Solis sat down, suddenly weary. Around the chamber, he saw many contemplative faces. A few heads were bobbing up and down in agreement, while others shook in furious negation.
With a deep intake of breath, Vedek Eran called for a vote.
As Mika entered the room, she saw the Assembly’s decision etched clearly on Solis’s careworn face. The flickering candlelight reflected in the tears that rolled slowly down his cheeks.
“Uncle, you did your best,” she said, crouching down near him. “All who heard your words were moved.”
He snorted, wiping at his cheek. “Not moved enough, it seems. Nor necessarily in the right direction. I fear that my words may have deepened the divide.”
“No,” she said. When he looked away, she grasped his jaw in her hand, forcing him to look at her. “No,”she repeated, more emphatically. “You spoke eloquently and truthfully. Theyare the ones who have chosen to estrange those of us who question. If there truly is a divide, then it is the Vedek Assembly majority that has torn it wider.”
He sniffed, and managed a weak smile. “At least the vote was a fraction closer this time.”
She smiled too, and caressed his cheek with the back of her hand. “Yes, it was. And perhaps if the full Assembly had been present, you would have swayed more of them. But nowhere near enough, I fear. Vedeks can be a stubborn lot.”
He made no argument with her gentle dig. “Some of the others will change their minds in time,” he said, nodding. “After their fear of us subsides. After we have been in the Federation for a while and the majority finally realizes that Bajor has not fallen from its orbit because of our presence.”
Mika’s child toddled into the room through the open doorway and cooed, smiling and running over to throw his arms around Solis’s legs.
Solis lifted the half-Cardassian child and hugged him back, looking over the boy’s head into Mika’s eyes. “I fear that by the time they change their minds, it will be too late. I won’t let the matter drop, child. I will bring the colonel’s cause up at the next Assembly session. And the one after that, and the one after that.”
Mika shook her head. “That approach will take years. I owe Kira my life, and the life of my son. And we both owe Kira for preserving the prophecies of Ohalu. Nowis the time to act directly. To do something decisive to let the vedeks and ministers know that the people are not willing to allow Kira to be cast aside.”
Solis set the boy down and placed a hand on Mika’s shoulder. “Please, don’t do anything foolish. You have a child to consider now. Not to mention the rest of the Ohalavaru, who are in sore need of leaders.”
“I believe that the Prophets have already decided whose actions are foolish.” She scooped up her son, then kissed Solis on the forehead.
“Don’t worry, uncle. What needs to be done will be done. I owe Kira and the Prophets no less.”
Mika turned and walked out of the room, her retreating form casting long shadows across the candle-lit wall.
17
Chief medical officer’s personal log, stardate 53579.0
I probably shouldn’t be thinking of any of these recordings as “medical logs” anymore, since I can’t call myself a doctor any longer. Not really. But I know that people trust doctors. They place a lot of faith in them, and faith can help people do whatever they have to get done. So if it will help Ezri and Nog and everybody else aboard this ship to get through whatever hell is coming, I’m willing to try to swallow this fear that makes me quake whenever I think about it. I’m willing to play along, and let everyone pretend I’m the wise, competent doctor, even though I might as well be little Jules stitching up poor Kukalaka’s leg with sewing thread. I’m willing to keep at it, until the fear finally consumes me. Or whatever’s left of me.
In the meantime, I’ll be thankful that Sacagawea doesn’t really need a doctor anymore. And I’ll hope to God that nobody gets sick or injured and ends up really needing one.
After Nog had laid out the bare bones of his plan, then left the medical bay to prepare his detailed briefing for the senior staff, Ezri decided that she couldn’t wait any longer to tell Commander Vaughn exactly what was on her mind. She began by asking to speak to him privately in his ready room. He nodded his assent, but his impassive face betrayed no emotion. Leaving Krissten to keep Julian occupied with another “examination” of their D’Naali guest, Ezri and Vaughn walked down the corridor in silence.
Once the ready room door had closed behind them, he turned to her, his face hard and determined.
“No,” Vaughn said.
Surprised, Ezri took a quick step back. “Don’t you want to hear what I have to say first?”
“It’s not hard to guess what’s on your mind. And before you make your request, I want you to know that the answer will be a firm ‘no.’I will notrelieve you of duty.”
“Even though lifetimes of expertise have literally leaked right out of me.”
“I need you as my first officer. Now more than ever, you’ve got to be my steady right hand.”
Frustration and despair constricted Ezri’s temples. It felt as though her spots were on too tight. “Sir, without Dax I’m no good to you. I can’t contribute anything to the mission. I might even put it in danger.”
Vaughn sat on the desk and stared up into a corner. His eyes seemed focused on something light-years away. As the silence stretched, she expected him to blow up at her, the way Benjamin Sisko had when she had tried to transfer from DS9 after her apparent failure to help Mr. Garak cope with his claustrophobia during the war. She’d been wrong then. But the circumstances had been very different.
That day, she’d still had Dax.
When Vaughn finally spoke, his voice was incongruously gentle. “You couldn’t be more wrong, Lieutenant.”
“But I can’t help Nog and Shar get around the blockade,” she said, taken aback by his softened demeanor.
He made a dismissive gesture, waving her protests away. “That matters a lot less than you’d think.”
She scowled. “With all due respect, sir, we’re not going to get past those Nyazen ships with kind wishes.”
“Not entirely,” he said with a chuckle. “Kind wishes and a duranium truncheon usually work better than kind wishes do all by themselves. But that’s not what we’re really talking about here.”
“What arewe talking about?”
“Your experiences. Not Dax’s. Yours.The ones that you, Ezri Tigan, have had while wearing that command uniform. The expertise you’ve gathered over the last few months belongs to you at least as much as it does to Dax. And Dax didn’t play any role at all in your Starfleet Academy training, or your career up until the end of your stint aboard the Destiny.”
Ezri paused to consider his words. “I’ll grant you that. But so much of what Ezri Dax was came from the other hosts, and theirexperiences.”
“Which you found valuable, right?”
She was starting to think he was deliberately trying to goad her. “Of courseI did. Joined Trills always integrate the personalities of the previous hosts into their symbioses. At least the healthy ones do. And they come to depend on them.”
He folded his arms. “And why do you suppose that is, Lieutenant?”
“Because…” she stopped, finally understanding where this was leading. “Because each host brings something unique to the symbiosis.”
He offered a paternal smile. “Eachhost. Not just Lela, or Audrid, or Curzon, or Jadzia. That list of unique worthies includes Ezri, too. The way I see it, the most critical part of a Trill joining isn’t the slug in your belly—it’s the walking, talking person who joins with it, nurtures it, and gives it the means to interact with the rest of the universe.”