Or maybe he’ll just maintain his vigil as he always has, just like every Gard before him. Sometimes the best place to hide is in plain sight.

Bashir turned his attention back to the president. Though she looked determined, her face was drawn and haggard, prompting Bashir to reach for the plisagraph he had borrowed from the hospital. Fortunately, the president’s vital signs were reading strong and steady; though he was still concerned about her physical well-being, he was relieved to see that the cause of her current distress was more political than medical.

“It’s still a powder keg out there, Madam President,” Gard was saying, clearly fearful of inciting hysteria among the citizenry. “It might not be prudent to reveal absolutely everything Lieutenant Dax discovered at Mak’ala. Maybe you should consider parceling it out in a series of appearances over the next few weeks.”

To Bashir’s eye, the president looked almost adrift, as if she were badly in need of advice. It was clear that her world was approaching one of the most critical turning points in its lengthy history. And it was equally clear that the most powerful person on Trill was still making up her mind as to how to approach that fork in the road.

“Facing difficult truths is one thing, Madam President. Simply giving in to the symbionts-for-everyone crowd is quite another,” Gard continued after a thoughtful pause. “Now more than ever we have to hold on to our most important traditions.”

“Of course,” the president said without affect. “Tradition.”

Which on Trill always seems to involve tamping down ugly truths until they eventually erupt like volcanoes,Bashir thought. He was sorely tempted to say something out loud.

Fortunately, Ezri beat him to it. “Madam President, the Federation Council is going to expect your government to answer some very pointed questions about the treatment of the unjoined. And to offer redress of their legitimate grievances.” Bashir noticed that Ezri’s ice-blue eyes blazed with a determination that must have once belonged to Curzon.

Gard shook his head sadly. “I think the terrorists may have already undermined whatever moral legitimacy the unjoined majority may have had.”

Bashir found he could no longer hold his tongue. “Rubbish. The people who set off the radiation weapons were only a tiny handful of extremists among the unjoined population.” He gestured toward the broad balcony window, through which the milling crowds were visible. “There’s no question that the people out there have been wronged, and that the injustice has gone on for centuries. How can you blame them for being angry after they’ve learned that they’ve been denied symbiosis based on a lie?”

Gard took a single step toward Bashir, at whom he directed a highly toxic scowl. “They’ve also been denied symbiosis out of necessity, Doctor. The symbionts aren’t lidafruits to be picked from the trees. They’re rare and precious beings who have to be protected.”

Bashir had to concede that Gard was right, at least in part. But he also knew that the fragility and scarcity of the symbionts had long furnished Trill’s privileged and powerful with an entirely too convenient excuse for excluding people from symbiosis arbitrarily.

Ignoring Gard, Bashir addressed Trill’s chief executive officer directly. “Madam President, I think it’s clear that your world’s unjoined humanoid majority will no longer meekly accept second-class citizenship, however it’s justified by the ruling minority.”

Ezri nodded in somber agreement. “And the Federation Council probably won’t look kindly on a planet that collapses into civil war over its age-old hidden social problems.”

“I agree,” said Bashir. “Trill’s membership in the Federation might even be in jeopardy. Everything could well depend on your ability to maintain your world’s social stability, Madam President.”

“Or on how the unjoined react to whatever you decide to tell them,” Gard said to the president.

A line from a very old piece of oratory sprang unbidden into Bashir’s mind; he decided it needed to be spoken aloud. “ ‘The world will little note, nor long remember what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here.’ Those words belong to a man named Lincoln, who led one of my homeworld’s nations through a bloody civil war five centuries ago.”

“Those are insightful words, Doctor Bashir,” said Gard. “But Trill isn’t Earth. Do you really think we can afford to reveal absolutely everything about our past, and still have any hope of getting things back to normal?”

Bashir turned on Gard again. “Mister Gard, the old status quo is clearly no longer a viable option for Trill. Surely you know that even better than I do.” To the president, he said, “But I believe Mister Gard is correct in recommending caution. The people outside this building might not be rioting or setting off bombs at the moment, but emotions are still running pretty high out there. I’ve seen it up close myself.”

Ezri frowned at Bashir. Returning her gaze to the president, she said, “But that doesn’t mean that you owe the Trill people anything less than the whole truth, Madam President. We’re a pretty tough bunch; we can stand airing the whole truth about the Kurlans and the parasites. It’s the best way I can think of to properly honor the ancient memories of those times—and to start healing all the damage our civilization is suffering right now as a result of what happened back then.”

“Revealing the whole truth right away is just too dangerous,” Gard said. “We need time—”

Ezri rolled right over him, though her words were for the president. “It’s too dangerous for us to be seen as trying to keep the truth buried.” She pointed toward the balcony. “We’ll never settle the chaos out there as long as the people think we are continuing to lie about our past, Madam President. Or our present. Maybe we can’t give a symbiont to every unjoined person who wants one, but we can stop lying to them about their suitability for joining. We destroyed a whole world once, then lied to cover it up. We can either break that entire pattern of deceit, or risk destroying another world today.”

Gard shook his head, his expression a commingling of righteous anger and pitying condescension. “Taking in too much truth too quickly is like trying to drink from a tidal wave, Lieutenant Dax.”

Bashir had to restrain himself from murmuring a curse. Both Ezri and Gard were right. And as much as he despised the Symbiosis Commission’s mendacity on the issue of symbiotic compatibility, Ezri’s position was sounding increasingly reckless to him. Perhaps an intermediate, incremental approach would be better.

He felt thankful that the decision about how much to reveal, and how soon to do it, wasn’t his to make.

Leaning back wearily in her padded chair, the president stared in quiet contemplation at the balcony window. In the distance, the crowds milling about in the golden early-morning sunlight seemed to be expanding. Faces were turned up toward the balcony, perhaps in eager anticipation, perhaps in righteous anger.

After a seeming eternity during which no one spoke or moved, the president spoke in a quiet yet determined voice. “Perhaps you’re right.” Bashir wasn’t at all certain to whom she had spoken.

Drawing herself erect in her seat, the president silently motioned for everyone to back away from the visual pickup that was mounted on her desk. It was obvious that she had reached a decision.

Withdrawing with Ezri and Gard to a far corner of the chamber, Bashir watched as a red light activated on the desk, signaling that the president was now addressing the entire Trill humanoid population, including the surviving members of the Senate, via the planet’s civilian and military comnets. The lighting around her grew in intensity as the polarization of the balcony windows adjusted to make the president conspicuously visible from the street. For Bashir the moment became elastic, and felt supercharged with uncertainty.