Worlds of Star Trek Deep Space Nine® Volume Two

by Michael A. Martin, Andy Mangels

  After returning with the team to the surface, Dax wasted no time ordering the Rio Grande’s computer to begin preflight preparations and to beam everyone in the party aboard the runabout. Seated beside her in the cockpit, Julian silently stared out at the icy, twilit wasteland of Minos Korva’s south pole as Dax operated the transporter controls, sending Vlu, Ro, and Taran’atar directly to the nearby Federation settlement.

  She turned her seat toward him. “Your turn, Julian. It’s time I got under way to Trill.”

  He nodded absently, then rose slowly from the copilot’s chair. But instead of walking aft toward the runabout’s transporter pad, he doffed his heavy field jacket and tossed it beside hers on one of the other cockpit seats.

  “I’m going with you,” he said simply.

  Ezri shook her head gently. “I’m not sure that’s such a good idea, Julian. This is Trill business, and—”

  “—and Trill are notoriously reticent about letting non-Trill in on their affairs, yes, I know.” Though he had interrupted her, he continued to smile ingratiatingly as he resumed his place beside her in the copilot’s chair.

  “I appreciate the offer, Julian,” she said, looking directly into his dark eyes. “But I really think this is something I ought to handle on my own.”

  “And I think you’re going to need my help. Or at least my moral support. You told me yourself how guilty you feel over Audrid’s cover-up of the discovery of that first parasite more than a century ago. And I’ve seen with my own eyes how traumatic this entire business has been for you. That parasite nest must have dredged up some painful memories.” He paused. “Memories of the parasite that killed Audrid’s husband, unless I’m terribly mistaken.”

  Suddenly feeling defensive, Dax crossed her arms across her chest and leaned back in the pilot’s seat. She knew it was useless to deny his assertions; he’d been at Jadzia’s side five years earlier when Dax’s equally painful suppressed memories of an ill-fated joining with the psychotic killer Joran Belar had resurfaced. Julian obviously knew the signs of mnemonic trauma. Still, she didn’t have to like it.

  “Well. This is all very ‘who counsels the counselor?’ isn’t it?” she said.

  “You’re not a counselor anymore, remember?”

  A deep frown sprang to her brow unbidden. “And you never were one. I love you, Julian, but I think you’re straying a bit too far from your specialty.”

  He leaned toward her, taking her hand between both of his in an obvious effort to soothe her. Looking into his chocolate-brown eyes as his hands warmed hers, she had to concede that it was working.

  “Listen, Ezri, I’m not trying to beat up on you. And I can give you three very solid, rational reasons why I should accompany you to Trill.”

  For the first time in what seemed like hours, she returned his easy smile. “All right. Let’s hear them.”

  He began ticking off points on his long surgeon’s fingers. “One: We haven’t spent nearly enough time alone together since before this whole parasite business erupted. Two: I have entirely legitimate medical concerns about your current emotional state after observing your behavior here on Minos Korva.”

  Dax opened her mouth to protest, but he rode right over her words. “And three: I outrank you, my darling.” His smile became an impish grin as he gestured toward the lieutenant commander’s pips, two gold and one black, that adorned his collar.

  Anger and affection wrestled for a protracted moment before calling it a draw. She disengaged her hand from his, turned her seat forward, and quickly entered several commands into the instrument panel. The Rio Grande rose swiftly into the gray Minos Korvan sky.

  Julian grinned.

  “You win, Julian. But just remember: I’m the only one here dressed in command red. And Kira placed responsibility for this mission with me, not you. So that extra pip on your collar doesn’t mean all that much at the moment.”

  He dipped his head toward her in a fair approximation of a courtly bow. “I remain, as ever, your obedient servant.”

  As the runabout went into warp, Dax couldn’t help but wonder if Julian would actually live up to that promise.

  4

  Julian Bashir was gratified that Ezri had relented and allowed him to accompany her on what otherwise would have been a solitary voyage to Trill. After having seen her obvious emotional distress back in the Minos Korvan parasite nest, he felt it prudent to keep an eye on her. Besides that, he simply wanted to spend some time alone with her, though he worried that he might have pushed a bit too hard in his efforts at persuasion.

  Seated beside her in the copilot’s seat, he watched Ezri as she flew the runabout and occasionally monitored its instruments. She spent most of her time looking silently through the transparent aluminum windows at the ever-changing star field, her gaze directed straight ahead.

  Ezri had been uncharacteristically quiet and standoffish ever since the Rio Grande had gone to warp nearly an hour earlier. A glance at the instrument panel told him that she was pushing the runabout’s engines nearly to their limit. At this pace, we’ll reach Trill in about three standard days, he thought after performing a quick mental calculation.

  It was easy to guess that much of her current mood stemmed from the parasite crisis and the fallout it was continuing to generate back on Trill. Or perhaps my twisting her arm until she agreed to bring me along has something to do with it. Either way, he knew that if she didn’t unburden herself about it soon, the next three days would pass very slowly indeed.

  Whatever Ezri might think of his counseling abilities, he knew when it was prudent to back off. And whenever stimulating conversation wasn’t an option, there was always the pursuit of knowledge for its own sake. Excusing himself, he quietly rose from his seat, fetched a few items from the pockets of his field jacket, then continued past the runabout’s dual transporter pad on his way to the aft compartment. The sliding hatch hissed shut behind him, and he was alone.

  Smiling to himself, he held up the small ceramic shard that Ezri had found in the parasite nest on Minos Korva. He studied the palm-size fragment carefully, turning it over and over in his hands as he wondered how and why it had come to be where it was.

  Taking a seat before the computer console on the runabout’s starboard side, he said, “Computer, show me the xenoanthropology database.”

  Dax heaved a relieved sigh a few moments after Julian left the cockpit. While she had to admit it was nice having the man she loved at her side during difficult times, she was less than eager to share this burden with him. She knew he couldn’t be terribly surprised by her reticence. She was a Trill, after all, and he was already well acquainted with her people’s penchant for keeping secrets, thanks to his role in discovering the Symbiosis Commission’s systematic suppression of the fact that nearly half of her world’s humanoid population were suitable for joining with the symbionts, not the one-tenth of one percent that was still the common belief.

  Maybe it’s that very secrecy that’s at the root of all of our current troubles, she thought.

  Putting aside her glum musings, she decided to take advantage of this solitary time in the cockpit to try to get a handle on the situation back on the Trill homeworld. Her hands moved with deliberation across the instrument panel, activating the runabout’s subspace transceiver. She quickly keyed a personal subspace reception code within the Trill Defense Ministry.

  A flashing amber light on the companel signaled that her subspace signal wasn’t getting through. Carefully, she repeated the signal initiation procedure, trying once again to establish contact with Taulin Cyl’s office.

  Again, nothing. Muttering one of Curzon’s preferred Klingon curses under her breath, Dax made two more fruitless attempts. After the fifth try got her through to the Defense Ministry’s general reception area—netting her a two-minute conversation with a junior information officer, who then transferred her to an even more junior-looking adjutant or assistant instead of to the evidently extremely busy General Cyl—she decided that sh
e was getting precisely nowhere. Cyl evidently had his hands full, no doubt at least in part because of the Trill Senate’s upcoming public hearings into the parasite affair.

  Rising from her chair, she walked straight back to the Rio Grande’s aft compartment. When the hatch hissed open before her, she found Julian staring into the display at the computer station, studying a quickly scrolling text with an intensity that made her wonder if he even remembered that he was aboard a space vessel flying at many multiples of light speed—or that the rest of the universe even existed.

  Or that I exist, she thought, smiling to herself. But wasn’t that single-mindedness, that all-encompassing enthusiasm for knowledge one of the qualities that drew her to him?

  “Hi, Julian,” she said gently as she walked up behind his chair and placed a hand on its back. She was beginning to feel guilty about having driven him into solitude, though he hadn’t seemed to mind much at the time. “Lieutenant Dax to Doctor Bashir,” she added several beats after he failed to respond to her.

  It took him another moment or two to react to her presence. When he paused the display and turned to face her, she wondered if he was going to ask if they had arrived at Trill yet.

  Instead he smiled up at her and took her hand. His hands always felt warmer than any Trill’s, and the sensation was almost electric. “Sorry. I thought I’d get started on a little research.”

  She gently squeezed his hand and returned his smile, and then he went back to his task. For Julian, doing “a little quick research” was often like having “a short conversation” with Morn while drinking at Quark’s—in other words, it would most likely become an all-encompassing, completely attention-devouring endeavor. Over his shoulder, she could see odd images and snippets of text from the database he was so quickly scrolling through. Her brow furrowed briefly in puzzlement.

  “When did you become so interested in exoarchaeology?”

  Julian paused the display once more on a vaguely familiar-looking image. “Right after you made that rather odd discovery on Minos Korva.”

  She suddenly remembered that she hadn’t given a thought to the ceramic shard since just after she’d picked it up from the cave floor. A momentary panic gripped her; she withdrew her hand from his and patted her uniform jacket in a futile search for the item.

  Then she looked back at Julian, who was grinning and holding up the small pottery fragment. He gently placed it into her hand.

  Her face reddened as she accepted it. She felt foolish for having forgotten that she’d given it to him. “Thanks for taking charge of this, Julian.”

  “I was more than happy to. You seemed to have a lot of other things on your mind at the time.”

  Dax decided to head off that particular conversational thread by discussing the artifact. “So, has your research told you anything important about this thing so far?”

  “It’s hard to say. The first thing I determined was that it’s about twelve thousand years old. It didn’t appear to be Bajoran, so I thought it was doubtful that Shakaar left it in those caves. There’s absolutely no possibility that the piece is native to Minos Korva, and it seems rather unlikely that any of the other humanoid hosts taken by the parasites would have carried any such thing prior to their being attacked. So I started to wonder if the fragment might have had some significance to the parasites themselves. Then my tricorder detected this.” He keyed a new image onto his screen, which Dax recognized as a layered molecular scan, presumably of the fragment, with its different constituent materials broken out by color. The dark outer glaze was represented in reds and purples; the inner ceramics by a bright blue.

  In between was a small patch of green lines. A glyph?

  Julian isolated the image and enlarged it. It looked like no language Ezri had ever seen before.

  “From this, I’ve been able to determine that this object came from the planet Kurl.”

  “Kurl. That’s the site of a long-dead civilization, isn’t it?”

  Julian nodded. “It is. What little we know of it is mostly by way of artifacts like that one, but our best guess has been that the Kurlan civilization was at least tens of thousands of years old before it died out, five thousand years ago. And the planet is located hundreds of light-years from Minos Korva, well outside Federation territory. However this fragment ended up in that cave, it’s gotten itself quite a long way from home.”

  Dax smiled, understanding his fascination. “Sounds like quite a mystery.”

  “A very nearly irresistible one.” Julian returned her smile with a mischievous grin. “In fact, I can think of only one other thing I’d rather do to pass the time until we reach Trill.”

  As much as she enjoyed their infrequent intimate time together, Dax had to admit that not even Emony had ever whiled away three entire days doing that.

  “Down, boy,” she said with a grin as she examined the ancient and gracefully curved shard closely. Despite its great age, the fragment retained a smooth glaze. She wondered how anyone, even someone with a mind as brilliant as Julian’s, could satisfactorily explain the thing. “I know how much you love puzzles, Julian. But I’m afraid you don’t have very much to go on here.”

  He shrugged. “Neither did the Trill paleontologists who worked out the carnivorous habits of the extinct Eomreker. All they had to guide them was a fossilized rear claw and a single incisor tooth. But I’m quite a determined fellow, and I have three whole days to tease out some answers.”

  She looked once again into his brown, knowledge-hungry eyes and marveled at how easily he could transform himself from bantering adolescent to determined problem solver. It struck her then that it was at times like this that he was most attractive.

  “I just had a thought,” she said, taking his hand and squeezing it gently. “We do have three days. There’s no need to wear yourself out.” She grinned. “Studying, I mean.”

  Later, Dax watched Julian as he dozed beside her on the narrow bunk. His breathing made a gentle, repetitive susurrus, and his olive-tinted features looked slack and childlike.

  Rolling onto her back, she stared up at the gray curvature of the ceiling molding, wishing she could feel half as relaxed as Julian obviously did.

  After another few minutes, she rose quietly, gathering the pieces of her uniform as she withdrew from the sleeping compartment. Except for her boots, she was dressed by the time she reached the cockpit. All the instruments showed nominal; the Rio Grande remained on its heading for Trill, which now lay somewhat less than three days away. Leaning back in the pilot’s seat, she suddenly realized that she was clutching the ceramic fragment tightly in her left hand; she had evidently grabbed it instead of her boots.

  She set the fragment down on the panel and activated the communications system, hoping to reach General Cyl. Her luck was no better this time than on her first attempt shortly after leaving Minos Korva.

  Rather than continue figuratively beating her head against the bulkhead, she entered another series of commands into the companel. A few moments later the rounded, stylized symbol of one of Trill’s civilian newsnets appeared on her screen.

  Her eyes widened involuntarily as watched the lead stories unfold. No wonder Cyl’s not answering.

  5

  Stardate 53776.1

  Trill’s sun looked strangely orange and oblate as it dipped low on the horizon, its rays blazing an ocher and vermilion trail across the distant white slopes of Bes Manev, the planet’s tallest mountain. The impending sunset cast lengthening shadows over the foothills even as it illuminated Manev Bay’s deep purple waters. The Rio Grande arced past the bay and approached the capital city’s dock district, descending toward the broad blocks of wide, shining reflecting pools and graceful copper towers that comprised the government sector. In the distance loomed the ancient sprawl of the Old City’s core. From the pilot’s seat, Dax took in the scene that was unfolding on the Trill capital’s broad boulevards.

  Never before in any of her lives could Dax recall having seen the city of L
eran Manev in the grip of such palpable tension. Restive crowds milled behind barricades, held back by serried ranks of black-armored police. Behind the barriers, slogan-festooned placards waved. On the way to the landing concourse, Dax caught a glimpse of a sign that read SYMBIOSIS EQUALS DEATH, then another emblazoned with the words JOINING FOR ALL. A third said, more ambiguously, TIME FOR TRUTH.

  She shook her head sadly. What a mess of contradictions. Welcome to the homeworld, Ezri. She felt a surge of gratitude that Ezri Tigan had actually grown up far from here, on the New Sydney colony. Even as the thought crossed her mind, she knew it was unfair; to the best of her knowledge, none of Trill’s cities had ever experienced such sharp political divisions at any point during Ezri’s lifetime. And she had to concede that the stories she had read on Trill’s newsnets might have overstated the possibility of real social unrest.

  “That’s quite a gathering out there,” Julian said dryly as Dax landed the runabout in one of the wide spots that was specially marked for official Federation visitors. A few moments later she was standing beside him on the landing pad, in the lengthening shadow of the immense Senate Tower.

  Dax spied a pair of figures approaching briskly from the building’s glass entryway portico.

  “General Cyl,” Dax said to the tall, white-haired man on the left as she and Julian closed the remaining distance between them. “Mister Gard,” she said to the younger man beside him, nodding in greeting. Gazing at Gard, she hoped she’d managed to conceal her surprise at being received by the man who had actually carried out the assassination of Bajor’s first minister. Perhaps the newsnet rumblings of Gard’s forthcoming presidential pardon really was the done deal that some seemed to believe it was.

  As perfunctory greetings were exchanged, Gard smiled disarmingly, though his dark, neatly trimmed goatee gave him an almost roguish aspect. “Please, Lieutenant, call me Hiziki. And that goes for you as well, Doctor.”