Dropping her head to the table, she touched her forehead to the cool, slightly sticky surface and felt her hair tumble down around her ears. What am I doing here?she wondered, and knew that the word “here” could apply to Yvrig Tavern, Mylea, Bajor, or the universe itself.
What you’re doing here is keeping your promises to Topa,the little voice said. Or what you think those promises are.
Rena wished the local band doing bad covers of the latest techno hits from Betazed would play loud enough to drown out her conscience.
She should order another drink—something nonalcoholic and hydrating. But that would mean attracting the waiter’s attention, and she was loath to bring him into range considering the current bent of Kail’s commentary. Despite her musings, one part of Rena’s mind had been keeping track of the trail of Kail’s ramblings. He had grown bored with disparaging his friends and enemies (he had fewer of both than he thought), his parents (two lovely people, really), and his shop supervisor, and had moved on to verbally abusing strangers, primarily non-Bajorans. First on the list had been some of the other customers in the bar, but he had quickly grown bored with the students and youthful vagabonds who populated the tavern, so he had moved on to abusing their waiter, a human, who had stopped over in Mylea on his way to Rakantha Province and never left. Rena had served him at the bakery and found him to be fond of all things sugary and always willing to offer a toothy grin in thanks. He didn’t deserve Kail’s ignorant abuse. He’d never been this way before, had he? True, she was seeing him with the perspective of time and distance between them, but Rena also knew that she wouldn’t be attracted to someone who berated others the way Kail was doing now—or in the past.
Looking back, she recalled thinking that no one had seemed to understand how exciting the times were. Bajor had been on the verge of joining the Federation; they would be the first generation who could enjoy all the benefits and responsibilities of becoming true galactic citizens. And what had her peers obsessed about? They wanted to know how long it would be before their parents would get the newest replicator technology. When would the most cutting-edge holonovels become available? The ones who had really driven her crazy were the parasites who tried to figure out the minimum work they would have to do to be given full citizenship rights. Didn’t they understand what they were being offered? Not that Bajor was a provincial world, disconnected from the rest of the galaxy, but becoming full Federation citizens meant so much more than finding out what the kids on Earth were wearing. It meant providing hope to those, like Topa, who had been born with degenerative, genetic ailments that could be cured with Federation medicine and the educational offerings on worlds Rena had only dreamed of visiting. It also meant showing the Federation’s other worlds the best of Bajor: its art, literature, music, architecture, philosophy, history, and people—all the unique things Bajor had to share that could have a reciprocal influence on the community of which they were now a part.
Her schoolmates who hadn’t become obsessed with what benefits they would receive from Federation citizenship were the ones who wanted to stay in Mylea. Instead of pursuing glamour careers in Starfleet, or studying exotic sciences on strange planets, or teaching other worlds about Bajor, these kids would primarily end up working in foundries, in shops, in restaurants, on fishing boats, or in the aquaculture fields. Rena respected these schoolmates, because she saw them as those who would preserve what was unique about their planet—its culture, rhythms, and traditions. In them she placed her greatest hope that Bajor could hold on to its uniqueness and still progress as a Federation world. And where did Rena fit?
Not properly in either category, she reluctantly admitted.
Maybe another ale wouldn’t be such a bad idea after all. Which brought her back to the present and the problem with calling the waiter over to take her order: Kail being an idiot.
“Bunch of old people—offworlders!—signed some papers a month ago and suddenly we’re all supposed to do our jobs without getting paid,” Kail snarled. “Now the flat-noses are everywhere, all of them acting like they own the planet.”
“Kail,” Rena hissed, appalled. “Hush! Who’s been acting like that?”
“You know who,” Kail said. Craning his neck, he scanned the dim interior of the bar until he locked his gaze on the waiter, who was standing next to a table across the room taking an order. His customers—a trio of women a year or two older than Rena—were obviously enjoying his attention.
“He isn’t doing anything, Kail,” Halar said in low tones. “Except waiting tables.”
“And why would he?” Kail muttered. “Not like he has to. Not like anyone has to do anything anymore.”
Parsh appeared through the tavern’s smoky haze and scooted into a chair beside Halar. “Sorry I’m late, but the sonic showers went offline again. Jacob was supposed to meet us here. Have you seen him, Rena?”
She shook her head and amended mentally, Thank the Prophets.
“You know the Federation economy doesn’t work that way, Kail,” Halar said. “No one gets a free ride. Everyone has to do something, but no one gets left behind. No one starves, no one is cold, but not everyone gets their own holoroom.”
“No?” Kail asked. “Sounds like you understand all the new rules, Halar. I wish someone would explain them to me. Why should I work down in that hot, noisy foundry seven hours a day when in a little while anyone who wants to can replicate anything I can make by punching a few buttons?”
“You should do it,” Rena said, “because you want to. Like we do in our bakery and Halar does in her mother’s dress shop. And, besides, you know replicators aren’t always the right way to go. Replication takes power and some things you can do cheaper and, yes, better, than a replicator. You know this, Kail. Why are you being such a jerk about it?”
“I’ve been reading some of the material posted on the comnet,” Halar said. “I wasn’t so sure about the idea of Bajor joining the Federation for a long time. I thought it would mean that we…” She swept her arm over her head to indicate that “we” meant them, Myleans, the “we” she understood. “I was worried we would disappear. But that won’t happen.”
“Why won’t it?” Kail asked, his tone too aggressive. “How different are they really from the Cardassians?” Rena heard the slur in his voice and wondered how much ale Kail had drunk. He had been obnoxious before, but something had tipped him over the edge. “Cardies had guns. The Federation has holonovels. What’s the difference?”
Even Parsh must have sensed the difference in his friend’s tone. Attempting to distract him, he asked, “Hey, did you see the hoverball finals? I wouldn’t want to have to play against Vulcans. Man, those guys have some moves….”
But Kail wouldn’t be distracted. “They’re not so tough. There’s one thing different between Cardassians and the Feds. Least when the Cardies wanted something, they just came and took it. They were tough. The Feds, they’re just cowards.” He stared into the bottom of his mug, apparently insulted that it should be so empty. “Every single one of them.”
“You think the Emissary is a coward too, Kail?” Halar challenged. Though normally reserved, even cheerful, Halar could be quite forthright when she felt her religion was being insulted.
At the mention of the Emissary, Rena sank deep into her seat, wishing she could disappear. I wonder how she would feel if she knew about me and Jacob Sisko?
Rolling his eyes, Kail asked, “The Emissary? Fine, let’s talk about the Emissary. Let’s start with how convenient it was that he showed up at just the time the Feds wanted to make a favorable impression on the gullible masses. I mean, there couldn’t have been any political motivation for that, could there?”