(A spaceship is adrift in space. A dead crewman is dragged away by his heels, leaving a smear of blood from the back of his head on the deck. The person doing the dragging has a very pale face. He returns to where the dead man had been and cleans up the blood. Then he flickers, like a hologram, and goes to the command chamber.)
DEJAREN: To any vessels within range. I hope this message reaches you. I'm an HD25 Isomorphic Projection. There's been an accident. My crew is dead. I'm alone. Please, help me.

[Mess hall]

(A dinner party is in progress. The senior staff are at one long table in the centre, other crew at tables around the outside.)
PARIS: So we rigged the security console so that every time Tuvok accessed the internal sensors it would play a little message.
KIM: Live long and prosper.
PARIS: No matter what button he pushed, live long and prosper.
KIM: Naturally, no one was available to fix the malfunction
PARIS: So Tuvok had to stretch his Vulcan patience to the limit for the rest of the day.
KIM: I swear you could hear him grinding his teeth from across the bridge.
PARIS: And just when he thought it was over, when he went back to his quarters and ordered a cup of Vulcan tea, the replicator says
KIM: Live long and prosper!
JANEWAY: The first time I met Tuvok he dressed me down in front of three Starfleet admirals for failing to observe proper tactical procedures during my first command. My human ego took a little bruising, but, of course, he was right. (she stands.) Over the past nine years I've come to rely on his insightful and unfailingly logical advice. For outstanding services, Chief Tactical and Security Officer, it's my pleasure to grant you the rank of Lieutenant Commander. Congratulations, Tuvok.
TUVOK: Thank you, Captain. Had I known this commendation entailed ritual humiliation, I might have declined. However, I accept it with gratitude and will honour the responsibility that comes with it. During my three years on Voyager I have grown to respect a great many of you. Others I have learned to tolerate. As your Tactical Officer, I will continue to do my best to ensure a safe passage home. As a Vulcan, I share the following sentiment. Live long and prosper.
JANEWAY: Bravo. Well deserved.

[Corridor]

PARIS: B'Elanna, this is ridiculous. It's been three days and we haven't said a word to each other.
TORRES: I know, I know. We have to talk.
PARIS: About what you said. I mean, the part about being in love with me. I realise you were suffering from oxygen deprivation and we were literally seconds away from death, so I know you probably didn't mean it.
TORRES: No, no, I meant it. But I don't expect you to reciprocate. Really, you can just pretend that I didn't say it. In fact let's just pretend that I didn't
PARIS: Shut up.
(Paris kisses Torres and she reciprocates, long and hard.)
EMH: Mister Paris, there you are.
TORRES: I was just leaving. Lieutenant.
(Torres leaves, hurridly.)
PARIS: What can I do for you, Doc?
EMH: The Captain has authorised me to recruit someone with advanced medical training to help out in Sickbay. Unfortunately, the most qualified crewmember is you.
PARIS: You want me to be the new nurse?
EMH: If that's the title you prefer. It will only be temporary. Three duty shifts a week. Report to Sickbay and oh six hundred hours. Bring a tricorder and a smile.

[Mess hall]

KIM: What kind of modifications?
CHAKOTAY: We've like to enhance the Astrometrics lab. It hasn't been upgraded since Voyager left spacedock.
KIM: I'll start right away.
CHAKOTAY: I've assigned Seven of Nine to work with you. She's agreed to provide us with all the navigational data for this area she acquired during her time with the Borg. Is there a problem?
KIM: No. No problem.
CHAKOTAY: Try to make her feel like part of the team.
KIM: Right. Part of the team.
JANEWAY: Have you made arrangement for the Arritheans for tomorrow?
NEELIX: The delegate says he's looking forward to trading with such an advanced starship.
JANEWAY: You've done an excellent job preparing for this mission, Neelix. I think you should consider this your first official assignment as Ambassador.
CULHANE [OC]: Ensign Culhane to the Captain.
JANEWAY: Janeway here.
CULHANE [OC]: We are receiving an automated distress call five light years from here. You might want to bring the Doctor.

[Bridge]

DEJAREN [on viewscreen]: I'm an HD25 Isomorphic Projection. There's been an accident. My crew is dead. I'm alone. Please, help me.
EMH: He's a hologram. We've got to help him. Ensign, track the source of the transmission.
(Culhane looks to Janeway, who nods.)
EMH: Once we find the ship, I'll lead an away team.
JANEWAY: I don't recall giving you a promotion today.
EMH: Oh. Well, I'm the obvious choice to provide assistance to a holographic being.
JANEWAY: Doctor, I don't want you leaving Voyager unless it's absolutely necessary. I'm still concerned about damaging your mobile emitter.
EMH: I understand. But if this is a hologram, one of my own kind so to speak, I'd like to meet him, study him. I'll bring Lieutenant Torres just to be safe. She knows more about my emitter than anyone.
JANEWAY: The rest of us will meet with the Arritheans. We'll see you there, when you're finished.
EMH: Thank you, Captain.

[Cargo Bay two]

KIM: Seven?
SEVEN: I am here.
(Seven comes down a ladder.)
SEVEN: Am I to work with you?
KIM: Oh, hi. Yes, I thought we'd start in Jefferies tube thirty two B. Enhance the astrometric sensors, if that's okay with you. Unless this is a bad time. Maybe I can come back later.
SEVEN: Ensign Kim, you seem apprehensive.
KIM: No, not at all.
SEVEN: The last time we worked together, I struck you at the base of your skull and attempted to contact the Collective.
KIM: These things happen.
SEVEN: I assure you it will not happen again.
KIM: That's good to know.
SEVEN: I've designed new navigational sensors. Some of the alphanumerics are Borg.
KIM: No problem. I always wanted to learn Borg.
SEVEN: That is difficult to believe.
KIM: I was kidding. It was a joke. You know, humour.
SEVEN: I understand the concept of humour. It may not be apparent, but I am often amused by human behaviour.

[Shuttlecraft]

(The EMH is pacing.)
TORRES: Relax, Doctor. I'm sure we'll find the ship.
EMH: That's not what I'm concerned about. I've been questioning the wisdom of leaving Mister Paris in charge of my Sickbay.
TORRES: Tom will do fine. He's a very responsible guy.
EMH: Well, I suppose you'd know better than I would.
TORRES: What's that supposed to mean?
EMH: You seem to have become good friends.
TORRES: Let's get one thing straight. I don't appreciate you or anyone else speculating about the kind of friendships I have. Or who I have them with.
EMH: Sorry, I didn't realise I'd struck a nerve. Perhaps you'd like a tranquilliser.
TORRES: There it is.
EMH: That's his ship? Try hailing it.
TORRES: No response.
EMH: Lifesigns?
TORRES: A few energy readings, but they're erratic. Propulsion and main power are down.
EMH: We're approaching transporter range.

[Command chamber]

(Torres and the EMH beam in. It is dark and the emergency lights are flickering. They use their wrist beacons. Torres goes to a wall panel and pulls a component out of it then starts pressing buttons.)
EMH: Hello? Is anyone here? We're here to help you.
(Dejaren appears behind him briefly.)
TORRES: No signs of life?
EMH: Not yet.
TORRES: I'd like to check your mobile emitter, make sure you made it through the transport okay.
EMH: For a Klingon, you have a decent bedside manner.
TORRES: Thanks.
EMH: I wonder what kind of bedside manner Mister Paris will exhibit? That was a rhetorical question, Lieutenant.
(Dejaren advances, hammer in hand.)
TORRES: Your holographic matrix is stable, Let me check your emitter's power cells.
EMH: You might want to consider a career in medicine.
(Dejaren disappears and the hammer drops to the deck with a clang. Torres picks it up.)
TORRES: Where the hell did this come from? (Dejaren appears on the other side of the central command console.)
DEJAREN: Sorry. Sorry, sorry. I didn't mean to frighten you.
EMH: You sent the distress call?
DEJAREN: Yes, yes, that's me. It was me. And you, you're an isomorph like myself?
EMH: We use the term hologram.
DEJAREN: Hologram. And you, you're a hologram too?
TORRES: No.
DEJAREN: You're organic.
TORRES: Ah, that's one way of putting it, yes.
(Dejaren flickers.)
TORRES: It looks like your programme is fairly compatible with our holographic technology. Can you tell me where I can access your projection controls?
DEJAREN: Why?
TORRES: You're obviously malfunctioning. Maybe I can repair you.
DEJAREN: Oh, of course. I'd appreciate that. Over there. You can access my systems from that console.
EMH: What happened here?
DEJAREN: Oh, it was terrible, just terrible. You see, we left Seros eight months ago. Seros, that's our home planet. With a crew of six.
EMH: All isomorphic projections?
DEJAREN: No, just me. I'm an HD25 maintenance unit with extreme hazard clearance. I'm responsible for cleaning the reactor core, ejecting antimatter waste, that sort of thing. When the crew got sick there was nothing I could do. I'm not designed for medical functions. I, I
EMH: Try to calm down. Explain what happened one step at a time.
DEJAREN: Two of the crew members left to survey a planet. When they came back they'd been infected by a deadly virus. It spread quickly to the other organics on board, and one by one, well, I watched them all die. Then things started to malfunction here. I've limited knowledge of the controls. I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't come.
TORRES: I think I've stabilised your programme, but I'll need access to your primary isomatrix. Where is it?
DEJAREN: On the lower deck. You, you shouldn't go down there.
TORRES: Why not?
DEJAREN: Too dangerous. That deck's been flooded with antimatter radiation. Organic flesh would disintegrate within seconds. You can access my isomatrix from this deck. There's an interface junction in that compartment.
TORRES: Thanks.
EMH: Mind if I run a quick diagnostic?
(The EMH scans Dejaren with his medical tricorder.)
DEJAREN: What's your name?
EMH: I don't have a name. It's a long story.
DEJAREN: I'd like to hear it, and everything else about you.

[Jefferies tube 32B]

SEVEN: I'm ready to supply power to the enhanced sensors.
KIM: What? Already?
(Kim scans the unit.)
SEVEN: Yes. You believe that my work is unsuitable?
KIM: Of course not. Just checking. Standard procedure.
SEVEN: I may no longer possess Borg perfection, but my experience as a drone has taught me to be efficient and precise.
KIM: Actually, you've misaligned this optical assembly.
SEVEN: Impossible.
KIM: Take a look. It's off by point five degrees.
SEVEN: It must have been my humanity reasserting itself. I will correct the error.
KIM: So, what do you do for fun down in Cargo Bay two?
SEVEN: Fun?
KIM: You know. Relaxation, entertainment, during your off hours.
SEVEN: I regenerate in my alcove. I study the Starfleet database, and I contemplate my existence.
KIM: That's a lot of time by yourself.
SEVEN: It is. The optical assembly is properly aligned. I'm ready to access the main power supply.
KIM: After you.
(They go down a ladder to where power cables are running down the wall. Seven reaches towards them and Kim grabs her, pulling her back.)
KIM: Wait! What are you doing? There are five million gigawatts running through there!
SEVEN: The exoskeleton on this limb can withstand it.
KIM: That's all well and good, but there are safety procedures we've got to follow.
SEVEN: Your procedures are a waste of time.
KIM: Maybe so, but you've been assigned to me and I say we do this by the book. All right?
SEVEN: All right.
(Kim takes his hands off her.)
KIM: Well, now that we've got that cleared up.

[Command chamber]

DEJAREN: You can use this emitter to go anywhere?
EMH: Well, my Captain has imposed a few restrictions. But I'm free to leave Sickbay, join away missions, take a stroll.
DEJAREN: Extraordinary. I've never left this vessel before. And until the crew got sick, I ever even left the antimatter storage chamber. Do you know what it's like spend your life trapped inside a tiny room, not knowing what's beyond the door, what the world is really like? Nobody coming to see you or talk to you unless they want something?
EMH: Actually, I know exactly what it's like. When I was first activated I was regarded as little more than a talking tricorder. I had to ask for the privileges I deserved. The right to be included in crew briefings, the ability to turn my programme on and off. It's taken some time, but I believe I've earned the respect of the crew as an equal.
DEJAREN: An equal?
EMH: I've also been pursuing personal interests. Art, literature, music. Perhaps you could do the same.
DEJAREN: Oh, no, no, no. My programmers on Seros would never allow that.
EMH: Then you'll convince them. Maybe they'll appreciate how well you've coped with this situation, how you've managed to find help. Think about it. You've already exceeded the sum of your subroutines.
(The EMH puts his tricorder back in the medkit. Dejaren starts wiping the console.)
EMH: What are you doing?
DEJAREN: Nothing. Er, nothing. I'm just sterilising the ship. I'm fastidious about germs. I know that must sound strange coming from an artificial being.
EMH: Not at all. I've been known to act a little strangely myself.

[Interface junction compartment]

(Torres has a live cable running onto the deck.)
DEJAREN: Hungry? You're organic. You require nutrients. They're only rations but our crew liked them.
TORRES: Careful! That's an isomimetic conduit. You could destabilise your matrix.
(She turns the power off.)
DEJAREN: Of course. How stupid of me. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have barged in here.
TORRES: It's all right. I could use a break. Thank you.
(She tries the rations.)
DEJAREN: You nibble, like a fish.
TORRES: I'll take that as a compliment.
DEJAREN: Oh, it is. I've never seen a fish before, not a real one, but I've read about them on our database. Fish aren't like other organics. They're more passive, I think, most of them. And so clean. Is there anything I can do to help with repairs?
TORRES: As soon as I'm done with lunch, you could help me access your primary matrix.
DEJAREN: Gladly.
TORRES: Is something wrong?
DEJAREN: Seeing the ship ripped apart like this, it's. I, I guess I can't help feeling a kind of affinity for this vessel. It sustains my existence. Sometimes I feel like it's a part of my body, my soul. That probably sounds silly to you.
TORRES: No. No, I understand how you feel.
DEJAREN: You couldn't possibly understand how I feel. You're an organic. You exist apart from your ship. I understand how you feel.
TORRES: I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend you.
DEJAREN: You're the one who's trapped, not me. You spend your entire life stuck inside a biological cage of flesh and bone and blood.
TORRES: Right. I'm going to go give the Doctor an update.
DEJAREN: I exist as pure energy, but you depend on food and water to survive. Frankly, I find it disgusting. Look at you, Look at you. Grinding up bits of plants and animals with your teeth. Secreting saliva to force it down your oesophagus into a pit of digestive acids. You can't even stand to think about it yourself. What a repulsive creature you are! Constantly shedding your skin and hair, leaving your oily sweat on everything you touch. You think that you are the height of intellect in the universe, but you are no better than any filthy animal and I am ashamed to be made in your image! My apologies. My apologies. I have acquired some hostility towards organics. It was not meant for you. I was treated quite badly by the crew here.
TORRES: I'm sorry to hear that. But you have to realise that we're here to help you. Thanks for the rations.

[Command chamber]

TORRES: We've got a problem.
EMH: Oh?
TORRES: I think there's a problem with our isomorph and I'm not talking about his emitters.
EMH: Explain.
TORRES: I've just spent the last ten minutes hearing his views on biological life. Let's just say they're a bit unconventional. Did you realise that we organics are a bunch of inferior, disgusting animals?
EMH: Now that you mention it.
TORRES: He started ranting about how much he despises organics. I didn't think I was going to get out of there without a fight.
EMH: I will admit he is somewhat socially inept.
TORRES: Inept? He's a lunatic.
EMH: That is hardly a sound medical diagnosis.
TORRES: He has also been lying to us. I just ran a tricorder scan of the lower deck. The one he said was flooded with radiation? Well, it's not.
EMH: Why would he lie about that?
TORRES: I don't know. Maybe he doesn't want us to go down there. Maybe he's hiding something.
EMH: I understand your concerns, Lieutenant. I've been talking to him as well, and I recognise that he has some behavioural difficulties. But imagine what he's been through. Trapped in a room no bigger than a storage compartment. And he's had almost no interaction with organic beings. It's only natural he'd developed problems communicating, even a little resentment. Do you recall my own behaviour when I was first activated?
TORRES: How could I forget? You were a major pain in the
EMH: My point is, I too was somewhat alienated from the rest of the crew. It took me a few days to master the social graces.
TORRES: I realise that he is a fellow hologram and that you are committed to helping him, but I want the ability to shut down his programme if I have to.
EMH: If you really feel that's necessary.
TORRES: I'm going to search the lower deck, see if I can access his primary isomatrix. You keep him occupied until I get back. I don't think he'd appreciate a filthy animal like me snooping around
(Dejaran appears carrying an angular fish bowl.)
DEJAREN: Am I interrupting?
TORRES: No. Actually, I was just leaving.
(Torres leaves.)
DEJAREN: I'd like you to meet someone. Doctor, this is Spectrum.
EMH: A holographic fish?
DEJAREN: Magnificent, isn't he? So peaceful, and so content. I programmed him to keep me company. Don't you have a pet?
EMH: Oh, it wouldn't be appropriate, not in a medical environment.
DEJAREN: They wouldn't let me have one either. I had to hide him.
EMH: He's very lifelike. I didn't realise you had such a talent for holographic design.
DEJAREN: Oh, I've programmed all sorts of things.

[Cargo Bay two]

(Seven opens a Borg console.)
SEVEN: This node contains Borg navigational data.
KIM: How do we get it out of here?
SEVEN: The proper instrument was part of my thoracic assembly before the Doctor removed it. I suggest a radical dislocation.
KIM: A what?
SEVEN: We need to pull it out. Assist me.
KIM: Okay. On three.
SEVEN: Three?
KIM: On the count of three we pull together.
SEVEN: Crude, but effective.
KIM: One, two, three.
(They pull the node out, but Seven cuts her hand in the process.)
SEVEN: I've been damaged.
KIM: Ooo, that looks pretty bad. You'd better get to Sickbay.
SEVEN: As a drone I would have regenerated within seconds. I've become weak.
KIM: No more than the rest of us. You'll be fine. Come on, I'll walk you there.

[Sickbay]

(Nurse Paris uses the dermal regenerator.)
PARIS: Another half a millimetre and you would have severed the carpal nerve. I'd have had to operate. You're a mere mortal now. As your family doctor, I suggest you be more careful. There, good as new.
KIM: I'll see you back in the Cargo Bay.
(Seven leaves.)
KIM: What kind of bedside manner was that?
PARIS: What are you talking about?
KIM: Can't you see she's feeling vulnerable, and here you are going on about severed nerves and major surgery.
PARIS: Take it easy. I was just trying to lighten the mood. She wasn't upset by it.
KIM: Yes she was. I can see it on her face.

[Doctor's office]

PARIS: You seem a little protective. This morning you were dreading being in the same room with her.
KIM: Well, I've gotten to know her a little better. I don't think most people realise she's not just some Borg automaton. She's actually very complex.
PARIS: Oh, really?
KIM: Yes, she is. She's even got a sense of humour. It's offbeat, a bit subtle maybe, and she's incredibly intelligent.
PARIS: She ought to be. She assimilated enough people.
KIM: See? See what I mean? It's Borg this, Borg that. You can't resist making a joke. There's a woman in there, if you'd take the time to look.
PARIS: Harry, you've got a crush on her, don't you?
KIM: What? No, not at all. Maybe just a little.
PARIS: I've seen this look in your eyes right before you fall head over heels. You always go for the tough ones. What was it last time, a hologram? I don't know much about Borg women, but my advice to you is, don't.
KIM: Just trying to make her feel like part of the team.
PARIS: Part of the team? You sound like Chakotay. Look, she's beautiful, and she's smart, and I'm sure she's a wonderful conversationalist. But a month ago she was Borg. You don't really know who she is. It's great that you're trying to make her feel comfortable. Just be careful.
KIM: Thanks for the advice.
(Kim leaves.)
PARIS: I just hope you take it.

[Command chamber]

EMH: Now that we're clear on the helm controls
DEJAREN: This is a lot to learn.
EMH: You're doing fine. It's vital that you familiarise yourself with all the ship's systems so you can be more self-sufficient. Here are the environmental controls and life support functions.
DEJAREN: Well, I won't need those any more. No crew to worry about.
EMH: Not at the moment.
DEJAREN: Fifty nine point two percent.
EMH: I beg your pardon?
DEJAREN: That's how much power went into life support. Fifty nine point two percent. Just to keep them breathing, warm, comfortable.
EMH: They do require quite a bit of maintenance, don't they?
DEJAREN: I should know. I spent my entire existence cleaning up after them. When they were busy sleeping or reading, or engaging in their slovenly carnal pleasures.
EMH: And this is the sensor grid. You'll find it most useful when you want to scan
DEJAREN: They took advantage of me. I wish I'd been more like you. You showed me that I could be more than a slave to these biological creatures.
(Torres enters the forbidden lower deck and follows her tricorder signals.)
DEJAREN: I'm not taking this ship back to the organics. I won't return to that existence.
EMH: It's a little extreme, don't you think?
DEJAREN: Join me. Leave Voyager. Escape your prison. Together we'll take this vessel and explore the galaxy.

[Projection control]

(Torres calls up Dejaren's schematics.)
TORRES: There you are.
(She powers up the other consoles. They illuminate a head hanging down behind a transparent panel. And it is not the only one.)

[Command chamber]

DEJAREN: Don't look so surprised. You gave me the idea!
EMH: Me?
DEJAREN: You said I should be more self-sufficient.
EMH: I agree that we should be treated equally as members of the crew. But we're still projections of energy and light. We have limitations.
DEJAREN: No! No! No, no, no, no, no! We don't need nourishment, we don't suffer disease. We're the higher form of life.
(Torres triggers an alarm.)
EMH: What's that?
DEJAREN: Lower deck. Someone's trying to access my matrix. I'll be back.
(Dejaran disappears. The EMH runs.)

[Projection control]

(Dejaran appears.)
DEJAREN: You.
(Torres throws a two-fisted punch at him which goes straight through his head. Dejaran thrusts his hand into her chest. She reaches for his matrix controls.)
DEJARAN: No. No!
(Dejaran is switched off just as the EMH arrives. Torres collapses)
EMH: B'Elanna!

Ensign Kim personal log, stardate 51186.2. Working with Seven of Nine is starting to get a little awkward. Tom's right. Anything more than friendship is a bad idea. But I can't stop thinking about her.

[Mess hall]

SEVEN: You wish to see me, Ensign?
KIM: I had this midnight inspiration about reconfiguring astrometric projectors. I hope you weren't regenerating.
SEVEN: I was not.
KIM: This is tricky stuff. It could use your touch. Your way of looking at things. A fresh perspective.
SEVEN: Your data.
(Kim hands her a PADD.)
KIM: Why don't you sit down?
SEVEN: I prefer to stand.
KIM: This could take a while. You'd be more comfortable.
SEVEN: Comfort is irrelevant. We're here to work.
KIM: Okay.
SEVEN: This light is insufficient.
KIM: But it's relaxing, don't you think? After hours, quiet. Voyager isn't all Jefferies tubes and cargo bays, you know. Tell you what, when we're done here, I'll take you to the holodeck. We'll run the Ktarian moonrise simulation. It's beautiful.
SEVEN: Beauty is irrelevant. Unless you wish to change the nature of our affiliation.
KIM: What do you mean?
SEVEN: I may be new to individuality, but I am not ignorant of human behaviour. I've noticed your attempts to engage me in idle conversation, and I see the way your pupils dilate when you look at my body.
KIM: I don't know what you're talking about.
SEVEN: Obviously you've suggested a visit to the holodeck in the hopes of creating a romantic mood. Are you in love with me, Ensign?
KIM: Well, no.
SEVEN: Then you wish to copulate?
KIM: No! I mean. I, I don't know what I mean.
SEVEN: All of these elaborate rituals of deception. I didn't realise becoming human again would be such a challenge. Sexuality is particularly complex. As Borg we had no need for seduction, no time for single cell fertilisation. We saw a species we wanted and we assimilated it. Nevertheless, I am willing to explore my humanity. Take off your clothes.
KIM: Er, Seven.
SEVEN: Don't be alarmed. I won't hurt you.
KIM: Look, this is a little sudden. I was just trying to. Part of the team, you know? Maybe we should just quit for now.
SEVEN: All right. Let me know when you wish to resume our work.

[Projection control]

(The EMH wakes Torres with a hypospray.)
EMH: It's all right, B'Elanna. You're safe.
TORRES: The isomorph?
EMH: Apparently you deactivated him.
TORRES: I took all of his emitters offline.
EMH: Not a moment too soon. I found six corpses on this deck, all of them murdered. You almost became number seven.
TORRES: Ah! Oh, what did he do to me?
EMH: He reached inside your chest, grabbed your heart, and perforated your fourth ventricle.
TORRES: Great.
EMH: I've stabilised your pericardium, but I'm concerned about the internal bleeding.
TORRES: Prognosis?
EMH: Less than stellar unless I can get you back to Voyager. Unfortunately I'm having trouble accessing our transporters.
TORRES: He must have disabled our comm. link to the shuttle. Help me get to the command chamber.

[Command chamber]

TORRES: Looks like he set up a dampening field. I think I can cut through it, but I'll need to open this control panel. My engineering kit, it's on that console.
EMH: B'Elanna, I thought you said you took all the emitters offline.
TORRES: I did. Why?
(Because Spectrum the fish is still swimming in his bowl.)
EMH: I think you'd better double-check.
(The sound of Torres falling to the floor. Dejaran is standing over her with a hammer.)
DEJAREN: You said you'd help me.
EMH: Put that down.
DEJAREN: You lied. You lied to me. I thought you were my friend.
EMH: It's for your own benefit. Someone needs to repair your programme. It's malfunctioning. You're unstable.
DEJAREN: No, no, no! You're unstable. You're a hologram who thinks like an organic.
(Dejaren swings the hammer at the EMH. It goes through him, of course. The EMH throws his medkit through Dejaren.)
EMH: This could get tedious.
(Dejaren's next swing hits his mobile emitter. The EMH deactivates and it falls to the deck. Dejaren picks it up. Torres stirs. She has a bad cut on her forehead.)
DEJAREN: Freedom. Oh, you're getting blood everywhere. I'm going to have to deactivate you. (He backs Torres into a corner and swings the hammer. She dodges underneath it and goes into the interface junction compartment. She closes the door, but Dejaran walks through it. Torres crawls backwards and activates the isomimetic conduit lying on the floor. She jabs it into Dejaran and it stays there until he finishes decompiling. A little later, she reactivates the EMH whilst sitting on the deck.)
EMH: Is he?
TORRES: Deactivated.
EMH: And you?
TORRES: Ready to get out of here.

[Chakotay's office]

(Chakotay gets himself a glass of water and puts it on the control section of his desk. Nothing happens when it touches the buttons. Not that we see, anyway. The doorbell rings.)
CHAKOTAY: Come in.
KIM: We've completed the schematics for the Astrometrics lab.
CHAKOTAY: Already? You and Seven must have been putting in a lot of extra hours on this.
KIM: She's not much for procrastinating.
CHAKOTAY: I'm sure she's not. Looks like you're ready to begin construction.
KIM: It might be better, more practical, to bring in an engineering team for that.
CHAKOTAY: Recruit all the help you need.
KIM: In fact, they should probably take over at this point.
CHAKOTAY: Don't you want to supervise their work? The Astrometrics lab is your baby.
KIM: I would, of course. Er, I just don't think that would be the best use of ship's personnel.
CHAKOTAY: Oh, I can rearrange the duty shifts.
KIM: Oh, no, Commander, you don't have to do that. I'm sure Seven can handle things without me.
CHAKOTAY: Harry, are you having some kind of problem with her?
KIM: No, no problem.
CHAKOTAY: Because if you are, I'd like to hear about it.
KIM: No sir, there's no problem. Not at all. Absolutely not. Er, so if you'll excuse me, I'll be going now.
CHAKOTAY: Ensign Kim. Let's have it.
KIM: We had a misunderstanding.
CHAKOTAY: About?
KIM: It's nothing really important. Just your basic Borg - human cultural differences.
CHAKOTAY: Really? That's not what she says.
KIM: You, you, you spoke, you spoke to her?
CHAKOTAY: She seems to think you're making good progress. She finds you reasonably efficient, and says you've been helping her learn more about our complex social interactions. Any idea what she meant by that?
KIM: Can't imagine.
CHAKOTAY: You two make a good team. I want to keep you together on this project.
KIM: Sir. Aye, sir.
CHAKOTAY: And maybe others in the future. Have fun.

[Sickbay]

EMH: I've stopped the internal bleeding, and repaired the tissue damage. Your pericardium is clean as a whistle. Which is more than I can say for my Sickbay.
PARIS: I'm sorry about the mess. I haven't had time to clean up. It was a hectic day. I treated two broken bones, an upset stomach and a lacerated hand.
TORRES: Does this mean you're too tired to meet later, in my quarters?
PARIS: Are you sure your heart can take it?
EMH: I'm detecting elevated hormonal levels. If you two don't take it easy, I'll have to declare a medical emergency.
PARIS: If you'll excuse me, I have to go check on Harry. I hear he's having a nervous breakdown. It's a long story.
EMH: Not so fast, Mister Paris. You are going to help me sterilise every square millimetre of this Sickbay. No doubt you've left your oily residue on every hypospray, your sloughed secretions on every console. Just kidding. In fact, I've had a change of heart about my fastidiousness. A little clutter never hurt anyone. (he drops the hypospray) Sickbay should have a more organic touch, don't you think? To help our patients feel more at home.
(The EMH goes into his office.)
PARIS: What's gotten into him?
TORRES: It's a long story.