The Best and the Brightest (star trek: the next generation)

by Susan Wright

  Not for the first time, Moll was seriously doubting her own competence to be a host for Enor. She had always known the only reason she had succeeded thus far was dueto her eidetic memory. Saving that panspermia fossil was the first thing she’d ever done that wasn’tbased on the capacity of her memory. As Jayme’s constant, supportive communiques pointed out, it had taken sheer courage to stay in the science pod when she knew she might be killing her symbiont. Yet her pride at her accomplishment was rapidly dwindling. Perhaps she shouldonly focus on mental pursuits rather than try to be more than she was by joining Starfleet.

  But that was all Jadzia’s fault.

  “Your room,” one of the officials informed her. “Will you wish to leave tonight?”

  “I doubt it,” she replied wearily.

  “Very well, we will return tomorrow morning to escort you to the hearing room.”

  Moll leaned against the door as it closed behind her, wondering if she had the motivation to eat before falling into bed.

  “Nice to see you again, Moll!”

  A chair turned, making Moll start in surprise. “Jadzia! What are you doing here?”

  Jadzia Dax seemed composed, seated with her legs crossed and a sly grin on her face. Moll had never seen her in the trim black Starfleet uniform with the blue shoulder placards, but it looked right on her.

  “I’m surprised you didn’t call me yourself,” Jadzia scolded. “What are friends for?”

  Moll summoned a weak answering smile. “So friends are supposed to prove each other’s mental stability? I never heard that one.”

  Jadzia stood up to approach Moll. “Congratulations, by the way, on your commendation. You’ll make lieutenant faster than I did. But then you always did everything faster than me.”

  Jadzia gave Moll a welcoming hug, but Moll could hardly respond. “You went through Starfleet before I did,” she reminded her friend.

  Jadzia waved a hand. “That’s because the Initiate Institute wouldn’t accept me until I had accomplished something important.”

  The Institute had accepted both of them the same year, but Jadzia was four years older than Moll, having already completed her Academy training. But in everything else, Moll was the most‑favored Initiate at the Institute. She was clearly destined for a symbiont, while everyone else had to keep on their toes, competing with each other for the rare privilege. Moll had gotten the Enor symbiont a year before Jadzia was joined with Dax, during the period that Jadzia had been expelled from the Institute for reasons nobody knew.

  “What’s wrong?” Jadzia asked.

  Moll gave her a look. “I’m on trial for my life, remember?”

  “Oh, that will blow over. The Commission is constantly poking their noses into our business.” Jadzia picked up an Oppalassa lucky charm that Starsa had given Moll last year. “Look what happened with me. They re‑accepted me as an Initiate after kicking me out, and I still don’t know what that was all about. If the Commission didn’t do all these hearings and make big announcements, people would start to think they were unnecessary.”

  Moll laughed, but there was a bitter edge to it. “Maybe they’re right about me. They say I have a profound ambiguity toward my symbiont.”

  “Who doesn’t?” Jadzia smiled playfully. “Come on, don’t take it so seriously.”

  “I can’t help it.”

  “I knew you’d be this way. But I have something that’s sure to help,” Jadzia assured her.

  “What is it?”

  “Do you want to go in there tomorrow and prove you’re competent to host that symbiont?”

  “Of course I do!”

  “Then come with me.” Jadzia gestured to the door.

  “I’m not supposed to leave my quarters.”

  “Correction: You’re not supposed to leave the Institute.” Jadzia held up a finger, warning her. “You’re going to have to stop second‑guessing everything and trust me on this one. All right?”

  Moll let her pull her to her feet. “Last time you told me to trust you, I ended up in Timerhoo without a return ticket.”

  “What are you complaining about? You had a great story to tell when you got back.”

  Dax practically had to drag Moll to the holosuite she had reserved. She didn’t want to tell Moll how difficult it had been to get away from DS9, or how important this trial was. Moll already knew that. What she needed right now was to relax, so she could show the Commission she was in complete control.

  Dax ordered, “Close your eyes.”

  “I’m not allowed to run a simulation of the hearing,” Moll reminded her.

  Dax made a face. “You’ll have to answer all those questions tomorrow, why bother to do it tonight? No, this is much better. Three hours from now, you’ll be ready to take over the Symbiosis Commission single‑handed.”

  As usual, Moll drew her brows together, as if unsure whether to trust Dax or not. Like a flash, it brought back all their years together at the Institute. Jadzia hadn’t been able to resist making friends with the shy, reserved genius. Everyone else had treated her like an untouchable icon, while Jadzia took perverse pleasure in treating Moll exactly like a younger sister–counseling her, bullying her, and basically treating her like a real Trill.

  Now, with the added perspective of the memories of her Dax symbiont, she realized Moll had never understood why she had been so friendly through their years at the Institute. Mostly, Jadzia had felt sorry for the girl who had been shuttled from one intellectual think tank to another University demonstration from a very tender age, never really having a childhood.

  “Go on,” Dax urged. “Close your eyes.”

  Moll closed her eyes, and she didn’t peek even when Dax put her hand over her face to make sure. “Turn this way,” Dax ordered. “Begin simulation Dax 9J. Okay, now you can look!”

  They were on a meadow overlooking the baths of Cydonia. A nearby waterfall tumbled over the rocks to fill the upper pool, spilling down the curved walls that spread like petals over the gentle slope. Steam rose from some of the warmer pools as naked figures moved through the white mist, sliding into the water and gliding away among the ripples.

  “You think thisis going to help me?” Moll demanded.

  “Well, it can’t hurt,” Dax assured her.

  Moll let out an exasperated sound, turning back to the door. “Why did I trust you? I should have known you came here to make fun of me.”

  Dax caught her arm, stopping her from leaving. “I’ve never made fun of you, Moll! I only teased you a little because you never seemed like you were enjoying yourself.”

  “Thanks for your help,” Moll said dryly. “I don’t think nowis the time to enjoy myself.”

  A male Risan approached, wearing only a smile and a towel over one arm. “Would you like a massage?”

  Moll turned away in disgust.

  “Stop being so uptight,” Dax recommended. “If you tell the Commission you’re happy with the way you’re living your life, they aren’t going to force you to do anything. Forget all the witnesses. What matters is how you present yourself.”

  “That’s easy for you to say!” Moll suddenly snapped. “You got what you wanted. You got the memories, the experiences. I wanted that, too, but instead all I got was this!”She gestured to herself. “Nothing changed when I was joined. Except I feel like I’m being watched every second, knowing that the next hosts will remember everything I say, everything I do. I’m just a starting point, a blank slate, as if nothing I’ve ever done is enough to cause a wave in that smooth pool where Enor sits inside of me, watching every moment.”

  “But you’re the first–”

  “Don’t tell me what an honor it is! I believed all that, and I didn’t even try to say no when they told me I would get Enor. I didn’t even try to refuse,” she repeated bitterly.

  Moll left the holosuite as Jadzia sadly watched her old friend leave. She never realized how disappointed Moll had been over joining with Enor. But then again, she had sent at least a dozen messages
to Moll after hearing she had been accepted to Starfleet Academy, but Moll had always replied with only a few brief lines, resisting even a shadow of their former intimacy.

  Another Risan, this one androgynous, approached Dax with a towel over one arm. “Would you like a massage?”

  “Yes, thank you.” As they began walking toward the cabana, Dax said, “Maybe you can give me some advice. What do you do when a friend won’t let you help them?”

  Moll knew she appeared extremely defensive, but she had to cross her arms to hold on to herself, to keep from shaking. She held her head high as the voice intoned, “Are there any final statements from the witnesses?”

  So many of the Starfleet officers, as well as her cadet teammates, had already testified to her courage and skill. But Moll knew that wouldn’t satisfy the Commission. Jadzia had done her best to prove that an allegiance to Starfleet was not detrimental to the well‑being of the symbiont, pointing out the examples of Curzon Dax and herself. But the questioning had shifted to Moll’s psychological ambiguity over her symbiont, and no one could help her there.

  “We have a request from Lieutenant Jadzia Dax,” the voice announced. “You wish to make a final statement?”

  Dax’s image flickered on. She stood up to face the unseen Commissioners. “Yes, I have something to say. Your investigators have been very thorough in digging through Moll’s psychological motivations. And you’ve explored the issue of exactly how important the panspermia fossil is to the Trill. But you’ve forgotten the most important thing.”

  Moll sat forward, wondering what Jadzia could possibly be talking about. She was incapable of forgetting anything.

  “Moll is the first host for Enor. Her life will be the moral and ethical foundation for every succeeding host. For those of you who are joined, you know what I’m talking about.” Moll never remembered seeing Jadzia so serious. “The success of every symbiont relationship rests in part on the ability of the first host to establish a foundation that is both inclusive yet solid. That takes constant self‑questioning, and inevitably some doubt about one’s own choices. And I’ve never known anyone better at self‑examination than Moll.”

  Jadzia paused to smile at her, and Moll Enor felt herself respond, relaxing in spite of herself. What Jadzia was saying felt right to her.

  “Moll would never purposely endanger herself or her symbiont unless there was some overriding concern,” Dax insisted. “If she had turned away from the fossil, knowing as she does how important it is–not just to her or her people, but to everyone in this galaxy– thenyou would have good reason to judge her actions.”

  “You question this entire hearing?” the voice asked.

  “Yes! Being a first host is difficult; we all have the memories to prove it. We also know it’s those memories that are most comforting when we’re faced with difficult decisions.” Jadzia’s holo‑image stepped closer to Moll’s chair. “I envy Enor’s future hosts, because they’ll inherit a rich and varied lifetime of memories from Moll. And I recommend that you do nothing to interfere with her choices.”

  The kneading fingers pressed into Moll Enor’s back, finding all the sore spots. She groaned in pleasure, twisting on the edge of pain.

  “These guys are good,” she told Dax. “I’m glad you talked me into this.”

  Dax murmured agreement as her own masseuse worked on her. Her eyes were closed and she looked almost indecently relaxed and happy. “Just consider it a reward for beating the Symbiosis Commission at their own game.”

  “You beat them for me.” After a moment, Moll said, “Actually, it’s poetic justice, because it was your fault in the first place.”

  “Myfault? What did I do?”

  “You know very well that I went into Starfleet because of the way you raved about it at the Institute.” Their eyes met. “Then when I saw that asteroid, I knew I had to try to save it, because all I could hear was your voice inside my head, insisting it was a once‑in‑a‑lifetime find.”

  “It is,” Dax agreed.

  “Remember you told me about that class you took with Professor Galen? I wanted to hear him lecture so badly, but he didn’t teach my first two years at the Academy, then he was killed gathering DNA codes that proved his theory.”

  “The message of peace from our ancient progenitors,” Dax remembered. “I think Starfleet finally convinced the Commission you have a serious talent in science.”

  “I love astrophysics, but I don’t think I could take a steady diet of it like you do,” Moll Enor demurred.

  “Good, I think you should go into command,” Dax agreed.

  “Command?” Moll blurted out. “I’m terrible with people.”

  “Nah, you just need to have some confidence in yourself,” Dax told her with a grin. “You’re a natural leader. Look how you got the other cadets to do exactly what you wanted so you could save that asteroid. Someone who can talk Cadet Mantegna into something would be foolish not to pursue a career in command.”

  Chapter Six

  “HEY, TITUS, UP HERE!” Jayme called out from the upper walkway. “What did you get for the summer?”

  Hammon Titus tossed the assignment chip into the air and caught it with one hand. “Errand boy for the Federation Assembly.”

  “Yeah?” Her voice went up in surprise and doubt. “Really?”

  Titus clenched his teeth, still smiling. He couldn’t believe it either when he read the chip. All year he’d been stuck at the Academy while everyone else went off on exciting survival courses and temporary assignments onboard science ships or remote space stations. The furthest he’d been was New Berlin City on the Moon last summer while he was running the shuttle supply route. New Berlin City looked a lot like San Francisco without the bridge–not very exotic, if you asked him. He had talked to everyone he could about getting off Earth, including Admiral Leyton, but his requests kept coming back denied.

  He slipped into galactic poli sci class, barely beating the bell. As he sat down, he realized everyone was shifting in their seats, talking in hushed, excited tones.

  “We have a guest today, cadets,” Professor Tho announced. Titus sat up to see better, as Captain Jean Luc Picard entered the room.

  The girl in the chair next to him muttered, “No way!” Everyone was on the edge of their seats to see the man who had beaten the Borg at Wolf 359 when thirty‑nine other Federation and Klingon starships were destroyed. Picard looked just like his holo‑image, especially the way he nodded to them and briefly smiled as he took the lectern.

  “Professor Tho asked me if I could speak to you,” Picard began, his sonorous voice comfortably filling the room. “You all know of the recent developments between the Federation and Cardassian Empire, resulting in the establishment of the Demilitarized Zone a few months ago. Unfortunately, this necessitates the shifting of some of our colonies, as well as some of those of the Cardassians. The decision to formalize our borders has given rise to political and philosophical debates that will undoubtedly continue for centuries. . . .”

  Titus felt his eyes glaze over. Looking around, he realized everyone, including Professor Tho, was entranced by Picard’s distinctive rhythmical cadence. There wasn’t a sound in the room.

  “The Enterprise‑D shall depart tomorrow for Dorvan V to carry out the evacuation of the last of our colonists. Some of the Federation colonists have protested the treaty and are resisting recolonization, forming a protest group known as the Maquis. In the Academy newspaper this week, there is an insightful editorial on the rights of the Maquis, written by one of your fellow cadets, Harry Kim. Cadet Kim brings up some of the more germane questions we are faced with in this case, specifically, whether the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few–”

  Titus couldn’t stand it anymore. “Excuse me, sir!”

  The other cadets slowly turned, resenting the interruption.

  “Yes, Cadet,” Picard acknowledged. “Do you have a question?”

  “No, a comment,” Titus said, ignoring the stares.
“If I may be so blunt, I think you agree with the Maquis that the colonists shouldn’t be forced to move from their homes.”

  Professor Tho was frowning, and whispers rose around him.

  “My personal feelings are unimportant,” Picard replied quietly. “I am merely performing my duty.”

  “But isn’t it our duty to protest when we feel our orders are wrong?” Titus knew he should just let it drop, but that comment about Harry Kim got under his skin. Kim was one of the last‑year cadets that professors were always holding up as an “example.” Kim was a nice enough guy, but sometimes they piled it on enough to make Titus choke.

  “Our elected officials create policy, not Starfleet captains,” Picard gently chided him. “While I may have quite a different opinion as a citizen, it would be arrogant in the extreme to think that I know what is best in such a complicated and far‑reaching subject.”

  Titus nodded, at a loss for what to say.

  “Cadet,” Picard added, almost with a smile, “you will soon find that the essence of command is not to lead, but to follow orders.”

  “Yes, sir,” Titus agreed.

  He sat back and folded his arms, wondering why he felt so deflated. Maybe it was that hint of amusement in the captain’s smile that was so humiliating. But he was convinced he was right. Maybe none of the others could see it, but he knew that Picard didn’t agree with this policy. Hell, Titus knew he would fight it if someone told him that his family would have to leave the Antaranan colony.

  The guy behind him kicked the seat and hissed, “Nice going!”

  Titus clenched his teeth, staring at Picard as he calmly, methodically discussed the volatile political situation and what that meant for the security of the Alpha Quadrant.

  Jayme Miranda saw Titus later that day, tilted back in a cafй chair, his head resting against the brick wall. His jacket was slung over the back and his eyes were closed as he soaked up the afternoon sunshine.