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There was an intensity, a determination, about Ezbai that Chakotay had never seen before, and he thought he knew the reason for it.

"This isn't about Tom, is it?" said Chakotay softly. "It's about Khala."

Ezbai nodded jerkily. "It's foolish, but somehow I think that if I work hard to save you and Paris, then someone will be working hard to keep Khala alive until we figure out how to get her back home safely."

Chakotay smiled. "It's not foolish, Ezbai," he said. "It's not foolish at all."

Three hours later, Chakotay, Ezbai, and four others had donned appropriate gear and were striding through the rain forest. The transporter had cut kilometers off their trip, but there was still something called the "no-transport zone" that had to be honored. Chakotay was glad of the supplements the doctor had given him. Even so, he felt weaker than usual, and could not help but wonder how Tom was faring.

For a while, they simply hiked. Sweat pooled beneath their protective gear. Chakotay thought these people, intelligent and advanced as they were, still had a lot to learn about dressing for the tropics. He was not altogether happy with the team Ezbai had been able" to cobble together, but he supposed beggars couldn't be choosers. In particular, he was sorry to see the bigoted Ioni among their number. He had taken a strong and instant dislike to the woman and regretted that she was part of this team. But for the moment, she was silent, keeping her prejudices to herself.

"I've been doing a lot of thinking, Chakotay," said Ezbai quietly. They were some distance ahead of the others, but Ezbai's voice was pitched so that only Chakotay could hear. "About what you said earlier."

"About the division between the Culilann and the Alilann?" said Chakotay in an equally soft voice. The last thing he wanted was for loni to overhear. Hope began to seep through him. Sometimes, all things needed in order to change was one good man, and with all his failings, Ezbai was a good man.

Ezbai nodded, keeping his eyes on the trail. Mud sucked at their boots. "They are the ones who rely on the soil for their food, and yet somehow they've ended up in places where the most extreme weather systems on our planet occur. I don't know how that happened. But I still think we are being tolerant in taking their children, giving mem continued life and homes with loving parents."

From under a large frond, a long muzzle poked. Chakotay caught a glimpse of bright yellow eyes. He blinked, and it was gone. But it had left an answer in his brain.

Now he understood why his subconscious had begun conjuring Coyote. Coyote symbolized something from another culture, a Native American culture, but one in which Chakotay had not been raised. Coyote was not his tribe's totem animal, but that of other Indians, among them a nation called the Navajo. The lesson Chakotay needed to recall was that of the Navajo, of Coyote's people. He could almost sense the spirit creature leaping joyfully as it realized that Chakotay finally understood.

"Yes, you bring them in, and heal them, and feed them, and teach them your culture," he said, choosing his words with care. "And considering the alternative is a cruel death by exposure, I wholeheartedly give you full credit for that. That tells me that you have a great deal of compassion."

Ezbai seemed pleased at the acknowledgment, but also realized that Chakotay had more to say.

"Many years ago, my people were the Culilann," Chakotay continued. "And my planet's version of the Alilann, the Anglos, decided that they wanted to live where the Culilann lived. So they rounded them up and forced them into the least habitable places in the hemisphere. Said these places were 'reserved' for the Culilann, for the Indian. The children were given a way off these reservations, but at a cost. They were forbidden to speak or write in their native tongue, or practice their traditional faith. A whole generation of children from one tribe, the Navajo, was taken from their families and