Star Trek: Deep Space Nine®: These Haunted Seas, page 37
Prynn’s brow knitted in obvious puzzlement. “You don’t want to use the transporter to try to get closer to the pulse?” she asked.
“If you can make it work in time to make a difference,” Vaughn said, “then yes, you should try it.”
“I should try it?” she asked.
“Yes,” he said. “In the meantime, I’m going to try to get there on foot.”
“You’re going to walk there?” she asked, her voice rising in surprise. “Alone?”
“Somebody needs to tend to Ensign ch’Thane,” he said, glancing over at the unconscious Andorian. “And you’ll also be working on the transporter.”
Prynn seemed to consider this, and then she asked, “How far is it?”
“Based on the levels of the interference,” he said, “I think somewhere between fifty and two hundred fifty kilometers. But it’s impossible to know for sure.”
Prynn let out a long, heavy breath. “Two hundred fifty kilometers in two and a half days?” she said doubtfully. “You’ll never make that, even under the best conditions.”
“Which is why I’m hoping that the distance is closer to fifty kilometers,” he said. He chose not to address the fact that, even if he made it to the location in time, he still had no idea how—or even if—he would be able to prevent the next occurrence of the pulse; all along, they had known that they would have to learn what they could when they got there, and hope that they could improvise a solution.
Vaughn stood up and faced Prynn. “If you succeed with the transporter, and if you can beam yourself close to the pulse, then do so,” he said. “Otherwise, get yourself and Ensign ch’Thane as far away as possible. Whether or not we stop the pulse, the crew will finish repairing Sagan in a few more days, and they’ll send it down to look for us.” He did not bother to add that if they could not stop the pulse they would have to survive its effects in order to be rescued, something far from sure, considering that the planet was completely devoid of animal life.
“All right,” Prynn said, accepting his orders. Her features fell still, her expression unreadable.
“If I can stop the pulse, or if I can’t but I somehow survive it,” he said, “then I’ll come back here.”
“All right,” she said again, still stone-faced. Vaughn wished he knew what she was thinking. He understood the familiar and troubling echo she must be hearing from seven years ago. It doesn’t matter, he told himself. Not now. They each would do what was required of them in order to try to save the Vahni Vahltupali. “When will you go?” she asked.
“Now,” he said. “I just need to gather some provisions.”
“I’ll get the rations,” she said. She went over to the survival cache, opened the lid of the locker, and reached inside. Vaughn watched her for a moment, then gathered the few items he had decided to take with him on his trek: a bedroll, a beacon, one of the metallic blankets; he already carried a tricorder and a phaser. He wrapped the beacon and the blanket inside the bedroll, then affixed the lightweight bundle to his back, fastening it with bands across his shoulders. Prynn returned with a dozen thin, metallic envelopes, along with two containers of water. Vaughn deposited the rations envelopes in various pockets of his coat, and slipped the carry straps of the water containers over his shoulders.
“I’ll report approximately every hour,” he said. Although Vaughn’s combadge had been the only one not lost in the crash, they had found several others in the survival cache, and Prynn now wore one on her jacket. “With the interference from the energy, I’m not sure how long we’ll be able to communicate.”
“I understand,” she said simply. A silence fell that Vaughn found awkward, and he found himself at a loss for something to say. Finally, Prynn said, “Good luck.”
“You too, Prynn,” he said. He looked in her eyes, her injured sclera changing her appearance dramatically. He pulled out his tricorder and began scanning. He studied the readout, then turned with the tricorder held out in front of him, searching for the highest level of interference. When he found it, he started walking in that direction, leaving Prynn behind him.
For the first time in a very long time, he did not look back.
37
Dax drifted through the pools in the Caves of Mak’ala.
No, not drifted. Floated. Swam. Pushed.
Dax pushed through the murky waters, the usually gentle, welcoming pools now impeding progress. The cool, damp air above stagnated as well, resisting any movement through it. A difficult tranquillity reigned.
Dax sent out a message, but the blue-white veins of energy died quickly, reaching nowhere, and nobody. The pools sat strangely still, absent not only of other symbionts, Dax realized, but seemingly of existence itself. Somehow, the life-carrying waters, and perhaps even the caves, had slipped beyond the universe.
A shadow fell, gray and mysterious. Dax felt it as it stole light and heat, an unexpected eclipse. The darkness descended on the pools, and Dax dived down—pushed down—suddenly desperate to escape the clutches of the unsettling pall. But the dim mantle pushed down too, roiling the waters. A distant siren sang, a lonely echo in the churning flow of this other existence. Dax tumbled, end over end, side over side, tossed about by the pulsing movements. The memory of the motion sickness that once afflicted Ezri rose and—
Ezri.
Ezri was here, Dax knew. Ezri Tigan. The next host. Or the previous one. Dax could not remember. The current host…the current host…
There was no current host. Dax was Dax, and only Dax.
But how could that be? There had been hosts, and if they had gone, then there could only be death. Pain, and then death.
Dax reeled, mentally, emotionally, physically. The beclouded pools spun, eddies and gyres pulling Dax down deep into the gray waters. Pulling Ezri down—
Ezri was drowning.
And Dax knew. Death enveloped Ezri, surrounded her, and yet Dax would go on. But that was not the compact Dax had made. Ezri would protect the symbiont, and Dax would protect the host.
The waters grew heavy with their motion, oppressing even as they promised release. A new life, a new existence called…a cherished existence…but none of that mattered. Only Ezri mattered.
Dax drifted upward. Floated. Swam. Pushed.
Dax struggled, understanding that the struggle would be the life or death of both of them. Accepted that. Cherished that.
Ezri, Dax cried, and fought to find her in the growing shadows.
Ezri Dax regained consciousness in the medical bay for the second time in a week. She recognized her surroundings immediately. The quality of the light shined differently here than in the rest of the ship, both a bit brighter and a bit harsher. The diagnostic scanner mounted in the bulkhead above her beat in time with her heart. And of the voices she heard, one belonged to Julian.
This time in the medical bay, his was the first face she saw. “Can you hear me?” he asked gently, his dark, handsome features drifting into sight above her.
“Yes,” she tried to say, but her tongue felt thick and slow in her mouth, and the sound she produced only approximated the word. She tried to concentrate on speaking, on coordinating the muscles of her mouth, and realized that her mind seemed thick and slow as well.
“Slowly,” Julian said, and a warm feeling filled Ezri as a smile bloomed on her face.
Slow, she thought ponderously, is all I can do. She sensed herself floating back down into the folds of unconsciousness, and she fought to remain awake. Her eyes closed, and she forced them open again. “Yes,” she pronounced deliberately. “I can hear you.”
“Good,” Julian said. His eyes sparkled above a thin, tight-lipped smile she had seen many times before. He was pleased, she could tell, but also worried and unsure.
“What…what happened?” she wanted to know, still struggling to swim up to full consciousness.
“Later,” Julian told her. He reached up and laid his strong hand atop hers, the warmth of his touch almost overwhelming her. Her vision blurred, and a tear spilled from each eye, down the sides of her face.
“Julian,” she said. She pushed her body to move. She turned her hand over so that she could take hold of his. He glanced down for a moment, and then she felt him squeeze. He smiled again, but fully this time, with no reservations or concerns—only with love. “What happened?” she repeated.
“You need to rest now,” he told her. “We can discuss it later.”
“No,” Ezri said with as much vigor as she could marshal. “Tell me now, Doctor.”
“I’m afraid you’re off duty, Lieutenant,” he said, a sternness and seriousness underscoring his words. She was in the medical bay, it occurred to her, with no memory of how she had gotten here, and so of course Julian must be upset about whatever had happened. But that only strengthened her resolve to learn what had taken place.
“Julian, I need to know what happened,” she said, imploring him to talk to her.
He breathed in and out deeply through his nose, his nostrils flaring. “You’ve been in a coma for several hours,” he finally told her. “I was barely able to keep you alive.” He glanced up and over her head, probably at the diagnostic panel. When he looked back down, he said, “Frankly, I’m not even sure how I was able to bring you out of the coma.”
“You didn’t,” she said without thinking. She lifted herself up off the bed, sliding her elbows back underneath her and propping herself up. Her head spun.
“Easy, easy,” Julian entreated. He put a hand to her shoulder and tried to restrain her, and then to ease her back down. She resisted. “Lieutenant Dax,” Julian said in his strong physician’s voice, “you need to rest. Your body has been through an enormous trauma.”
Ezri relented, allowing herself to be lowered back down onto the bed. “What happened?” she asked again, driven to talk about what she had been through. “I remember heading to a Jefferies tube…one of the engineers found something…”
“Later,” Julian told her. “I want you to rest right now.”
Ezri struggled up again onto her elbows. “Dr. Bashir,” she said, injecting a tone of command into her voice, “there are four billion Vahni lives at risk right now. I don’t have time to rest.”
“Look,” Julian said. “You’re not going to be able to help anybody if you attempt to do too much too soon and simply end up collapsing.” He stared directly into her eyes as he spoke, his expression hardened. She lowered herself back down onto the bed.
“I’ll lie back down,” she said, “and I’ll rest. But first you have to tell me what happened. It’s important that I know.”
At last, Julian relented. “Ensign Leishman found an amorphous gray substance in one of the Jefferies tubes—”
“Yes,” Ezri said, the recollection springing forth from somewhere in her clouded mind. “The substance. We were trying to transport it.” She remembered that Nog had been with her in the tube.
“That’s right,” Julian said. “According to Nog, it somehow moved when we attempted transport. He said he didn’t actually see it move, but that suddenly, it was elsewhere on the deck, and your hand was touching it. You collapsed immediately.”
“Julian,” she said, reaching up and grasping the sides of his shoulders. “The substance is alive.”
“All right,” he said, taking her hands in his own and lowering them back to her sides. “But you have to rest now.” He looked back over his shoulder. “Nurse Juarez,” he said, “would you prepare a hypo?”
“You have to listen to me,” she said when he peered back down at her. She saw how tired he looked, saw the tension in his features, and she understood how hard this must have been on him. “I’ll rest,” she told him, “but first you have to listen to me. And tell Lieutenant Bowers.” She heard footsteps, and then saw Juarez above her as he stepped up to the bed. He held a hypospray in his hands, she saw; Julian reached across Ezri’s body, and Juarez handed it to him.
“All right,” Julian said. “Tell me.”
“The substance is alive,” she said again. “I sensed it while I seemed to be unconscious.”
“‘Seemed to be’?” Julian asked with evident skepticism.
“I didn’t fall into a coma,” she forged ahead. “Or maybe part of me did, but I was…I was…it’s an enormously powerful mind. And very alien. And I think it knows about the pulse.”
Julian looked over at Juarez. The two men seemed to share a moment of nonverbal communication, and then they looked back down at her. “All right,” Julian said. “I’ll inform Lieutenant Bowers.” He held the hypospray up in both hands and checked the setting. Ezri could see that he did not believe what she had told him. She had been in a coma, and whatever she told him she had experienced, he would ascribe to dreaming, or whatever you called the state your mind entered in such circumstances.
And maybe he’s right, she admitted to herself. But she did not think so. And despite Julian’s arrogance—born of his superior knowledge and abilities—she knew that he would pass on what she told him to Lieutenant Bowers.
Julian lowered his hands, preparing to administer the hypospray. “Wait,” Ezri said. “I have to tell you one more thing.” Julian withdrew the hypo. “The being…I think it took me to another universe.” This time, the expression on Julian’s face reflected not skepticism, but curiosity. It was almost as though she had furnished him an important piece of a puzzle.
“I’ll inform Lieutenant Bowers of everything you’ve said,” he told her. “But now it’s time for you to rest.” He reached forward again, and Ezri felt the slight pressure of the hypo against the side of her neck, its tip slightly cool.
She was very tired. She had used so much energy coming back here, she thought, and the sense of that suddenly became clear in her mind. She recalled a struggle against gray clouds, and the recollection came to her not like a memory, but like a dream of a memory, the way the lives of Dax’s past hosts often came to her.
Ezri heard the brief whisper of the hypospray close by her ear. It occurred to her that Dax had heard or felt similar sounds—quiet, short, sibilant—so often back in the Caves of Mak’ala. And thinking of the symbiont’s time in the pools back on Trill, she slid beneath the waves of sleep.
The next time Ezri opened her eyes, she woke naturally from sleep, rather than regaining consciousness. She still felt tired, but she also felt much better. Her mind had cleared, and her thoughts came easily now. She reached her arms out to each side and stretched, yawning heavily and, at the end, loudly.
“Well, hello,” she heard Julian say from across the medical bay. She lifted her head and peered across the room. Julian handed something to Nurse Richter—Juarez appeared to have left—and then started toward her. His demeanor—the sound of his voice, the expression on his face, the ease of his gait—seemed light-years away from where it had been earlier. From his manner, she supposed that her condition had improved markedly. “How are you feeling?” Julian asked as he arrived beside her bed.
“I must be feeling much better for you to be smiling like that,” Ezri joked. She offered a smile of her own, then shifted on the bed and sat up, swinging her legs over the side.
“Well, as a matter of fact, yes, you are,” he agreed. He peeked up at the diagnostic panel. “All of your vital signs have returned more or less to normal, and—” He reached up and tapped at a control, which beeped twice in response. “—your isoboramine levels have increased significantly.”
Ezri looked up at Julian, her smile vanishing instantly. “My isoboramine levels were low?” she asked. Isoboramine, she knew, was a neurotransmitter chemical essential for a joined Trill; it functioned as a medium for the transfer of synaptic processes between host and symbiont. If the amount of the chemical dropped below a certain level, the symbiont would have to be removed in order to keep it alive; in such a case, the host would die.
“Yes, they were,” Julian said apologetically. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to spring the information on you like that.”
“I know,” she said, reaching over and squeezing his hand as a sign of reassurance. “But tell me what happened.”
“Actually, I’m not entirely certain,” he said. “But I used the standard benzocyatizine treatment. It didn’t work initially, but once your vital signs stabilized, it took hold.”
“And all of this,” Ezri asked, attempting to make sense of what had happened to her, “because I touched the creature we found in the Jefferies tube?”
“Well, I’d still hesitate to say that the substance is alive,” Julian said, “but your contact with whatever it is seems to have been what injured you.”
“If it’s not alive, then what is it?” she asked. “And whether it’s alive or not, how did it do what it did to me?” She brought her hands down on the bed on either side of her body and pushed herself off, hopping onto her feet. She held on to the bed for a moment, making sure that she could stand after what she had been through, and after having been on her back for hours. Julian took hold of her upper arm, steadying her.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said, lightly brushing away his hand. “I’m okay.” She walked unhurriedly across the medical bay. Ensign Richter turned from a console on the other side of the room, saw Ezri’s slow progress, and started to rise out of her chair. Ezri waved her away, and the ensign hesitated, then returned to her seat. “What is it?” Ezri asked, turning to Julian and repeating her question about the substance.
“We don’t know yet,” Julian said, following her across the room. He passed her and went to the console where Ensign Richter sat, picking up a tricorder there. “But we did learn some things about it, thanks to you.” He walked back over to her.
“Thanks to me?” she asked.
“Yes. Let me show you.” Julian motioned to a companel in one wall, and the two of them strode over to it. He opened and worked the tricorder, then keyed a sequence of touchpads on the companel. On the larger display, an image appeared of the section of the Jefferies tube in which they had found they substance. The gray pool sat draped from the location Ezri had last seen it and out across the floor of the tube. Oddly, the seemingly liquid material did not drop through the metal grating.
