This story is a dramatization that takes place during Episode 11 of the Star Trek Adventures campaign, “Constellation.”
You can watch that episode here.
“And what might you be longing for?”
I reached the Prophet’s Tear at sunset. It was a large tavern with a rustic aesthetic; a combination of worn lacquered lumber, ancient masonry, with an occasional accent of brass and copper, and a few chairs and stools upholstered in soft leather, cracking around the edges. It wasn’t without its modern amenities, though. The sconces resembled ancient lanterns, but even at their current low setting the light they cast was clearly controlled artificially. Creaking wooden fans spun lazily on the ceiling above, but a control panel behind the bar controlled the environmental settings. And the stage on the opposite side of the bar had a holoscreen behind a pair of drawn back velvet curtains, dyed a deep but fading indigo, that currently projected a hand painted version of the bar’s logo on a wooden wall but could, one would imagine, be programmed for any number of visual entertainment options.
It was a large room, its cavernous nature in stark contrast to the current scarcity of patrons. A party of three talked and laughed at one of the tables nearby, while one fellow sat in a booth toward the back by himself and clearly preferred it that way.
“Do you know what you want already, or would you like to see a menu?”
I turned at the bartender’s words and immediately noted that she was Bajoran as well. Her short red hair framed her pale face and striking green eyes with a pair of flowing tendrils grown out at her temples. A simple silver d’ja pagh hung from her left ear.
“Oh, um…a Bajoran ale, if you have it,” I stammered. She looked at me as if I had started to tell a joke she already knew the punchline to, then realized I was serious.
“Of course! You beat the evening rush, so feel free to post up anywhere. I can bring it to you,” she said as she turned, swooping up a pint glass off of a tray and bringing it under one of the taps behind her as she pulled the handle above it, all in one fluid motion. Uncertainly, I pulled up the closest stool at the corner of the bar. “New transfer to the grottos, then?”
“No, I’m a…doctor. On a starship.” The lies fell easily from my lips. I realized as I said them just how much I wanted both to be true. It felt like inviting bad fortune to claim them before they were. “Or I will be. Soon. I hope. I’m just visiting for the day. Before I head back. To the ship.” I felt more at ease with a Klingon knife at my back.
“Really? Don’t get many of our kind coming round as tourists. You visiting family or something?”
“Honestly, I didn’t even know there were any other Bajorans here until I saw some of them working up at the grotto.”
“Ah! Well, as my Dad likes to say, the Prophets are not without their sense of humor!”
“My Dad used to say the same thing…” I trailed off, unintentionally wistful.
“I’m sorry, has he passed?”
“Oh, no, sorry, I mean…for all I know, he still says it. I just haven’t…you know…talked to him in a while. Or any of my family, really.” I felt myself trailing off again and decided to divert the conversation. “If you don’t mind my asking, how exactly did…we…get here?”
“Well,” she leaned forward, looking around to make sure no one was listening in, and drew me in with a very conspiratorial look on her face. “I imagine you probably took a shuttle or transported here, and my parents brought me when I was about six. And if you need to know how we got here beyond that, then it’s been even longer since you talked to your Dad than I thought!” She gave me a wink and a smile as she pushed back off of the bar, sliding over to refill the glass of one of the other customers who had walked up.
“I recall the broad strokes, but the specifics…well, we lived on a farm, so his examples weren’t always the most applicable,” I joked back, taking a long drink of my beer. The moment it touched my lips I realized how thirsty I had truly been and felt compelled to drink deeper. I put it back down, half emptied, with a satisfied sigh. “I meant, though, how did so many Bajorans wind up here? I thought I knew all the major colonies and camps off world, but I’d never heard of Deneva before today.”
“Oh, Deneva’s been around for a good long while, longer than the Federation even! Gorgeous, uninhabited by intelligent life, and right next to an asteroid belt rich in ore! Folks came here at first for the mining jobs, but when those ran out, they discovered a whole system of natural grottos underground with all kinds of mineral deposits and sediment. Turned out they were pretty helpful in refining the asteroid ore, so settlements started popping up anywhere there was an entrance to the caves. And of course the crystals! Unique in the entire galaxy, the way they form!” She paused with a proud grin, as though she’d sculpted them herself. She noticed my glass was now empty and refilled it as she continued her tale.
“Anyway, about 30 years back, a group of our people fled the tyranny on our home world and found their way here. More importantly, they found they were welcome here! Plenty of them had mining and refinery skills, for better or worse, from their time in the labor camps. Word got out, and the rest of us followed.
I suppose we’re what you might call…second wave refugees. The ones who had fled before, but wouldn’t or couldn’t assimilate to the worlds where we took refuge. Who were still seen as religious zealots or terrorists. Who still took the blame for any new famine or plague, any rise in crime or poverty,” she paused once more, an edge of bitterness creeping into her voice. Then her face brightened again. “Deneva has none of that! Here, we’re equals. Free to build our homes, build a life. We’re part of the community!”
“And your parents settled here when you were six?”
“Yeah, from a Bajoran ghetto on Tesnia. Their families had both fled there when they were children, and they wanted a better life for me, so…we came here!”
“You’ve never been to Bajor, then?”
“No, sad to say. Even my parents barely remember it. But we keep some of the heritage alive. My grandfather was a Vedek before they fled, and he said the two things he learned in that time were the words of the Prophets and how to make beer, and he wasn’t sure which pleased the Prophets more! Taught both to my Dad, and Dad taught me. None of us could mine, so we opened this place, to help keep both legacies alive.”
“What, you couldn’t swing a pickaxe by age six?”
“Alas! My deprived childhood!” We laughed, and I took another sip of my beer to avoid saying anything that would ruin the moment. “I’m Katar, by the way. Dreya Katar.”
She wiped her hand off on her pants absentmindedly and extended it out to me. I reflexively wiped mine off as well in the same manner before gingerly shaking hers.
“Cade. Nahile. But you can call me Cade.”
“Ah, I see…”
“What?”
“Oh, no, it’s fine, just…since folks around here don’t expect us to assimilate, we don’t get a lot of name inversion. That’s all. It’s fine, though!”
“I’m not…I haven’t assimilated to anything! I lived on Bajor my whole life! I’ve just always gone by Cade! At least since I left home. It’s all I’ve got left of my family at this point, and…” I paused as I noticed her looking at me curiously, almost taken aback. “What?”
“Your whole life? So you…you were there for the end of the Occupation?”
“Of course I was! I fought with the Resistance!” I spat it out defiantly, with more venom and spite than this young woman deserved. It had become habit. Something I was used to only saying in defense. Regret sank in instantly as I watched her eyes well up with tears.
I was about to apologize when she came around the side of the bar and embraced me. Her face pressed against mine as her tears ran down my cheek. Uncertain of what to do, I awkwardly put my arms around her. She whispered something, over and over, that I couldn’t quite make out. Then, I heard it.
“Thank you.”
Two words, over and over. I held her tighter then, without even thinking. I didn’t realize I had started crying as well. We stood there for a long while, only pulling away when the door swung open, filling the bar with both the final amber light of day and it seemed every miner in town. Leading the charge with his wife under one arm and a crate full of bottles under the other was Roy.
“What is this? My new friend Cade and my old friend Katar are now friends? This is cause, I think, to celebrate!”
“You think everything is a cause to celebrate, Roy,” Katar said, wiping her eyes. She walked back behind the bar and poured me another ale.
“And I am always right! We have a new friend, and I have a new batch of Denevan Brew! So! We sing, we dance, we laugh, and…?” He turned to the rest of the bar then, who responded in one voice.
“WE DRINK!”
Check back soon for Part 5. Don’t forget to catch up with Part 3 right here.