"Any status on the patient?" Cartwright was asking, a small audio only recorder in her hand, as she kept up with Ezri's brisk pace.

The reason her pace was so pronounced this evening was not only the urgency around a member of Command being on hand to assess the potentially volatile but also in the hope she'd manage to lose her tail. No such luck unfortunately.

Dax was unsure how much she was at liberty to tell this journalist, and how far the journalistic rights to information went this far from the protective bubble of Federation space. Maybe her mindset was still in war mode, with only months having passed since the Dominion's Alpha Quadrant retreat, but she still thought along "Loose Talk costs lives" line.

She opted for a particular neutral response; "I'm yet to be updated by Doctor Bashir's team." It was a lie, but it also didn't offer the pushy journalist any real headlines. Dax understood the need for some good press around their mission, after all it was the first mission into the Gamma Quadrant that wasn't Dominion related for almost four years, and Starfleet's first NEW deep space exploration mission since the conclusion of hostilities. But did they have to be so in-your-face? She was just thankful that their distance from home made the usual instanteous access to the Federation's news network was lacking so any story these journalists put together wouldn't be published until they went home.

Ms. Cartwright seemed to get the picture and slackened off her walking speed, holstering her recorder in the process. Dax fought the urge to look back and check Cartwright had actually stopped and strode the last few steps to the Defiant's diminutive, but well equipped, sickbay. She couldn't but help steal a quick glance as she turned for the doorway back in the direction of Cartwright and was disappointed to see she hadn't given up entirely merely given up on Ezri.

"Doctor," Dax said as the doors swished closed behind her.

"What's the status of our patient?"

Bashir's every youthful exuberance had been on the back burner since he and Ezri's relationship had come to a conclusion at the same time as Ezri moved into Command. She knew still that it had been the right decision for both of them, but she did desperately miss that little smile that would pull at the corners of his mouth every time he saw her.

"She," Bashir said, confirming for the first time the arrival's gender. "Seems to have been in some sort of chyro -sleep for a very long time. "

Ezri had heard of species using this technology to slow the body's decay rate to almost nothing, mean the vast distances between stars could be traversed at sublight speeds. Since her species had achieved warp in antiquity the need for such technology never manifested itself and judging by the fits her symbiote was doing in her stomach at the mere thought of it she doubted her species, especially those joined, would be able to utilize it safely.

Bashir paused, waiting for the inevitable question which Ezri kindly asked without further prompt; "How long?"

"Judging by what cellular decay there has been, but without full analysis of the device that froze her, nor the craft she travelled in, I'd say..." Bashir made with his hands as if he was conjuring a number from thin air but Ezri knew his genetically modified brain was crunching numbers and probabilities faster than a computer could.

"... four hundred years."

Ezri's jaw dropped, she'd not even known Humans had interstellar flight four hundred years ago, let alone technology to get a vessel this far out. Especially one apparently lacking the space for any sort of meaningful propulsion.

"Give or take," he added out a habit to sound aloof and humanly inaccurate. A habit he'd mastered over a lifetime pretending not to be genetically modified.

"How did her vessel get this far out?" Ezri asked, the next natural question.

"That I'm not sure Commander, but Lieutenant Nog is going over her craft now in the cargo bay."

The voices might have been muffled but she could still make them out. Cartwright was lent up against the closed sickbay doors, their automatically open and close feature disabled by Ezri when she'd enter hoping it would give the journalist the hint. Not only had this effort failed in its primary objective it had also failed at prevented Cartwright from hearing pretty much everything the Doctor had just confirmed about the craft and their visitor's vintage.

Cartwright's smile was widening as she was listening; perhaps marvelling at what a scoop she was scoring for her publication. Suddenly, sensing Dax and Bashir's conversation was coming to a conclusion she hastily pocketed the small audio recorder, which she'd been using held right against the bulkhead in a hope it'd pick up the voices her ears could not. She made a stealthy and rapid retreat back toward the turbolift, once inside she ordered it on its way. She had much to plan.

Ezri re-enabled sickbay's door controls and exited, praying she wouldn't have to be dealing with the Cartwright woman again. Fortune favoured her this time and she was greeted by a nice quiet corridor.

Entering the turbolift she ordered it to the Defiant's cargo bay, she wanted to catch up with Nog on his progress, and in the meantime update Commander Vaughn.

Ezri had just tapped his combadge to open a channel to the Defiant's Commanding Officer when the turbolift came to an abrupt halt and Gregory Charles stepped in.

Sensing Ezri's apprehension at his presence Gregory offered a small smile.

"So Commander," Gregory said after the turbolift began to move again. Once again Ezri was thankful to the Defiant's small size, it meant turbolift rides were shorter than aboard most Starfleet vessels. She braced herself for the irritating series of identical questions she'd already provided to the Cartwright woman so was caught off guard and a little confused by his choice of question give the story that had just been dropped in his lap.

"Is there any truth to the rumour you weren't supposed to have been joined?"

Ezri didn't answer for a moment, she was still slightly stunned at the question. Stunned at the gall he'd had to ask such a question and stunned that she had no prepared non-committal answer for this question.

Sensing her discomfort Gregory offered a temporary reprieve; "My colleague is covering the arrival of whatever it is... I'm more interested in the people side of things. I really want to do a piece on the lifestyle and general trials and tribulations of your crew."

This made sense to Ezri, which calmed her a little, but it did nothing for her taste for the question. When she still hadn't answered Gregory had the choice of dropping it and moving onto the question or trying a different tack to get an answer.

He chose the latter. Smiling again he pushed; "People back home will want to know what it's like on a deep space mission aboard such a small and ill-equipped ship. It seems these smaller, family-less starships are the future of the fleet, so I guess folk will have to get used to it."

Ezri knew the Defiant wasn't exactly a natural choice for an exploration mission of any kind, in fact being the only out-and-out warship the Federation had ever produced it was probably THE worst choice, she also understood the symbolic significance of this class of ship, and in particular this very ship in heading up this "business as usual" mantra Starfleet was eager to put out.

Thankfully by this time the turbolift had come to a halt on the level Ezri needed, she moved to the exit and sensed Gregory moving with her. Wanting to nip this in the bud immediately she turned on the spot, the proximity of their two faces catching Gregory off-guard and he took a step back.

"Mr. Charles," she began, that Counselor-ish tone back in her voice.

"I understand your angle completely, but we have somewhat of a mystery here and I'm just trying to do my job and could do without the questions."

Gregory's expression was a cocktail of annoyance, disappointment and reverence. It was a strange mix that resulted in him admitting defeat. "Can we schedule a time for an interview perhaps?" he asked, dropping in this line like a mortally wounded soldier unloading the last of his rounds into the man who'd shot him.

Ezri sighed, she'd have to concede here she knew but she'd still put up a fight. "Wouldn't you rarely speak with Commander Vaughn? He is after all; the Captain."

Gregory was shaking his head from the first mention of the Commander's name. "Unfortunately he's even more uncooperative than you, and besides..." Gregory recovered the ground he'd lost when he'd stepped back. "I know the folks back home are particularly interested in your story."

Ezri didn't even want to know what Gregory presumed was her "story" but she assumed he'd gotten access to her Starfleet files, which were public record of course, and found the part of her story that revolved around accidentally receiving a symbiote, transferring to the war-front of Deep Space 9 and then making the bold switch from the Counselling corps to Command.

On reflection it was kindof a neat story she reckoned all of a sudden prideful. With Gregory's comeback win all but in the bag she let his team kick the extra point by saying; "Sure. 20:00 ship time."

Gregory nodded thankfully, "Thank you."

Ezri took the few paces that meant the turbolift doors, which had been waiting for her during the exchange, could finally close. As they did Gregory called after her; "Thank you Commander Dax..."

And he was gone.

Nog and another yellow collared crewman were pouring over the small cylindrical vehicle that had encased their passenger.

"Progress?" Ezri asked startling Nog a little who hadn't even looked up when the cargo bay door's had opened.

"Ah, Ez - Commander Dax," Nog was still a little too familiar, a little too "part of the gang" for Ezri's liking, who's professional outlook at Command and a ship's hierarchy were influenced too heavily by whichever one of her previous hosts had served in hierarchies before.

"We've determined the vessel is of Earth origins."

"How have we established that?" Ezri asked, "Ensign Tenmei said sensors said it was made out of an alloy that has been recorded across numerous Alpha Quadrant worlds.

"That's true," Nog said, his enthusiasm for the job had never waned... besides the once when was just forced to adjust to life with a false leg.

"But the sensors didn't see this."

Nog pulled open the lid of the cylinder, like a funeral director opening a casket's top to reveal a loved one.

He pointed to a sticker stuck to the underside of the hatch that read; "Chronowerx DY-100 Spatial-Nautrical Technologies" in perfect English.

Tapping her combadge Ezri said; "Commander Vaughn, you might want to see this."