by S. D. Perry
Eran’s face winked out from the screen.
“Are you all right, Lieutenant?” Cathy Ling asked from the operations station.
Frowning, Ezri said, “I’m fine, why?”
“It’s just—well, when you were talking to the vedek, your voice seemed to get—deeper. And scratchier.”
Smiling her most reassuring counselor smile, Ezri said, “I’m perfectly fine, Ensign. Probably a little rough from all the talking I’ve been doing.” She picked up a padd. “Before the vedek called, I noticed something—the atmosphere was never changed in the suite of rooms the Plexicans were in. We’d better do that before the Ng’s refugees try to set up there and find they can’t breathe the methane.”
Ling nodded quickly. “I’ll get a team right on it, sir.”
Ezri went back to looking over the status reports. Most of the refugees had settled in as well as could be expected. Many were scared, concerned about what they’d had to leave behind. Some expressed concern about their children—all of whom had been relocated to the Tozhat Resettlement Camp on Bajor. Ezri made a mental note to try to set up a schedule that would allow people to communicate with the camp.
Several had made specific complaints that had been forwarded to Ezri. “Computer, time?”
“The time is 1409 hours.”
She still had almost an hour before her subspace meeting with First Minister Shakaar. As far as she could tell, all the fires had been put out. Ling reported that the off-loading of refugees was proceeding apace. Vaughn had left on the Defiant with Nog and Shar’s gateway disruption scheme ready to go. Dr. Tarses’s last report from the infirmary was that all the cases of theta-radiation poisoning were minor and easily treated—as were the assorted other bumps and bruises that people had suffered during evacuation. She was actually free for the next fifty minutes.
“Ensign, I’ll be in the habitat ring until my meeting with First Minister Shakaar,” Ezri said as she moved toward the turbolift and grabbed a padd with the list of complaints. May as well give these people’s complaints the personal touch. With all they’ve been through, they deserve the station commander’s direct attention.
Station commander. Ezri surprised herself with how much she liked the sound of that. Most, though not all, hosts of the Dax symbiont gravitated toward positions of authority. In some cases—notably Ezri and Jadzia—that desire didn’t seem to come until after joining with the symbiont. Ezri wondered if this inclination was congenital to Dax, or just the combined weight of all those memories of being an authority figure.
Just as she reached the top step of ops’s upper level, Ling said, “Lieutenant, there’s a personal communiqué here from a Dr. Renhol on Trill.”
Damn, Ezri thought. With everything that had been going on, she hadn’t made her check-in call with Renhol.
Renhol was a member of the Trill Symbiosis Commission. Ezri had not been a candidate to be joined, and had united with the Dax symbiont in order to save its life. The commission had asked that Ezri check in on a regular basis with Renhol—ideally once a week, but at least once a month, duties permitting. Of course, many on the commission would have preferred to keep Ezri on Trill and have her adjust to a joined life under close supervision, but Ezri was a free citizen and could do as she pleased. And right now, I’m pleased to be here on the station, thank you very much. She sighed. Still, it’s been over six weeks.
“I’ll take it in the colonel’s office,” Ezri said, changing direction.
Ezri went in, took a very deep breath through her nose, let it out through her mouth, and then sat down in Kira’s chair. “Put it through,” she said, tapping her combadge.
Renhol’s angular face appeared on the small viewscreen on the desk. As always, her brown hair was tied severely back. “Lieutenant Dax. It’s good to see you.”
Holding up her hands, Ezri said, “I know why you’re calling, Doctor, and I’m very sorry, but things have been a little crazy on the station.”
“So I’ve heard. For that matter, so I see—I seem to recall that your uniform was a different color when last we spoke.”
Involuntarily, Ezri’s hand went up to the collar of her uniform, which was now command red instead of the sciences blue she’d worn ever since graduating from the Academy. “I’ve switched over to the command track.”
“Really? That’s rather a major step, don’t you think?”
“Yes, it is. But I think this is the right thing for me to do. About a month ago, I wound up in command of the Defiant during a combat situation. I realized then that I needed to stop assing around in a fog and put these centuries of experiences to better use.”
“Don’t you think that’s a decision you should have consulted us on?”
Ezri rolled her eyes. “Young lady, I don’t need the commission’s permission to hold my hand and walk me through every major life decision. I’m a grown woman, and I’m completely capable of making my own choices. Or do I have to consult the commission when I brush my teeth every day?”
Renhol’s lips pursed. “Of course not. But are you aware of the fact that each of those three sentences came from a different host?”
Frowning, Ezri said, “What?”
“You modulated from Lela to Ezri to Jadzia. For that matter, Torias was fond of the phrase ‘assing around,’ if I recall correctly. That isn’t the way the joining is supposed to work, Ezri, and you know that.”
Taking another deep breath to compose herself, Ezri said, “Look, Doctor, I appreciate your concern, but right now I have to deal with a huge influx of refugees from Europa Nova.” Quickly, she outlined the situation.
“So you’re in charge of the station?”
“At the moment, yes, and I really don’t have time to bring you completely up to speed on my life. I promise that I’ll contact you again within the next two days, assuming the crisis is resolved.”
“I apologize, Lieutenant, I didn’t realize my timing was so bad,” Renhol said, though Ezri didn’t think she was sincere. “Get back in touch with me again at your convenience—but soon, please. We do need to discuss this.”
“Of course, Doctor. Dax out.” She cut the connection.
Stupid, meddling commission. Why can’t they just let me live my life?
As she exited the office and headed to the turbolift, she caught sight of Ling. She then remembered what she had said about Ezri’s voice getting deeper and scratchier. That was when I was talking to Vedek Eran—and giving him the speech about how we should thank him. Which, she realized suddenly, I did in Curzon’s classic “diplomatic mode.”
She shook her head as she entered the turbolift. I’m just tired—
—like I was last month when I tapped into Jadzia’s memories during sex with Julian? Renhol was right about one thing: it wasn’t supposed to work that way. Ezri had been content to chalk it all up to a transitional phase she was going through—from a year of stumbling her way through a labyrinth of past lives, to really taking control for the first time. More and more, ever since that terrible day on the Defiant, she found herself drawing from the wellspring of her previous hosts to take on greater and greater challenges. And the more she took on, the more she seemed to crave.
What’s wrong with that? she wondered, not without some resentment. Isn’t that the point of being joined? To harmonize those life experiences and use them to live up to their combined potential? To be greater than the sum of my past hosts?
As the turbolift arrived in the habitat ring, she looked over the list, her mind returning to the issues at hand. She decided to simply take the complaints by order of quarters.
On her way, she passed by Ensign Gordimer, who had remained behind when the Defiant left, leading a group of refugees toward section nine. She smiled at the line of people who shuffled in a more-or-less orderly manner toward the empty quarters there.
She walked up to Gordimer. “Ensign,” she said quietly, “make sure that the last two quarters in this section have been readjusted for humans.”
In a whisper, Gordimer reported, “I’ve already been in touch with Ensign Ling, sir. This group won’t need those two quarters, but they should be ready by the time the Xhosa arrives with the next batch.”
Ezri nodded. “The Ng’s refugees are going to section twelve, right?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. Carry on, Ensign.”
“Excuse me?”
Ezri turned to see a very short older man. His face was wrinkled, his neck jowly, his snow-white hair thin and wispy, and his skin liver-spotted. Despite this, he did not seem at all decrepit—he walked with as much vitality as Vaughn, even though Ezri figured he had to have thirty years on Elias.
“Can I help you, Mr.—?”
“Maranzano.” The deep, rich voice belied the fragile form it came out of. “I just wanted to know—are you in charge?”
Smiling, Ezri said, “Well, I’m presently in command of the station.”
“I just wanted to thank you all for your help. I know how difficult this must be for all of you, keeping track of all of us and herding us around…”
Ezri couldn’t help but laugh. “Difficult for us? Mr. Maranzano—”
A woman standing in the queue said, “Oh, don’t listen to him, young lady. He just thinks you’re pretty and wants to make nice.”
Mr. Maranzano turned and gave the woman a dirty look. “I’m not allowed to be nice to a pretty young woman?”
Should I tell him I’m over three hundred years old? Ezri thought mischievously. No, that wouldn’t be fair. “Well, thanks all the same, Mr. Maranzano, but I think you’re the ones who should be thanked. Now please, if you’ll go with Ensign Gordimer here, he’ll take you to your temporary quarters.”
She saw them off, then continued to the nearest one containing someone who had relayed a problem to ops.
The first two were minor complaints about the size of the quarters—mostly from people who lived in houses on Europa Nova. Ezri made appropriately conciliatory noises that boiled down to tough luck, and moved on.
A heavyset woman answered the third door. “Is everything all right, Ms. DellaMonica?”
“The replicators don’t work. I’ve been trying to make an espresso for the last hour.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Let me take a look.” She went inside the quarters, which were also occupied by four other people, all male. All five of them had similar facial features, and Ezri assumed they were related. “Computer,” Ezri said to the replicator, “one espresso, unsweetened.”
A demitasse cup appeared in the replicator, filled with steaming black liquid. Ezri picked it up. “Looks okay to me.”
“Taste it.”
Ezri tasted it. It seemed to taste right. But then, Ezri had never been much of an espresso drinker—she put it in the same category as raktajino, which she detested—though Jadzia loved it, having been a regular customer at the Café Roma on Earth, with its magnificent brew, when she was at the Academy. But then, Jadzia also liked raktajino.
“It seems fine,” she said tentatively.
“It’s horrendous!” Ms. DellaMonica cried.
“Ms. DellaMonica, I realize it may not be up to your standards, but replicators are sometimes—”
Holding up a hand, Ms. DellaMonica said, “Lieutenant, I know what you’re going to say. ‘This espresso is good enough.’ Well not for me.” She took a deep breath. “Look around you, Lieutenant. What don’t you see?”
Looking around the quarters, Ezri saw what one usually saw in such places—but saw very little by way of personal effects, which was presumably Ms. DellaMonica’s point. “I know that things are difficult, Ms. DellaMonica, but—”
“Do you know what a pietà is, Lieutenant?”
“No.”
“It’s a religious icon of a woman holding her dead son by the artist Michelangelo. We have a replica of it that’s been in my family since Earth’s eighteenth century. My nonna gave it to me on her deathbed. That pietà means more to us than anything—but we left it behind, because we only had to take the essentials with us. I may never see that statue again, Lieutenant. That’s the way the universe works, and I accept that. But, all things considered, I don’t think it’s too much to ask that at least I can get a decent espresso. This is not decent espresso.”
Casting her mind over the duty roster for the engineering staff, Ezri tapped her combadge. “Dax to McAllister.”
“Go ahead, Lieutenant.”
“Could you report to the habitat ring, Level Four, Section Forty-Eight and have a look at the replicator, please? The people in the quarters will explain the problem.”
“On my way.”
The faces of all five DellaMonicas brightened with smiles. “Thank you,” Ms. DellaMonica said, clasping her hands together and shaking them over her heart.
“Anything else?”
“Nothing a good espresso won’t cure. Without my caffeine, I get cranky.”
“Trust me,” one of the other DellaMonicas added. “You wouldn’t like her when she’s cranky.”
Ezri smiled. “I get that impression. Don’t hesitate to call me if there are any other problems. And Ms. DellaMonica?”
“Yes?”
“We’re doing everything we can to get you back together with your pietà and your espresso maker.”
“I appreciate that, Lieutenant.”
After bidding them a cheery good-bye, she went to the next door.
Without preamble, the occupant, Mr. Pérez, said: “It’s too hot in here.”
“I’ll have the temperature reduced. The last occupants were Ovirians—you know how they like it hot.”
“What’s an Ovirian?”
“They’re from the planet—”
“Aliens? You put aliens in my room?”
“They’re simply the ones who had the quarters last.”
“I don’t want to share my space with aliens.”
Ezri took a deep breath. “You won’t be. The Ovirians were in here over a month ago.”
“If there are any aliens in here, I want to move.”
“There are no aliens, Mr. Pérez. It’s just you and your brother and sister in here.”
“It better be.”
The next door: “I’ve got a terrible rash!”
“Have you been to the infirmary?”
“There’s an infirmary here?”
Sighing, Ezri asked, “What type of rash is it?”
“A bad one.”
Remembering something Julian had mentioned earlier, Ezri said, “It’s probably just an allergic reaction to the arithrazine you were given on the Defiant, Mr. Amenguale. You should report to the infirmary right away.”
“Where is that?”
“The computer can direct you.”
“What computer?”
Ezri quickly described the shortest route from this section of the habitat ring to the infirmary, then moved on.
The next door: “Where’s the kitchen?”
“These quarters have food replicators.”
“What’re they?”
Sighing, Ezri tried not to dwell on the irony of explaining the concept of food replicators to someone who lived in a society that relied on them.
“Oh, okay. So how do I cook food, then?”
Ezri explained the concept a second time, which seemed to take, and she took her leave.
The next door: “The lights are too bright.”
Next: “These beds are terrible!”
Next: “I can’t get the sonic shower to work.”
Next: “The lights are too dark.”
Next was Ms. Bello, a small, timid-looking woman who said, “Lieutenant, someone stole my necklace.”
Before Ms. Bello could elaborate, some insensitive jackass cried out, “How could you let someone steal your necklace? Why were you wearing a necklace anyhow? You knew you’d be crowded in with a bunch of other people and going to a space station! Any idiot knows to keep an eye on your belongings when you come to a space station like this! I can’t be
lieve you’d be so completely idiotic!”
Ezri realized two things as this diatribe went on. One was that Ensign Gordimer had just turned the corner. The other was that the insensitive jackass was in fact Ezri herself.
“Lieutenant,” Gordimer said quickly, “are you okay?”
Catching her breath, feeling like the most horrible person who ever walked the halls of the station, Ezri said, “Yes, I’m fine. Can you do me a favor, Ensign? This woman has had some jewelry stolen. Can you take her statement?”
“Of course, Lieutenant,” Gordimer said quickly.
Turning to the small woman, who looked like she wanted desperately to curl herself up into a ball, she said, “I’m very, very sorry, Ms. Bello. My behavior was completely uncalled for.”
Ms. Bello simply flinched and nodded.
Gordimer gave a reassuring smile. “I promise we’ll try to get to the bottom of this theft, ma’am.”
Again, she flinched. Ezri decided to get the hell away from the woman before she did any more damage.
I desperately need a break, she thought, wondering if perhaps Dr. Renhol didn’t have a point.
No, that’s silly. I’ve been dashing about full-tilt since we got the distress call from Europa Nova. I’ve barely slept in the last fifty hours. I just need to relax. “Computer, time?”
“The time is 1445 hours.”
Damn, she thought. Only fifteen minutes until Shakaar.
Ezri entered a turbolift. “Wardroom,” she said after a moment. That room was likely to be empty—she could get a cup of tea, compose herself, and still make it to ops in time.
As the turbolift wended its way mid-core, she wished Julian had stayed behind. After all, the Intrepid and the Gryphon had full medical staffs that could work just fine with the Europani medical authorities. But they decided to play it safe and have as many medical personnel available on-site as possible, which certainly made sense. Besides, Simon Tarses and Girani Semna were handling the load back here just fine.
Speaking of medicine, I wonder if Mr. Amenguale actually found his way up to the infirmary. She tapped her combadge. “Dax to Tarses.”
“Go ahead.” The doctor sounded exhausted.
