Текст книги "Cathedral "

Автор книги: Andy Mangels

Соавторы: Michael Martin
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Текущая страница: 11 (всего у книги 23 страниц)

Taran’atar perceived that an important opportunity was about to be lost forever. “May I ask you one final question, Admiral?”

Akaar paused, then assented with a sober nod.

“Would you have been as sanguine about my mission of peace had I slain many thousands of yourpeople during the war?”

The question appeared to surprise the iron-haired Capellan. For a protracted moment he grappled with it. At length, he said, “I do not know for certain. But I have faith. Therefore I do not need to know for certain.” And with that, Akaar bid adieu to both Vic and Taran’atar and was gone.

The Jem’Hadar stood mutely beside the crooner, who finally broke the contemplative silence by saying, “I hope that helped clear things up for you.”

“I’m not sure,” Taran’atar said.

“Have a seat, then, while you think about it. And let me order you something. Quark says you’ve got a soft spot for root beer floats.”

Taran’atar favored Vic with an earnest nod. “He is correct.” And talkative.

Returning the nod, Vic approached one of the cocktail waitresses, then paused to speak over his shoulder to Taran’atar. “Oh, by the way—sorry I accused you of being about to trash my lounge the way Worf did.”

“Perhaps,” Taran’atar said, “you should place more faith in people.”

12

Gul Macet had piloted the shuttle from the Tragerhimself, aided by Norit, his most trusted young officer. Macet wasn’t sure why he felt the need to flex his piloting muscles. Was it a desire to keep them sharp, or to show off a bit for Vedek Yevir’s benefit? He suspected it was a bit of both.

He landed the shuttle in an open area amid the ruins of Lakarian City, near the coast of Cardassia Prime’s largest continent, South Forbella. Dusk was approaching, and the descending sun cast long shadows across a horizon-to-horizon expanse of dusty wreckage. The city had once been numbered among the planet’s most treasured leisure spots, boasting everything from fanciful entertainments for children to pleasures of a decidedly more adult nature. Their landing zone lay in the ruins of a wide section of what had once been Krendalee, a large amusement park, before it—and most of Lakarian City—had been razed during the waning hours of the Dominion War. Because of the resource allocation decisions of Cardassia’s provisional leadership, reconstruction of the city had not yet begun. Macet felt that this was a grave mistake. Cardassia’s demoralized billions had become accustomed to living well prior to the coming of the Dominion; now more than ever, they needed the fantastical escape that Lakarian City represented.

Macet stepped out of the shuttle, followed by Norit, Yevir, and a pair of armed guards. The two protectors spread out, weapons drawn as they scouted the immediate area. Scans taken from orbit had shown seven Cardassian life signs in the area—which added up to two more than Cleric Ekosha had said would be in her party. Macet had his own suspicions regarding the identity of one of the surplus individuals, though the other remained a mystery.

Yevir wrinkled his nose further, his ridges collapsing in on themselves like a fan. “The air here is…acrid,” he said.

“It’s the smell of trandaghin the morning,” Macet said, inhaling deeply. “Mixed, I suspect, with fallout composed mainly of pulverized buildingstone.” They walked in silence through the rubble field for several moments before Macet continued. “I expect, Vedek Yevir, that many of your people would regard this tableau as a fitting recompense for the Occupation. After the Dominion War, it seems that we have been reduced to a far more abject level than even occupied Bajor experienced.”

“You are certainly entitled to that opinion, Gul Macet,” Yevir replied, his tone sharp enough to tell Macet that he had struck a sore spot.

“Please forgive me,” Macet said quietly. “I didn’t mean to trivialize the suffering we visited upon your people.”

Yevir studied him for a moment, then nodded his acceptance of Macet’s apology.

“Sir, six life signs approaching,” Norit said, her portable scanner in her hand. She pointed toward a building—a theater of some kind—whose façade was scorched and crumbled. From the shadows to its side, a group of Cardassians approached them, led by a tall woman. She was regal, dressed in brocaded robes, her hair pulled back behind her head and then braided to cascade down her shoulders. Behind her were several men and women, each of them dressed in more utilitarian garb. Macet guessed that their pockets contained a multitude of small weapons, mostly of the edged, non-energy variety. One of the women was shorter and older than the rest; next to her was a fresh-faced lad who was still in his teens.

“Welcome to Lakarian City. Or what’s left of it,” the lead woman said sardonically. “You are Gul Macet.”

Macet nodded his head slightly, then gestured toward the Bajoran beside him. “This is Vedek Yevir Linjarin.” Pointing to his assistant, he introduced her as well. He waved his hand toward the rubble. “My other two men are scouting for any potentially threatening interlopers. You said there would be five in your party, and yet there are six?”

“My apologies, Macet,” the woman said. She pointed to the boy, who Macet saw was gaping at him, his mouth forming a perfect O of incredulity. “When the young man heard that youwere coming, he insisted on coming with us. He also said he’d always wanted to see Krendalee. Unfortunately, his father never managed to find the time to bring him here.”

Something about the boy struck Macet as familiar. Something about the eyes, the forehead ridges. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it. “Well, it’s not much to look at now, is it?” he said to the lad.

The boy spat at him, the expectoration landing in the dust at Macet’s feet. Then he turned and ran, heading toward a nearby copse of dead, shattered trees.

Macet smirked, then addressed the stout older woman who had been standing with the boy. “Well, that’s a reaction I’ve gotten used to from Bajorans, but I rarely receive it from my own countrymen. Do you care to explain, Cleric Ekosha?”

The older woman looked surprised, and the taller woman began to speak, but she hadn’t uttered more than a few syllables before the matron silenced her with a swift hand signal.

“How did you recognize me? We’ve never met.”

“Years of military duty,” Macet said. “And with all the clandestine skullduggery that’s gone on during the last two wars…Let’s just say I know a decoy when I see one, Ekosha.” He nodded toward Yevir. “Now that we’re all here, and have gotten the introductions out of the way, shall we get on with our business? Time is short. If we hope to bring our plan to fruition, we will have to move quickly.”

The old woman nodded, and her decoy stepped back into the pack. “When you first contacted me, Macet, I was suspicious. The Oralian Way has been underground for so very long. Years of religious persecution against those who revere Oralius, and the First Hebitian Civilization of Cardassia, have made us all quite wary about whom we will agree to speak with candidly.”

“My understanding is that the Oralian Way was legitimized recently,” Yevir said.

A rueful smile spread across Ekosha’s lined face.“There is a huge difference between legitimizing a religion and accepting it. Yes, it is no longer against Cardassian law to be an Oralian, but that does not mean that we are welcomed, or even tolerated. Even as our society rebuilds itself, the old-guard Cardassians—career politicians and military authorities, mainly—still take it upon themselves to try to keep us fearful and fragmented. Many of our churches have been mysteriously burned, and several of our more outspoken leaders have been beaten or have even disappeared in the dead of night. We decided to go underground again. Before we run out of martyrs to canonize.”

“I assure you that our intentions here are far nobler than that, Cleric,” Macet said, hoping she would believe him. If not, this entire venture would prove a colossal waste of time and effort.

“If I didn’t already believe that on some level, Macet, I never would have agreed to meet with you,” Ekosha said.

“Macet arranged this meeting at my request,” Yevir said, stepping forward. “I am deeply troubled by the diplomatic impasse that now exists between Bajor and Cardassia. For both our planets to heal themselves, we need to let the oldest wounds heal first.”

“I suspect those wounds will leave some rather livid scars,” Ekosha said with a tiny sardonic smile.

“I suspect you’re right,” Yevir said, apparently unfazed by Ekosha’s interruption. “Nevertheless, Bajor enters the Federation tomorrow. If we can establish peace between our two peoples now—before the Federation takes such matters out of our hands—think of the good it will accomplish. For both our peoples.”

“And what of the benefits such a breakthrough would bring to both of you?”Ekosha asked, her eyes darting from Yevir to Macet and back again. “Youwant to be kai of Bajor, and if what I’ve heard is true, you’re willing to suppress an offshoot religion if it helps you achieve that. Macetwants respect, and to finally emerge from the shadow of a man whom all of Bajor hates. Not to mention many Cardassians who haven’t forgotten who began our world’s slide into destruction.”

Several troubling questions percolated up from the depths of Macet’s soul at that moment. Is she right? Have Yevir and I flattered ourselves into believing that we’ve come to forge peace between our respective worlds? Or has this all been an exercise in self-aggrandizement for us both?

Yevir appeared to be grappling with similar notions. But unlike Macet, Yevir seemed to have a ready answer. “I swear to you, Cleric Ekosha, without reservation, without doubt, that I am acting solely in the interests of my people. To do that, I must also act in the best interests of yours.”

Then Yevir did something that Macet didn’t expect. Very deliberately, he removed his Bajoran earring and tossed it to the ground. Then he began stripping off his heavy clerical robes, setting them atop the earring in a careless pile. He stood in a plain white tunic and trousers, bereft of any badge of office. But what he had shed in clothing he more than made up for in simple dignity and courage. Until this moment, Macet had not been at all certain that Yevir possessed any such qualities.

“I don’t deny that I might benefit personally from a last-minute rapprochement between Bajor and Cardassia. If the price of such a peace is that I throw all of that aside, then I will gladly do it.

“I come among you not as a candidate for kai, nor as a representative of any religion. I am here with one agenda only: to bring our peoples together without any force or coercion—even the benevolent kind that the Federation would surely bring.

“I ask only that you do the same thing. Forget about whether or not the Oralians will profit from emerging from your bunkers. Think instead about what’s best for your people.You know as well as I do that without a just peace—arrived at freely—there will be war again between Bajor and Cardassia someday. If our two civilizations cannot reach out to one another without outside help, then old slights and injustices will fester on bothsides. We can lance those boils and bring about a healing. But only if we act together now.”

Yevir extended his hand toward the stout woman, who looked at it as though it might turn into a poisonous reptile at any moment. Macet had the sudden sense that the entire axis of history was revolving around this place and time. And that Yevir’s words were absolutely right, whatever doubts Macet still harbored about his own motivations.

Macet felt a stab of regret at the sharp words he had hurled at Colonel Kira when he had confronted her about the intransigence of her world’s political leaders. A remarkable people, these Bajorans.

Yevir’s words had evidently struck a sonorous chord within the Oralian cleric. Ekosha extended both her hands and grasped Yevir’s between them. “I am not so old as to imagine that even a masterstroke of peace will suddenly gain the Oralian Way the respect that is its due. Nor am I still so in love with living for its own sake that I am willing to hide underground forever.”

Macet tried to put aside the jubilation that swelled within his chest. Like the master kotraplayer he was, he tried to anticipate the next move the fragile new alliance ought to make. But all he could come up with was yet another unsettling question, one that he didn’t hesitate to ask aloud: “How do we broker a peace agreement when even our most accomplished diplomats have failed?”

Yevir answered without hesitation, a serene smile on his lips. “The Prophets will provide, Gul Macet.”

“I think I may have a suggestion.” A voice called out from the shadows surrounding a nearby pile of rubble. Sliding smoothly from the darkness was a middle-aged Cardassian man, his body lean and whip-strong, his black hair slicked back.

With wide eyes and a friendly demeanor, the man stepped toward Yevir and Macet. He extended his hand in an attempt to shake theirs. Macet knew that the newcomer had picked up the custom during the long years he had spent living among humans and Bajorans.

He greeted Macet first. “Gul Macet, always a pleasure. You’re looking fit. And familiar. By the way, that boy with the atrocious manners is called Mekor. One of the children of Skrain Dukat. I believe he may have been expressing his sincere regret that his late father never found the time to take him here while the amusement park was still in operation.”

The new arrival turned next to the half-dressed Bajoran. “Vedek Yevir, how good it is to finally meet you after having read so much about you. I must confess that I never expected to see a member of the Bajoran clergy in such a state of dishabille. At least, not since I left the haberdasher’s trade. My name is Elim Garak. And I believe I may have the solution to our mutual problem.”

13

“Evasive maneuvers!” Vaughn shouted just before the Nyazen flotilla opened fire.

But there were simply too many of them. The first salvo rocked the Defianthard, and Vaughn gripped the arms of his command chair as the bridge pitched forward and the red emergency lights came on. T’rb sprawled headlong onto the deck, but regained his footing a moment later, evidently not seriously hurt.

“Bowers, engage cloaking device!” Vaughn said, loath to play this card so early in the game but seeing no viable alternative.

Bowers quickly entered one command, then another. He shook his head and regarded Vaughn grimly. “Cloak’s off-line, Captain. Return fire?”

“Starting a war isn’t one of our mission objectives, Lieutenant.” Vaughn said with a stony scowl.

“Shields are down to forty-two percent,” Bowers reported.

Shar righted his capsized chair and returned to his console. “All thirteen ships fired on us simultaneously with something resembling a compression disruptor,” he said.

“We took at least seven direct hits,” Bowers added.

A single compression disruptor would be no match for one of the Defiant’s pulse phaser cannons, and would pose no serious threat to her shields. But having to face more than a dozen Nyazen tubes simultaneously was quite another matter.

Vaughn acknowledged his science officer with a nod, then turned back to Bowers. “Damage report.”

“There’s been some buckling in the ablative armor,” Bowers said. “And a minor hull breach on deck three, aft starboard. Force fields are holding. Nog and Celeste are already on damage-control detail.”

“All weapons operational,” Shar said, his antennae flattening forward in apparent belligerence.

“We still have warp and impulse power, Captain,” Tenmei said, glancing at Vaughn significantly as if to say, Now would be a good time to use a whole lot of both.

Not yet,Vaughn told himself. I haven’t got what I came here for yet.

“We’re being hailed,” Bowers said.

The Nyazen captain’s indistinct oblong face suddenly reappeared on the bridge viewer. “Withdraw/begone,”he said, the venom behind his words belied only slightly by the translator’s crystal-chime voice. “Warning offered/given but once/this single instance.”

“We don’t want to fight you,” Vaughn said. “But we’re prepared to defend ourselves.”

Tenmei cast a brief Oh, really?glance over her shoulder at him. Then, for the Nyazen’s benefit, she put on the face she always used just before Bowers trounced her on poker night.

But Vaughn ignored his daughter’s quiet impertinence. “All we want is temporary access to the…cathedral.” He rose and spread his hands before him. “Our need is urgent.”

The turbolift door opened, and Vaughn saw Ezri enter the bridge. Though she still looked somewhat shaky, she was clearly no longer anywhere near death’s door.

“Less than microscopic is concern of mine/ours for your need/desire,”the Nyazen sang. “You harbor/succor our enemy/blood-hated ones. None such may approach/loom upon cathedral/anathema.”

“The Nyazen are claiming ownership of the object,” Ezri said, now standing almost directly behind the captain’s chair. She didn’t appear to be addressing anyone in particular. “And they don’t want any D’Naali near it.”

Great,Vaughn thought. He wants to destroy us just because we’ve still got Sacagawea aboard.

Vaughn tried to project calmness and reason as he regarded the bulbous alien on the screen. “There must be some way we can reach an agreement. Perhaps something we can trade—”

The Nyazen abruptly vanished, the communication apparently terminated at the other end.

“Their weapons are powering up again, Captain,” Bowers said, anxiety evident beneath an enforced poker-night calm. Vaughn saw that he and Tenmei were both looking to him expectantly, each clearly ready to follow him through the gates of hell if need be.

“Sir?” Tenmei said as the moment stretched.

“Withdraw,” Vaughn said. He chafed with frustration, but could see no alternative that would protect the lives of his crew, his D’Naali guest—and the Nyazen, with whom he had no quarrel other than their refusal to allow him access to the artifact. Perhaps later, and from a safer distance, the aliens could be persuaded to let him approach the object.

If not, he would have to bypass them somehow. And sort out the ethical proprieties later.

A gloom descended across the bridge. No one spoke for a seeming eternity as Tenmei quickly brought the Defiantabout and put ten million kilometers between her and the Nyazen fleet.

“No sign of pursuit,” Bowers said. “All thirteen of the Nyazen ships are maintaining their positions around the artifact.”

“Keep station here,” Vaughn instructed Tenmei. “Full stop.”

“Full stop.”

“A blockade,” Ezri said. “They won’t chase us, but they won’t let us approach either.”

“A blockade can’t stop what it can’t see,” Vaughn said, then tapped his combadge. “Vaughn to Nog. How long until the cloak is back on-line?”

Nog’s response sounded harried. “One of the mains is blown, and a whole bunch of EPS relays are down. We’re looking at a few days, at least.”

Vaughn turned that information over in his head. At the rate Bashir was declining, he surely didn’t havea few days. “Then we’ll have to find a short-term, work-around solution. Nog, I’m hereby putting you and Shar in charge of getting us close enough to the artifact to beam an away team over—without letting the Nyazen blow us out of the sky first. Use anybody you need, and bring me a plan in four hours.”

Nog’s response took a beat longer than Vaughn expected. “We’ll get right on it. Nog out.”

Vaughn saw that Shar was already on his way to the turbolift, leaving Ezri standing beside the empty science station. She stared at the console, touching its smooth surface tentatively, looking as though she’d never seen its like before. Now that she was suddenly shorn of the memories of Dax’s previous hosts, Vaughn supposed that probably wasn’t terribly far from the truth.

She’s not the same woman I chose as my first officer,Vaughn thought, a lump of sorrow forming in his throat. He knew how badly Ezri Dax had wanted to expand her expertise beyond Ezri Tigan’s counseling duties. He recalled how delighted she had been after he had sponsored her transition to a career track in command. Vaughn knew that if her current condition proved permanent, he would have to get a new exec. That would destroy her.

He was determined not to let it come to that. And he’d be damned if he’d take anything more away from her than she’d already lost, unless and until the safety of his ship and crew demanded it. He decided that what she really needed in the meantime was to keep busy and feel useful.

“Lieutenant D—” He stopped, cursing himself for his lapse. He began again in a quiet, almost apologetic tone. “Ezri, please give me an image of the alien artifact.”

Ezri, having heard his false start, visibly stifled a wince as she began working the console.

The viewer before Vaughn began showing a recording of the artifact as it endlessly repeated its leisurely tumble across the adjacent dimensions. But this time it had an audio accompaniment. A series of weird, grinding, shrill-sweet musical tones stacked themselves into unearthly chords, gliding, jagged, stepwise melodies, and fading, colliding overtone-reverberations.

The music wasn’t exactly Vaughn’s cup of twig tea. But he decided that it wasn’t entirely unpleasant either.

He glanced at Ezri, offering her what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “The music of the spheres, Lieutenant?”

“Sorry, Captain. This was something we noticed when we were surveying the Oort cloud in the Sagan.It comes from the subspace vibrations of the icy bodies nearest to the artifact. We translated those vibrations into sounds. I must have accidentally keyed the recording we made. I’ll turn it off.”

Vaughn raised a restraining hand. “No. Let it play.”

With a sigh, he settled back into the command chair, idly watching the artifact as it slowly turned and morphed before his eyes. Though he couldn’t say why, he had become more certain than ever before that the only hope of reversing whatever had been done to Ezri, Bashir, and Nog lay insidethat object. Concealed. Mysterious. Perhaps even ultimately unknowable and ineffable, like the thoughts of a god. And the thing hovered tantalizingly beyond his reach, thanks to the vigilance of thirteen Nyazen blockade ships.

He wondered if the eerie celestial music was helping to inspire him to crack the artifact’s mysteries—or if it merely sought to mock his helplessness.

Ezri left the bridge quietly, relieved to be away from its suddenly familiar-yet-alien environment. Surrounded by the cool competence of the bridge crew, she had felt as callow and awkward as though it were her first day out of the Academy.

At least I didn’t fall to pieces right in front of Commander Vaughn,she thought, grateful for that small mercy. But it had been a near thing. She didn’t want to know what would happen the next time someone inadvertently addressed her as “Lieutenant Dax.” She wondered if she should ask everyone to start calling her Ezri. But that wouldn’t take her rank into account, nor the dignity of her job as the Defiant’s first officer. Lieutenant Tigan, then.

No. It was LieutenantDax. And I’m not Dax anymore. I ought to be busted back to ensign.

Ensign Ezri Tigan, late of the U.S.S. Destiny.An assistant ship’s counselor still three months short of completing her psych training, and haunted by fading, ghostly dream memories. No, not memories, she corrected herself. Memoriesof memories. Ezri Tigan, suddenly dispossessed of the eight variegated lifetimes of accumulated expertise into which she had finally and thoroughly integrated her very sense of self, after more than a year of painstaking, determined effort.

At least Joran’s memories will be gone,she told herself. And Verad’s, too. Those two killers will never bother me again.

But she was also keenly aware that balanced against this slim benefit was the loss of Jadzia’s drive and curiosity; the worldly wisdom of Lela, Audrid, and Curzon; the humor and scientific acumen of Tobin and Torias; Emony’s exuberance and competitiveness; and her own sense of wholeness, which had lately become bound up in the lives of all the hosts that had preceded her, and the reassuring, cumulative gestalt they had formed within the core of her being.

As Quark might say, this was a lousy deal all around.

Ezri thought, not for the first time, that it was only a matter of time before Commander Vaughn realized that she was no longer fit to do the job he had assigned her. She would never again be fit for it. Not without Dax. The Defiant’s captain needed a rock-solid executive officer and second-in-command, not a struggling counselor. She knew on some visceral level, deeper than even the Dax symbiont had ever touched, that she was no longer worthy of the red uniform of command.

Over the past two days, she had repeatedly asked herself why Vaughn hadn’t already removed her from active duty. Perhaps it was because he now considered her so ineffectual that formally relieving her simply wouldn’t have served any useful purpose.

Her counseling training spoke up then: You could simplyask him, Ezri.But suppose Vaughn hadn’t relieved her because he honestly still believed in her abilities. Would he continue to do so if she were to air her innermost doubts before him?

Ezri struggled to keep her face free of this internal argument as she passed several of her colleagues in the corridors. Crewman Rahim nodded to her as they passed. Lieutenant McCallum, crossing from another direction, didn’t seem to pick up on her distress either, apparently intent on some urgent task elsewhere.

But Kaitlin Merimark stopped as Ezri brushed past and looked askance at the Trill. Kaitlin, who had seen her in the medical bay when she had been near death, obviously wanted to offer some words of comfort. But she just as obviously had no idea what to say.

Say anything,Ezri thought, anything except “Lieutenant Dax.”

Ezri felt a surge of gratitude for Kaitlin’s steadfast friendship. But she also knew she couldn’t deal with comfort just now, any more than Kaitlin seemed to know how to give it.

She realized that she had arrived at her destination, the biochem lab. “It’s my turn to watch over the slug,” Ezri told Kaitlin, immediately aware of how flippant she sounded. She stepped quickly into the lab, sealing the door behind her before Kaitlin could respond.

After she’d dismissed M’Nok from his watch duty, she stood alone in the lab, appreciative of the solitude. In here, she would probably have no chance encounters with anyone, at least for the next few hours.

But she also knew she wasn’t entirely alone. Dax was here as well, floating in some solitary universe of his own, thinking his unfathomable thoughts. Thoughts that had commingled so freely with her own for the past eighteen months. She approached the table on which the symbiont’s artificial environment container sat and stared through the transparent viewport at the symbiont’s dark, ridged surface. She placed a hand on the window. The creature didn’t seem to notice her presence.

Ezri recalled her early trepidation about becoming joined. She had always regarded these sightless, silent life-forms as sinister parasites. And she truly never had wanted to be joined, a fact that she could scarcely believe now that her soul, in Dax’s absence, felt as hollow as the Caves of Mak’ala back on Trill. Regardless, after her joining had become an irrevocable fact last year, she had worked like hell to make her symbiosis with Dax a successful one.

Now she could only wonder whether her old, prejoining persona was as lost to her as was Dax. Was there no way back even to the life she had lived before her encounter with the symbiont?

She realized then that not everybody in her life would regard her metamorphosis as a tragedy. Dr. Renhol from the Symbiosis Commission would no doubt be relieved to be freed from having to deal with her any further, shepherding the integration of her many personalities. And Mom would be positively thrilled. Yanas Tigan had never wanted to see her daughter, or either of her sons, joined in symbiosis in the first place. It’s so much easier to browbeat your children,Ezri thought, when they aren’t also your elders.Her brother Janel would get his sister back, albeit not quite in mint condition. And Norvo, the younger of her two brothers, would probably relate to her better now that she was no longer joined. Once his prison term is finished,she reminded herself.

And then there was Julian. Had she lost himas well? She knew that he had been in love with Jadzia Dax before he had begun sharing his life with Ezri Dax; Dax had been the common denominator in both of those relationships. Now, given Julian’s cathedral-induced decline, was their current relationship a moot point?

There would be no way to know, she told herself—unless Vaughn could find a way to defeat the Nyazen blockade and search the interior of the alien artifact. Assuming, of course, that there were answers to be had there.

She quietly instructed the computer to play back the peculiar sounds Nog had recorded just before the first encounter with the artifact. The empty lab was immediately filled with the strains of the quasimusical cacophany. No longer filtered through Dax’s sensibilities, it sounded different to her now than it had when she’d first heard it aboard the Sagan.It was almost agreeable. She thought of the syn laracompositions of Joran Belar, the twenty-third-century psychotic murderer who had briefly hosted the Dax symbiont, until Verjyl Gard had tracked him down and killed him. Ezri wondered if Joran’s music in any way resembled these emergent, intertwining chords, melodies, and countermelodies.

Without the reassuring presence of the symbiont in her belly, she simply couldn’t tell. All she knew was that it sounded alien, as ungraspable as the true shape of the interdimensional artifact itself.

Watching the leathery-skinned Dax symbiont as it floated in its purple nutrient bath, Ezri wondered if the creature was as distressed as she was over their current circumstances. Or was it relieved finally to be free of her, hoping perhaps for a more appropriate host-match once the Defiantreturned it to Trill?