Land of Plenty

"Redyamine?"

Stephen April's head turned.  An oval-shaped man, bulging in a brown jumpsuit, looked at him, looked down and shuffled his feet, looked back up.  A line of brown spikes partitioned the center of his head, over the cranium to his chin.  Ktarian.  His jumpsuit was soiled, faded; he resembled a gardener or landscaper.  His feet, bare, stained and dirty, left smudges on the spaceport's plasteel floor.  It took a moment to comprehend the words: Read your mind?

He held out a PADD and gave it a shake.  Dust caked the cracks on a blinking display awaiting thumb-print authorization.  His hands and feet bore etched symbols – Hebrew-style script, a different symbol for each limb.  On his forehead, a six-pointed Star of David encircled a stubby brown spike.  "Krez?" he said and shook the PADD again.  Credits?

The Sons were a difficult group to figure out.  Rejecting modern society, they lived in the wilderness areas of Earth, on vast land-tracts reclaimed from centuries of war and pollution and habitation, far from cities.  They refused replicators and food and credit rations, lived without sonic showers or transporters, didn't use aircars or communicators or universal translators or computer banking.  Many thought them the modern-day equivalent of beggars or Amish.  They started springing up a couple years after news of the Ba'ku and the Briar Patch hit the subspace waves.  Starfleet blocked unwanted intruders from entering the Ba'ku system, including a sudden mass of refugees demanding asylum from the modern life.  Turned back, they started popping up here and there, in groups from Earth to Rigel, their collective name, 'Sons', earning distrust.  Technically it was Son's, derived from the Ba'ku word for 'reject'.  Some inferred the similarity to 'Son'a', though it had nothing to do with them, and it went downhill from there.  Reporters loved a dirt story anytime, and delivered it with glib, exquisite ignorance, highlighting the comparison.

If they could not be faulted for that, then the public could.  Why would popular opinion be so selective, accepting the origin of the name, but not the intent?  Sometimes people... or life... made no sense to Stephen April.

"DMD-242 inbound passengers now arriving at gate seven,"  the port loudspeaker called out.  April looked up.  The ceiling, a transparent aluminum dome, opaqued the light of the morning sun.  Outside, shuttles rose and fell like bees against the Chicago skyline.  The one he sought had already landed, but he looked anyway, for a moment.

The Ktarian mumbled something, drawing him back.  April touched his ear, activating his translator.  "How can you read my mind?" he said, in a serious sort of amusement.  "Ktarians aren't telepathic."

The vagrant regarded him with eyes at once simple yet deep: Dark eyes, glittering with a sort of inner glow.  April began to think the Ktarian found him amusing rather than the other way around.  They were a spiritual group, accounting for the symbols, hearkening back to old Earth religions, the mythology of creator deities and humans put on Earth to worship them.  A Ktarian, adorned with human religious icons: Christopher Columbus might have laughed at the irony.  But would the Pope?

"Are you waiting for your mother?" the Ktarian said, understanding.

April gazed at him, unblinking.  A hybrid was the first thought that came to mind.  Half Ktarian, half of a telepathic species who passed it down.  Had to be.  Or a good con artist.  But the Ktarian's eyes were... too intense, too honest, somehow, for that.  Practice a parlor trick and get someone to sign off a handful of credits?  If they didn't need credits or want them...  The Federation could provide anything they needed, as far as material goods.  What was the point, then?

"Why do you want credits?"

The Ktarian gave no indication of a satisfied reaction.  Was he that good at reading people, that certain that he was right?  Or was April just somehow obvious?  "I don't," he said.  "But you do."

"I do?"

The Ktarian scuffled feet, left more dirt.  Passers-by in the bustling spaceport glanced, kept going.  He gestured.  "You.  Them.  Do you truly have all of which you could possibly need?"  His precise language provided sharp contrast to his opening dialog, thanks to the universal translator – a device his kind rejected.  Ironic.  He set the PADD in the empty seat next to April.  The display blinked, waiting for attention, a transfer of funds.  April stole a glance at it: The Bank of Bolias.  Federation credits, not Earth credits.  "In your quest for self-improvement," the Ktarian continued, "have you ever donated for no reason, other than to donate?  You don't need to.  The Federation provides all; that is what you are thinking, correct?"  That was obvious.  April listened, not impatient, wondering where this was going.  "I'll donate your donation to another, somewhere... someone, sometime."

April was about to ask why, until he remembered the Sons' disuse of technological transportation.  They went out into the cities far from their homes, using primitive means – horse-drawn carts, bicycles and the like.  Not because they had to.  And they didn't need money.  They took care of themselves.  Why, then?  Because it put them in contact with people, he realized.  Allowed them to share their ideas of giving... just to give.  The one thing no one needed.  Perhaps the one thing everyone needed.  And it opened a door to thinking, as April was thinking now, about this strange man who had so much less than the average Federation citizen... yet seemed to have more.

He was not a beggar.

"Stephen!" his mother's voice exclaimed; he looked.  She clipped through the terminal, smiling and waving.

He picked up the PADD, put his thumb on it, tapped out a hefty sum, and returned it to its bearer.  "Share it wisely."  The Ktarian smiled knowingly and moved off into the crowd, April watching him go.  Then he turned, rising to meet his mother.

"How long have you been waiting?" Lorraine April said, kissed him on the cheek then motioned the valet along with her luggage.

"Hi mom."  He fell into step with her, weaving through the bustling spaceport.  "Not long.  Just got back from Anubus II."  He unconsciously gave his uniform jacket a tug and glanced behind, at the valet struggling to keep up.  "Here..."  He slowed to take one of the suitcases and resumed stride.

"Anubus," his mother repeated.  "Sounds Egyptian."  She tossed her dark hair back, pushed a few strands behind one ear and fished in her bag for something.

"Well, it is, sort of," Stephen said.  "Some vanished culture with ties to ancient Egypt.  Currently uninhabited; the archaeologists are having a field day.  A lot of jungle.  Too hot for me, but the pyramids were exciting."

"Pyramids?  I'll have to remember that.  Here, Kevin sent this."  She handed him a plastic disk.

He looked it over once, narrowly avoided bumping into a Malcorian.  "What is it?"

"His last showing at the Palamar Faire.  Said there's something on there to remember him by."  She looked at him.  "You're still going, right?"

"Yep.  All the way to M87.  That's the assignment."  The plan, at least, his subconscious added for him.

Lorraine shook her head.  "I don't know, Stephen... Dominion space, then another galaxy?  Sounds risky to me."

"Mom," he said, recognizing her tone.  This was how it started.

"Stephen... the Dominion!"

"We're at peace with the Dominion, remember?"

"It was only five years ago that—"

"That was then, mom," he said impatiently, "This is now.  You're starting to sound like dad.  We have an embassy in the Dominion capital, officer exchange programs on a regular basis.  They're making reforms. The Founders want peace.  Was I wrong about the Borg?"

"No, but—"

"So there's nothing to worry about."

"What about that black hole you mentioned?  If—"

"It's not a black hole," Stephen laughed.  "It's a singularity.  Big difference.  Quit worrying, mother.  We'll be fine."

Lorraine read his 'we' and sighed.  "If you say so.  How's Neria?"

"Good.  Passed her grade review.  She'll be an ensign before she knows it."

"You will be back in time for her birthday...?"

"Hopefully.  No guarantees.  You know how it is."

She sighed.  "Don't I.  It's been so long since I've held Robert, I forgot what it feels like."

"Have you heard from dad?"

"Last week he called.  The Horizon's running supplies to Grazellius.  Another plague or something."  She looked at him.  "I don't know about those people, Stephen.  Federation membership?  They have a long way to go.  You should see the plumbing; it's just awful."

"I'll pass that on to the Application Committee."

"Well, they can learn a thing or two about genetic cargo containment."  She let out a low laugh.  "If your father doesn't teach them."

"You're getting along?"

"Of course we do.  I swear, Stephen; you tell me I worry.  Your father has his life; I have mine.  I accepted that a long time ago.  Oh, here we are...."

They emerged into the exit foyer.  Stephen hefted the suitcase onto the cargo transport pad and took the rest of his mother's belongings from the valet, who looked too happy to be free of them.  For a moment he thought of the Ktarian.  "Why do you always take so much... stuff?"

"I didn't take it.  This is what I'm bringing back."

"Same difference.  You bought all this?"

"Dowry," she joked.  "I'm one of the best travel writers this side of Bajor," she said.  "What good are credits if you don't spend them?  I'm doing the merchants a favor: giving them a place to store it.  Besides, it's not much, Stephen – just because you don't own anything, except that uniform and your ship..."

Stephen thought again about the Ktarian.

"You ought to see the Michigan house," Lorraine said.  "I'm living like a queen."  She held her passcard to the scanner, put it back in her purse.  "Can I help it all the men want to shower their favorite old gal with gifts?"  She did a little dance.  "You should see me on the dance floor.  Oh, now don't look at me like that.  Have to make an impression on my clients."  She laughed at her son's expression.  "Say the wrong thing and I'll kick your butt."

"I was only going to say, you're not old."  She had everything she could possibly need.

She took him in another quick hug, planted another kiss on his cheek, hugged him again.  "Oh, Stephen... I wish we had more time.  I think about you always."

He smiled.  "I know.  I think about you, too.  Like I said, don't worry.  It's all planned.  I should be back in a couple weeks."  He squeezed her hands in his.  "I love you, mom."

"Love you."  She patted his cheek where she'd kissed him, shared a moment of eye contact, said, "I'd better go before you get all teary-eyed on me."

Stephen laughed.  "Right."

Lorraine stepped out into the sun and reflected the light, radiating brighter than ever.