Kim and Torres followed Diga out into the main passage of the building. Kim saw the light grow brighter and wondered if they were going to eat outside. A little fresh air would no doubt do the both of them some good. But when they reached the end of the passage, there was no sunlight to be found. In fact, it was something more incredible.
"We're underground!" said Kim, staring up at the almost inscrutable ceiling. From it hung what seemed be glowing stalactites. They glowed nearly as bright as daylight, illuminating the vast city below. Houses and business, carved out of the rock they stood on, stacked on top of each other, rose in columns to join with the roof. Several bridges and walkways crossed back and forth between them, connecting them together. Diga led them down flight after flight of stairs until they were nearly at the bottom of the massive cave. At the actual bottom ran a crystal clear river. Water wheels and aqueducts channeled the water to various points throughout the city. Kim couldn't help but marvel at it all. It had never occurred to him that places like this might actually exist outside fairy tales.
"[Yes, our society has lived here for over five hundred generations,]" said Diga.
"But before that, you lived on the surface?" asked Torres.
"[Until the Desolation came,]" said Diga, with something like longing in his voice.
"The desolation?" said Kim
"[We shared the island with another tribe, with whom we were continually fighting,]" said Diga. "[When all the plants on the surface began to die, we found we couldn't grow food. The other tribe though we stole their crops and attacked in even greater numbers, trying to find our supplies. Then the Caretaker came and saved us from them. He built this city for us and he's been our protector and provider ever since.]"
He led them to the head of a line where some kind of shapeless, colorless glop was being served. The other people in line stared at them with open curiosity. Kim stared right back. They gestured and pointed without saying a word and he remembered Diga's psionic communications. It was like being at a social gathering, only without anyone saying a single word.
"[Oh, please forgive them,]" he said. "[They know you've come from the Caretaker. None of us has ever seen him.]" He took two bowls and passed them to the pair. Kim sniffed at it without enthusiasm. He'd seen better-prepared dog food.
Diga must have noticed. "[It might not be what you're used to, but it's exactly what we need, and we're grateful for it.]" He led them to nondescript tables and they sat down. The bowls and utensils felt very strange, as if they were covered with a fine fuzz that prevented him from feeling their hard edges. Even the floor and table felt strange; almost soft. Kim turned his attention back to his bowl of mush. He took an unenthusiastic bite and felt his appetite vanish. Somehow, it tasted even less appealing than it looked. Torres dug in with gusto, leaving him to make conversation.
"So the Caretaker provides your meals too?" he asked.
"[Yes, everything we have was a gift from him.]"
Kim forced another bite down, knowing he needed his strength, but it was all he could do to keep it from coming back up.
"Did he give you your psionic abilities as well?"
"[No, the Ocampa have always been psions. Our ancient journals say we used to have incredible mental prowess, but it seems to have dwindled over time.]"
"You call yourselves the Ocampa?"
"[Yes; have I not mentioned it before? I apologize.]"
Kim nodded absently, looking around the courtyard. Thirty or so other Ocampa were gathered there, eating the so-called food. Some sat facing massive windows, nearly as big as Voyager's mainsail. Across them swam vibrant dancing colors in almost hypnotic patterns. A kind of musical humming came from the screens as well, giving him a little relief. If this place were any quieter, he would have screamed. Kim forced his attention back on Diga.
"Is that how the Caretaker communicates with you?"
"[He never communicates directly, but we interpret his wishes as best we can.]"
Torres nudged his arm, reaching for his bowl. Kim passed it to her and continued talking.
"Then, how have you interpreted the reason we were sent here? Do you know why?"
"[We think you were sent here for your people's protection.]"
Torres slammed her utensils on the table. "Their protection?"
"[Your condition might be some kind of sickness. We think he was trying to prevent a plague.]"
Torres held her hand in front of his face. "Does this look like a sickness to you? We're fading from some kind of spell!"
Kim grabbed her wrist to calm her down, but she twisted out of his grip and slammed his wrist down on the table. Kim, determined not to let her push him around anymore, tried to yank his wrist free. All he did was jerk her arm a little way across the table. He settled for not letting her see how much it was hurting him.
"Our people have advanced spell casting techniques," he said. "They might have a better idea of what's happening to us. Can you show us the way to the surface so we can find them?"
Diga shook his head. "[There is no way to the surface. The knowledge of the spell that led us there has been lost.]"
"Why?" she asked.
"[Why what?]"
"Why was the knowledge lost? Weren't you or your ancestors at least curious about the Caretaker? Or the surface?" Torres let go of Kim's wrist and he winced.
"[We are expected to trust the Caretaker,]" said Diga, an edge to his voice. Kim thought about talking her down, but decided he wanted to know as much as she did.
"So he just dropped you down here, gave you everything you wanted, disappeared and you all carried on with your merry lives? Without questioning how convenient it all seemed?"
"[He saved us from the attacks of the other tribe! All we ever wanted was peace and safety. Why would we question it when he gave it to us?]"
"That's understandable," said Kim. Torres shot him a look, then nodded as she realized he was right. Who wouldn't be thankful?
"But after five hundred generations, aren't you curious about the surface? Don't you want to go back up?" said Torres.
"[Why would we go back up? We have all we need down here.]"
Kim and Torres shared a look. Something about his answer seemed rehearsed.
"Were you ever forbidden from seeing the Caretaker?" asked Kim, hoping a slight change of subject might reveal something.
"[In the beginning, we were told that any kinds of visits might interrupt his work.]"
"Told by who?"
"[The elders. They are the traditional leaders of our tribe and the ones who interpret the Caretaker's wishes.]"
"So does he speak to them?"
Diga rubbed the bridge of his nose, looking exasperated. "[I have already said that he doesn't communicate directly. You two are trying my patience.]"
"Look, all we want to do is get to the surface," said Torres. "Is there someone who could take us there?"
"[We are not to go to the surface.]"
"I thought you said you had forgotten how; now it sounds like you're saying you aren't allowed."
"[That was a rule the elders set to keep us safe.]" He gave them a look that was almost a glare. "[Why are you two so inquisitive? None of the others asked these kinds of questions.]"
This was new information. "What others?"
Diga sighed. "[You are not the first sick strangers to come to our city. Others have been sent here.]"
Kim sat up, suddenly alert. Maybe there was a way out after all.
"Where are they?" he asked. "Can we talk to them?"
"[I'm afraid your condition is quite serious,]" said Diga, speaking gently. "[The others did not survive more than a few days.]"
The air in the courtyard suddenly felt even colder than the stone room where Kim had first woken up. Torres jumped up, angry, but suddenly swayed on her feet. Diga stood to catch her, but she fought him off and groped for the table. She missed and Diga had to grab her anyway. Kim shook his head. He could have sworn her hand passed right through the table. He stood up to help and nearly fell himself. A wave of dizziness made the world spin around him and blackness pressed in on the edges of his vision. He fell back in to his seat, blinking hard. Diga waved someone over.
"[You must rest now. No more questions. We're taking you back to your quarters.]"
Neither of them was in a position to argue and simply let themselves be led up the stairs by Diga and a pair of orderlies. In the back of his mind, Kim felt a terrible fear developing. If they were disappearing, would they die? Or simply fade into limbo, never to be found by anyone again? He shivered.
"[Rest now,]" said Diga as they entered the room. "[I'll be back in a while.]"
Kim flopped down on his bed, while Torres had recovered enough to pace the room.
"We must have been getting to him," she said, voice echoing in the small space. "No wonder he put us back in here."
"He said we needed rest," said Kim. "We are pretty sick."
"That was just an excuse."
Kim shrugged at that. She was right; Diga wanted them where they wouldn't stir up so much trouble. But why had they gotten so sick all of a sudden? And come to think of it, why was her voice echoing so much in the small room?
"Your voice is echoing," he said.
"So is yours," she answered. He hadn't noticed. "It must be some kind of effect of this spell."
"Did I see your hand go through the table earlier?"
"Yeah. Well, only my fingers did." She rubbed her hand, thinking. "The Ocampa can't help us. We have to find a way out of here."
"Now?" Disappointment rose up in him. He had hoped to rest for a little bit.
She took a deep breath, probably to argue some more, but all her strength seemed to vanish. She sat down on the pile of fabric that used to be her bed with a sigh.
"Have it your way, Seafleet. A few minutes rest probably won't hurt."