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?”
At university, Rena had heard variations on this theme: how convenient it had been that the Emissary had come at the moment the Federation wished to display its good intentions. Not that there hadn’t been doubts in every level of society, but how long could doubts stand in the face of a living, breathing example of prophecy come true? And then, not quite a year ago, Kira Nerys had broadcast the Ohalu texts that had predicted the coming of the Avatar. Then, surprise! A few months later, the Emissary had returned and his second child had been born. For her purposes, Rena had accepted what had happened without attempting to assign motive or meaning to it. Knowing Jacob, though, she’d spent the past few days considering the Emissary, attempting to sort the facts from the fictions and gain more clarity on the matter. She’d even cracked open Topa’s copy of the Ohalu prophecies to read them for herself. She’d concluded that if the Emissary was anything like Jacob, he couldn’t be capable of the political machinations Kail and many others accused him of.
Without consciously deciding to speak, Rena said sharply, “Why don’t you just shut up, Kail?”
Shaking his head like a great shaggy sybawho suddenly realized someone had cut off his antlers, Kail said, “Wha…? What did you say?”
Releasing the emotion she’d repressed felt so, so…liberating. “You heard me,” Rena said, eyes blazing. “What do you know about about the Emissary? You haven’t cared about the prophecies since you were little. You hardly know anything.”
Kail’s mouth went slack, and his brow dropped down like a hood over his eyes. The muscles in his thick upper arms clenched as he gripped his empty mug. “You’re not exactly the portrait of piety, Rena,” he said leeringly, glancing from Halar’s prim tunic to Rena’s bare shoulders and the skirt belted low on her hips, exposing her midriff.
She crossed an arm across her chest, resting it on her collarbone. Kail had always complimented her when she wore this outfit. The tone he’d used just now made her feel cheap. Gritting her teeth, she leaned toward Kail, prepared to lambaste him…
But Kail wasn’t finished. “Faking sick to get out of shrine services so you could meet me at the docks so we could have—”
“We’re done, Kail,” Rena said, shoving back her chair. “I thought this could work. I wanted this to work for Topa’s sake. But I can’t do this—not even for my grandfather.”
Halar’s mouth fell open. “Rena! Listen to yourself!”
Parsh stared at the floor.
“You going to go find yourself a Federation boy now, Rena? Us Myleans not good enough for you?” Wobbly-legged, Kail stood. In the hand opposite Rena, he held the nearly empty ale mug. A thin stream of liquid dribbled out onto the floor as Kail lifted the mug higher. Rena risked taking her eyes off Kail for a split second to see if Parsh was seeing what she was seeing and, obviously, yes, he was, but was paralyzed by indecision. This is all happening so quickly….
Rena scanned the room, searching for an escape route for herself and Halar. How did I get myself into this stupid situation?