For Sallee Huber and Bonnie Ramsay, whose friendship and shared experiences have made our own friendship symbiotic for many years.
—A. M.
For Dr. Thomas Harburg, Dr. Kathy Crispell, and Dr. Daniel Oseran. Without their keen eyes and sharp judgment (not to mention scalpels), Andy might have had to fly this mission solo as an unjoined literary life-form.
—M.A.M.
Acknowledgments
The authors owe a debt of gratitude to: Christopher Teague and René Echevarria, who first established the truth behind Trill symbiosis (DS9 “Equilibrium”); Robert Sabaroff and Tracy Tormé, who introduced the alien parasites that infiltrated Starfleet in 2364 (TNG “Conspiracy”); S.D. Perry and Robert Simpson, who gave us the ever-vigilant Gard (“Allegro Ouroboros in D Minor” from the Lives of Daxanthology); the conjoined literary entity known as L. A. Graf (Karen Rose Cer-cone and Julia Ecklar), who unwittingly did some geographical, pharmacological, and zoological spadework for us (“Reflections” from the Lives of Daxanthology); Diane Duane, whose novel Intellivoreprovided some inspiring scenery; John J. Or-dover, David Mack, and Andrew Currie, who helped set up the contemporary political climate on Trill (Wildstorm’s Divided We Fallcomics miniseries); the aforementioned S. D. Perry, who embellished the histories of the symbiont and parasite species in previous volumes of this series (“Sins of the Mother” from the Lives of Daxanthology and the novel Unity); Michael Jan Friedman, for whom we nicknamed one of our Guardians; Ronald D. Moore and Joe Menosky, who introduced a certain fossil civilization (TNG’s “The Chase”); Jeff Lang, who took good care of one of our favorite supporting characters during his tenure aboard the U.S.S. Enterprise-E(in his Next Generationnovel Immortal Coil); Scott Anderson and Scott Gutierrez, both of whom furnished some much-appreciated scientific background information regarding symbiosis and parasitism; Marco Palmieri, editor extraordinaire; and Rick Berman, Michael Piller, Ira Steven Behr, and Gene Roddenberry, the giants upon whose shoulders we stand.
Historian’s Note
This story is set in early October 2376, approximately one week after the conclusion of the Star Trek: Deep Space Ninenovel Unity.
We are not enemies, but friends. We must not be enemies. Though passion may have strained, it must not break, our bonds of affection. The mystic chords of memory, stretching from every battle-field, and patriot grave, to every living heart and hearth-stone, all over this broad land, will yet swell the chorus of the Union, when again touched, as surely they will be, by the better angels of our nature.
—ABRAHAM LINCOLN, FIRST INAUGURAL ADDRESS, MARCH 4, 1861
If you want to know who you are, it’s important to know who you’ve been.
—JADZIA DAX (“EQUILIBRIUM”)
Stardate 53777.5
Dante could not have crafted a more explicit version of hell than the one that existed in this place. As a doctor, Julian Bashir was used to trauma and suffering—he had dealt with severe episodes of both during the Dominion War—but those chaotic, bloody moments had not been entirely unexpected.
Here, however, in the bedlam of Trill’s Manev Central Hospital, things seemed very different. As the overflowing triage center filled with cacophonous screams and tortured wails, Bashir and the other physicians and medics struggled against a tide of death whose source had been both surprising and invisible.
And though Bashir’s medical conscience did not want to admit his own personal fears, the worst part for him was having no way to know whether Ezri had survived the initial bioelectric attacks—or even if she was in danger at all. But as Trill society continued to collapse around him, and reports kept coming in of hundreds—or maybe thousands—more casualties, he could only respond to the unfolding crisis as best he could, while striving to avoid considering the personal loss he might have to face in the very near future.
A pair of med-techs attempted to move a hover-gurney through the corridor as panicked personnel moved quickly out of its path.
“I’m a medical doctor. Can I help?” Bashir blurted out as they passed him. He had already asked this question six times during the last few minutes, and had been ignored or pushed aside each time. He imagined the lack of spots on his face made them distrust his claims of medical expertise. Why should he expect them to let their guard down sufficiently to allow a non-Trill to help them?
One of the med-techs, a young woman, called back to him, either unmindful or unconcerned about his species. “In here! Help us, please!”
Bashir followed the nurses and their patient into a vacant treatment alcove. One of the medics locked the hover-gurney into a wall unit, transforming it into a stable biobed, complete with a detailed display screen.
“Who is he?” Bashir asked. He noticed that the med-techs were treating their unconscious charge with a degree of deference that few of the triage center patients were receiving.
“Doctor Rarn just transported here from the Symbiosis Commission,” the first medic said as she monitored the man’s thready vital signs. “We don’t know if he was injured in the attacks, or if the transporter sent him into neural shock.”
Of course,Bashir thought. Some symbionts don’t tolerate transporter beams as well as Dax does.Once again, he had to actively banish his worries about Ezri.
Bashir tapped at the keypad of the wall-mounted scanner, his eyes quickly absorbing the statistics and numbers displayed there. “His dreoline levels are spiked. It’s definitely related to the transporter.” He turned to the second nurse. “Three hundred cc’s of drenoctazine.”
His eyes wide, the male medic punched a code into a keypad mounted in the wall, and a fine mist sprayed into an attached hypospray device. “Are you sure that’s not too much? Trill physiology is—”