Vaughn appeared to grasp the ramifications immediately. “And if the symbiont continues to weaken, you’re going to have to remove it from Ezri sooner rather than later.”
Bashir nodded. He felt hollow inside.
“So regardless of whether or not the Dax symbiont survives…” Vaughn trailed off.
“Barring a miracle, Ezri is going to die.” Bashir felt detached from himself as he spoke the words. There. I’ve finally said it out loud.
“You mentioned ‘the equivalent’ of the Caves of Mak’ala,” Vaughn said, stroking his beard, plainly still considering every conceivable alternative.
“Merimark and Leishman are already busy constructing a portable symbiont pool like the one I rigged to carry the Dax symbiont after Jadzia’s death last year. But there are still no guarantees. The symbiont has already become dangerously weak.”
Vaughn looked somber. “So you have a decision to make.”
Bashir found that he was having trouble maintaining his train of thought. He took a moment to compose himself before speaking. Perhaps fatigue was catching up with him. How long had he been awake?
“I can hold out for a miraculous last-minute cure for both Ezri and Dax,” he said. “Or I can give the symbiont a fighting chance at having another life.”
A life I’ll probably play no part in.For the first time, Bashir understood at a gut level how hard the earliest days of his relationship with Ezri must have been on Worf, the late Jadzia’s husband.
“At the expense of Ezri’s life,” Vaughn said. But Bashir could detect no reproach in the commander’s tone. Vaughn’s vivid blue eyes took on a faraway aspect that spoke eloquently of other times, other deaths, other unwilling but unavoidable surrenders to decay and entropy.
Vaughn placed a gentle, fatherly hand on Bashir’s shoulder. “I’m truly sorry, Julian.”
“So am I.” His words sounded banal in his own ears, but he could think of nothing better to say.
“How is Nog?” Vaughn said after a moment’s silence.
The doctor managed to summon a weak smile, actually grateful for the change of topic. It was a relief to put aside, however briefly, the crushing weight of the decision he carried on his shoulders.
“Let me show you,” Bashir said, leading Vaughn back into the main medical bay chamber and to Nog’s biobed. Shar stood beside the young engineer, who was sitting up and reading something on a padd. Vaughn failed to completely conceal his surprise when he noticed what lay on the low table beside the bed.
It was Nog’s left leg, severed at the knee.
“Hello, Captain,” Nog said, making as though to rise from the bed, then evidently realizing that the maneuver hadn’t been one of his best-considered ones. He gestured with his head toward the orphaned limb on the table, at which Shar was staring abstractedly.
“Sorry about this, sir. Shar has just brought me up to date on the repairs still going on aboard the alien ship.”
Vaughn appeared to be trying hard not to stare at Nog’s disarticulated leg, but was not entirely successful. “Between Shar, Senkowski, and Permenter, everything’s well in hand over there. You’ve already done most of the heavy lifting yourself.”
Shar nodded affirmatively to Nog. “I expect the alien vessel to be ready to get under way within a day or so.”
“You just rest and do whatever Dr. Bashir tells you,” Vaughn said to Nog. “Got it, Lieutenant?”
Nog looked sheepish as he handed the padd to Shar. Bashir caught a glimpse of technical schematics on its display screen just before it disappeared behind Shar’s back.
Bashir pointed to the leg. “Nog, may I?”
“Go ahead, Doc. Just bring it back when you’re through with it. I find it sort of comforting to have the thing around, now that it looks like I might not be needing it again.”
Bashir held the limb before him to allow Vaughn to examine it. Vaughn took it and turned it over and over. He appeared puzzled. Shar, however, who had brought Nog and his severed leg to the medical bay, seemed to be taking this in stride.
“What happened?”
“Nog’s body has apparently rejected it,” Bashir said, then allowed his words to sink in for a moment. Vaughn’s raised eyebrow made it plain that he, too, understood that bodily rejection was emerging as a common theme here. “And that’s not the end of it, either.”
“Son,” Vaughn said, handing the leg back to Nog. “What did you mean when you said that you ‘might not be needing it again’?”
Nog grinned as he lifted the coverlet that had been draped across his lap and slowly unwound the dressing from the stump of his left leg. As the bandages fell neatly away, Bashir looked at both Vaughn and Shar to gauge their reactions. Shar’s eyes widened slightly, his antennae probing unsubtly forward. Vaughn’s jaw fell like a nickel-iron meteor.
Bashir quickly examined the tiny, perfectly formed leg sprouting from Nog’s stump. It had grown by several centimeters during just the last hour.
Bashir wasn’t certain how much time had passed before the nonplussed Vaughn finally found his words. “Can you…explain this, Doctor?”
“At the moment, I’m simply at a loss,” Bashir said, shaking his head. “Even his burned femoral motor nerves are regenerating.”
“I’d be sorely tempted to call thisa miracle,” Vaughn said, his gaze locking firmly with Bashir’s. “And wherever we find one miracle, we might do well to keep searching for others.” He was clearly talking about Ezri.
“I wish I could afford to believe in miracles, Captain,” Bashir said, biting his words off. “Unfortunately, I have to make do with the real world.”
The medical bay doors hissed open again. Merimark and Leishman entered, using antigravs to carry a meter-wide, half-meter-deep oblong container. The pair set the object down gently beside Ezri’s biobed.
“One medical transport pod suitable for a Trill symbiont,” Merimark said as she glanced uneasily at the unconscious Ezri. “Ready for activation when you give the order.” Bashir recalled that Kaitlin Merimark had become one of Ezri’s closest friends among the Defiant’s current crew complement. It couldn’t be easy for her to see Ezri in her current condition.
“Thank you, Ensign,” Bashir said, then turned to Vaughn. “I’ll make a thorough investigation into Nog’s condition as soon as possible. But at the moment I’m afraid I’ve more pressing matters to attend to.”
Vaughn looked grave. “I take it you’ve come to a decision.” About Ezriwent unsaid, though the words hung in the air like smoke over the Gettysburg battlefield.
“Yes. The only decision possible.”
“I understand,” Vaughn said. “Come on, Shar. Let’s get back to work.” Shar, his facial muscles suddenly unusually tense, nodded silently. Bashir wondered how much Shar knew about Ezri’s condition. He wished he had time to brief everyone beforehand about what was about to happen, and to allow Ezri to say her own farewells to one and all. But he no longer had that kind of time. He’d squandered that time with his repeated, fruitless attempts to save Ezri and the symbiont both.
Feeling miserable, Bashir watched Vaughn and Shar exit the medical bay.
He told himself that Ezri wouldn’t have wanted any maudlin good-byes. She’d have another life soon, once they returned Dax to the Trill homeworld after the conclusion of the Gamma Quadrant mission. She’d have plenty of time then to catch up with auld acquaintances, he thought.
“‘ ’Tis not too late to seek a newer world,’” Bashir said quietly to no one. Then he noticed Nog’s quizzical stare.
“What’s going on, Doc?”
Bashir realized that he had been protecting Nog from the truth about Ezri. He sighed, collected his thoughts, and said, “Nog, you deserve to know what’s really about to happen to Ezri.”
The only decision possible.
For perhaps the first time in his life, Bashir really, truly wished he were dead. “Ensign Richter,” he said. “Please prepare Ezri for surgery.” Then he turned back to Nog and started to explain, as gently as possible, that Ezri was going to die very soon.