The pleasant chatter of pre-dinner conversation had given way to the metallic clatter of slender silver cutlery against enamelled plates as dinner went into full swing. Dish after dish appeared on the tables, spirited into place by the nimble hands of a myriad of unassuming petty officers. Each platter appeared accompanied by rolls of laughter and mutters of surprise until the medley of words mutated into satisfied murmurings and the uncliping of pants buttons. It wasn’t long before the air became filled with music instead of words, the humming of an aged and used console set within an unassuming cabinet vibrated beneath the bouncing melodies as the house was inevitably filled with the squeaking of chairs and shoes in equal measure. Through it all, there was a somewhat forgotten sound vibrating the old beams of the dusty old farmhouse: joy. Pure, unadulterated, unmitigated joy.

“Do you hear that?” Varen mused towards the inky sky, its thick blue satin velvet-like surface pierced with countless pinpricks of light. “It’s filled with music again.”

Varen stoked the nearby fire pit with a thin stick, turning the coals over to reveal their fiery bellies.

“It might shake the house to the ground but…” He looked over towards the large barn on the horizon, caught in the white reflective moonlight. “We’ll rebuild it if we have to.”

Charlie didn’t dance. Not yet. Injuries notwithstanding, she’d never tried even before- it wouldn’t be inaccurate to say the ex-farm girl didn’t know how to start. But she did watch, and let herself think thoughts she never had before. Someday. Maybe, someday.

The music, the singing, the laughter, the rhythmic thumping of shoes filled the air with a chaotic medley… yet where she once shrank from it and sought refuge in the quiet garden, now… she couldn’t bring herself to mind. Instead, she found herself dropping into the seat next to Varen, tossing a humoured glance at a snoring Captain Harrison before speaking. “Aye. Think I got an engineer who’d love tae put it back together,” she commented with humour tinging her voice, holding out a plate filled with… yet more cheese rolls.

“Didn’t feel like dancing yet?” Varen smiled as he went to pick a particularly golden sphere, before a warning grumble from his belly put him back in his place. He eyed the woman up and down, her cheque shirt slightly askew, a growing bulge at her stomach, her beloved Melbourne cap balancing precariously on the crown of her curling hair. For a moment, he saw a glimpse of the woman she was, reaching out for the woman she would become. Happy, contented.

“There’s always next time, I suppose.” He shuffled his bare feet through the dusty ground. “I’m sure you could do a good vaud-” he paused, his eyes searching for the cane Charlie had recently started carrying habitually following her surgery. When his search came up empty, he opted to adjust course.

“- tango. A good tango.” Varen finished with a smile.

“… nae yet.” There was a brief tinge of regret in her voice, but only momentarily, the contented smile returning just as quickly. A little voice in her head, telling her that this was fine. Take it slow. Recovery is a long road for a reason. “Maybe next time, aye.”

Maybe it was the wine talking, maybe she was just that comfortable, but Varen’s hesitation managed to get a snicker from the usually reserved new skipper. “Cap, I’m nae gon’ lie, I don’ have the slightest bloody clue what that is. I’ll jus’ take your word for it.” Her eyes shifted to the stars twinkling above- a brief recollection of a time, long ago, on a farm just like this, where a humble little girl covered in dirt lay on a field and looked up at these exact same stars, dreaming.

“… one more roll, eh? For what comes next.” The plate gestured slightly towards the Bajoran- an unorthodox toast, perhaps, but maybe having more wine was a poor idea.

“You’re drunk,” Adelinde said quietly as she opened the door out onto the deck, letting Tikva pass with a smile before hooking an arm around the shorter woman’s waist and guiding her to a pair of seats, a small table between them. Stars unblemished by light pollution twinkled above them, light spilt out of windows behind them, and the wind played amongst the long grains of the farmland before them, stirring their own music to accompany that from the house itself.

“Nuh uh,” Tikva protested as she waited for Lin to sit, then sat herself down on Lin’s lap, wrapping an arm around her partner’s shoulders. “I’m just socially lubricated.”

“I think everyone knows that much. Some of the staff looked absolutely horrified to see a bunch of senior officers dancing like that.”

“Good!” Tikva leaned in to Lin, kissing her on the cheek before settling her head on Lin’s shoulder. “Maybe, just maybe, less ouzo next time.”

“And wine,” Lin added. “Bajor really puts on a beautiful night, doesn’t it?” she asked, looking up at the night sky. More than a few of the pinpricks of light moved unnaturally, but a vast, magnificent multitude hung there still against the black tapestry.

“For a first time visit, I’m impressed.” Tikva snuggled into Lin, eyes half closed. “We’ll come back again.”

“Hey, no sleeping,” Lin protested, jostling Tikva gently.

“Not sleeping. Just happy.” Tikva gave Lin a squeeze, shifted ever so slightly where she sat. “We’ll go back in a bit. I just want to enjoy the moment.”

“You needed this.”

“I did.”

“Then take all the time you need, love,” Lin whispered, pulling Tikva close. “All the time.”

The night sky twinkled with the stars above them, peaceful and serene. As the night drew closer to its end, Maze felt this was the perfect opportunity to set off his coup de grâce! He had worked on the basic setup for over an hour, tying remote actuators to wicker fuses and writing a quick timing program. Now that the moment was upon him, Maze reached into his pocket, pulling out a tricorder and sending the command signal, slipping the tech back into his pocket as if nothing had happened.

For a few minutes, nothing did happen. Maze felt a little defeated, thinking that something had gone awry with his setup. But then the silent night was cut like a knife, as a sharp whistling sound pierced the sky, a bright streak of white hot sparks shot up out from the horizon, roughly 10 meters away from the farmhouse. As the firework reached its apex, it exploded in a Chrysanthemum of blue copper sulfate, illuminating the land below it. A few seconds later, more fireworks would shoot out into the sky.

Maze had set up the ‘show’ in a pyramid formation, with the first one going off, and two after that, slowly increasing in quantity over the next 10 minutes. The sky lit up with a myriad of colours and shapes that would draw the eyes of all around them. A few knew he had done this, but he didn’t feel it necessary to take credit. It was a nice light show to set off the evening of camaraderie and friendship. He could only hope everyone else felt the same.

Aryanna stood beside Maze as the fireworks started to explode in the sky. “Nice, guess that explains the smudge on your left hand and the one on your shirt cuff,” as she gently placed her hand on his shoulder.

“Yeah, I didn’t have enough time between setting up and dinner to wash up proper,” Maze explained, keeping his eyes on his handiwork. “Though ‘Gunpowder’ used to be a very attractive scent for men to wear in ancient times.”

Aryanna looked at Maze and then back at the sky filled with brilliant lights “Still is.”

Memories as real as flesh have always filled the corners of Bajor, they roll across the empty, endless valleys and echo off the footsteps of busy city centres. They are found in the brick dust of once proud buildings now stooped low by cruelties both natural and engineered. And despite dark shadows, they are most often found in the warmth of one hand in another.

Now, deep in the expansive sea of farmland that is the Tozhat province, embedded in tan stone walls and beaten by dancing feet into dark wooden floors, are another set of memories.

Of rolling laughter that warms the ears, of full and satisfied bellies that ache with joy, of a thousand brief stars across happy stalks of corn.

Memory fills the Prophet’s rest, and a new measure of joy fills the collective paghs of Task Force 47.