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.”

Shame wrestled with insecurity inside her. “I understand what you’re saying, sir. And I appreciate it. But what if I still can’t measure up without Dax? Let’s face it, solving my problem is going to be a little harder than handing me some gadget I no longer know how to use and kidding everyone that I’m still able to pull my own weight around here. That might work for Julian at the moment, but—”

Vaughn stepped down hard on her words. “Julian needs to keep occupied for the sake of his ownmorale. Youneed to keep occupied for the sake of everybody else’s.”

She shook her head in confusion. “I’m not following you.”

“We’re talking about esprit de corps, Lieutenant. Morale. Specifically, that of Nog, Shar, Tenmei, T’rb, Cassini, Permenter, Hunter, Candlewood, Leishman, VanBuskirk, and whoever the hell else it’ll take to finally get us inside that artifact. If you drop out of sight because of your own perceived shortcomings, how do you think that will affect theirwork?”

Ezri’s mouth fell open. She hadn’t considered that. And the fact that she hadn’t considered that seemed to her a good argument in favor of removing her name from the active duty roster.

But she also understood that he was right.

“So you’re staying put, Lieutenant,” he continued, his gaze and voice hardening back into tempered steel. “That’s a direct order. You arestill capable of following orders, aren’t you?”

Her despair began to abate as she came to a realization: Her ability to follow orders was perhaps the only thing about herself in which she still had any real confidence.

She offered him a small wry smile, sensing that Vaughn’s gift for saying precisely the right thing at exactly the right time rivaled even that of Benjamin Sisko. Perhaps such bluntly honest and uncompromising counseling skills were one of the chief prerequisites for a career in command.

“Request permission to return to my post, Captain. I need to get ready for the blockade briefing.”

Though Vaughn’s craggy face remained hard, Ezri saw the warmth in his piercing blue eyes. At the same time, she felt tears of gratitude beginning to well up in her own.

“Permission granted, Lieutenant,” he said. “Dismissed.”

Barely an hour after he had left the medical bay with the essence of his novel blockade-busting plan percolating in his thoughts, Nog began to feel confident that his scheme might actually work. He only hoped that Commander Vaughn would have as much faith in the idea as he did.

He also found that concentrating on that hope helped him avoid dwelling on the consequences of success—consequences of which he was reminded every time he put his weight squarely on his regenerated left leg.