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"So Ezbai, do you personally disapprove of the Culilann's way of Me?"

"Of course!" he replied, and inwardly Chakotay flinched. Ezbai said it with pride, as if it was the only right way to feel 1 know how they treat Strangers, and their own malformed children. I know that many of them die from injuries or illnesses that could be cured hi a matter of seconds if they'd only let us help mem. I know they spend their days wasting men* time doing useless things, like making pots and weaving blankets."

"Pots to hold food," Chakotay said gently as they stepped into a turbolift "Blankets to please the eye even as they cover a sick person."

Ezbai looked at him with pity. 'It seems we Recovered you just in time. This happens, sometimes. The aliens live too long among the Culilann. They don't recognize the foolishness of then* ways."

"When there was the division between the Culilann and the Alilann," said Chakotay, "who left whom? Did the Culilann originate in the jungles of mis planet?"

"Well, no," said Ezbai "We lived all over the face of the planet There are temperate regions as well as tropical. We have polar ice caps as well."

A terrible suspicion began to occur to Chakotay. He chose his words carefully. Whatever happened, it certainly hadn't been Ezbai's fault The division had oc-

curred hundreds of years ago. Although perhaps the young Interceptor was at least partially responsible for maintaining the situation.

"Are there still Culilann villages located all over the planet?" he inquired.

The turbolift stopped and they exited. Ezbai led him down yet another corridor that looked exactly like any one of a dozen they had already negotiated.

"Well, not really. They live mostly in the deserts, the ice caps, and along the equator. We have our domed cities in the more temperate areas. This is actually something of a far-flung outpost. We're roughing it here. Thanks to transporter technology, though, nothing's really remote anymore."

"Why do you think someone wants to kill the Culils?" Chakotay asked, abruptly changing the topic.

Ezbai blinked, startled by the bluntness of the question. "Why, you yourself provided the explanation, Chakotay. It's the dark matter."

"You don't think," said Chakotay slowly, turning to look at Ezbai as they walked, "that perhaps this sepa-rateness between your people might have caused some hatred? Has there never been a Culilann uprising, or an attempt to eliminate a village?"

"Well," stammered Ezbai, "of course, but-well, we don't like to talk about that much. I mean, of course the Culils-the smarter ones among them anyway, the ones intelligent enough to realize what they're missing-of course they resent us. Not that we don't stand ready to welcome any of them who want to join us."

"Really?" Chakotay continued to gaze steadily at Ezbai. "Do you really welcome them, as Culilann? Or do you insist that they abandon everything that makes them who they are and embrace only what your culture tells them is right? If a Culilann showed up right here, right now, and wanted to learn Alilann ways, would you let him have a garden?"

"Of course not! What a waste of resources!"

"Or paint. Suppose he said, 'I want to paint a scene of my village's life on this wall.' What would you do?"

"Chakotay, this argument makes no sense!" said Ezbai, and by that Chakotay had his answer. It made him even sadder. He said nothing more and they continued on in awkward silence.

Finally, they reached the medical center. This, too, required negotiating, but after what seemed like an eternity Chakotay was checked in and lying on a diagnostic bed in a large room in which a great deal of activity seemed to be occurring. The light was bright, comparable to sunlight, and the tools, trays, and furnishings sparkled. All spoke of cleanliness and efficiency, of clinical detachment and coldness. And Chakotay thought of the warm affection and nurturing atmosphere of Soliss's hut, and found himself missing it

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