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"Oh, I'm sorry," she said. "You're closing up." She turned as if to leave.

"Kitchen's always open for hungry bellies," said

Neelix. "Especially for you, because the replicator's available twenty-four hours a day. What can I get you?" He hastened over to the replicator and stood poised, ready to ask the computer to prepare his visitor whatever her stomach desired.

"That's just it," said Khala. "I don't want replicated food." She looked miserable, and the words came out slowly, reluctantly.

Neelix stared. "I'm sorry? You say you don't want replicator food?"

"Yes," she said in a whisper.

"You... you want me to cook something for you?"

She nodded. She looked as if she were about to be sick.

"Are you sure?" Neelix couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"Yes, I'm sure." She took a deep, shuddering breath and sat down at the counter. Khala sat erect, her hands folded in front of her. Neelix thought she looked like someone bracing herself for a painful interrogation session. "I want cooked food."

He wanted to pat her on the shoulder and reassure her it wouldn't be that bad. Some of his dishes weren't all that popular with the crew, but he had been chef aboard Voyager long enough to figure out what they liked. But for Khala, it probably would be pretty bad. He recalled her first experience with the tomato, how she had enjoyed the taste until she remembered what it was. He suspected they would be in for more of the same tonight.

Nonetheless, he was not about to turn down the request. He'd stay up all night if she wanted him to,

the brave girl. He scurried back behind the counter, donning his apron and chef's hat with a sense of importance.

"What would you like, my dear?" he said very gently, patting her hand.

"I don't know."

"Well, what have you enjoyed in the past?"

Haltingly, she listed some of the foods she'd replicated and liked. Neelix was impressed with her range. Unfortunately, he.did not have the materials for anything she cited on hand.

"Why don't we start with something simple," he said. "I'll make you a roast yruss sandwich."

She nodded glumly, resigned to her fate. He explained that he had baked the bread fresh that afternoon, that the spread was made from roasted mashed roots mat the crew had reportedly found very tasty, that the meat was very similar to something called "beef," that the lettuce was grown in the aeroponics bay and had been picked only a few hours ago.

He might have been talking to himself. Khala was lost in thought, nodding slightly from time to time, sometimes at the wrong things. Neelix knew people too well to be offended by her lack of attention. Something was really troubling this poor girl.

He carefully cut the sandwich in two, poured a glass of ice water, and set the meal in front of her.

"Bon appetit," he said.

She stared at the sandwich as if it were something that might bite back. Finally, she took a deep breath and picked up a half.

Neelix found himself leaning forward as Khala

brought the sandwich to her mouth, opened her blue lips, bit down, and chewed. With an effort, she swallowed.

And the bite came right back up.

She spat it into her napkin and began to cry. "I'm sorry, Neelix," she sobbed.

"Oh, honey," he soothed, rushing around the counter to hug her cautiously. "It's all right, you don't have to eat it if you don't want to."

"But I do!" she wailed, giving full vent to her heartache now. She leaned into Neelix's comforting arms. "I do! I have to learn to like grown food and... and art and music-I have to!"

"Now, now," said Neelix, patting her back awkwardly. "I'm sure that's not captain's orders."

She drew back, dabbing at her eyes with her napkin. She laughed shakily. "No, it's not. But it might just as well be."

Very gently, with great sympathy, Neelix said softly, "It's Ensign Kim, isn't it?"

She nodded. Fresh tears filled her eyes and trickled down her blue cheeks. "I hurt him so badly the other day. He played his clar-cluri-"