“Thank you for the offer,” Vaughn said politely. “Another time, perhaps.” Watching this slavish attention to J’Maah was setting Vaughn’s teeth on edge and he hoped he’d be given leave to return to his crew shortly. Too bad Quark wasn’t here—he would love all this decadence.

“As you wish,” J’Maah wheezed, his barrel stomach rising and falling in a relaxed rhythm. “We have the whole way to the Consortium and the whole way back to Vanìmel.”

Here comes the part where I might provoke animosity,Vaughn thought. “Chieftain, a point of clarification. The Defiantshould be spaceworthy by the time we reach the Consortium. Once we obtain our matter load, we plan on flying back to pick up Lieutenant Dax and her team.”

“Of course, of course. The needs of your crew come first. I’m sure they’re anxious to get on their way,” J’Maah said.

“We still hope to explore a great deal of territory before we return home.”

“Whatever we can do, Commander. We’re here to help.” The chieftain’s breathing deepened, his body relaxed and finally his membranous lids dropped over his eyes.

The senior staff sat quietly, watching their captain’s still figure for a few minutes. Finally, First Officer Meltoh whispered, “This is when we go. You first, Commander.”

Hastily, Vaughn made for the exit, grateful for tinny replicated food and sleeping on the deck—without the services of a head masseuse.

“A pillow is a legitimate bet,” Tenmei protested.

Julian examined her more closely and determined she was being sincere. “Fine then, I’ll take a look at it, decide what it’s worth.”

Without sitting up, she reached back and grabbed the pillow from where it sat at the foot of her sleeping bag. “Can you put a price on a non-Starfleet issue pillow at a time like this?” she asked tossing the pillow at Bashir. “Besides, if Cassini can bet his slippers—”

“They’re self-heating!” came Cassini’s muffled protest. He’d tunneled into the sleeping bag two across and one down from Tenmei, having retreated there after being soundly thrashed one round back.

“—then I can bet my pillow,” Tenmei concluded.

Since Nog, the commerce expert, was otherwise occupied, assigning value to crew members’ bets had fallen, by default, to Julian. He preferred to play poker; running the statistical probabilities and plotting strategy was very entertaining. His crewmates, however, determined there wasn’t a way to handicap him in cards and none of them enjoyed losing every single round. Either Julian dealt the cards or he watched. “Take it or leave it,” Tenmei had told him.

It wasn’t fair, really—he didn’t consciously choose to win every contest he’d entered—he just did. During their first week into the mission, engineering sponsored a casino night in the mess. Any game that wasn’t random, Julian won. After that, it became an unwritten rule that the advantage bestowed on Julian by his genetic enhancements required handicapping or elimination. No one resented his abilities, but no one would play cards with him either. In this round of poker, Julian represented the house. He sat cross legged on the floor between Chao and Lankford and knew, from his glimpses at their cards, that they’d be joining Gordimer in the “broke” department very soon. Chao might figure out that Tenmei was bluffing—there was no way she could have better than three of a kind—but he doubted it.

When they were on the Defiant,the crew usually bet whatever personal items they’d brought with them that didn’t exist in the replicator database. Ezri, swearing she had a sure thing, had begged him to loan her Kukalaka after she lost her last bag of jumjachews to Bowers. Their present resource scarcity required they be even more innovative.

Gordimer offered his sleeping spot in the darkest, least trafficked corner of the room for the night. Bashir wanted to play for that bet alone. Chao threw in a headset that emitted wave frequencies that improved REM sleep. After coming up empty, Rahim raided Leishman’s candy supply, reasoning that Nog wouldn’t give his engineers long enough breaks to come back to quarters and takea candy break. For her part, Tenmei had a Tholian silk nightshirt Chao and Lankford coveted. Bowers, who won the last hand, currently had possession of the best sleeping spot in the room, the headset, Leishman’s candy and Prynn’s nightshirt. If Julian didn’t sign off on Tenmei’s pillow, she was out of the game.

Bashir punched and hefted it, rested it in his lap, raised it to his nose to take a whiff. “Ah! Lavender. Very nice.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” Prynn said hopefully.

No one made any cracks about Tenmei’s relationship to Vaughn earning her Julian’s favoritism. Her fellow crewmates were smart enough to know they’d be talking to Julian about mending a deviated septum if they did. Squeezing Prynn’s pillow, Julian had to assess its value under the present circumstances.

“Fine. The house agrees to accept Ensign Tenmei’s pillow as a raise,” Bashir said. “Lieutenant Bowers?”

“Fold,” Bowers said with a sigh, tossing in his cards.

Tenmei chuckled contentedly and gathered up her winnings. Cassini emerged from his sleeping bag, retrieved her cards and looked at them. “Two pair? I gave up my self-heating slippers for three of a kind and I could’ve beaten you.”

Tenmei shrugged. “Take my advice, Cassini, stick to dabo. Poker’s not your game.”

Before Cassini could fire off a retort, the door slid open, admitting the two Yrythny technologists who’d been helping the Defiantcrew, Tlaral and Shavoh. “We finished our shifts and wondered if there was anything—” Shavoh began. Puzzled, he looked back and forth over the unoccupied dining area and computer station, which blocked their view of the poker game.

“Over here,” Bashir called out.

Grabbing Tlaral’s arm, Shavoh guided his friend to the rear of the room where the cots and sleeping bags were laid out. Both Yrythny engineers looked confused.

“You’d better have a seat before Lieutenant Nog notices you’re here,” Tenmei said, patting the spot on Senkowski’s mattress pad next to her. Like Leishman, Senkowski wouldn’t be back any time soon to use it. The redshirts and blueshirts had begun their joking predictions as to what the yellowshirts would do when Nog finally eased up. While everyone did what they could to help, Nog allowed only the nonengineers to leave at shift’s end.

“We’re here to help,” Shavoh offered. “To work on the Defiant.”

“Of course you are, but we’ve all been ordered to mix and mingle. Cultural exchanges and all that. Consider sitting for part of your duty,” Tenmei said. “Right, Doctor?”

“Absolutely,” Julian confirmed. “We’re glad to have you, especially since I think several of our players are going to be tapped out in a minute. Are you interested in learning to play cards?”

Tlaral and Shavoh exchanged glances and Tlaral said, “You’ll teach us?”

“Happy to,” Tenmei said with a small smile.

Julian winced, knowing Defiant’s conn officer was eager to teach their “green” alien friends a thing or two about Alpha Quadrant gambling. That, and to further line her coffers.

The two Yrythny engineers cautiously eased down on the floor, trying to situate their legs comfortably. Both settled for lying on their sides and draping their legs out behind them.

“I believe it was your turn, Ensign Lankford,” Julian said.

Wrinkling her nose, she shuffled and reshuffled the cards in her hand, allowed Tenmei to cut the deck, then dealt. “First bet goes to Mr. Bowers,” she said after everyone anted.

“I’ll open with Burning Hearts of Qo’noS.”

Chao groaned. “The Klingon bodice ripper? I’ll fold.” She threw her cards into the pile.

“I take exception to the characterization of that novel as a bodice ripper, Chief,” Bowers said with a wink.

“What would you call it? A face biter? I just can’t believe someone finally pried it away from Nog.”