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“A forcefield of some kind,” Shet said.

“But so well-modulated. No distortion effect at all. And look how close we are to the hull.”

“Impressive. Frighteningly impressive.” The hull was made of metal—Ziv could see the seams between the plates—but the surface was smooth and, in sharp contrast to the hull of the transport, unpitted by any kind of micrometeor strikes. Who are these strangers? he wondered. And why, with such marvels at their command, have they stopped here? Simply to aid us? Ziv hated to admit it, but he did not believe in altruism.

“Locked on to their beacon,” Jara said. Pressing a final series of controls, he pushed himself away from the console, saying, “Surrendering the conn.” The shuttle bounced once, like a wagon rolling over a bump, and the engine’s hum faded.

The launch bay doors of the strangers’ ship loomed in their viewport. Moments later, a thin crack appeared at their center and the doors parted. A bright blue light surrounded the opening and, despite himself, Ziv gasped when he realized that in addition to the expected ships and machinery within the cavernous space, he was also looking at five tall, lanky beings, none of whom seemed in the least fretful that they were exposed to hard vacuum.

Diro said, “An atmospheric forcefield…”

Ziv relaxed back into his chair. Of course.

“Incredible.” Shet, normally very difficult to impress, was leaning out over the control panel to get an arm’s-length-closer look. “Such control! And it must be permeable to allow ships to pass without compromising the atmosphere.”

Unable to fight off the urge, Ziv flinched as their craft’s nose touched the blue field.

“Think of what we can learn from them!” Diro whispered.

“Best not to speak of such things,” Ziv said. “Best not to hope too much.” He spoke these words knowing that they were wise and sensible, that he was fulfilling his role as the leader of the hara and the captain of his vessel. Deeper in, down past wisdom and common sense, Ziv was shouting to a god he was no longer certain he trusted, Do not make a fool of me! Do not let me hope too much!

The moment the Monorhans stepped from their vessel, Neelix was struck by how different they were from any species Voyager had encountered. Though shorter than an average human (most of whom Neelix had to look up at), the Monorhans were half again as wide at the shoulders, with torsos that tapered down into narrow hips. Their arms were quite long in comparison with their legs and so thickly muscled that he was not in the least surprised when the first one to exit the hatch leaned forward and rested his gigantic hands on the deck.

“Gorillas,” Chakotay whispered behind him.

“What?” Neelix asked.

“Sorry. Terran primate species. They’re built like that: short, but broad.” He clenched his fist and flexed his upper arm. “Powerful. They nearly became extinct.”

“Interesting,” Neelix said, and meant it. He considered asking “How did that happen?” but bit his tongue. Humans tended to be sensitive about this kind of thing and he made a small, cryptic note on his padd to look up the topic on the library computer at a less busy moment.

As soon as the five Monorhans were clear of their ship, they arranged themselves into a wedge with their leader at the point, then shifted their weight so their heads were held high, shoulders back, eyes forward. They were, Neelix decided, standing at attention. While moving, they held their heads close to their shoulders, but as soon as the leader had settled into place, he relaxed, revealing a neck longer than Neelix was expecting.

Their baggy uniforms were drab and utilitarian, each one distinguishable only by strips of color around the forearms and small metallic squares on the collars, which Neelix decided were rank insignia. The leader—Ziv, according to Tuvok’s report—also wore a thin scarf around his shoulders, though Neelix judged that this had nothing to do with his military service. An indication of religious affiliation, perhaps? Neelix made a note on