To Dylan, of course, there's no point of comparison, not really. Of course, there were worlds and races outside the Commonwealth, but he'd always been immersed in it, because he was from its heart -- Tarn-Vedra, home of the Vedrans, capital of the Commonwealth, home of the High Guard. Tarn-Vedra, the lost planet that now seems little more than a myth to the people of the Long Night. Tarn-Vedra, where the streets were so steeped in the history of the Commonwealth and its peoples that it was impossible not to love that world for the curious, idealistic young Dylan.

The smile he gives Lieutenant Bashir's raised mug is small, sad at the edges, his grief for the loss of the world he'd known haunting his eyes.

"I'd be happy to tell you more, but it doesn't have a happy ending." Not yet. "The Commonwealth fell. It took two years for a civil war to tear it all apart. That was three hundred years ago. My crew and I are trying to rebuild it. And," he continues, his smile wry, "it's quite a mission. So anything about the Federation that could help would be very valuable."

Because here, in another reality, thousands of years ago, there's something like it, something new in comparison, small in comparison.

Something like what Dylan and the Andromeda are trying to build from the ashes of the Commonwealth.

"My ship and I are the only survivors of the High Guard."