Ezri snuggled in closer to Vic’s broad shoulder, letting her mind drift back, almost eighteen months earlier, to one of her first Starfleet assignments, and her first glimpse of Deep Space 9. ...
“I was on a starship,” Ezri said.
“Imagine that,” Vic told her.
“A starship named Destiny. ...”
And as easily as that, the past came to life, and—
—in the main shuttlebay of the Starship Destiny, Ensign Ezri Tigan pushed her long dark hair from her eyes and peered through the slightly fogged viewport of the medical transport pod. Inside, bathed in billows of inert nitrogen and the purple mist of Trill ocean water, the glistening brown, sluglike shape of a symbiont, the life-form that was the driving force behind Trill civilization, the shining ideal for which all Trill children were raised to aspire to serve, pulsated slowly.
Ezri screwed up her face. “Ewww. That’s so gross.”
Beside her, Ensign Brinner Finok jabbed his elbow into Ezri’s side. “Zee! That’s Dax. One of the greatest. Show some respect.”
Ezri grinned at Brinner, her delight at teasing him multiplying as she saw his cheeks flush until they were almost as dark as the intricate curlicues of Trill spots that ran up both sides of his high forehead. He was so serious, it was obvious he needed her to remind him that life held other possibilities than a constant devotion to duty. Last night, she considered she had done an especially good job at diverting his mind from his work. His cheeks had flushed then, too, and as if Brinner also remembered how they had passed their evening, he now allowed his typically intent expression to soften with a self-conscious smile.
It didn’t last, though. Suddenly, he reacted to something he saw from the corner of his eye and his smile vanished as he snapped to attention like a first-year cadet.
Ezri turned to see what Brinner saw, and instantly stepped back from the transport pod and the two security officers who flanked it. Beyond the pod, the Destiny’s chief medical officer, Dr. T’pek, stepped down from the DS9 runabout, holding her medical tricorder before her like a protective sword. The tricorder was aimed directly at the pod, as if its contents were the most valuable cargo ever to come aboard.
With everyone’s attention on the tall, startlingly thin Vulcan doctor, Ezri couldn’t resist. “It’s a big ugly worm,” she whispered to Brinner, “and you’ll never catch me with one of them in my pocket.” She jabbed her own elbow into Brinner’s side for emphasis, then squared her shoulders and smoothed her jacket. Someone else was coming out of the runabout behind the doctor, and he wasn’t wearing a Starfleet uniform. Its design looked Bajoran.
“They’d never pick you, anyway,” Brinner whispered back, still keeping his eyes locked dead ahead. “Triple-niner.”
Ezri snorted, but didn’t take offense at Brinner’s insult. She didn’t care if she was among the ninety-nine-point-nine percent of the Trill population unfit to be joined. She didn’t even care if she was among the one-tenth of one percent who were fit. She wanted no part of her planet’s parasitic brain vampires and had never even bothered to fill out her standard selection profile for the Symbiosis Commission. But before she could come up with a suitably insulting rejoinder for Brinner, Ezri felt her throat tense up as she recognized what was coming through the runabout door.
A Founder.
Ezri looked from the eerily half-formed humanoid face of the changeling to the security guards by the pod and wondered why they didn’t draw their weapons. There was a war on. The shapeshifting Founders and their Jem’Hadar had brought near ruin to the Federation. How could Captain Raymer permit the enemy to board the vessel? Why wasn’t Dr. T’pek offering any protest? Why weren’t the changeling detection protocols being followed? How ... Ezri’s cascade of questions came to an end as she saw the Founder place his hand, almost affectionately, on the surface of the transport pod.
“There ... the symbiont remains in stable condition,” Dr. T’pek said to the changeling. She even showed him her tricorder readings, as if he were a colleague. “The delay has not compromised it at all.”
The changeling looked faintly annoyed, but Ezri wasn’t sure if that was an accurate reflection of his mood because his features were so alien and unreadable to her. “As I said, Doctor, Jadzia had no difficulty using transporters. The Dax symbiont could have been beamed onto this ship and you could have been on your way an hour ago. If you hadn’t insisted on using the runabout.”
Ezri glanced sideways at Brinner, trying to gauge his reaction to this surreal scene. Not only was the enemy onboard Destiny, he was actually criticizing Dr. T’pek. But Brinner’s attention was still riveted on the transport pod and the symbiont within. Typical, Ezri thought. She knew Brinner was desperate to be a tenth-percenter. But given the waiting list at the Symbiosis Commission, she also knew this was as close to a symbiont as he’d be likely to get in the next twenty years.
T’pek maintained her patience with the changeling, but since the doctor was a Vulcan, Ezri could expect no less. “Constable, I do not have to tell you what a valuable asset Dax is to Starfleet, and to the Federation. As Jadzia Dax, it was on the front lines of the war, and we cannot risk losing that knowledge or experience. Some symbionts have unusual reactions to the beaming process, and with Dax already suffering from some type of energy shock and host-death trauma syndrome, an hour’s delay did not present an unacceptable risk in relation to what a transporter reaction might have triggered. It was the logical thing to do.”
The changeling with the unlikely rank of “constable” sighed deeply, then patted the transport pod. “Dax was more than an asset, Doctor. It ... she ... was a friend.”
“I understand,” T’pek said with equal parts respect and firmness. “And we will have your friend on Trill in two weeks. More than enough time for recuperation and a new joining.”
The changeling nodded, then turned back to the runabout, without once looking around the shuttlebay, as if nothing on this ship was worth his attention except for the worm. Ezri didn’t know why, but it seemed obvious to her that at least there was one changeling who was allied with the Federation, for whatever reason.
Immediately after the changeling had boarded the runabout, T’pek had the security guards file off, carrying the transport pod with antigravs. Then, with a curt nod indicating that Brinner and Ezri were to follow, the doctor fell in behind the pod, her flashing tricorder held in operating position.
Just before leaving the shuttlebay with the others, Ezri looked over her shoulder to see the runabout slip through the bay’s atmospheric forcefield into space. Far beyond it, like a glittering ornament silhouetted against a frozen spray of fiery sparks, she saw Deep Space 9. Each docking pylon was mated with a ship—Federation, Bajoran, even two Klingon cruisers. Other ships from other systems kept station nearby, as if DS9 were the center of a whirlpool, an island of calm in a storm-tossed sea.
Too bad we didn’t have a chance to visit, Ezri thought with real regret. With the war, there was no telling how soon the Destiny might get this close to the front lines again. She resigned herself to the fact that, like so many of the sights she had seen in her brief time with Starfleet, this first glimpse of Deep Space 9 might also be her last. Then the shuttlebay personnel door slipped shut, and she half-stumbled as she hurried to catch up with Brinner, now marching dutifully in Dr. T’pek’s wake.
Even before Ezri reached the others, she was wondering why the wide corridor was so quiet. By the time she fell into step with Brinner, she had realized the answer. They were the only people in the wide passageway.
“Where is everyone?” she whispered to her fellow ensign.
But before Brinner could answer, T’pek spoke. “We are now in security condition alpha.”
The party halted before a turbolift door as T’pek announced their arrival into her communicator badge. Ezri and Brinner exchanged a silent, questioning glance. Ezri knew that security condition alpha meant that sections of the Destiny had been sealed off from the rest of the ship
by blast doors and security forcefields. From training drills, she knew that alpha conditions were for preventing lethal biological contamination, or escorting beings so critical to the Federation that their loss would cause irreparable damage, like the president of the Federation Council.
As the turbolift door slid open, Ezri murmured to Brinner, “Is that thing really that important?”
T’pek turned to her. “Ensign, the Dax symbiont has just served six years on one of the most important outposts involved in the war with the Dominion. As a Starfleet officer, it knows the latest codes, the latest battle plans, the latest strategies. It knows our strengths. It knows our weaknesses. It knows the same about key personnel in Starfleet Command and the Klingon Defense Force. How would you have us transport it back to your homeworld? On a pleasure cruiser?”
Though the Vulcan’s tone had not varied in the slightest, Ezri knew she had been severely reprimanded, and like Brinner she unconsciously snapped to attention, eyes straight ahead, an errant cadet once again. “No, ma’am,” she said.
During T’pek’s even-voiced tirade, Franklin Solon, the ship’s surgeon, had stepped from the turbolift to the chief medical officer’s side. Now T’pek turned away from Ezri to hand her tricorder to the surgeon.
“All life signs are stable for now,” T’pek reported. “But host-death syndrome is known to cause rapid reversals without warning.”
Solon studied the tricorder display with a frown. “I understand. I’ve been familiarizing myself with the necessary emergency requirements.” He looked up from the tricorder, checked out Brinner, then Ezri, his large dark eyes reflecting the tricorder’s multicolored flashing lights. “Which one?” he asked.
“We might not have a choice,” T’pek answered.
Ezri felt her spots pucker. What were the doctors talking about?
“You may proceed,” T’pek said to Solon. “Keep a fall implantation team on standby. And keep the sub-space link to Trill open.”
Solon nodded brusquely, then stepped back into the turbolift with the security guards and the transport pod. “See you in sickbay,” he said.
Then the doors closed, leaving Ezri and Brinner alone with T’pek in the otherwise deserted corridor.
Here it comes, Ezri thought. She had a terrible feeling she was about to find out why Dr. T’pek had requested the only two Trill on board to meet her in the main shuttle-bay.
The Vulcan pulled a padd from her medical smock, checked a text display on it, then stared at Ezri. “Ensign Tigan, your medical records are incomplete.”
Ezri’s startled first reaction was to want to laugh. Four years at Starfleet Academy had left her feeling like a medical experiment. She had been scanned, genetically decoded, retropulsed, and biolfiltered until she had decided her visits to Starfleet Medical were really covert training simulations, like some perverse, psychological variation of the Kobayashi Maru. If there was a cell in her body that Starfleet didn’t have a blueprint for, then it had to be one she had grown in the last five days.
“I’m sorry, Doctor,” Ezri said, “but I don’t understand.”
With long and delicate fingers, T’pek held out the padd so Ezri could read it. “There is no symbiosis evaluation.”
Ezri nodded agreement. “No, ma’am, there isn’t.”
“Is it not law that all Trill are to submit to preliminary screening tests on their twelfth birthdays?”
Ezri’s eyes widened. She knew Starfleet was thorough, but surely it wasn’t going to go back to her twelfth birthday to find flaws in her record. “It’s not really a law, ma’am. More like ... a custom.”
“That’s right, Doctor,” Brinner said quickly, and Ezri was glad of his support. “First Screening is a cultural celebration, similar to a human bar mitzvah, or a Klingon bloodkill. There’s no actual legal requirement for anyone to take part. It’s just that everyone does.” He glanced at Ezri. “Almost everyone.”
“Ah,” T’pek said. “So the records are not incomplete. You simply chose not to undergo screening.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Why?”
On one hand, Ezri was tired of that question more than any other she had been asked, second only to her mother’s constant refrain of, Why leave home to join Starfleet? The answer to that second question was that joining Starfleet was the perfect excuse to leave home. And, with luck, to not go back for years. The answer to the first question was far more complex. She and Brinner had spent hours talking about it over the past month. And Ezri still wasn’t anywhere close to having explained all her thoughts and feelings to him.
So for now, she chose the easy way out.
“I don’t wish to be joined, ma’am.”
Ezri braced herself for the inevitable questions that would follow. She expected they would be especially brutal coming from the logic-honed mind of a Vulcan. How can you make such a profound decision that will affect your entire life at so young an age? How can you not aspire to fulfill the biological destiny of your species? How can you disappoint your parents? Or, Ezri’s favorite, What dark secrets are you hiding that you don’t wish a symbiont to know?
But T’pek asked none of those. Instead, she called up another text display on the padd, then addressed Brinner.
“Ensign Finok, your medical records do include a preliminary symbiosis evaluation, and several follow-ups.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Logic suggests you do wish to be joined.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Ezri tried not to think any less of the young man who had so recently become her lover. What chance did he have for true independence when the whole of Trill society was dedicated to brainwashing its children into believing there could be no higher goal than sacrificing their individuality to a parasitic race of slugs?
“Very well,” T’pek said. “You are to report to sickbay until further notice. I will have Captain Raymer excuse you from all other duty until we reach Trill.”
“I ... don’t understand, ma’am.” Brinner looked nervously at Ezri, then back to the doctor. “Are you saying I’m to be joined with Dax?”
Ezri stared at Brinner. The question was ridiculous. Even if a Trill were biochemically suitable for the joining process, years of training and preparation were necessary before the procedure could be undertaken.
But the Vulcan surprised her and Brinner. “Unlikely,” T’pek said. “However, in the event the symbiont’s condition worsens, we must stand ready to perform an emergency joining procedure. And, since Ensign Tigan has not seen fit to have her suitability for joining assessed, you, it would appear, are the only suitable Trill on the ship.”
“B-but ...” Brinner stammered, “I haven’t been trained.”
T’pek raised an eyebrow. “But Dax has. Eight times. Report to sickbay at once.”
By now, Brinner’s face was so pale his spots seemed black. He looked at Ezri, but neither spoke. There was too much to say, and no time to say it.
T’pek stepped to the side and the turbolift door opened.
Brinner walked inside. Like a condemned man entering a Trikon brainwipe chamber, Ezri thought. Then T’pek took her place in the lift beside Brinner and gave Ezri another curt nod. “I have no further need of you, Ensign. Carry on.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Ezri mumbled, then watched Brinner until the ’lift doors closed and she heard the car speed away.
Ezri remained motionless in the silent corridor after that, remembering once again how much she loathed the worms, and startling herself by how much she was going to miss Brinner.
“I wish I was a Vulcan,” Ezri finally said to herself. Life would be so much simpler without emotions. And with that defiant wish playing in her troubled mind, she returned to her quarters, alone.
* * *
By the third day outward bound from Deep Space 9, Ezri worked up her courage enough to slip into sickbay after duty hours.
She had checked with the ship’s computer that Brinner Finok was not under quarantine, so technica
lly, she reassured herself, she wasn’t doing anything wrong. She was simply visiting a friend. A friend who had not responded to any of the notes she had sent through the Destiny’s internal messaging system.
At ship’s midnight, the main sickbay clinic was deserted. Ezri could see one of the medical department’s biotechnicians in his office, working on a desk padd. But other than the bright spill of light through that small cubicle’s transparent wall, the main light levels were dim, and the only sound was the hum of the air circulators.
Ezri walked quickly across the clinic to the closed door to Isolation Room 2. The biohazard seal wasn’t active, so again she told herself that she was not breaking any crucial protocols.
Beside it, the seal for the door to Isolation Room 1 was active. That room contained the apparatus for identifying changelings. Only Captain Raymer, Dr. T’pek, and the Destiny’s chief of security had access to Isolation Room 1, and then, only when two of the three of them were present at the same time.
Ezri herself had been randomly screened four times in the past month. She had heard that some command staff were checked every day. Such vigilance was the price of war, she knew. And since the test was simple—just a quick pinprick and the extraction of a single drop of blood—she had never felt indignant about it. But let the Symbiosis Commission ever try to examine a single follicle of hair to assess her as possible joining material, and she’d—
“This facility is off-limits!”
Those were the first words Brinner said to her as the isolation door slid open to reveal him standing by the locked-down transport pod containing the Dax symbiont.
The young ensign’s formal words and attitude were so unexpected, that Ezri ignored them. She entered the small isolation room, holding up the present she had brought—a fragile, single-crystal bottle of samsit, just like the one they had shared on their fifth date, which was the first date on which they hadn’t quite gotten around to leaving Ezri’s quarters.
“Brinner, are you all right?”
STAR TREK: DS9 - The Lives of Dax Page 3
