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"All communications have been severed," the ops officer told her. "Massive interference. I'll keep trying on all frequencies."

"Do that Janeway to R'Mor."

"R'Mor here," came the Romulan's voice.

"We've just lost all communications with the scoutship. I think they might be hi trouble. I'm assuming you know your way around a scoutship?"

"It's been years since I piloted anything but the Talvath, and these ships do have a new design, but I certainly could be of assistance."

"Then get to the transporter room immediately," Janeway ordered, realizing just how far she was trusting this man from a race to which the Federa-

i ion had long been hostile. She'd let him move freely about the ship, without a guard, had given him access to the computer system, and now was trusting that he would transport over to a vessel he knew better than they without attempting to escape.

But, as he had said when they first beamed him aboard, where could he go? He was a man out of time, twenty years and several thousand light-years from home. And he needed this cure as desperately as they did.

The unsettling thought that Telek might take the scoutship and use it to reach the Shepherd planet before they could crossed her mind, but she had to risk it. She had no idea what was going on aboard that scoutship. Chakotay and Yorik could be dying. The only one who could help them was Telek R'Mor.

The air was beginning to grow cold. It would be a while before the remaining air was exhausted, but Chakotay knew they had to get life-support reestablished as soon as possible. With only his wristlight for illumination, Chakotay stumbled toward the fallen figure of the Vulcan.

"Yorik! Are you all right?"

"That depends on the definition," said Yorik, his voice as smooth and cool as ever. Chakotay winced when he saw the face Yorik turned up to him. He was badly burned. "I can function; however, I am quite blind. I regret that I can no longer be of assistance."

Chakotay bit his lip. "Don't worry about it," he said. "I'll handle this just fine on my own."

Vorik's sharp ears must have detected the sound of Chakotay rumbling with the emergency medkit. 'Commander, my situation is not life threatening. I have every reason to believe that the Doctor will be able to restore my eyesight and repair any dermal damage. I am assuming that we have lost life-support functions and perhaps other systems as well. That should be your first priority, and I should not hamper you in attending to it. I am presently, I fear, hi your way. If you could assist me... I can walk, but-"

"Of course." Chakotay bent down and helped Yorik stumble to his feet. He walked him a few steps away and eased him down against a bulkhead.

At that moment, he heard the familiar sound of the transporter. He turned, phaser at the ready in case the person who materialized was foe instead of friend.

'Telek R'Mor," he said, suddenly wondering into which definition the Romulan fit.

"Captain Janeway sent me to see if I could be of help," said R'Mor. "What happened?"

He was already activating his tricorder as Chakotay described the series of events. With an ease born of familiarity, Telek stepped up to the console. He swore softly.

"Commander, assist me. We must hurry."

Chakotay moved in smoothly beside him. Speak-ing quickly, Telek instructed him on how to repair the communications grid. He himself concentrated on the life-support systems and righting systems. Both of them were flat on their backs beneath the Romulan vessel's console. Chakotay was not unfa-

miliar with jury-rigging alien equipment, and he found that the Romulans were as logical as the Vulcans when it came to their setup. Everything was organized with an eye to efficiency, and it wasn't long before Chakotay got the knack of what went where. After that, it was just a question of opening panels and adjusting.

A soft whir came from where Telek was working, and a blue light filled the cabin. Chakotay's lungs heaved, and he gratefully gulped