Seated in the center seat of the U.S.S. Defiant,Ezri keyed the navigational display on her port command console and reviewed the arc of their journey through the Gamma Quadrant. With more than nine-tenths of the voyage complete, they had made direct first contact with eleven different civilizations, eight of which had expressed interest in follow-up contact by the Federation. In addition, long-range probes had exchanged friendship messages with sixteen other promising contacts. They had recorded or obtained samples of 644 new varieties of life; mapped (with the help of the probes) nearly 1200 cubic light-years of space; witnessed the emergence of a new sentient life-form into this universe; prevented a genocidal civil war; discovered an ineffable artifact with which members of the crew—herself included—had made intimate personal contact; and, somehow, managed to pass Burning Hearts of Qo’noSamong every member of the crew along the way.

Even Senkowski had finally broken down and read the Klingon romance novel, after a particularly brutal loss in the crew’s regular poker game. Once boredom with the usual stakes had set in, Prynn (of course) had suggested betting dares. The game quickly became more popular than ever among the winners, and despised among the losers—Senkowski having been among the latter, after he accepted the dare to read Burning Hearts of Qo’noSduring a savage hand of five-card stud with Lieutenant Nog.

One helluva voyage indeed.

Of course, they’d also seen their share of tragedies. Ensign Roness had been killed not long into the mission, while under Dax’s command; they managed to make enemies of at least three different civilizations (possibly more; transmissions from two of the long-range probes had cut off abruptly, their fate unknown); and many of the crew had been personally affected by some of the things they’d encountered along the way. Not what we came out here for,Dax thought, but we all knew the risks of exploring.It was, for many, what being in Starfleet was all about. “Risk,”she quoted to herself, “is our business.”

“Did you say something, Lieutenant?”

Dax looked up. Ensign Thirishar ch’Thane had turned from his sciences station to look at her inquiringly. She must have spoken aloud without realizing it.

“Just talking to myself, Ensign,” Dax said. She worried about Shar. Defiant’s science officer had been among those most wounded during their travels, but ironically, not by anything directly attributable to the voyage itself. Shar had been betrothed to three other Andorians back in the Alpha Quadrant, and one of them, Thriss, had grown so despondent by Shar’s choice to go on this mission that a month ago she’d committed suicide.

Since receiving that awful news, Shar had been battling his own guilt and despair. Work had been his tonic, but Dax knew that his hours off-duty, when he was most idle, were the hardest for him. Her attempts to engage him as a trained former counselor seemed to help somewhat—he was grateful to talk to someone who understood the emotional and psychological dangers many Andorians faced as a result of their fragile reproductive biology. With Thriss dead, the chances of her surviving bondmates picking up the pieces of their lives to produce the child their culture mandated were slim. Dax feared what would happen to him when they finally returned to Deep Space 9. Would Shar’s remaining bondmates embrace him so that together they could work through their shared grief, or would they blame him for what had happened to Thriss, and by extension, to all of them?

All this passed through Dax’s mind as Shar looked back at her pleasantly, almost childlike in his demeanor. “Have you studied the data from that biostream yet?” Dax asked.

“Some of it. I regret to report it’s looking more and more like a missed opportunity.”

Dax nodded ruefully. Three days ago the ship had passed within a light-year of a strange ring of organic molecules, orbiting half an A.U. out from a white dwarf star. Although the readings were anomalous, the captain had elected to launch a probe and press on, rather than investigate directly. Setbacks in their encounters with the Inamuri, the Cheka web weapons, and the so-called “cathedral” had put them behind schedule in returning to the Alpha Quadrant. Add to that the total loss of their replicator systems during the cathedral affair—a development that was now severely limiting their ability to feed themselves and repair damage to the ship—and Vaughn had been compelled to make some tough choices about whether or not to, as he put it, “stop and smell every rose” they came across for the remainder of the voyage.

The cloud ring, however, had been a particularly tempting discovery, especially after the probe had started sending back indications that the organic molecules were far more complex and densely organized than originally thought. Shar believed they’d discovered a new type of spaceborne colonial life. But by then, the unusual star system was well behind them.

“Maybe the next wave of explorers from the Alpha Quadrant will learn more about it,” Dax said. That wastheir primary mission objective, after all: to blaze the trail for the ships that would eventually follow. And with ninety percent of their journey done, Dax knew they could all be proud of what they accomplished.

“Yes, sir,” Shar replied. “It’s just…frustrating to come so close to something so new and not being able to study it.”

“Remind me to tell you sometime about Jadzia’s first attempt to study a Bajoran Orb,” Ezri said

Shar tilted his head to one side, intrigued. “I recall reading that report. The Orbs defy conventional analysis, don’t they?”

“Yup,” Ezri said, then added deliberately, “so far anyway.”

In response, Shar’s antennae rose up before he turned his attention thoughtfully back to his console.

Dax smiled. Nothing lifted Shar’s spirits quite like a new challenge. He was one of those people who became more exhilarated the harder a puzzle was to solve. Of course,she thought, with the Orbs, a good scientist could die from the happiness before he learned anything substantive. I can be so cruel sometimes.

“Lieutenant, can you come here a moment?”

Dax spun in the command chair to face Bowers, standing at the aft tactical station. He’s got that look—

She got up and joined him. “What’s up, Sam?”

“I was monitoring telemetry from our advance probes,” Bowers explained, “when one of them sent back this.” Defiant’s tactical officer nodded toward his console display, indicating a particular waveline in the midst of a chaotic stream of white noise.

Dax blinked, certain she was seeing things. “That looks almost like—” She looked at him sharply. “Sam, this better not be a joke, or so help me—”

“Ezri, this is no joke,” Bowers insisted quietly. “I’ve triple-checked it, and I’m telling you, it’s exactly what it looks like…almost.”

Dax frowned and stared at the reading. “All right. Give it to me from the top….”

“‘Spinach Frittata,’” Dr. Julian Bashir read aloud off the Starfleet ration pack. “‘Just add water.’” His face puckering, he replaced the package on the wall rack and grabbed another. “‘Ham and Brie on a Quadrotriticale Baguette.’” He put that one back, and picked up a third. “‘Denevan Cherries Flambé.’” He arched an eyebrow at that one. It might be worth trying it just to see the flames leap out of the ration pack. But no; he wasn’t in the mood for something sweet right now. “Eelshark Salad with Mixed Greens” looked promising, until he read the warning label: “CAUTION: May be toxic to non-Bolians.” With a heavy sigh, Bashir finally grabbed a pack labeled “Assorted Grilled Vegetables” and took a seat at a table on the other side of the mess hall. “Have I happened to mentioned that I’ve come to detest Starfleet field rations?” he asked his dining companions.