• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

produced art and literature." He shook his head. "We weren't always in such reduced circumstances."

Janeway nodded. "I understand."

"It pains me to have to ask this," Rahmin said. "But I have eighty-eight people to care for on-this vessel. If we are to survive much longer, we need food ... medicines. Is there any way you could help us?"

Clearly, Rahmin was a proud man, and it was difficult for him to make the request. Janeway didn't want to make it any harder on him.

"Of course," she told the alien. "Send us a list of your needs and we'll see what we can do."

Rahmin smiled at the captain, though his expression was only a faint echo of her own. "I'm deeply grateful," he said. "If it's not too much to ask ... is there any way you might also spare a small quantity of thorium isotopes? Without it, our systems can't function."

"I think we can arrange that," Janeway responded.

"I'll speak to my chief engineer, B'Elanna Torres."

Rahmin looked as if a weight had been lifted from him. "You can't imagine what this means to us, Captain. Thank you."

And with that, his image blinked out, giving way to that of his vessel.

Janeway looked to the intercom grid in the ceiling. "Bridge to engineering," she said.

B'Elanna was working at a console in engineering, making sure there were no further pressure buildups in the coolant lines, when she noticed a flashing symbol in the corner of her screen. It was a sign that sensor information or other important data was being relayed to her by a bridge officer.

Tapping her keyboard, she accepted the data. An image showed up on her monitor-that of a thin, sickly-looking alien in a dim, almost featureless environment. He was in the middle of a sentence.

". . . assimilated by the Borg over a year ago," the alien related, his voice taut with pain. "We lost everything."

B'Elanna heard the captain ask for details, and she heard the alien supply them. But she was no longer looking at her monitor-not really. The engineer was thinking about Seven of Nine.

After all, that Borg may have been on the vessel that attacked the alien's people. She may have aided in the devastation of the alien's homeworld. And if she hadn't, she had no doubt done the same thing elsewhere.

Seven of Nine was a Borg, a cold-blooded killer. How was it so easy for people to forget that?

Focusing on her monitor again, B'Elanna followed the rest of the captain's conversation with the alien. She learned what kind of race the Borg had assimilated and nearly destroyed-a proud and accomplished one.

"It pains me to have to ask this," the alien said, "but I have eighty-eight people to care for. If we are to survive much longer, we need food ... medicines. Is there any way you could help us?"

Janeway assured him that she would do so. Then the alien made another request-this time, for thoriurnisotopes. The captain said she would have to speak to her chief engineer first.

The alien thanked her. A moment later, his image vanished, replaced by a view of his ship. B'Elanna shuddered at the sight of it. It was a wonder it still functioned.

Then, as she had expected, she received a call from Janeway on the intercom. "Bridge to engineering."

B'Elanna looked up at the ceiling. "Torres here."

And to save time: "I'm aware of what's going on, Captain."

"Good," said Janeway. "Then you know I'd like to help the Caatati in any way we can. Can you and your people come up with the isotopes Rahmin requested?"

B'Elanna thought for a moment. "It might take us a while to modify the intermix ratio to produce thorium, but we should be able to work it out."

"Keep me informed," the captain told her.

B'Elanna assured her that she would do that. Then, glad for the chance to do something productive before the day was over, she got to work.

JANEwAY SAT AT THE HEAD OF THE TABLE rN VOYAGER'S briefing room and watched Rahmin stare at the unblinking stars. The Caatati's expression was a decidedly wistful one.

"They seem so much friendlier here," he remarked. "The stars?" she asked.

Rahmin