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By Root 623 0

us," said Chakotay. "We did not realize we were trespassing on your holy place." As he spoke, he was sizing her up. She was obviously from Khala's race, but there was no indication on her person that she was from an advanced civilization: no communication devices, no weapons that he could see. Nothing about the building-temple of some sort, he now supposed it to be-gave any hint that this was a post-warp-technology civilization. Until they knew for certain, the Prime Directive would have to be in full force. Khala might be from an advanced civilization, but not every cluster of people on every planet progressed at the same pace.

The woman's eyes narrowed. "You are wounded."

"Yes. We require attention, especially my friend. His arm is broken. Is there a... a healer among you?"

The woman gathered the basket closer to her, putting up a barrier between herself and them. "You are Strangers, of a sort with which we are unfamiliar. How did you get here?"

"It's a very long story," said Paris before Chakotay could interrupt. He smiled, charmingly. "Please... could you help us?"

The woman straightened. "You are Strangers," she repeated. "I am not permitted to interact with you. I have already done too much and will need to be purged of my transgression. Wait here. I will send someone."

Without another word, she turned and strode toward the building. They watched her go.

"Friendly sort," said Paris. "Makes Khala seem positively gushy."

"Yes," said Chakotay, not really paying attention. "She is definitely of Khala's species."

"Do we wait?"

"Unless you want me to set that broken arm myself, we wait," said Chakotay.

They had waited, foolishly. And men armed with clubs and scythes and spears had come and herded them into the village. In the center of the market square there had been a pit. A pit Chakotay had come to know all too well.

Now, as he stood still openmouthed, awaiting the foul-tasting rainwater, he wished with all his heart that he had fled with Tom. Even his second-year Academy training would have set the arm and kept it clean. In a world where five minutes with the Doctor cured broken bones, lacerations, even disease, Chakotay was now vividly reminded of how fragile the human body could be. It had its wonders, too, its miracles of healing, but only so much could be done in a filthy, muddy pit. He did not say so to Tom, and did not want to admit it to himself, but he was growing fearful for his companion's life.

When the rain stopped, there was nearly a third of a meter of mud in the pit Nonetheless, Chakotay guided Tom down with him and drew then- injured bodies close. Warmth, muddy and smelly as it was, was warmth, and right now their chilled bodies needed it.

Impossibly, they fell asleep. Chakotay woke to bright sun streaming in, its light unbroken by the patterning of the grate. Blinking, he stared upward. Someone's head was silhouetted against the blue sky.

"Your Ordeal is over," said Soliss. "For the Grafters' sakes, come out and let me treat you."

CHAPTER

5

As HARRY KIM TOOK KHALA ON A TOUR OF THE SHIP, he couldn't stop thinking about her. Specifically, about her DNA.

How could Khala look so ordinary? She was perfectly humanoid, almost exactly formed like a human save for that beautiful blue that tinted to various degrees hair, skin, and eyes. And yet, she was almost a mirror image of "humanoid" as they understood it. She was one of the most... alien aliens they had ever met. He couldn't reconcile what he knew about her with the woman he saw, her face animated and curious, her voice soft and pleasant.

And she was smart, too. Her questions indicated a thorough familiarity with all of the physics upon

which Federation technology was based. At one point, when he was explaining to her how the bioneural gel packs worked, she exclaimed, "How quaint!" before clapping a hand to her mouth and apologizing.

"Harry, I'm so sorry. I seem to be offending you with every word I say."

"Not at all," he said, and meant it