27

Captain’s Log, stardate 53581.0

TheDefiant has finally passed the apex of its mission of exploration in the Gamma Quadrant. As we loop past the mysterious alien artifact—whose precise status as either a cathedral or a religious anathema I leave for better minds than mine to determine—our new heading will take us beyond System GQ-12475, bringing the Gamma Quadrant mouth of the wormhole ever nearer. At last we are homeward bound.

But our investigations of this still largely unknown quarter of the galaxy are far from finished; theDefiant’ s new trajectory will carry us through dozens of sectors into which no Alpha Quadrant humanoid has ever ventured before. The wonders and terrors of these past weeks haven’t blunted the desire of the crew to see what lies over the next hill, and the one after that. The feeling of anticipation I sense from everyone aboard remains nothing short of exhilarating. Even—or perhapsespecially —among those whose lives were most profoundly affected by our encounter with the alien cathedral: theDefiant’ s first officer, Lieutenant Ezri Dax; chief medical officer Julian Bashir; and Lieutenant Nog, my chief engineer.

The readings, measurements, and holorecordings the crew has taken of the cathedral ought to keep the Federation’s best physicists and architects—and maybe even the psychiatrists as well—busy for decades, if not longer. I find myself almost wishing it were possible to tow the thing home—until I stop to consider the havoc the artifact wrought among my crew.

Since sovereign jurisdiction over the object has been claimed by both the D’Naali and the Nyazen—two local sentient species who have for millennia used armed spacefleets to enforce their conflicting claims—it is my judgment that any further visitation by Starfleet personnel would be inappropriate. Certainly, neither group wants us around, at least at present. Perhaps one day the D’Naali and the Nyazen will reach an accord and invite us to investigate the object further. But until that time, my official recommendation to Starfleet Command and the Federation Council is to enforce a strict hands-off policy. And gods help any other alien crew that should happen to blunder into it.

Julian Bashir stood on the Defiant’s bridge as Vaughn finished recording his log entry. On the viewer, a recorded image of the alien artifact hovered, its infinitely shifting, eye-deceiving surfaces still stubbornly guarding its secrets.

Most of them, anyway.

Across the bridge, Nog paced back and forth before the engineering console, examining data on a padd he held and periodically comparing them to the console’s readouts. He was no doubt doing his best to evaluate and expedite the repairs made necessary throughout the ship by the weapons of the Nyazen and D’Naali fleets. Although it had been only hours since Bashir had reattached the engineer’s biosynthetic left leg, Nog was already moving about with a surprising degree of confidence, refusing to use the cane he’d been offered in the medical bay. He had yet to speak in any great detail about his personal experiences inside the artifact, at least to Bashir. But judging from the spring in Nog’s step, it was hard to tell that the events of the last couple of days had ever happened.

You have to look into his eyes to see that,Bashir thought, feeling a surge of sympathy for his young friend’s renewed physical loss, as well as a twinge of guilt. Ezri and I obviously got the better part of whatever bargains we struck with the multiverse. At least we’re both whole.

The turbolift doors slid open, and Bowers strode onto the bridge, right beside Ezri.

Ezri Daxonce again, now that the symbiont had been restored to her. It had been a near thing, so weakened had Ezri become because of her lengthy separation from the symbiont. But once Bashir had realized that the alien artifact had somehow restored his talents, he had become immovably determined to save the woman he loved. Of course, her own subjective experiences inside the artifact—to say nothing of her tenacious hold on life—might have contributed at least as much to her survival as had his and Krissten’s efforts.

Dax smiled brilliantly at Bashir as she handed a padd to Vaughn, who was sitting in the command chair, gazing abstractedly at the floating space construct’s haunting image.

“Ship’s status report,” she said, every inch the spit-and-polish executive officer. When he didn’t respond immediately, she added, “Sir?”

Vaughn took another moment to accept the proffered report. “Excuse me, Lieutenant. That object lends itself to woolgathering.”

She nodded, gazing out into infinity with Vaughn. “I know what you mean. You ought to see it from the inside.”

“I can’t tell you how badly I’d like an opportunity to do just that. As horrific as some of what you’ve told me sounds, the opportunity to confront one’s alternate selves—to take shortcuts onto the roads not taken—well, it’s hard not to find certain aspects of that compelling.”

As Vaughn spoke, Bashir saw the commander’s blue eyes fill with some unaccustomed emotion—regret, perhaps?—as they strayed toward Ensign Tenmei, who busied herself at the conn station. It was no secret that Prynn was Vaughn’s daughter and that, until fairly recently, a great deal of familial tension had existed between the two. But these weren’t matters one could simply ask one’s commanding officer about.

Bashir decided to broach something less sensitive. Gesturing toward the mysterious object on the viewer, he said, “Permission to speak freely, sir?”

Setting Ezri’s padd aside, Vaughn turned the captain’s chair in Bashir’s direction, “Always,” he said, though his expression had grown guarded.

“Sir, I couldn’t help but notice that you left something rather significant out of your log entry just now.”

The commander raised an inquisitive eyebrow. “Oh?”

“Yes, sir. I’m speaking of our interference in the conflict between the D’Naali and the Nyazen.”

“Interference?” Vaughn repeated, steepling his fingers in front of his salt-and-pepper beard and arching an eyebrow. “Defined how?”

“By our direct participation in combat against the D’Naali,” Bashir said, glancing quickly toward Shar at the science station, who appeared to be listening attentively to this exchange. While Bashir had been reattaching Nog’s biosynthetic limb, Shar had visited the medical bay, where he had brought them both up to speed on almost everything that had transpired during the away team’s foray into the artifact.

“We didprevent the D’Naali from blowing the object up,” Bashir continued.

The commander chuckled, shaking his head. “Not at all. From what I observed, the Nyazen didn’t get particularly vigilant about guarding the cathedral until after wearrived. I think that’s because the D’Naali never truly had the ability to do any real damage in the first place. If they’d had that kind of power, then they would have found a way to destroy the cathedral thousands of years ago. One side would surely have wiped the other out long before now. The D’Naali themselves probably never believed they’d get the upper hand in their ancient little war—until Sacagawea informed them of our plan to use relays to beam an away team into the cathedral.”

Bashir allowed a tiny smile to tug at the corner of his mouth. “We didfire a few shots their way, sir.”