Cathedral by Michael Mangels (ebook reader color screen txt) 📕

die. Do you hear me? I’m not going to let you die. He tried not to dwell on his ultimate failure to deliver on his promise to Jadzia, a mere four years later. Or the fact that another such failure now appeared all but inevitable.

Vaughn’s impatient prodding brought him out of his reverie. “I said, ‘What’s next?’ Surely you’re not giving up, Doctor.”

Bashir shook his head, though he already felt utterly and completely defeated. “The symbiont appears to be exhibiting signs of incipient ischemic necrosis. As Ezri’s body continues to weaken, the symbiont is losing more and more of its vascular support. I’m afraid I’m running out of options.”

What I need is a miracle.

Vaughn seemed to turn that information over in his mind for several moments before speaking again. “How long does she have?”

“At the rate she’s producing rejection toxins, she might last a few more hours at the outside. That goes for the Dax symbiont, too, unless we remove it.”

Vaughn clearly was not ready to concede defeat. “All right. There are no other Trills on board, so transplanting the Dax symbiont is out of the question. Unless…”

“Sir?”

“What about placing her in stasis, symbiont and all?”

“A stasis field wouldn’t slow down the ongoing neural collapse. It might even hasten it.”

“All right.” Bashir could still hear a note of hope in Vaughn’s voice. “Trill symbionts have been implanted in humans from time to time, correct?”

Bashir nodded cautiously. “But only on a very temporary basis. Even if we’d started heading for Trill yesterday at maximum warp, the journey would still take weeks too long. And no Trill–human symbiosis could last long enough to keep the symbiont alive long enough.”

“Couldn’t we transfer the symbiont briefly into a series of different human hosts?”

“The hosts could probably tolerate that. But there’s no way the symbiont could. A series of marginal transplants like that would place far too much strain on it, without allowing for a sufficient refractory period. If the Dax symbiont is going to have any chance at all, it has to be returned to the Caves of Mak’ala on Trill, or the nearest equivalent, within a few hours of its removal from the host.”

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