"So, is he actually from 1947?"

This question was currently being voiced by the ship's first officer in a mildly concerned and incredulous tone. The assembled officers glanced uncertainly around the table, not entirely sure what to make of this situation in general. The Captain had called the senior staff and bridge crew in for a conference to discuss what was to be done with their new guest.

"It… appears so," Janeway sighed. She gestured to her Security Chief. "According to what Mr. Beilschmidt shared with Mr. Tuvok and myself, he was not genetically enhanced."

"Or he simply does not recall such an event happening," Tuvok put in. Janeway nodded in acknowledgement.

"So - what?" Torres spoke up. "He was born that way? That seems pretty unlikely, if you ask me. Especially in a pre-space-faring society. "

"Doctor?" Chakotay glanced over to where the hologram was seated, unusually quiet. "You examined the man. What did you make of his physiology?"

"Well…" The Doctor hesitated. "It's… odd. Most of his life signs match our previous records of genetically enhanced humans, specifically those from the Eugenics Wars. However, in many other areas, there are stark differences."

"Explain," Seven demanded in a rising show of interest.

The Doctor frowned. "Well, for one, I took a sample of his blood. I ran some rather extensive tests on it. His genetic material is clearly not that of a naturally born human's. But even at the most basic level of his DNA, there is absolutely no sign of any genetic tampering whatsoever." The hologram gave a rather annoyed shrug. "I'm currently studying the results, but conclusive evidence will take time to gather."

"So we know he's not really human," Kim interjected hesitantly for the first time. "But I think the real question is: what are we going to do with him?"

The phrase hung heavy in the as everyone solemnly thought that over.

"Harry's right." That was Paris. The man shrugged, looking around the room. "It's not exactly like we have starbase conveniently on hand. He's going to be here for a long time. So, what? We pull another Suder, confine him to quarters indefinitely?"

"No." Janeway disagreed vehemently. "Crewman Suder was a unique case. Mr. Beilschmidt, other than his initial actions, has not shown any ill intent towards the crew."

"And it was understandable, the way he reacted," Chakotay admitted. "Any of us would probably have done something similar in his situation."

"But that doesn't change the fact that he clearly has the abilities to do some serious damage!" Torres burst out. She rapped her knuckles impatiently on the smooth surface of the table. "What if he tries something else?"

"Are you suggested that we keep Mr. Beilschmidt permanently confined?" Tuvok asked skeptically. Torres groaned, leaning back in her chair.

"No," the half-Klingon conceded. "I just think we need to be careful with this guy."

"Maybe a solution would be to give him a sort of… probation period."

Everyone present turned to look at the former Borg drone. Seven, who had been mostly quiet so far, had her head tilted thoughtfully in contemplation.

"Locked quarters after certain hours, restricted access to vital areas of the ship, a communicator to keep track of his whereabouts at all times, but otherwise a reasonable amount of freedom may be an acceptable place to start," she continued.

There was a general air of agreement from the rest of the room. Janeway was slowly nodding, considering the outcomes.

"It is clear that it would be illogical to keep Mr. Beilschmidt from becoming a part of the crew. He is here, and we cannot prevent him from interacting with us." Seven lifted an eyebrow, glancing at Janeway. "Perhaps we should give him a chance to prove himself."

"That's definitely better than locking him up for a few years," Paris muttered, half to himself. Kim elbowed him in the ribs, ignoring the grumble of protest from the pilot.

"I agree, Mr. Paris," Janeway said suddenly, to the man's embarrassed chagrin. "We should try to get along with our newest member as well as possible. B'Elanna, Seven, Tuvok-" the named crewmembers respectively nodded or blinked in acknowledgement. The Captain tapped her fingertip decisively on the duraplast tabletop as she gave her order. "Make the necessary arrangements."

Gilbert was bored. Sure, he had spent time in cells before, and this one was actually fairly cushy compared to most that he had been in, but it was still a prison. And this Prussian did not do particularly well with being confined for any period of time.

Besides… with no other option but to sit and wait, Gilbert's thoughts dwelled on other, darker, things.

Four hundred years. It had been four hundred years and he hadn't seen any of it. Just, gone. Being a nation did not mean that he was immune to the passage of time and Gilbert felt every second of those lost years weighing heavily on his mind. The dull ache in his chest had grown, and painfully sat where his heart lay. He knew what it meant. With no land, no people- he was dying. Right now he was just a remnant of the past, somehow still clinging to existence.

Gilbert groaned and smacked his head gently against the wall. "What am I doing?" he grumbled under his breath. "I get into one stupid situation and look at me." He pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation. "I'm practically having an existential crisis over here."

The nation's gaze flicked upwards to the guard outside his cell, reminding by his own ramblings that he was not alone in the room. The man wore the same black and colored jumpsuit that he had seen most everyone else wearing, the yellow on the shoulders plus the addition of a – what, laser pistol? – leading Gilbert to assume that he was part of the security detail on board the ship. If it weren't for the subtle nose ridges and funny feeling he gave off, the man would have passed for human.

The man looked about as bored as Gilbert felt, and the nation didn't blame him. Guard duty was universally terrible.

Both men momentarily brightened as the automatic doors off to the side swished open for the first time in a couple hours.

"Neelix!" the guard exclaimed, sounding grateful for the break in the monotony. "What brings you down here?"

Gilbert flinched at the new alien feeling that swept over him. The colorful person in question smiled cheerfully at the guard, adjusting the tray he was carrying. The nation recognized him with a start. It was the alien with the frying pan.

"Crewman Lotan, how nice to see you!" Neelix nodded an exuberant greeting. "Commander Tuvok said that our new guest would require something to eat, so I decided to bring this down myself."

The crewmember glanced down at the steaming tray, then over at Gilbert sitting impassively in his cell. After a bemused moment, he shrugged and sent a pointed look over at the nation.

Please don't try anything, the look clearly said. Gilbert rolled his eyes. He'd already agreed, but apparently he was still a person worthy of suspicion.

He couldn't say he blamed them.

The shimmering field across the front of the cell went down in a few seconds, and Neelix nonchalantly joined Gilbert.

Sitting down beside the mildly perplexed nation, the alien threw him a wide grin and extended the tray to him. Gilbert stared blankly at the tray before accepting it and settling it on his lap absentmindedly.

"It's nice to properly meet you," Neelix greeted, offering a hand to shake that Gilbert hesitantly considered. He accepted to cut the awkwardness, noting the warmer temperature the other's skin carried. "I'm Neelix, the ship's moral officer."

"Gilbert Beilschmidt, though I'm sure you already knew that." Gilbert glanced down. "What's this?" He nudged the lid off of the utilitarian bowl standing in the center of the tray. A fresh cloud of steam puffed up and he blinked in surprise at the scent. "Potato soup?"

"It certainly is," the alien affirmed as the nation picked up the spoon. "I made some for Mr. Kim and Mr. Paris, so now you get to enjoy it as well." Neelix leaned a little closer, humorously intense. "German food seems to be very popular with the crew, even for those with less… refined palates. Even Mr. Tuvok tried some!"

Gilbert couldn't help but grin. "Good to see that spacemen still appreciate fine cuisine." He tasted a spoonful, and was pleasantly surprised to find that indeed, it did taste like potato soup. There was a different tang in the flavor that he couldn't place, but other than that, he could have sworn he was back home for a brief moment. Discovering a roll of bread on his plate, he starting eating that, scrutinizing his seatmate while he did so.

He was certainly a colorful individual.

"Neelix- what are you?" he asked after swallowing a mouthful. His eyes swept over the other, focusing on the spots and plumes. "Are there more of… your people on this ship?" He frowned. "And how many people are on this ship? Voyager, was it?"

Neelix looked surprise and pleased by the inquiry. "I am a Talaxian," he said, placing a proud hand on his chest. "I'm the only one on Voyager, but I joined their crew after they became lost in the Delta Quadrant." He tapped his nose. "I'm currently helping them get home! There are…" Neelix pursed his lips as he mentally counted. "Maybe a hundred fifty life forms aboard? Mostly humans, but we've got Bajorans, Vulcans, Andorians…"

Gilbert narrowed his eyes, thinking, as Neelix continued his list. This ship had a definite military feel, that much he had garnered from the title "Starfleet." Neelix was clearly a civilian. And at least one child on board?

Voyager was further away from Earth than he thought.

Hi. I'm not dead. Though not for lack of trying.

Depression sucks.

This is an in-between chapter so I can work myself back into actually writing this story again. I'm also going to go back to my previous chapters and fix all the stupid mistakes. If you see any (I already caught all the German ones, so I'm good there I know what I need to do), please tell me. It makes my job a bit easier.

Oh, and thanks to the Guest that literally just told me to update. I needed that. *thumbs up*