Lieutenant al-Kwaritzmi’s log, supplemental: one of the locals of Zaminakö has just been assaulted by a couple of Limitöe who have been defined “ruffians”. Syndic Rizör has requested our presence, which to me suggests that this involves the toolkit. Ensign Pasteyr and Lieutenant Koli are remaining on the hill, still independently looking for a positive scan, while Ensign Limkas and I are going into the village.

True to their avian nature, the Limitöe were very fast on their wings. It wasn’t difficult for Iskander to follow the commotion, because he had to just guess that the wounded local was located below the veritable swarm of Limitöe.

The wounded Limitöe was on the floor in the middle of a clearing between six houses — a space filled with pots and crockery and fresh fruits that was probably a communal place of cooking. They were probably equally old and of the same social class as Zütil, and there was little doubt that they had been beaten quite badly: their hair looked ruffled, one eye was bloody, and their hands (located, Iskander had to remind himself, at the end of their legs) bore the signs of having been tied with rope.

The Holy — not only priest but also medic, remembered Iskander — was trying to assist them, while the Syndic Rizör and the Guildholder Fawör seemed more interested in talking.

The Guildholder Fawör seemed in particular to be very worried. “Are you sure of who they are, Sybatäl?”

“I am sure, Fawör, may the rain throw me down the sky if I lie” replied the wounded Limitöe.

“This is very worrying!” said Rizör. They finally seemed to notice the arrival of Iskander and Limkas. “Wanderers of the stars. You came finally.”

Iskander and Limkas stopped a couple of meters away from the wounded individual. “We came as fast as we could. We do not have wings.”

“I thought you might want to hear this” said the Syndic. “This is Sybatäl, a copper worker of the village who works at the mine in the south.”

“Ouch, ouch!” said Sybatäl as the Holy Girinöö spread some sort of unguent on their hands. “That stings, Holy!”

“I’m not sure you even deserve my anointed creams, you small heathen” grumbled Girinöö, who was very studiously ignoring Iskander and Limkas.

“Tell Lieutenant al-Kwaritzmi and Ensign Limkas of the Sternbach what you told us, Sybatäl!” said the Syndic.

“Don’t tell them!” said Guildholder Fawör.

“Will you stop, Fawör!” protested the Syndic. “Yes, these Starfleet people will take away their engineering tools, but do you not see they are already lost? If the Coal Baron is involved –”

“I will hear none of this!” said the Guildholder, stubbornly.

Iskander and Limkas exchanged a quick glance.

“Please give us some silence” said finally Iskander, and all the moaning and squeaking ceased. Iskander was quite amazed at how silent the Limitöe were: were they maybe afraid he’d be angry? Yet they had met him!

But now was the time to play a bit the detective. He looked at Limkas. “The Coal Baron?”

Limkas nodded. “An important industrialist of the capital of this nation” she said. “In equal measures wealthy and cruel, it is said. Even has a small paramilitary army –”

“Do they have maybe a black uniform?”

“They do.”

Iskander looked at Fawör and then at Rizör. “Am I to understand that one of you — someone close to Sybatäl, at least — has the toolkit and that the Coal Baron knows it? Let me guess — the Coal Baron has heard of a powerful alien tool stolen to this region, and wants it. The two Limitöe we saw earlier departing the village were here to beat Sybatäl, to extract the information about where the toolkit is, right?”

“– I–” tried to say Sybatäl, but didn’t find many words.

“And the question, I guess, is only if Sybatäl knew” continued Iskander, “and if Sybatäl spoke. But if that was the case, Ensign Limkas, what can we expect?”

Limkas looked at him with her reptilian eyes. “From what I have read, the Coal Baron will send a squad of enforcers. They will find the toolkit and probably kill anyone who stands in their way.”

Several Limitöe cried out at the idea.

“You lie, fömin!” said Holy Girinöö, angrily. “The Coal Baron might be shrewd, but such riches are the sign of a heart filled by the wind, obsequious of the gods. A massacre is unthinkable.”

Iskander nodded and looked at Fawör. “And what do you think, Guildholder?”

Fawör looked away bur answered, sounding conflicted. “The Coal Baron is an exploiter of the masses, a slavedriver, a self-enricher without morals. A massacre is inevitable. But I will not betray my fellow workers, not even to you. The secret of the location of the toolkit has been given to me in full confidence that I would protect my friends.”

“As you wish” answered Iskander, who was, to much of his chagrin, starting to lose some patience. The Syndic seemed to be already on the side of helping Starfleet, and he decided to bet on what sort of person the Guildholder was. “When the toolkit is in the hands of the Coal Baron, it’s going to be much easier for us to get back. A rich profiteer wants to show their riches. And, not knowing the location of an upcoming massacre, we aren’t compelled by our moral code to intervene in the defence of the workers and the disenfranchised of this world.”

These words seemed to have an effect on the Guildholder, whose expression changed several times in a very short span of time as they tried to assimilate new information. “You would intervene to defend us?”

“We strongly hope that no Limitöe blood is going to be spilled at all during our mission, or any mission that involves us” stated Iskander. “But if the Coal Baron arrives and finds us in possession of the kit, the only fight he’ll be able to take isn’t going to concern you.”

“Guildholder” said Syndic Rizör, “this must satisfy you! You talk of nothing but the rights of the workers! The toolkit is already lost, be it to these aliens or to the Coal Baron — who would you rather it be, the people who promise to spare blood or the people who want to shed it?”

Finally the Guildholder seemed defeated. “Fine. Speak, Syabatäl.”

Syabatäl had been lying on the floor, the Holy Girinöö quietly attending to the wounds, but now didn’t hesitate. “It is my cousin Falmëë who has the precious alien artefact — ouch, ouch. Together with a small group, they have assembled themselves in the exhausted silver mines to the east of Hüby.”

At the announcement, a great confusion arose amongst the Limitöe. It turned out that Falmëë was family to many of them and that the “small group” included most of the youths of the town and so, out of a great impulse, they decided they had to fly to help defend them from the Coal Baron.

Iskander looked at the disorganized spectacle and sighed. He exchanged a look with Limkas. “Any chance they’ll agree to stay put here if we ask them nicely, Ensign?”

Limkas shook her head. “Not in the least.”

“WE FLY!” cried then the Syndic. “You, star wanderers, eh… you’re much slower than us. This story will be over before you can arrive.”

“We can run very fast” answered Iskander quite dryly. “I’d rather you stayed here, but we both know you will not. So we’ll see you down there.”

As most of inhabitants of Zaminakö armed themselves and departed flying in a large angry formation, Iskander and Limkas leisurely walked back on the hill where Diran and Ensign Pasteyr were waiting.

Iskander, after all, quite liked walking. He was quite good at it. But, in his heart, he was a fan of the transporter.