Ambassador Diol, speaking before the Council, argued that while the offer of the dilithium is quite generous—and she cannot deny that we should consider such resources and their potential contribution to the Federation in making our decision—she cautioned the Council against greed. The Dreman people have already shaken off one oppressive regime. They do not need to trade the Exiles for another oppressor. The Federation should take cautious steps toward the use of the dilithium resources of Drema IV, and we should consider enlisting the assistance of the native workers in that endeavor. Such a move would help benefit the Dreman economy, and it is Ambassador Diol’s position that they should benefit from the presence of such a resource, not work themselves to death because of it.
Application is currently being considered with a favorable status.
Record Update—Stardate 46147.9
By a vote of 122 to 29, the Federation Council has approved Drema IV for protectorate status. In a good-faith show of support, the Council has also commissioned the construction of a starbase to orbit just outside the asteroid belt that is believed to be the remains of the fifth planet in the system.
It is the Council’s considered opinion that Federation presence should be felt, but not be oppressive. A starbase constructed in the system, but not in orbit around Drema IV itself, should provide the recommended level of presence.
Chapter
3
Late 2369
Latik Kerjna, Drema IV
Capital Square
Day 1
For a planet that was chock full of dilithium—and volcanic on top of that—David Gold couldn’t get over how Earth-like Drema IV was. He’d seen the reports about what it had been like during the tremors five years before. The idea that, within his lifetime, a place that had free-flowing liquid magma covering half its surface now held lush, verdant greenery, reminding him of his last trip to the Hawaiian Islands, was nothing short of amazing.
Just as she’d done on that vacation, Gold could hear his wife citing it as proof that perhaps humans weren’t ready to know everything about their universe. Rachel had always taken a tremendous amount of comfort in the idea that no matter how much the sciences tried to explain things, there were still subjects that eluded even the most brilliant of intellects. “Sometimes,” she would say, “the answer for the scientists is simply ‘not yet’.”
Dragging himself back to reality, Gold briefly wished he’d brought Pulaski down to the surface with him, instead of leaving her on the Progress to finish packing. For reasons unknown to him, his chief medical officer had leapt at the chance to take over these same duties on the new space station built as a result of the protectorate treaty.
Still, in the years he’d known Dr. Katherine Pulaski, she had never been one to stand on ceremony. It wasn’t her job to play the diplomat. Taking care of patients was her responsibility; figuring out whether the Federation and Dreman governments would play well together was someone else’s. Leaving her to her work had been the best option that Gold could see.
That left him stuck there, on the dais in the middle of the small park—it was more like a vacant clearing, but if the Dremans wanted to refer to it as a park, Gold wasn’t about to correct them—in the forest outside the capital that the government had decided to use for this little gathering. They’d managed to set up a small dais, and a few lanterns lined the stonework path, but it was hardly the ceremonial grounds at the Plâce de la Concorde on Earth.
What do you expect from a race that just fought off an oppressor? He could hear Rachel’s voice in his head. They’ve grown to appreciate the simple things, David. Bear with them.
A quick survey of the crowd that had formed suggested that “little” was a gross understatement. He estimated that there were at least two or three hundred people amassed in the park, their numbers extending back beyond the tree line and into areas where he simply could not see to accurately gauge their numbers.
Gold wasn’t keen on the idea of representing the Federation at what was, essentially, Admiral Tucker’s shindig, but they’d been planning this event for weeks. The admiral had originally been chosen to fill the political role, as he would also be taking over command of Drema Station when it came online, but an ion storm had delayed the U.S.S. Landry from bringing him on time. This had left Gold the ranking officer in the area and stuck with the job when the Dreman government declined to delay the proceedings.
“We would like to formally welcome the Federation to our planet,” the leader of the Dreman government said, extending his arms out as though he were trying to encompass the entire crowd, “both as our friend and our protector. May the Lights of Traiaka shine upon us all.”
The captain watched the procession of Dreman government representatives as each one walked along the lantern-lined path—though each lantern was now lit to a point of ridiculous brightness—over to him and held out their long-fingered, cinnamon-red hands palms-down and over his shoulders. According to the file on their species, this hand motion was considered a gesture of friendship, but the fact that their palms never touched him as they then each ran their hands down over his arms was more than a little off-putting.
When the head of the Dreman government, a tall man with far more gold than garnet in his hair—something Pulaski had informed him was a sign of age in their species—and an enlarged forehead that was only getting larger from the receding hairline, finally walked over to him with a congenial smile; Gold returned it. “Guardian Liankataka,” he said, hoping he’d pronounced it correctly. About three-quarters of the people he’d met to that point had names that were so full of J’s, K’s, and L’s that he was beginning to feel as though he were back in his Hebrew classes. When the man didn’t seem offended by Gold’s use of his name, the captain continued: “Thank you. It’s a pleasure to help bring your people to their rightful place in the galaxy.”
A quick glance to Commander Gom suggested that he’d said precisely what he was supposed to have said. The Bolian may have been one of the more laid-back members of his crew, but Gold knew him well enough to be confident that Gom wouldn’t give bad direction when it came to matters of protocol. Gom was an aficionado of governmental etiquette, far more than he thought would ever have been encompassed by his normal responsibilities as first officer.
Liankataka nodded. “And without Federation assistance, we may never have known peace again,” he said. “The Exiles made certain of that.”
Gold had briefed himself on Liankataka before beaming down for the ceremony. “It must have been difficult,” Gold said. “The reports filed with the Federation indicated—”
“With respect, Captain, your reports can’t possibly reflect what happened here,” Liankataka said, his expression obviously haunted by the pain of memory. “We lost many good people. People whose only crime was being in the way.”
Why do people who’ve been attacked always seem to think nobody else could understand their pain? Shaking off the idle thought, he said, “I’m sure the Federation would appreciate any corrections to our record you might be able to offer.”
Liankataka shook his head. “Living in the past gains us nothing, Captain. We are a small, close-knit people. If someone wasn’t touched by death during the Occupation or the Uprising, they have lost someone working the mines. However, we must take the lessons learned and move forward if we are to succeed in our new role.”
Gold’s brow furrowed. “But, you said…”
The elder Dreman’s cheeks turned a dark crimson. “I apologize, Captain. I am aware that my people must move forward, but our scars run deep. My eldest son has only been in his grave for a year. My resolve may not always be as consistent as I might like. It is difficult to push that memory to the back of the mind, but I would be willing to look at your records and correct them as necessary.”
He tried to imagine losing his own eldest son, Nathan: having only the memories of his first steps, his first bicycle ride, his first trip to the Statue of Liberty, the publication of his firs
t book. There had been so many moments over the years, and there were still so many more for Nathan in the future.
The guardian saved him more thoughts on the subject by walking over to a small pile of greenish-brown rocks in one corner of the dais. He picked up one that was about the size of a clenched human fist and brought it back over. “Captain, are you aware of what we have to offer your people?”
Gold held out his hands, palms up.
“To use your frame of reference, Captain, this is approximately one kilogram of our dilithium,” Liankataka said, placing the rock in Gold’s hands. The weight certainly felt right for a kilo. “From what your scientists tell me, the nugget you hold could help power a Galaxy-class starship for well over one of your years at warp nine, with very little waste.”
Well, Gold thought, that wasn’t in the official file. Suddenly, the urgency of securing Drema IV made more sense. He fleetingly wondered what else he hadn’t been told.
Until the thunderous boom of an explosion sounded a little too close for comfort—at which point Gold dropped the dilithium to the ground and simply began running toward the noise.
Chapter
4
Latik Kerjna, Drema IV
Day 1
Sarjenka wadded up the piece of drafting paper and threw it at the overstuffed waste bin, wanting nothing more at that moment than to do the same with the entire concept when the chime at her sleep chamber’s entrafield sounded.
“Mealtime.”
Sarjenka absently tugged at a strand of shoulder-length, reddish-gold hair. There were times when she would have sworn that her father had programmed the entrafield’s acoustic dampener specifically to allow her mother’s shrill voice to penetrate.
Pulling herself out of the straight-back chair, she slowly walked the few steps across the small, sparsely decorated bedroom, placed one long-fingered red palm against the entrafield, and triggered it. No sooner did it wink open than the smell of fresh-baked keena bread hit her nose, and Sarjenka’s stomach reminded her of how long it had been since she’d last eaten.
Her mother looked down on her with a concerned expression in her golden eyes. “How is your project for med-design class coming?” she asked, her voice an attempt at consolation that didn’t quite succeed.
Sparing a glance at the overflowing waste bin, she replied, “I don’t know. I see these devices, and I know they aren’t real, but I have no idea what it would take to make them. None of the master healers can help.”
Her mother gently laughed, but this time Sarjenka noticed a very slight edge of sadness about it. “There are times when you are so much like your father. Remember, young one. You are their apprentice, not their teacher. Come. Perhaps your father can help you figure out the solution when he returns from his shift.”
Almost on cue, she heard the mewling of her pet reeka work its way up the stairs. “Jenkara! You will eat when we do! Do not bother him!” It was the one behavior of the reeka’s that had always driven her mother to distraction, and nothing they could do would train the creature to stop. The animal had a horrible habit of playfully attacking Sarjenka’s father at the entrafield, when his clothes were still caked with dilithium dust and he still had the greenish-red tinge to his face that all of the miners she had ever known in her short life seemed to share. Fortunately for all of them, Jenkara was far too small to do anything beyond being playful. The long, thin, well-scaled tail of a full-grown reeka could have easily broken bones in one swat. Jenkara, thanks to an injury when he was very young, would never grow to full size.
No sooner did the mewling stop than the field winked open and a booming voice sounded. “Rakan? Rakan? Where are you?”
Sarjenka and her mother shared a look. That wasn’t her father. It sounded more like one of his friends from the mine.
Her mother hurried down the stairs. “Sinterka? What is it?”
Sarjenka followed her mother down the stairs, stopping and sitting two steps from the bottom. Sinterka was coated in the greenish dust from the mines, his normally orange coveralls a color Sarjenka had tried several times over the last five years to figure out a way to describe, but failed with each attempt. He smelled as the miners always did—of perspiration, stale vituwater, and dilithium dust.
Of course, everything had smelled of dilithium dust in the time since the Exiles had arrived. Not even the Dreman’s alliance with the people who called themselves the Federation could change that.
However, Sarjenka had only ever heard that tone of voice from Sinterka once, when her father had been trapped after a newly excavated section of the primary mine had collapsed. A flutter in the back of her mind suggested that whatever disturbed him now was related. “What happened?”
Sinterka held a slender, comforting hand over her mother’s shoulder. “El found a xurta in the mine today. It was buried inside one of the walls of the first level.”
That got Sarjenka’s interest. “Father? Is he safe?”
Sinterka’s eyes found hers, and she saw a fear in them she’d never seen before. “That’s the problem, young one. I don’t know.”
Ignoring the rumbling that was still emanating from her stomach, Sarjenka stood and took the final two steps of the staircase in one stride. Reaching for her overcoat, she said, “Then I should inform the master healers. If there is a chance that our assistance will be required—”
“No,” Sinterka said. His arms fell to his side, and a man Sarjenka had always considered larger than life, despite his slender build, suddenly seemed as small as Jenkara. “Your father was still working on digging the bomb out when he ordered us to leave. The mine was shut down until the area could be secured, and they could determine if there are any more bombs. I only was able to get out to tell you now.”
Before he could say another word, something exploded in the distance.
Sinterka’s eyes made the journey from surprise to shock to tears in a matter of seconds.
Almost as fast as Rakan’s and—Sarjenka was sure—her own.
Wordlessly grabbing her pack, Sarjenka ran out the front entrafield and toward the mine.
Chapter
5
Latik Kerjna, Drema IV
Pithead, Dilithium Mine Alpha
Day 1
The first thing David Gold saw when he arrived at the battered, broken structures that surrounded the pithead was the burnt-out shape of something that looked as though it could have been a wagon in its recently ended life. One other Dreman remained, trying desperately to put out the fire that had begun in the ramshackle, old shed that covered the top of the mine, the hiss of the water mixing in a disturbing harmony with the flickering of the flames. The dark gray smoke was getting thicker and more acrid by the second.
Beside the wagon was the burnt, crumpled figure of a man in what looked to have once been orange coveralls. He was flat on his back on a white drop cloth. His right arm was to his side, but there was no sign of a left arm to be found. Whoever this poor schlemiel was, that was one hell of a way to die.
That was when he saw the right arm move. He’d seen the last twitches of death in muscles far too often before, the last gasp before letting go. The sight of conscious motion in that arm was all he needed.
Pulling the neckline of his uniform tunic up over his mouth to act as a filter against the smoke, Gold ran toward the motion. Liankataka was on his heels. The burned man’s skin ranged from a sickly burgundy-black to patches of a more normal terracotta red, and the smell of the charred flesh brought back more than a few memories of the Cardassian War. He’d seen people die from far less injury back then. How was this man still alive?
Quickly slapping the combadge on his chest, Gold hoped the modified long-range circuits would get his voice where it needed to go. “Gold to Progress.”
There was no answer.
“Gold to Progress. Come in. Gold to Drema Station.”
Again, there was no answer. He looked to Liankataka and shook his head. “Damn it! I can’t reach my people. The exp
losion must be interfering somehow.”
The Dreman leader already had a small communications unit in his own hand. “Emergency services are on the way. I’ve asked them to use the tie-line to the station to get through to your ship, Captain.”
Gold wiped a hand across his brow. His eyes felt as though a thousand tiny grains of sand had found his corneas at once. “Tell them to get Pulaski down here. She’s got the best knowledge of how to help your people of anyone we’ve got. If there are any more people down there, you’ll need her.”
Liankataka nodded, dialing his communications unit once again. Giving the requested instruction, he finished the call just in time for the first battery of gawkers to arrive. “By Traiaka, what happened?” came from several voices in the crowd.
A rasp sounded from the man at Gold’s feet. Kneeling down, he got as close as he comfortably could. All he could hear from the man was something that sounded like, “Shurtah.”
“Rest,” Gold said. “Help is coming.”
“What did he say?” Liankataka asked in a voice filled with disbelief.
Raising his eyes to the guardian, Gold said, “It sounded like ‘shurtah.’ ”
The Dreman’s skin flushed to near-pink. “No.” Liankataka turned and walked away from the scene. He ran one long-fingered hand over his face. “We thought we had found every xurta left behind.”
Gold began to put the pieces together. “I take it that’s a bomb?”
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