“You’re probably right. But General Cyl is also trying to get to the bottom of what the neo-Purists are agitating about. He’s trying to get at the truth.”
Bashir felt his ire steadily rising. “The truth? The only truth I’m interested in at the moment is that the streets are becoming drenched in blood.”
Gard nodded solemnly. “The truth is a complicated thing sometimes, isn’t it? Haven’t you ever had a secret you felt you couldn’t share with anyone, because you knew…you knewthat it would change everything?”
Bashir attempted to control his reaction. Does Gard know about my genetic enhancements?Had Ezri told him? Or Jadzia? He had indeed concealed the fact that his parents had resequenced his genetics decades earlier, and keeping that secret had cost him dearly over the years.
Whether he knew Bashir’s secret or not, Gard’s tone contained no condemnation as he continued. “Even if you haven’t covered up aspects of yourlife, surely you’ve kept confidences in the course of your duties as a Starfleet officer. Surely you’ve concealed actions or decisions that could have caused grave damage if they were revealed.”
“You seem to be talking about yourself, Mister Gard.”
Gard nodded, allowing that. “As you’ve no doubt already learned from Dax, I’m not like most joined Trills. Rather than redefine my life with every new incarnation, my existence has always been about one thing: neutralizing aberrant joinings.”
“Like Joran.”
“He wasn’t the first,” Gard said. “And it’s important to understand that while Joran Belar was troubled, neither he nor Dax were dangerous individually. Had he never been joined, or perhaps if he’d been matched to a different symbiont, Joran might have lived a long, full life without ever having harmed anyone. It was the unique combination of Joran and Dax that made them violently unbalanced. Such things are rare and unpredictable, even given the rigorous tests and screenings of the initiate program. But every so often, despite the Commission’s best efforts, an apparently healthy joining unexpectedly gives rise to a monster.”
Though Bashir was familiar with the unfortunate story of Joran Belar, he found that his curiosity was becoming roused. “How often does that happen?”
Gard shrugged. “Centuries can pass between such aberrations. Spotting them requires constant vigilance.”
“And you’re the one who maintains that vigilance? You alone?”
“Not exactly. A number of us keep watch. But whenever a threat comes to light, I’m the one who deals with it. It’s what I’ve always done.”
Bashir felt he was beginning to understand. Still, he didn’t much like it. “I imagine that’s why you maintain such a low profile most of the time. When you’re not assassinating heads of state, that is.”
Gard appeared oblivious to the jab, making Bashir wonder what sort of person could pursue a career of this sort and remain sane—and for multiple lifetimes, no less.
“Maintaining secrecy is important,” Gard said. “For reasons I’m sure you can imagine, the aberrations have to be contained before word of their existence can get out. That’s the only way our society can maintain faith in the system that enables us—even a tiny minority of us—to enjoy the serial immortality of joining.”
“That’s why there aren’t more like you,” Bashir said, and Gard responded with a silent, affirmative nod.
Bashir released a long, frustrated breath through his nose; he found that his disgust with the ingrained Trill propensity for cultural secrecy was becoming harder to conceal. And the most damnable thing about it was that the reasons for concealing aberrant joinings seemed so eminently sensible. He already knew that the Symbiosis Commission feared the symbionts would become slaves or black-market commodities if it ever became generally known that joining was possible among half the Trill humanoid population instead of the official one-in-a-thousand figure; what might some Trills do if they were to learn that some apparently healthy joinings could produce lethal sociopaths, however rare their occurrence might be? Unscrupulous opportunists might seek to investigate and exploit that potential, while others might turn against the symbionts entirely.
So the Commission keeps it a secret. They lie.Bashir knew better than most how naturally lies could come. Especially when they came to be regarded as necessities of survival.
“What about your previous hosts?” Bashir asked. “Other Trill symbionts are guided by the needs, ambitions, and desires of the humanoids they join with. But you’re telling me that your hosts set all that aside to pursue the goals of the Gard symbiont.”
“It’s entirely voluntary, I assure you,” Gard said. “The screening process for my hosts is even more stringent than that of the regular initiate program. When the Commission finds the right match for Gard, that potential host is brought into the loop, and is allowed to make an informed decision.”
Bashir felt the hairs on the back of his neck stiffen; Gard’s story brought to mind uncomfortable recollections of Section 31’s periodic efforts to recruit him into their unofficial—and ethically questionable—intelligence operations.
“Have any of Gard’s potential hosts ever declined the honor?”
“Only once,” Gard said.
“And what happened to the candidate?”
Gard’s eyes narrowed at the unspoken accusation. “What makes you think something happened to her?”
“Because, given your people’s obsession with secrecy, I have to assume either that her memories were wiped, or that she was killed. Which was it?”
Gard didn’t answer. But he didn’t avert his eyes from Bashir’s hard stare.
The moment stretched, until Bashir said, “All right. Let me ask you something else, then. How many hosts have you had?”
Gard displayed a small, enigmatic smile. “Let’s just say the number is a good deal higher than any other joined Trill you’ve ever heard of.”
Bashir nodded. “And you remember all of them?”
Gard hesitated, then made an admission that Bashir found surprising. “No. Beyond a certain point, I can’t remember anything. Whether that’s a consequence of my symbiont’s longevity or a security measure I’ve never been briefed about, I’m not certain. Nor do I care. My role, my function, is all that matters. In fact, I can’t remember ever doing anything else.”
Bashir found the idea of an existence that stretched so far back into the depths of time both exhilarating and frightening. He wondered what it would be like to have personal origins as ambiguous—and perhaps even as ancient—as the earliest joined Trill.
Or as ancient as the parasites.The insight came to him with the suddenness of a lightning strike.
“Then, is it possible…?” His voice trailed off as he struggled to formulate his inchoate question.
“Yes?” Gard’s mild expression betrayed the patience of the ages.
Bashir caught his breath. “If these aberrant joinings are truly as rare as you say, might your role have originally come into existence for an entirely different reason?”
“What are you suggesting, Doctor?” Gard asked, in a manner that made it clear he knew exactly what Bashir planned to say next.
“I’m wondering if you were created originally to detect and deal with joined parasites. Like Shakaar.”
“That would imply a very ancient connection to Trill,” Gard said, nodding thoughtfully. “And equally ancient knowledge about the threat the parasites pose.”
Bashir adjusted the medical kit on his shoulder. The faint sound of screams and phaser blasts outside reminded him that he needed to get moving. “Yes, it would. Do you think it’s true?”
Again, Gard smiled his enigmatic smile as he escorted Bashir back to the foyer door that fronted Talris’s office. “I think, Doctor, that some things should never be forgotten.”
After giving Bashir directions to the hospital, Gard excused himself, saying he needed to return to the security center. He gave Bashir his personal comm key in case the doctor needed to reach him. The night-shrouded streets in front of the Senate Tower were still in the grip of pandemonium as Bashir exited the building.