"Nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you, too. I've been told you can help me."

"I'll try. I have only been experimenting with this time travel stuff. I'm not even sure it will ever work."

"I'm here. This is not my time. Clearly, it works."

"How did you find me?"

"Not easily. What the hell...?"

. . .

"Fuck!"

"I know."

"What the hell happened?"

"Explosion, something. Is this you?"

"Yes."

"Hold on to me, okay?"

"I'll try."

. . .

"I don't like the taste of blood in my mouth."

. . .

"God, you saved my life."

"Don't thank me yet, there's 20 tons of rubble on top of us."

"You think?"

"At least."

"What made you... react like that?"

"Instinct? Something. I thought I saw... it looked like somebody throwing a grenade. Do you know what that is?"

"No."

"It's something they use in wars and stuff. An explosive devise, it's shaped like a corn. Sort of. I suppose they don't exist anymore in your time. Anyway, that's what it looked like."

"I guess you were right."

"Maybe. Does it matter? We're here now."

"Can you see anything?"

"No, it's too dark."

"I was just wondering if I still have legs. I can't feel them."

. . .

"You're the Captain, they'll come looking for you, right?"

"Probably."

"Can you still feel any of your limbs?"

"I don't think so. You?"

"No."

. . .

"Is it me or is it getting hard to breathe in here?"

"I think it's you."

"Are... you... sure...?"

"Calm down, you're panicking."

"Breathe, dammit!"

. . .

"Kathryn? Are you still with me?"

"Kathryn?"

"Yes."

"You have to speak to me, okay?"

"I'll try. It's not so easy."

"I know, but it's all we've got right now. Are you in pain?"

"Not anymore. I'm tired."

"Tell me a story."

"What?"

"A story. Something that happened to you. I'm sure you have plenty of stories to tell."

"I'm not in a story-telling kind of mood."

"Don't matter. Tell me anyway."

"I'll tell you about Seven of Nine."

"What's that?"

"Not what, who. She's a person. I hope somebody will take care of her now. I don't think she'll..."

"Kathryn! We're not dead yet."

"Might as well be."

"Don't say that."

"I don't think I'll ever walk again, for one."

"Please stop. You were going to tell me about this number girl."

"Seven of Nine."

"Right. Whatever. Just tell your story."

"It will not make sense to you, because there'll be all these things that you've never heard of. But I need you to just shut up and listen and don't ask questions. Okay?"

"Yeah."

"Okay."

. . .

"Kathryn?"

. . .

"She was only six when the Borg took her. And they raised her and stripped her off her freedom, her personality, her feelings and emotions. And that's what I wanted to give her back, but I don't think she wanted it back. It was too hard for her at first. But after a while she came to accept it, I think."

"She is so special, you know. And beautiful. And vulnerable... I was taking care of her, you know? Making sure she'd experience all that humanity has to offer. Making sure that others wouldn't hurt her, I mean *her*, her being, her person. The little girl inside."

"Are you in love with her?"

"Maybe, I don't know. She's not ready for that, anyway."

"That's too bad."

"Yes, because now I'll die and what if nobody tells her about love when she's ready..."

"Kathryn..."

"Yes, that's right, we'll die down here. Nobody will come and find us. We'll die down here."

. . .

"Erin?"

"Erin!"

"What?"

"I said, we'll die down here."

"I heard. What you said."

"You're supposed to tell me we don't know if we'll die, you're supposed to tell me they'll find us. You're supposed to tell me to stop talking like that, you're supposed to tell me to tell you a story. Remember?"

"Maybe I'm not so sure anymore."

. . .

"How long has it been you think?"

"I don't know. Hours, days, weeks. I don't know."

"Not weeks, we'd be dead."

"Aren't we?"

"I don't know."

"You sound funny."

"Sorry."

"Faint, you know."

"Hmmm."

"Erin?"

. . .

"Erin? Shit. Erin?"

. . .

"Erin?"

. . .