The drinks were flowing, and the tavern was abuzz. It was hunting season, and Geoff Morrey was in his element. Dressed in local drab with Ensign Elara by his side, the gregarious chief moved from table to table, striking up conversation with the worn and weary people of this place.

“He came from the outer villages,” one man offered from across the table. “And what a breath of fresh air he was!”

“Which village do we have to thank for him?” Chief Morrey asked nonchalantly, probing at the origins of the mysterious opposition leader, someone they’d learned had sort of appeared from nowhere.

“Who knows, and who cares,” shrugged another. They’d never given it much thought. There were a number of remote villages in the outskirts, many so insignificant they didn’t even have a name known to any beyond them. “What counts is that he says it as it is, calling out the governor and his cronies, those who have willingly made a deal with the devil.”

“The devil?” Ensign Elara inquired lightly, although she was pretty sure she already knew the answer. Her motives were more just to keep them talking.

“Starfleet,” the man answered, the disdain evident in his voice. “Voral knew better though. He saw them for what they are: a menace that will bring doom to this place.”

Ensign Elara could not help but find it curious that these people, a people who had known nothing but a hard life, were so wary of giving it up. She’d heard their chants of ‘better before,’ but listening to the stories they told, not just of recent years, but of their entire lives, she wondered what ‘before’ they even meant. Duraxis had been a difficult place to live since long before most of them were born.

“He’s not afraid of them either,” the first reassured them. “Did you hear how he stood up to that admiral when he went up to their ship after they killed Gerrik, Huran and Sarai? He speaks truth to power!”

“I’ll toast to that,” the second added as he raised his glass, and all around the table, the others joined in. “Truth to power!”

“Truth to power!” came the reply in unison as glasses clinked.

As the conversation continued, Chief Morrey and Ensign Elara eventually shrunk away, finding themselves at a table by themselves as they watched the others.

“It’s curious, don’t you think, that no one knows where he came from?” Ensign Elara asked.

“Indeed,” Chief Morrey nodded. “One of the most curious facts we’ve learned tonight.” His mind turned the possibilities over in his head. “Before Voral, there was no organized movement, but then he appears, and he turns their frustrations into the inferno that now rages.”

“Do you think he’s even from Duraxis?”

“If I were a betting man, given the totality of what we know, I’d wager not,” Chief Morrey offered. They’d learned from the Teral brothers that Voral had enlisted them to plant the Borg malware within the fusion reactor. That malware hadn’t come from this place, and Voral would have needed a sophistication beyond this backwater in order to modify it as he had. There was no way a destitute denizens of the outlying villages could have done such a thing.

“But then what’s his purpose?”

“That’s what we still need to figure out,” Chief Morrey replied. So far, they’d learned much of these people’s grievances, actions, and plans, but when it came to the man at the center, they still knew very little. “Maybe we take a pass at him if we get the chance?”

“That admiral already tried,” Ensign Elara reminded her colleague. “It didn’t do well.” Up on the Diligent, she’d met with Voral and Governor Erlic, but it had backfire.

“Different setting, and different circumstances,” Chief Morrey counseled. “He was on his guard up there, but here, he’s among his own. His defenses will be down.”

They didn’t have to wait long either. Not even an hour later, the door of the tavern flew open, and a man they both recognized strode through. It was Voral, and he was greeted at once by cheers and applause. These were his people, those who’d been with him in the town square and at the reactor’s edge.

“Tell us, what’s the latest from the governor?”

“He is weak of heart and mind,” Voral snarled in reference to Governor Erlic, the man who’d first allowed Starfleet onto Duraxis. “Already his feeble spine bends again to the offworlders.”

“What now?”

“He gave into them again,” Voral explained. “They wanted to abduct our own, and he offered our constables – those sworn to protect us – to help. Now, the young lads Redrick and Devork are held against their will aboard their ship.”

“How could they?”

“This can’t stand!”

“No, it cannot,” Voral agreed, his voice deep with conviction. “First, it’ll be the Teral brothers, and next, it might be you, Zeke.” His eyes then moved around those gathered. “Or you Mehdi, or you Stok, or Jemar, or Tibo, or any of you.” The way he addressed them, it was clear he knew how to work the crowd. He made it personal.

“How can they do that?”

“What can we do?”

“How do we get them to leave?”

“All in good time,” Voral assured his followers. “All in good time. Tonight, we rest, and tomorrow, we rise once more. We will have our way, and we will have it soon.”

Slowly, the tavern settled back down, but Voral had brought new energy to the place. As Ensign Elara watched him mingle with the tavern’s occupants, she could help but sense something more was going on. There was a sort of assured finality in his word choice, and it didn’t make sense. He knew they had the Teral brothers, but shouldn’t he then figure that they were closing in on him? Why was he so confident?

The Betazoid intelligence officer reached out to touch his mind, but just like the last time, there was nothing. Nothing at all. She could feel the ambient emotions of the congregants, sure, but their leader, he was just a deep void, a place beyond her reach. There were other ways though. She leaned over to the chief, speaking in hushed tones: “You know that thing you said earlier about taking our shot at him? How about now?”

Chief Morrey took a moment to survey the scene. Voral had settled in at the front, conversing with those who passed by as they ordered their drinks. “Why yes, I think I could use another drink. Would you care to join me, my dear?”

Ensign Elara smiled and followed him as they wove their way towards the bar at the front. They pulled back a pair of barstools, just a few seats over from where Voral had taken root, and then Morrey waved the bartender over.

“Another pair of stouts for me and the lady please,” Chief Morrey asked, and then, as they waited, he turned to Voral. “May I buy you another as well, my friend?”

“No, but thank you kindly,” Voral replied graciously. “I’m not much of a drinker.”

Never trust someone that doesn’t drink, Morrey thought to himself, but he took a more kindly tact with his response. “Probably better on you for it,” he chortled as he patted his gut. “It does me no favors, but it’s sort of all I got.” He then let his eyes fall to the floor, casting them wearily like a man down on his luck.

“Don’t look so down,” Voral offered as he reached out a hand and set it reassuring upon the chief’s shoulder. “I promise you, when our movement takes the halls of government, and Starfleet is forced to leave our skies, things will get better. Better for you, and better for us all.”

“You have my vote, sir,” Chief Morrey assured him as their eyes met. “Erlic is puny, and his policies have made Duraxis what it is.” That much, the chief had been able to infer from the conversations they’d had, although he begged to differ with them on their perspective on Starfleet. “But Starfleet, they’ve got the stuff of miracles. What if they’re actually just trying to help?”

His statement was meant to provoke, and indeed it did. Voral paused for a moment, his face showing surprise as he cast his gaze upon the man. He didn’t recognize him, nor the girl beside him. But that didn’t mean much. His localist movement had grown so quickly in recent weeks that there were now many he didn’t recognize. “Do you forget what they did to Gerrik, to Huran, and to Sarai?” he asked tactfully, leveraging the three who had becomes martyrs of the movement.

“No, but what if it was really just an accident, a slip of the finger?” Chief Morrey probed.

“Then they have a good many accidents. Far too many, and always at our expense,” Voral noted.

“Don’t they have stuff – medicine, replicators, that sort of stuff – that could help us?” Morrey pressed, seeing how far he could push it.

“No, they have toys they cannot control,” Voral countered. “Take the reactor. They promised us unlimited power, but that thing, it’s a time bomb. It’s only a matter of time. And probably not all that much. That much, I promise you.”