Lieutenant al-Kwaritzmi’s log, supplemental: Ensign Pasteyr had no problem locating the exhausted silver mine that hosts the missing Romulan toolkit. We have beamed back to the Sternbach for a quick resupply, and now we will be beaming down. We expect two forces to converge on us: an enforcer squad of the Coal Baron, a rich industrialist who’s probably willing to have anyone killed in order to get the toolkit for himself, and the disorganized inhabitants of Zaminakö, bent on protecting their kin.

Limitöe villages had been quite alien: meant to be flown around and not walked, they were difficult and confusing to navigate, their weird buildings being accessible only through roof doors.

Limitöe mines were even worse. They dug vertically, travelled vertically, and needed no handrails. Moreover, the small size of the Limitöe meant that, even if the Starfleet crew had been fitted with airboots or something similar, they still wouldn’t have been able to pass thorough.

Hence, despite having arrived well before any flying group, Iskander and his away team had had relatively little success in getting the toolkit. Falmëë and his group were deep into the mine, far beyond the transporter’s reach, and shouting didn’t seem to reach them.

“We need a technical solution” decided Iskander.

“We could use targeted vaporization and open a new shaft” proposed Ensign Limkas. “We’ll be able to go down in no time.”

“What? No. We’ll send down a drone with a holographic projector. We’ll have a good talk. And, if need be, we can equip the drone with a transporter enhancer.”

Everyone nodded. What, after all, could go wrong.

Lieutenant al-Kwaritzmi’s log, supplemental: we have gone for plan C.

Ensign Pasteyr looked at the young Limitöe Zütil with a certain anger. She was drenched in water and clearly exasperated. “That device doesn’t do what you think it does!”

“My cousin is sure that it can transform copper into precious aluminium!” said Zütil excitedly.

“IT’S A SCREWDRIVER!” screamed Pasteyr.

Lieutenant al-Kwaritzmi’s log, supplemental: as we feared, the Coal Baron has detonated the remaining charges. The evacuation is in progress and there’s been no loss of life so far.

“A bit faster, a bit faster” said Iskander nervously as the Limitöe, be they villagers of Zaminakö or henchbirds of the Coal Baron, got through the opening that Diran was keeping from collapsing with an emergency structural lifter that was now working at 291% over the security limit.

“Where is Pasteyr?” asked Diran, blood on his chin where it had been scraped.

“I’ve seen her slide down shaft 17” answered Iskander, who knew she was safe but feared how wet she’d be.

“Again?” replied Diran.

A few meters away from them, Ensign Limkas snapped. “If you do not stop flapping your wings in my face, I’LL BITE THEM OFF!”

“Ensign Limkas is exaggerating” quickly added Iskander in the direction of the Holy Girinöö, who was flapping very rudely and insistently. “But please stop, Holy.”

“AM NOT!” roared Limkas.

Lieutenant al-Kwaritzmi’s log, supplemental: the enforcers are trying to regroup and attack from above — not now, sorry, I’m trying to update my log for — no, sorry, just a — AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH. Eh, computer, end dictation.

Lieutenant al-Kwaritzmi’s log, supplemental: from what we can tell, the metradic charger in the toolkit had been connected with the electricity network of the mine. I am afraid that ripping it out of the electricity network might have destabilized the cell.

“It’s finally mine!” screamed the Coal Baron, jubilant, grasping in the hands the toolkit, already five meters high in the sky. The Coal Baron was a great avian, dressed unpractically, and had finally let go of the musket. “It is mine, mine, mine, and finally I’ll be able to do wonderful machines that do not require stinking, striking workers!”

“No, you will not manage to do without workers!” screamed Iskander, regretting having not taken the airboots. “Also, I tell you again, an energy cell has destabilized. It is going to explode!”

“It is mine and no one can have it! Even the device that turns copper into precious aluminium!” rejoiced the Coal Baron.

“IT’S A SCREWDRIVER!” screamed Ensign Pasteyr again.

Iskander realized hat now that the toolkit was in the air, in the clutch of the Coal Baron, it should have been possible for the Sternbach to establish a transporter lock and beam it away.

And before he could signal the Transporter Room, the cell destabilized and the toolkit exploded in a beautiful corona of fire. The small shockwave threw the Coal Baron off their course, and they crashed in a bush.

“Aaargh! My hands! My precious graspers! My unblemished hands!” cried the rich exploiter, letting go of the burning remains of the toolkit. “Evil machine, evil, evil!”

The Coal Baron, furious and wounded, flapped away, followed by the enforcers.

“No!” screamed Falmëë. The initiator of the whole story, who had flown up to the desert and searched for days before coming in possession of the toolkit, they were a younger and quite ungraceful Limitöe dressed quite foppishly. “I had not even yet understood how to make aluminium!”

“It’s a — you know what? Forget it!” sighed Ensign Pasteyr.

Lieutenant al-Kwaritzmi’s log, supplemental: the Coal Baron’s forces have retreated and the villagers of Zaminakö are regrouping. The toolkit has exploded and Diran is collecting all the dispersed bits and pieces. Just in case, Ensign Limkas has been ordered to stun anyone to try to interfere and steal a piece for themselves. Ensign Pasteyr and I are tending to the wounded.

Ensign Pasteyr, now sufficiently dry and somewhat calmer, had a generic training in exobiology and nursing. Apparently nobody had died, which was a miracle considering how many weapons had been brought and how enthusiastically this flock of avians had fought, but there were a good number of bruises that could do with a modicum of disinfection and of painkiller. Iskander had checked with the Sternbach that doing some first-aid medicine was okay, and was assisting Pasteyr mostly by keeping the Limitöe moving and organized.

“Make place, make place!” screamed at some point the Syndic Rizör, urgently.

Iskander turned to see what was happening to deserve such alarm, and quickly understood. The Holy Girinöö and the Guildholder Fawör were being brought to them on an improvised stretcher.

The two had deep wounds, probably inflicted from the Coal Baron’s musket, and were bleeding profusely.

“They tried to be too heroic” said the Syndic Rizör, landing next to them. “I told them not to, but they saw an opportunity to get to the Coal Baron, and.. and…”

The Holy coughed up some blood. “It is too late for us, Rizör. My lungs are pierced. Oh, how I suffer.”

The Guildholder coughed up some blood too. “Uncle/Aunt, I do not want you to die.”

She laughed drolly. “I have seen the wound to your guts, nephew. Oh, how sad that we should find the night wind together.”

Pasteyr had been discretely scanning both of them, she looked at Iskander and nodded.

He clapped quickly. “Well, one amongst you wants to live by any chance? Or both?”

Both Limitöe looked at him with confusion and said “Yes” simultaneously.

“Then today nobody dies!” announced Ensign Pasteyr raising the tissue regenerator like it was a sword. “Everybody lives!”