Star Trek - War Drums Part 23

A hoa.r.s.e voice said, "I'm sorry." She turned to see a tearful Raul Oscaras. "I've been wrong. I'm resigning. But I still have a strong back to devote to this planet. I thank you for saving it."

The counselor nodded, but before she could say anything Raul Oscaras started to break up and turn into shimmering light. The hatred was breaking up and floating away just as surely, thought Deanna, and she smiled with satisfaction as the old freighter faded from view.

Twenty-four hours later Ensign Ro and Myra Calvert were sharing a root beer float with two straws in the Ten-Forward lounge. They were taking time out to sip their confection, which was making the flamboyant dark-skinned woman seated across from them extremely impatient.

"What happened next?" asked Guinan. "Don't stop now."

Ro shrugged. "We never found the body of Louise Drayton, or whoever she was. Or the eight colonists who stayed in the village. If the Klingons hadn't kept that old ship intact, you'd still be looking for all of us."

"Wow," breathed Guinan. "And we think s.p.a.ce is dangerous. I saw some of the colonists in here last night, and they said they were going back."

"They're rebuilding," affirmed Myra. "Now that they know exactly how far inland a tsunami can reach, they know exactly where to build. There's plenty of free lumber lying around, too."

"But you're not staying?" asked Guinan.

The red-haired twelve-year-old shook her head and smiled. "My dad and I have had enough adventure for a while. It's back to Earth ... and maybe Starfleet Academy in a few years." She glanced with frank admiration at Ensign Ro.

"What about the Klingons?" asked Guinan. "How many of them decided to stay?"

"Almost all of them," answered Myra. "They're going to rebuild together. They have a lot they can show one another."

Ro added, "A couple of the younger ones, Wolm and Turrok, decided to go with the Klingon vessel. They want to learn what they can from the empire and return home to Selva."

The attractive Bajoran shook her head and admitted, "I've never felt like that about a place. But the colonists want to build something, and the Klingons have invested their entire lives in a battle to survive there. They have a lot in common, and both of them want to make amends."

"Hmm," said Guinan thoughtfully. "I'd better restock the synthehol. When Commander Riker gets back on board tomorrow he's going to be hosting a celebration. I'm glad you're back, Ro."

"You were right," remarked the Bajoran, "they needed me down there."

"That's all anyone wants," said Guinan, "to feel needed."

The bartender smiled and bustled off. As Myra slurped the last of the root beer float Ro gazed out the window at the blur of stars that rushed by at warp speed. All her life, it seemed, she had felt inadequate -unable to prevent her father's death or ease her people's suffering, unable to get along and go along. Always the Other, the outcast. But that self-hate was just as destructive as the overt bigotry she had witnessed on Selva. If the settlers and Klingons could make peace with each other, she thought, perhaps she could make peace with herself. It was worth a try.