He had hated it at first.
All he'd wanted to do was test his theory, hopefully make a breakthrough in spaceflight and pave the way for the next step in humanity achieving interstellar travel. Go big or go home.
Oh, he'd gone big all right.
Big as in finding himself stuck on the ass end of the universe, surrounded by alleged felons on the run and falsely accused of murder himself. Once he realized there was no getting back, he had resigned himself to his fate.
He'd spent every waking arn wishing himself back home, longing to fall asleep and wake up on Earth—to see his family, DK and all his fellow humans instead of alien faces, alien worlds and the bizarre contours of Moya's corridors and chambers. His life had deteriorated into a damned mess of running, hiding and watching his back—and he was heartily sick of it.
But despite the chaos and hell of the past cycles, he had grown to accept his lot. Life out in the Uncharted Territories had allowed him to see more of the universe than he'd ever thought possible. Sure, he had made dangerous enemies, but he had also made great friends—and had even found love.
Four cycles ago, he had hated mornings. Mornings were a reminder that he was still so far from home that there was never any chance of returning. But now, he was content to witness little D delight in new discoveries, whether it was the view of a nebula from Moya's terrace or the nearest DRD cruising past his foot, to watch his wife sleep in his arms, to explore whatever strange new worlds lay ahead and truly go where no human had gone before him.
This was where he belonged.