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By Root 480 0

and cornea—though the pupil was large and appeared to be very sensitive, shrinking and growing as the alien turned his head. Wide-set, the eyes were rimmed with thick lashes that would be ideal for keeping out fine particles of grit, leading Janeway to speculate whether the Monorhans had evolved in a turbulent atmosphere. A bulging forehead was framed by thick, curly hair pulled back in a braid over short pointed ears.

Opening his mouth to speak, the Monorhan lifted his head, unfolded a long neck, and ululated, vibrating a long, flexible tongue against his palate. Several seconds passed before the translator caught up and delivered a humming, growling approximation of his speech: “Difficult,” the Monorhan said, the voice low and guttural. “And difficult. Who is your tribe? You appear…Damage…” But the next sentence was lost in a thick buzz and hum.

“Mr. Tuvok,” Janeway asked. “Has the universal translator been damaged?”

“Negative, Captain. However, Monorhan speech is unlike anything we have encountered to date. It may take a few exchanges for the translator to develop algorithms. My advice would be to speak slowly and ask the Monorhan to do the same.”

Janeway glanced briefly at Chakotay, who quirked an eyebrow at her. His look said, Interesting, and she could not disagree. Aware that she frequently spoke at a very rapid pace, the captain took a deep breath and, in measured tones, said, “My name is Kathryn Janeway and I am captain of this vessel, which we call Voyager.” She briefly pondered whether she should introduce the subject of the Federation and their long journey home, but decided that this was a topic better left for when the translator was up to speed. “The near collision was unintentional. Was anyone on your vessel injured? Can we offer aid?” Though, truly, if even a small percentage of the Monorhan’s crew or passengers were injured, how would Voyager be able to help them? Still, Janeway was convinced that the accident had done more damage to the aliens than to her crew. If she could offer any kind of restitution, she was ethically bound to do so.

The Monorhan tilted his head and narrowed his eyes as if concentrating. Finally, several seconds after the captain finished speaking, the alien spoke again, tongue and palate clicking. The translator labored, then produced its best approximation: “Ziv, my name. Captain? Yes. Vessel is…. Casualties? No. You?”

Deciding that the last question concerned casualties, Janeway said, “No casualties.” At least, no fatalities.

In response, Ziv spoke rapidly. “Good,” the Monorhan said. “Relief. This ship…” Several thrums and clicks later, Ziv held his meaty hands wide apart, then pointed at Janeway. “Your ship…” Then, he held up two narrowly parted fingers.

Janeway smiled, then nodded. Ziv had no way to know that with her shields up, even moving at sublight speed, Voyager would have left a very large hole in one side of his main hull, and a second, much larger one in the other.

Beside her, Chakotay cleared his throat and pointed at the upper right-hand corner of the main viewer. He had opened up a second window and had posted data collected by the sensors. Skimming the statistics, Janeway quickly realized what her first officer wanted her to see. “Captain Ziv,” she continued. “Our scans indicate your ship has been stationary for at least the past several hours. Is that correct?”

Ziv nodded. “We began having engine problems later yesterday and have been trying to diagnose its trouble….” Behind him, at least two other Monorhans began speaking in rapid pops and clicks. The translator’s buffer was overwhelmed, and several seconds passed before Janeway could make sense out of what anyone was saying.

Pupils dilated, Ziv barked a sharp command, and the voices abruptly fell silent. Twisting his neck from side to side, his ears flattened against his head, Ziv murmured, “My apologies, Captain. My crew is…frustrated. Our engines are not functioning as we expected.”

“Neither are ours,” Janeway said. “We believe it may be the nature of space in