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She is familiar with the notion of another mind joining with hers. Indeed, she remembers being told as a child that someday she might be worthy of just such an honor.
But she never dreamed it would happen like this.
She loses track of the rest of her landing party for what seems a matter of moments, and suddenly she is alone, and equally suddenly a pair of crew members she has always thought of as friends is holding her down, letting something worm its way into her brain.
Hello, Ezri, it says. You have a wonderful mind. So fresh and agile and adaptable. So accomplished, yet so young. Beneath the horror, and the shock, and the panic, a tiny part of her wishes her superior officers gave such glowing reports.
At first she imagines she’ll be found out when her counseling sessions with shipmates go awry. Quickly, she learns she is mistaken.
Of course I make a good counselor, the Yeerk tells her matter-of-factly. I know the inner workings of many species’ minds. Exactly as a Federation ship’s counselor should.
Could you at least try not to be better than me? she replies, only half joking.
Not possible, I’m afraid.
With her position as counselor, it’s easy enough to invent an excuse for signing out a runabout every few days. “Psychological testing.” “Experimentation on fatigue in combat pilots.” Even “client confidentiality,” as her Yeerk hauls some poor hapless Controller-ensign to the nearest remote Kandrona station.
You’re awfully resilient, the interloper tells her every so often.
Yeah, well, I’m a counselor, is all she can manage, from the professionally-chipper part of her brain. In my line of work, you really have to be.
They are both caught off guard when the alarm sounds in sickbay. A doctor she barely recognizes grabs her by the arm and thrusts a hospital johnny into hands only the Yeerk can keep from trembling.
"It… it really is a life-or-death situation for the symbiont," the doctor says nervously. "I mean, I’m sorry. I don’t need to tell you that. I realize we aren’t giving you much time, but-"
"No," she hears in her own voice. "I understand. It’s my duty as a Trill to do this."
She knows why the Yeerk is acquiescing; it can’t resist the opportunity of eight lifetimes of knowledge. Frankly, she admits to herself, the idea appeals to her for the same reasons, although she would give it more than a split second’s thought if left to her own devices. But now, as she watches her own fingers tie the johnny over her shivering body, she can only dread what awaits her: being left adrift in her body, the first and easiest casualty of a battle for her own mind.
"All right, Ensign Tigan," comes a voice from the operating theatre. "Come in, please."
The Yeerk succumbs to the sedative a split second before she does, and for a moment she is freer than she imagined she could be, and then everything fades out.
"It went very well, Ezri," says the surgeon, beaming. "You’ll have to take it easy for a few days, but the Dax symbiont is doing much better than expected, and so are you. Er, both of you. I mean-"
She hears herself laugh. “I understand. Thank you, Doctor.” Yet the sensation of speech doesn’t come to her from the outside in this time. Now a multitude of minds wells up inside her, all grateful and frightened and determined at once.
It’s a little crowded in here, says one of them, the most recent. The memories from that mind are fresh and still painful when Ezri recalls the most recent of what she realizes are many deaths.
I control this body, states the Yeerk flatly. The Trill system of symbiosis is of much interest to us. We have noted the productive relationship between the Trill symbionts and their hosts. Perhaps one day we may be able to emulate it.
And until then, what? says another mind-voice, gruff yet good-natured. You’re just going to crash around the galaxy, stealing bodies wherever you can get them?
Our host bodies should be grateful for the opportunity, the Yeerk retorts.
No, says a third Trill. Trying desperately to keep them straight, Ezri manages to recognize this one as Emony. I remember when the news came, when your campaign of destruction first took down a Federation vessel. They said the survivors were weeping. Wounded, discarded hosts were begging to be put out of their misery.
We have our share of troubles, says Audrid. The others concur. I spent long enough on the Symbiosis Commission to know that much. But we treat our hosts with the utmost respect.
How very generous of you, the Yeerk replies, sending an unpleasant shiver down Ezri's spine with its contempt. I'm sure they are very grateful.
We are our hosts, says Tobin simply.
Before I was Joined, another chimes in - Torias, she thinks- I was frightened and uncertain. But I was also proud, and honored, and all the other things you feel when you’re young and standing on the threshold of the most important and most permanent choice you will ever make.
And you took that choice away from Ezri, says the oldest of the voices, with all the gravity of a funeral oration.
You took it twice over, adds Emony. Once when you took her brain, and another when you made her become Joined.
Now you've left it to us to beg her forgiveness, says Torias, and Ezri can feel his anger and remorse. She tries to tell them that she forgives them, even though she feels the strange pain of Joining, even though that same pain is relief from the terror she felt before.
You will pay, snaps another voice, directed at the interloper. It’s a brash, young voice: Joran, who was Joran Dax only briefly and left the symbiont forever changed.
You don’t know who we are, says the Yeerk.
Cowards, says Joran simply.
Ezri hardly bothers to string together her thoughts; the other Trill can read them, can know them almost before she does. She is frightened, of course, but also grateful, and both are momentary whims compared to the strange, delicious new feeling: the utter opposite of loneliness, a sense of belonging unlike anything she has ever thought possible.
We’ll take care of you, says Lela, the oldest host.
We have to, says Tobin. You’re part of us now.
How? Ezri manages to say through the thick fog of minds.
It’s easy, explains Curzon, the gruff one. We’ll take a little trip. If I know him, our old friend Ben could use our help right about now. And that should eat up seventy-two hours.
But how can we-
If I understand Yeerk physiology correctly, says Jadzia, our uninvited guest controls only your brain. As the connections between your body and the symbiont grow stronger, we’ll be able to fight the control until we can override it completely. And it doesn’t fully know our thoughts either.
Ezri feels like weeping, though the Yeerk holds the tears at bay. Thank you, she says, not caring which of the newcomers hears.
She realizes that her hand is already poised over the spot on her abdomen where the symbiont now sits. Concentrating on her knees as hard as she could, she swings her legs over the side of the bed. The Yeerk tries to wrest control of her limbs from her, but she manages to push the button labeled “NURSE.”
"Water," she rasps, slowly and too loudly, when the nurse rounds the corner. He gives her a quizzical look, steps out for a moment, and returns with a cup.
Why are you trying this? says the Yeerk, jerking her arm so that the first mouthful spills down her front.
Because we can win, she replies, and all the voices of Dax cheer their approval inside her.
On the next sip, she barely spills a drop.