"Okay, now that you're here, the question remains as to what we do with you," Kitty said skeptically to Fleet Marshal Balax. Balax--and Balax alone--had come aboard the station to discuss the terms of his asylum. "The Federation has officially declared neutrality in the matter of the Mulluran/Nausicaan conflict."
"I see the Federation has failed to live up to its vaunted reputation for integrity," Balax said in an utterly toneless manner.
More than you know, Kitty thought. "Be that as it may, the fact of the matter is that we can't safely harbor you here without violating that declaration. If it were just this station, I'd risk it--but we've got thousands of civilians to think of here, too."
"I am quite aware of that, Captain. But we literally have no place to go at this point. The Federation is the one entity least likely to have us killed on sight. Perhaps if we headed into the Delta Quadrant, the Borg might let us live, but what kind of existence is that?"
Better than many of your people deserve, Tarik thought. "Any offer of asylum we can make is strictly contingent upon what the civilian government of New Canada is willing to agree to. Starfleet cannot unilaterally impose its will on a civilian population except in time of war, and as Captain Mallory explained, there is currently no state of decalred war between the Federation and the Mulluran Empire," he explained.
"And let's face it--your people have not exactly endeared themselves to the settlers on New Canada over the years. I doubt they're willing to extend you any favors," Kitty added.
"And will this civilian government get a chance to speak for themselves on this matter?"
"They already have," Tarik said. He handed Balax a PADD containing a recording of the New Canada assembly's opinion on the matter. Very formally and legally they had said 'not no but Hell no'.
"I would be willing to compensate New Canada for its trouble. I have aboard my vessel fifty million Nausicaan marks."
"Unless you were able to convert it to gold-pressed latinum before you left I'm afraid that much may just get you a sandwich and a cup of coffee in the Commerce Section," Kitty said. "Nausicaan currency, I'm sorry to say, has taken a beating in the currency exchanges lately."
Tarik felt badly for Balax. He'd seen the currency exchange earlier that morning, when Sotok had sent him the monthly statements for his household accounts. The Nausicaan mark was exchanging at a rate of 750,000:1 with the Federation standard credit. It was the last of the major currencies to be backed by gold-pressed latinum; once the Mullurans had seized the Nausicaans' reserve bank the Nausicaan currency had fallen through the floor.
Balax looked crestfallen. For the first time in either Tarik's or Kitty's memory they thought they were about to see a Nausicaan break down in tears. And the refugee ships weren't going away. Five more had arrived since Balax's flagship had appeared; two of those had given stories of being turned away by the Ferengi--after paying a substantial bribe to the Ferengi border patrols.
"Federation member worlds are free to accept or decline refugees as they see fit. I will make inquiries to see if any other worlds would be willing to accept your people," Kitty told Balax. "Earth and Vulcan both have a long tradition of accepting displaced persons."
"Do not lose hope," Tarik advised the Nausicaan officer. "All we lack is an immediate solution. Your people are more than welcome to come aboard the station provided they obey all laws and pass security inspection. As the highest-ranking official from the former Nausicaan government you will be held responsible for their actions."
The former Nausicaan government. The words bit at Balax. "Thank you for your courtesy in meeting with me at such a late hour," he told them. "Now, if I may, I believe I shall return to my ship."
"We will be in contact if there are any further developments," Kitty said.
With a nod, Balax left the office. Two security officers escorted him back to the transporter room.
"I have to say, I feel very badly for the man. I get the sense that he is a good man trapped in bad circumstances," Tarik said.
"More than you know," Kitty replied. "My reading of him told me that he has an intense sense of pride and honor. This man isn't a pirate or a raider, and neither are most of the people out there," she said, pointing out the porthole to the massive flotilla of Nausicaan vessels assembled just beyond the station. "But their people's reputation preceeds them, and that's going to cause a lot of innocent people to suffer."
"It takes a lot for someone to consider the Borg a source of safe refuge," Tarik agreed. "These people need a place. They're not going to tolerate life as refugees. They need a world of their own, at least until they get Nausicaa back."
"But where? It's not like we can reactivate the Genesis Project and generate a new world ex nihilo for them."
"Let's do some research. Maybe we can come up with something. We need a place they can settle for themselves but that's close enough for us to keep an eye on should they turn to raiding."
With that, Kitty and Tarik parted company. Other officers would monitor the refugee situation while they both got their first sleep in nearly 22 hours.
For Tarik, that sleep lasted only about an hour and a half on the sofa in the living room, chosen so he wouldn't wake Kassia. Suddenly he had an idea.
"Computer, replay message from Sotok."
The computer replayed the message. The household accounts were in very good shape, although the trouble between the Mullurans and Nausicaans had sent stocks down in price. Sotok had, however, been nagging him about diversifying his investments against a major market downfall.
"Computer, list all real estate available for sale in the New Canada system, excluding New Canada itself."
As Tarik had suspected, all real estate in the system had been claimed either by the colonists or by Amalgamated Dilithium. There was, however, two noteable excpetions: the asteroid belt, and New Canada's smallest and outermost moon.
"Computer, list all mineral resources of the moon Yukon."
No dilithium was on the moon. It was really not much more than a very large Kuiper Belt Object, about the size of Pluto in Earth's solar system, captured eons ago by New Canada after another star passed near the system. It orbited well off New Canada's ecliptic retrograde to the rest of the system. It had no atmosphere and had never supported life.
But it did hold an abundance of organic chemicals. Organics held not only the potential to sustain life but also were useful in a variety of manufacturing operations. Fertilizers, plastics, synthetic fuels and lubricants--the little moon could be a gold mine to someone willing to work for it.
He checked the time. It was past noon in Shi'khar. "Open a comm channel to my residence on Vulcan."
The screen blinked over to an image of Sotok in his office. "Live long and prosper, Sotok," Tarik said, delivering the Vulcan salute.
[Peace and long life to you, Tarik,] Sotok replied. [I have seen the news. The events in your part of space concern me greatly.]
"It is much worse than you think," Tarik said, outlining the refugee situation.
[It does, indeed, sound grave. Do you seek my help in finding a solution? Our resources are extensive but we could not feed all of these refugees out of our accounts.]
"I propose nothing of the sort, my friend. Nor would the Nausicaans--they are not a people wont to accepting charity. But I do have a business proposition that could help everyone, including us." He told Sotok his plan.
[A most intriguing idea. Real estate is always a sound long-term investment. I will inform Sikal. You should have your answer within the hour.]
An hour later, Tarik was having a cup of coffee when the news came through. The transaction had cleared escrow. Hurriedly he cleaned himself up and requested to be beamed to Balax's flagship.
Upon appearing on the Nausicaan vessel, Tarik found himself greeted by eight Nausicaans with disruptor rifles pointed straight at him. "I see my reputation preceeds me," he told them with a smile.
"My brother was at Hygar," one of them snarled. Inwardly Tarik fought to control his emotions. If my brother were a pirate I would fully expect someone to kill him.
"You will lower your weapons at once!" Balax shouted as he entered the transporter room. Immediately the Nausicaan troops dropped their weapons in parade rest. "Set up an honor guard and end up with a firing squad--this younger generation, I tell you!" he said to Tarik.
"Of course," Tarik replied neutrally. "I have here a proposal you may find interesting," he said as he handed Balax the PADD.
Balax scrutinized the information. "You mean to have us settle this moon and manufacture plastics?" he asked.
"Well, it is better than running through the galaxy as refugees, or manufacturing plastics at gunpoint for the Mullurans."
He thought for a moment. "What's in this for you?" he asked.
"I own this moon now. It's the only way I could settle your people there--under Federation property laws I can dispose of my own real estate however I want provided I break no laws in doing so. We split the profits 70/30. My 70% I'll never see--it goes straight to the bank to make the mortgage payments. The other 30% you can use to support your people. Given the demand for manufactured goods out here and the high cost of transport, you should start turning a profit within about six months."
"70% Seems a bit high to me," Balax said. "How about we go 70/30 the other way?"
"Not bloody likely, unless you want a fleet of Ferengi marauders in the system to evict you once the bank forecloses."
"60/40?" Balax said, clearly not liking either the idea of negotiation or of being at Tarik's sufferance.
"50/50. Final offer."
"I'll take it," Balax said, not even waiting to be prompted to sign the paperwork.
Tarik had been harsher than he really wanted to on this transaction. For one thing, he wanted to make sure that the Nausicaans did not build up too much capital too quickly should they decide to build a pirate fleet in the middle of New Canada's backyard. He was mainly concerned with getting the refugees off their ships and in a reasonable living situation--preferably not dependent upon charity.
For another thing, he really was concerned about the bank foreclosing. This investment had been a strain on the household finances but was sound in the long-term. It did help matters legally that the Yukon Synthetics Company was now chartered on Vulcan as a corporation with Tarik on the board of directors, but if the bank decided to repossess the moon the company would collapse immediately. Once the company started to show a profit he would see about going public. Stock sales would ease the burden on everyone.
"One other condition," Tarik said. "To protect both of us."
"And that is?" Balax prompted.
"I will have an agent on Yukon at all times. He will represent my interests and those of the company, and will report to me daily."
"Who is this agent?"
"Fleet Admiral Sikal, ex-Romulan Star Navy. My grandfather."
"You have put a great deal at risk here, Colonel. Your fortune and your only living relative. You place far too much trust in me."
"I place no trust in you, sir. Because if I see any piracy operations in the New Canada system--or if my grandfather gets so much as a head cold--I will carpet-bomb Yukon from space personally and list it in the after-action report as pirate abatement. I don't need the money; Starfleet pays me well. I could lose it all tomorrow and still support my family comfortably.
"You, however, have much to lose. So I would advise you to consider your course of action carefully. You have an opportunity to redeem the reputation of your people here. Don't blow it!"
Balax's mouth dropped open in astonishment. "This is little better than a concentration camp!"
"No, it is quite a bit better. You are getting money for what you do; what you do with that money is entirely at your discretion. You will have to comply with Federation labor laws but I imagine to a lot of your people a forty-hour work week and a standard minimum wage would look pretty damned good. And if they have a problem they can organize--talk to the miners on New Canada and they'll tell you I'm pro-union. I'll respect the terms of any collective bargaining agreement and entertain any legitimate grievance under such an agreement. In short, you can do anything you want other than piracy and slaving. Or living on handouts. I won't allow your children and your infirm to starve but everyone else had better be prepared to work just as hard as the colonists out here. Not really much of a sacrifice. Billions of people throughout the galaxy exist on similar terms and are perfectly happy. Try it. You might like it."
Balax thought for a moment, remembering his thoughts as he left Nausicaa, perhaps for the last time. I could have been dead, or a slave. And my people had grown fat and lazy, living off the spoils of others. Perhaps this is just what we need to revive our culture. Certainly this is the best of all possible alternatives. "You make a strong case, Colonel. I will begin settling my people immediately. If I may use the station's communications to coordinate the effort, I would appreciate it."
"Provided all messages go through me or my agent, you may do so." He'd already discussed this much with Kitty. "On Earth there was a nation known as Japan. They functioned much as you once did--raiding their neighbors and attempting to build an empire. They were defeated rather soundly in a major war. Earth's first nuclear weapons were detonated on Japan's territory by their enemies. After the war they rebuilt as a commercial nation--and gained more power and credibility than they'd ever had as a military power. You would profit from the Japanese example."
"Then I think, as the expression goes, we are in business," Balax said as he offered his hand. Balax and Tarik grasped each other's wrists in the time-honored greeting of fellow warriors.
The resettling had begun immediately. Manufacturing equipment aboard Balax's ship had begun generating habitat structures on the surface of Yukon; already the first civilian ships were landing and refugees were disembarking. Tarik had already cleared two messages from Balax--one instructing all former Nausicaan military personnel and civil servants to meet aboard the flagship to discuss building a government-in-exile; the other, shortly after it, calling all individuals skilled in plastics fabrication and chemical engineering to the flagship to discuss manufacturing operations.
"I hope this is the right thing," Tarik told Kassia over breakfast. "I feel like a bastard for offering these terms to desperate people, but what else can I do until they prove they're trustworthy?"
Kassia took his hand as she thought for a moment. "I see that Balax knows he can hope for no better and that his situation could have been much worse. He sees your terms as harsh but fair given the reputation of his people. We aren't exactly dealing with Vulcans here, you know."
"I know, but I've basically become Balax's liege lord. I'm skirting the boundaries of just about every Federation business law and practice by doing this."
She looked him straight in the eyes. "Balax would not have respected you otherwise. By being firm with him and establishing such stringent terms, you've ensured not only his obedience to your terms but his loyalty to you personally--and by extension to Starfleet and the Federation. To a Nausicaan any agreement is binding not only to the parties, but to all other parties involved. If you make the right choices, that could work to everyone's benefit."
"The right choices," Tarik thought. "And what might those be?"
"That, my dear, you will know when the time is right."