B'Elanna Torres: I've reconfigured the Doctor's optical sensors, and as soon as they're aligned he should be able to detect the microwave signature of the portals.
The Doctor: Then I can begin my new career as a tricorder.
B'Elanna Torres: You don't think I'm hostile, do you?
Harry Kim: I, er... wouldn't describe you that way, no...
B'Elanna Torres: I know that I have a temper. But that doesn't mean that I'm always hostile, does it?
Harry Kim: [nervous giggle] No, of course not.
B'Elanna Torres: I am forthright, I speak my mind; that is very different from being hostile.
Harry Kim: [tensely] Very different.
B'Elanna Torres: [tetchily] And if someone described me that way, they'd be way off the mark, wouldn't they?
Harry Kim: [nervously] Way off.
B'Elanna Torres: Then why do you look like you're afraid for your life?
Lieutenant Tom Paris: On your feet now, Torres, that's an order!
Lieutenant B'Elanna Torres: You can't give me orders, we're the same rank.
Lieutenant Tom Paris: I am a bridge officer, and I have seniority.
Lieutenant B'Elanna Torres: Oh, yeah, by about two days!
Lieutenant Tom Paris: On your feet, now! Come on, you've been wanting to take a swing at me for days. Now is your chance.
Lieutenant B'Elanna Torres: You're just trying to get me moving.
Lieutenant Tom Paris: You *will* keep moving. Or do I have to throw you over my shoulder and carry you out?
Lieutenant B'Elanna Torres: Don't even try it.
[Torres and Paris have fled into a snow-covered wasteland]
Lieutenant B'Elanna Torres: My hands are completely numb!
Lieutenant Tom Paris: Here.
[warms her hands]
Lieutenant Tom Paris: I would have thought all that hot Klingon blood would have kept you warm.
Lieutenant B'Elanna Torres: [shivering] Shows how much you know about Klingons. They have much less tolerance for the cold than Humans do.
Lieutenant Tom Paris: Really? I thought that was Cardassians.
Lieutenant B'Elanna Torres: No, they just complain about it more.
The Doctor: Lieutenant, I haven't seen any sign of a portal. Frankly, I'm getting tired of this.
Lieutenant B'Elanna Torres: Holograms don't get tired. Keep looking!
The Doctor: [receiving clusters of displaced Nyrians] Welcome to sickbay. Take a number.
Commander Chakotay: How do you like your first day as Chief of Security, Ensign?
Ensign Lang: It's everything I dreamed of, sir.
Commander Chakotay: Who says there's no room for advancement on this ship?
Jarlath: The last inhabitants of this environment had no concept of a barter system. But you strike me as a much more, uh... uh, sophisticated group.
Captain Kathryn Janeway: If there were people here before us, maybe we could get out the same way.
Jarlath: Oh, I... I don't think you'd like their method of escape. Er, they all died from a plague.
Captain Kathryn Janeway: Something about this is wrong, I can smell it. Look at us - running around the ship, checking sensors and spinning theories, while the Nyrians slowly replace our crew. Consider this - there has been a consistent interval of nine minutes and twenty seconds between these exchanges. At that rate, our entire crew'll be gone in eighteen hours. Tell me that doesn't put a knot in your stomach.