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“Doctor, can I eat this?”
The Doctor, examining his PADD, did not bother to look at the captain's video call. “Where did you get it?” he asked, flicking through a catalogue of alien pathogens accumulated by the ship's ensigns in the last week.
“Replicator," Janeway said, somewhat defensively. Something in the Doctor's tone indicated he wouldn't be overly surprised if the answer was "found it in a puddle".
“Then yes.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Doctor, the replicator can make Vulcan coffee.” He wasn't going to get rid of her that easily.
“It won’t make you Vulcan coffee.”
“No, actually, it will now," she said matter-of-factly, her tail flicking up into view behind her. She gestured to herself, her mottled terra-cotta skin and finned ears. "The species lock is DNA-based. It doesn’t know what I am anymore. I can ask it for arsenic.”
“Don’t ask it for arsenic," the Doctor suggested.
“I know.”
“Or Vulcan coffee.”
She shrugged. “Tastes terrible anyway.”
This finally managed to make him turn around. “ Captain— ”
She seized the opportunity, jabbing a finger at the screen. “You’re dodging the question. Can. I. Eat. This?” She waved the object at the camera.
He sighed, set down the PADD, and examined the white ovoid in her hand. “That... is an egg, Captain.”
“I’m quite aware.”
“Earth?”
She nodded. “Chicken.”
"Humans frequently eat chicken eggs," he started. Her fins and eyelids dropped in unison as she gave him a flat glare. She waved her hand at her face again, her riposte self-evident.
"...noted," he fumbled. “And are you intending to cook it?”
She squinted at the egg as though it had challenged her to a duel. "No,” she said firmly, a decision made.
“Did you ask specifically for one with salmonella?”
She blinked. “No.”
“Then yes. Do you want to?”
“The salmonella?”
“No. Eat it.”
She sniffed the egg, barbels twitching. “At the moment, yes."
As far as new, alien impulses went, the Doctor thought, she was handling this one fairly well. He decided to give her an out. “If you’re craving something in it, I can synthesize something more appealing with the same—”
She waved the offer away. “I know you can. That’s not what I asked.”
He steepled his fingers and tried to think of a diplomatic way to phrase his next question. “Do you expect the craving to last throughout the experience, or… just until you start eating?”
“Remains to be seen,” she announced, with all the dignity of a scientist announcing her next experiment. To boldly go indeed.
He sighed again. “Well, it won’t kill you.”
“Excellent. Hey, what did you mean by ‘Earth’—”
Chakotay let the door whoosh shut behind him, shrugging off his uniform jacket. He paused halfway to hanging it up, his attention caught by Kathryn. She was perched sideways on the couch, legs pulled to her chest, clutching something to her face. She had frozen perfectly still, staring at him over the top of the oblong shape with the air of a cat that's been caught with a vase halfway off the edge of a table.
He opened his mouth, closed it, reformulated his thoughts. He tried to figure out what the object in her hands was, and gave up. Apprehensively, he asked, “...Kathryn, what are you eating?”
She blinked slowly and swallowed. “...egg,” she admitted indistinctly, lowering it. There was yellow slime on her chin. And her hands. And the egg.
“Where did it come from?” he asked diplomatically. Please don't be an alien, he thought.
“Replicator.” Still staring at him, she took another bite out of the half-eaten egg, shell crunching loudly. Her tail flicked sideways on the couch.
He ran a hand through his hair. “...and what kind of egg is it?”
She flushed slightly, cheeks going from plum to mauve. “...ostrich.”