Lieutenant al-Kwaritzmi’s log, supplemental: it’s been three days from that exhausting mission chasing a Romulan engineering toolkit and the Syndic Rizör of Zaminakö has managed to send a message to the Sternbach asking for me to visit the village again.

Iskander materialized exactly in the same spot as he had three days earlier, on that opening a hundred meters away from the Upper Fanitë.

The sun was setting, now, and the sky was a whirl of rich ruby red and white. The temperature was falling and soon air moisture would become oversaturated and it would condensate. Soon there’d be the evening rain, and then the night — long and dark. The other side of the planet got a milder night, receiving the scattered light of the gas giant they orbited, but temperatures in the desert could sink really low.

He raised his eyes and was pleasantly surprised in seeing a group of Limitöe flying in his direction. He had feared that he’d have to walk to Zaminakö through the unwalkable fields that would soon turn into swamps.

The townspeople landed around him excitedly and greeted him. Iskander could recognize most of those he knew — the Syndic Rizör, the Guildholder Fawör, the Holy Girinöö, the Judge Bazïr, and then some of the younger folks such as the cousins Falmëë and Syabatäl. The avians had brought with them even a large coffer, transported by six of them by clutching its handles in their hands.

“It isn’t the wind that brought you here, Iskander al-Kwaritzmi” said the Syndic Rizör over the great confusion of voices, “but you are welcome.”

“It is a happy reunion” said Iskander, smiling, “and I am surprised that you managed to find a way to send me a message.”

“Swift wings and swift words” said the Judge Bazïr, probably citing a local wisdom.

“We know that you do not have much time” said the Syndic again, “but we thought you should have this. Come, come.”

The Syndic and the Judge flew to the coffer and, in a coordinated gesture, opened its lid to reveal a small treasure trove of Romulan technology.

Iskander approached and studied it with his precise, clinical engineering eye. It was as heterogeneous and eclectic as it could be: burnt pieces of hulls, half a plasma manifold, a hypospray, a complete rack of hydro-depurers, a sublimation unit, a very burnt uniform, a command panel, a Jinkoler-Whorff, and more and more. Centuries of cultural contamination.

“The adventures of this Scorcher have convinced me that we shouldn’t toy with this stuff” said the Syndic. “One day we will fly the stars and we will build machines like these, but for now we barely manage to do more than fight among ourselves and explode screwdrivers. Take all of this away, and we will let you know if more comes in our hands.”

Iskander nodded and thanked them.

Most Limitöe wanted to say a couple of words to Iskander, mostly to express some gratitude. The Starfleet team had saved many lives from the uncaring attempt at robbery of the Coal Baron.

The last person to talk to Iskander was the Holy Girinöö, when almost all other Limitöe had already left. She perched on a branch so that she and Iskander could look each other in the eyes, and she took an amulet off.

“I want you to have this, Iskander al-Kwaritzmi” she said, holding the amulet in his direction.

Iskander took it gingerly. It was a beautiful, simple thing, made from a wood matrix, with a roughly cut amethyst in its centre. “What is it, Holy?”

“It is a gämäd” said Girinöö. “It symbolizes my faith as a Holy, my relationships to the Aboves. It was given to me by the Holier Farinö when I had proven the fortitude of my belief.”

Iskander looked at the object and then studied Girinöö, knowing that there was more to the story.

“When a Holy such as myself sees something impossible, something belief-defying, they have to be honest with themselves” explained Girinöö. “They have to find the person who shook their beliefs and give them their gämäd. Then they have to go on a spiritual quest and, if they retrieve their faith, they can go back and retriever their gämäd. Such is our way. You, who saved my life and that of my nephew from gunshots, who made impossible things happen in those mines, who are calm and patient in front of adversity, you who come from the impossible Sternbach. All of you defies belief yet you exist and you have been good to us. I must be honest to myself.”

Iskander felt bad now holding the gämäd. “I didn’t mean to shake your faith in any way.”

“Your existence, star trekker, is reason enough for me to change.” Girinöö shook their melancholy and tried to appear cheery. “But now, despite my good age, I still have much to discover and to experience. I’m still the healer of Zaminakö, and I have seen from your Ensign Pasteyr that there are ways of medicine that are completely incomprehensible to us. I will learn science, as you do.” She sighed. “Even mathematics — which, between you and me — I have always struggled with.”

Iskander looked again at the gämäd. “The Sternbach will leave, and I with her. You’ll never have the chance to earn your gämäd back.”

Girinöö stared at him with deep, sorrowful eyes. “I know.”

They took flight and got back to Zaminakö.

Iskander followed with his eyes the avian flying away. Good riddance to the First Directive for this too, he though, although he could barely blame himself.

And finally he heard a rumble from above. The sun had descended low enough and the long night was incumbent. A droplet of rain struck Iskander’s head, another his neck. Another rumble, and the Evening Rains started. It was a mighty and incredible spectacle for Iskander, raw and natural and untamed, and he remained there, soaking in the water, basking in the dying heat of the Ceaseless Dust, for a good time.