knew the information without looking. She wanted to be as precise as possible, particularly with Akaar looking on; his doubts about her still ran deep. Usually that didn’t bother her, she was used to Starfleet brass looking down on her past, but he had been particularly blatant about it, especially since their confrontation in ops, when she’d discovered Gard’s hiding place. Akaar had loudly and publicly doubted her assertion that Gard was still on the station, and had been less than thrilled to be proved wrong.

  Ro went over the security measures currently in place on the station, explaining the sweep process she had set up, cross-scanning station residents by several rotating criteria. It seemed to be effective so far, although the sweeps would have to be ongoing throughout the crisis unless they could create a better scan procedure . . . or institute a real lockdown, quarantining those who’d tested clean, not a possibility if they meant to keep the situation classified. There were three official incidents of “civil unrest” on the Promenade to report, all due to the Cardassian presence—two shouting matches and one thankfully bloodless scuffle between a Cardassian soldier and a trio of youthful Bajorans. The only good to come out of the lockdown was that there’d been no further tension at the Bajoran temple; in her opinion, the stresses between the “new religion” and the old continued to seethe under the surface of things, but for the time being, the Ohalavaru had stopped their scattered demonstrations. Perhaps they were still trying to digest Vedek Yevir’s dramatic recovery of the last missing Orbs, presented just before Shakaar was murdered—practically assuring the conservative Vedek’s election to kai—or perhaps they were simply like the rest of Bajor, shocked and in mourning over their loss.

  Ro finished with an update on the tracking difficulties being experienced by the investigation teams on Bajor. She’d conferred with General Lenaris just before the briefing, and he could only report that progress was slow; they’d managed to locate and clear only three more civilians in the past two days. Someone had started a rumor that the Cardassians were around because Cardassia was joining the Federation, and that their military was already being absorbed into Starfleet—a complete falsehood that was making it nearly impossible to get anything done. Federation inquiries about the whereabouts of private citizens were not being well received.

  Ro waited for questions.

  “What about Gard?” Ezri asked, her tone somewhat sharp.

  “He still refuses to talk, beyond what he’s already told us,” Ro said. Except to Cyl, she added mentally, though she couldn’t prove it. The general was being given “latitude” in the investigation, which meant he’d interviewed Gard without surveilance or an escort. The general had been to see the assassin twice, but had insisted both times that Gard hadn’t revealed any new information . . . which only added to Ro’s conviction that he was holding back.

  No one else had anything for her. Relieved, Ro sat, aware that Akaar was watching her with a critical gaze. He really was starting to irritate her. She’d already made public her decision to resign from the Bajoran Militia, she wouldn’t be joining Starfleet when and if Bajor finally signed into the Federation; what more did he want?

  “Here’s where I think we should go from here,” Kira said, taking the floor again. “As the admiral suggested, Commander Vaughn, I’d like to see you lead the Bajoran surface check. I’m sure General Lenaris would be more than happy to assist you with whatever resources you require.”

  Vaughn nodded, saying nothing.

  “Dr. Bashir, doctors Girani and Tarses have already recommended that you take over the medical research into the parasite-host relationship. They’ll assist, of course, and continue to manage the station’s medical facilities.”

  Bashir nodded. “I’d like to start by looking into the apparent Cardassian immunity,” he said.

  “Good,” Kira said. “I’ll see that you have a few volunteers standing by. Ensign ch’Thane, Lieutenant Nog—we need to develop more effective scanning equipment for the station, and if possible, for ship-to-surface use on Bajor. Nog, see if there’s something you can do with the Defiant’s sensors, if there’s any chance of creating a long-range-scan process. Get a team on it. And Shar, I’ll need you to coordinate with lieutenants Ro and Nog, and Dr. Bashir, to improve the equipment we already have and to keep everyone apprised of new biological information as it comes in.

  “Medical, sciences, security, and engineering are going to have to work together closely on this. We all are. And it goes without saying, we must do what we can to contain this information for as long as possible—tell your people only what they need to know. It’s going to get out, but even a day might make a difference.”

  She turned her slightly haunted gaze to Ezri. “Dax, perhaps you and the general could try talking to Gard again. He might be more receptive; he told Lieutenant Ro that he had some interaction with one of your past hosts.”

  Ezri frowned into the middle distance and nodded.

  Interesting, Ro thought. Whatever Dax’s connection to Gard, Ezri clearly wasn’t eager to renew it. Ro wondered if he’d been the same duplicitous bastard then as now. She and Gard had been friendly to the point of flirting for days before the assassination; in his guise of arranging security for the Trill ambassador and other Federation delegates, he’d duped her along with everyone else.

  “In any case, see if you can access anything on the possibility of a his
torical connection between the symbionts and parasites,” Kira said. “We’ll arrange a directed link to Trill’s comnet, and I’m sure the general and Ambassador Gandres will both be glad to help. The general has assured us that he’s already scoured the files, but I’d like to go at this from every possible angle.”

  Every possible angle, Ro thought, as Kira finished with the assignments. It seemed that Kira had done just that, covering all the options they had. The colonel asked Bowers to go with Vaughn to Bajor . . . and then the meeting was over, and Ro was wondering what they had missed.

  Security, Starfleet backup, medical, equipment changes . . . Ro couldn’t help thinking that they’d forgotten something, something important. Maybe it was just the situation itself, so sudden and strange and full of variables, that gave her such a feeling of unrest.

  Or maybe it’s the fact that we barely know what we’re up against, and they may have infected half of Bajor by now. Hyperbole, maybe, but it was also frighteningly possible.

  The assembled group pushed away from the conference table, breaking into smaller groups—Nog and Shar, Vaughn and Bowers and Akaar, Cyl and Dax. Kira, Macet, and Councillor zh’Thane started talking to the two doctors. Ro realized she had no one she needed to coordinate with, at least not immediately, and didn’t feel like it was the time to go through welcome-back formalities; everyone had things to do. Nodding acknowledgment to the people that noticed her leaving, she gathered her padds and slipped out, deciding that it might be a good time to visit Quark. She owed him, anyway, he’d been trying to get hold of her all week, and except for planting the story about possible assassin rings with him, she hadn’t had time to talk.

  Besides, she decided, heading for the Promenade, between the symbiont-parasite connection and Cardassia joining the Federation, there seemed to be a lot of rumors flying around . . . and Quark was just the man to see about a rumor.

  * * *

  Nog walked over to Shar as soon as the meeting broke up, all too aware that the Andorian’s mother was only a few meters away. In Shar’s position, he’d definitely want someone to rescue him . . . and after hearing about the parasites, Nog wouldn’t exactly mind some friendly, uninfected company, either.

  “I thought I’d head back to the Defiant right after I get something to eat,” he said, cutting a glance at the Federation ambassador. She was talking to Kira and the doctors about something or other. “You know, look things over, start thinking about how we can alter the sensor array. I mean, I could do it with the computer, but it’s never the same just looking at the schematics. Why don’t you come with me? I could use an idea man.”

  Shar was also looking at his mother. His zhavey, as he called her.

  “I’d best not, sir,” he said slowly. “I believe I have personal business to attend to.”

  When was the last time he called me “sir”? Shar must have been seriously shaken by his mother’s less than enthusiastic reception. Nog couldn’t imagine getting such a cold greeting from anyone in his family, after so long away; even Uncle Quark would work up enough enthusiasm to yell at him about something.

  Nog gave it one more shot. The Defiant’s replicators had been out for weeks, forcing all of them to get used to field rations . . . and he, for one, had been dreaming of the perfect meal for much of that time. “We just got back. Don’t you at least want to have some real food before—” Nog tried to think of a delicate way to put it, but could only come up with one of Vic’s quips. “—before you, ah, face the music?” He wasn’t sure of the exact meaning, but the context seemed right.

  Shar blinked, then tried on a smile. As usual, it looked almost genuine, but Nog knew better; culturally, Andorians generally only smiled as a manipulative tool, and Shar was still working out the humor/affection possibilities.

  “Thank you, Nog. I appreciate your offer, but I really must decline. Later, perhaps.”

  Even as Shar spoke, Councillor zh’Thane broke away from her conversation and moved to join them. “Lieutenant. Thirishar.”

  Nog nodded at her, doing his best not to grin in welcome. Unlike on Andor, a wide smile was an ingratiating trait on Ferenginar, expressing a willingness to do business or to encourage enthusiasm, but he still remembered a few of the rules of the Academy’s xeno-etiquette class . . . chief among them, Don’t offend Federation Council members.

  “Ma’am,” he said politely, but her attention was already fixed on her son.

  “I wonder if we might speak in private,” she said, her voice and manner as cool as her expression. “Perhaps you would escort me to your quarters?”

  “Yes, Zhavey,” Shar said dutifully. He’d also gone entirely cool, not a glimmer of expression on his dusky blue face. “Please excuse me, Lieutenant.”

  “Sure, of course,” Nog said, and bowed his head at zh’Thane, but she was already walking away, Shar right behind her. Nog winced internally. Unless he’d misread the situation, Shar was in for a tough time.

  Seems like we all are, Nog thought, the reality of the parasite predicament still not quite . . . well, real. It had all been dropped on them in one enormous swoop, as Vic might say; Nog hadn’t even adjusted to being back in the Alpha Quadrant, yet. Over dinner, he’d work out a plan, come up with a team, figure out where to start . . . for now, he just desperately wanted a decent plate of food, as much for the time to let the situation settle in as for the taste of an unpackaged meal.

  Nog shuddered. Parasites that attached themselves to people’s brains. If there was anything more horrible or disgusting, he couldn’t imagine it.

  Fresh toasted tube grubs, he thought suddenly, and felt his mouth watering. Maybe a spore-jelly fritter on the side . . . and a root-beer float for dessert. Perfect.

  The Defiant would have to wait another half hour. Nog quickly said his good-byes and hurried off to eat.

  4

  THE ANDORIAN COUNCILLOR HAD GONE TO SPEAK WITH SHAR, AND GIrani had left to find Tarses, to organize what research they had. There would be a team meeting in the lab within the hour . . . but at the moment, Julian was more interested in what was going on with Ezri. She and the Trill general had immediately come together as the meeting broke up, standing close, their voices low and urgent. It was all Julian could do not to eavesdrop, as Kira discussed disregarding a standard report schedule; certainly one of the drawbacks of having enhanced hearing.

  Ezri’s body language while watching him speak; the look they exchanged when Kira said that Shakaar had no longer been Shakaar; the way they were acting now. There was a shared knowledge there, Julian was sure of it, but one that neither had felt compelled to express during the meeting. Personal, or related to the parasite infections, or both? He wondered if she would share it with him, too . . . as close as they’d become, he couldn’t imagine her keeping anything from him, but he didn’t want to assume, either. There were vast stretches of her past that he still knew very little about.

  “ . . . and let Girani handle the logs, too,” Kira was saying. “We need your talents full-time.”

  “Of course,” Julian said, his attention moving back to Kira. He reflexively assessed the darkness beneath her eyes, the hectic tone of her skin, her uneven breathing pattern. “How long has it been since you’ve slept? For more than twenty minutes?”

  She did her best not to look irritated, but it was in her voice. “I’m fine.”

  “How long?” Julian asked firmly.

  Kira sighed. “Thirty, thirty-two hours.”

  Knowing her as he did, Julian added another ten. “You have one more hour to delegate your responsibilities, and then you’re confined to quarters for six hours, minimum. Preferably eight. And I will pull medical discretion if you make an issue of it.”

  He half expected her to fight him regardless, but Kira only nodded. “Fine. I’m too tired to argue with you.” She smiled faintly. “I’m glad you’re here, Julian.”

  “It’s good to be home,” he said, and meant it. It wasn’t the restful break he’d wanted after so many weeks in th
e Gamma Quadrant, but it was home. And as horrifying as the details of this parasite infection were, he couldn’t help feeling a pique of professional excitement. If there was a medical solution, he’d find it.

  Kira moved to speak with Akaar, and Julian was finally able to turn his full attention to Ezri and Taulin Cyl. He approached them directly, aware that he was probably interrupting but too curious to stay away . . . and too honest to listen in, much as he might wish to.

  “ . . . much did you tell him?” Ezri was saying, her voice hushed.

  “Only what he needed to know,” Cyl answered.

  “Did you know what was going to happen?”

  The general shook his head, started to say something—and then looked up and saw Julian. He straightened, nodding almost casually at the doctor before speaking to Ezri again.

  “Tomorrow morning, then,” he said. “I’ll need to speak with Ambassador Gandres again tonight, and I imagine you’ll want to get some rest before we talk to Gard. Perhaps . . . eight hundred hours, at the security office?”

  Ezri followed his gaze, and smiled when she saw Julian, but he could see the strain behind it—not just from the barely perceptible tightening at the corners of her mouth and eyes, but also because he knew and loved her. She was distressed, and at something beyond the news of the parasite infiltration.

  “Julian. Ah, Taulin, this is my . . . very good friend, Julian Bashir. He also knew my predecessor, Jadzia Dax.”

  Kira had introduced the general to everyone before the meeting, but Ezri’s introduction obviously carried a more personal meaning. Cyl smiled warmly at Julian, extending one chill hand for him to shake.

  “A pleasure,” Cyl said. “And I hope we can meet again in less formal circumstances. But for now, if you’ll both excuse me . . .”

  A slight bow, and he was gone, Ezri watching him intently as he strode for the door.

  “Audrid’s daughter,” Julian said mildly, hoping to coax more information. “Weren’t . . . didn’t you once tell me that Audrid and Neema were estranged for some time?”