“I, I turned away for an instant. Just an instant.”
“That error cost your life. Assume the warrior, after killing you, gains access to engineering and succeeds in sabotaging the ship. Your failure cost not only your life, but your shipmates’. Never let an adversary out of your sight. Didn’t they teach you that at the academy? What else?”
[131] “What—what else? Well, I, I—”
“Why did you turn your back on her? You knew she had a d’k tahg.”
“I, I—but she’d surrendered. I had her.”
“jeghbe’ tlhInganpu’,” Worf said, reverting to Klingonese.
“What?”
“Klingons do not surrender.”
“Worf, I read the surrender in her eyes, the way she carried her body. Not a Betazoid sensing. Anybody could have read it. She’d surrendered.”
“Klingons do not surrender. I programmed this one to appear to do so. My deception. You should have killed her the instant you had her in your sights.”
“But she—”
“Deanna, you know better. You forgot. You are too dependent on your Betazoid senses, even when they don’t work. They are useless on sims. You fooled yourself.”
“Klingons don’t surrender, yes, I know. That is, I should have known, but—”
“But you forgot. Then what happened?”
“She looked at—at somebody behind me. I thought she did, anyway. She tricked me. I fell for it.”
“That is not the problem.”
“I don’t understand.”
Worf sighed. “We do not surrender or fake surrender, not toj tlhInganpu’; Klingons never bluff. We face our enemy. Like the surrender pose, the look over your shoulder was something I programmed in, to reinforce the lesson. Again, it was not Klingon behavior. Again, you did not recognize it.”
Deanna nodded. “You’re right. I knew that You fooled [132] me—no,” she sighed and kneaded a bruise on her jaw, “I fooled myself. All this violence, it’s, it’s—I just need more practice. I’ll get it yet.”
The determination in her voice did little to assuage Worf’s disappointment. Concern for Deanna’s welfare and belief that he’d failed, not her, prompted his own sigh and a gentle touch on her slender shoulder. “You should report to sickbay.” He allowed himself a moment of un-Klingon-like compassion. “See to those bruises. We will run the sim again later. After I make a few adjustments.”
Deanna smiled, brushed Worf’s cheek affectionately with her fingertips, handed him the helmet, and left the holodeck.
Worf stood alone. He breathed deeply to relax his troubled mind. Not Deanna’s fault. She was intelligent and resourceful. Though slight of stature, she was strong in mind and spirit, and although she abhorred the violence, she’d committed to help Worf make his new training program work.
Had her dependence on her Betazoid senses betrayed her? If so, Worf mused once again, he had erred in letting her be his first test subject. That wasn’t it. The fault lay deeper, and Worf blamed himself.
She truly does not understand the Klingon way.
Worf warred in his mind between his growing affection for Deanna and his dedication to duty. He could not—absolutely would not—allow that struggle to cause harm to his shipmates, including Deanna.
Hence his new training program and his choice of Deanna as first subject to test it. His routine vigilance as security officer, Starfleet Academy training, other training sims, and his daily Mok’bara martial arts sessions went only [133] so far in preparing the crew to confront an enemy. If Deanna could win in violent combat—hand-to-hand against Klingon warriors, the toughest adversary imaginable—then any crew member could be trained to defeat any adversary. So the theory went.
With the Borg a new threat to the Federation, Captain Picard had approved testing the new program, devised with Lieutenant Commander Data’s help.
But Deanna kept failing. She’d been killed repeatedly.
Built-in safety systems, designed to prevent injury on the holodeck, impeded Worf’s efforts to maintain the high violence level he thought necessary. Data, with the captain’s approval, had helped devise safety overrides for the program that necessitated the use of a helmet and other protective gear.
It still wasn’t working. It was as if Deanna fought in a stupor with blinders and padded gloves.
Worf fingered the dent in the back of the helmet that protected Deanna when she’d been kicked to the floor. The kick had been simulated, but the fall had been hard and real. I’m going to have to replicate stronger gear.
He shook his head in frustration. He’d been as tough as he could be, had cranked up the program as high as it could go. That wasn’t the problem. Deanna could fight well. But the subtleties escaped her.
She just does not understand the Klingon way.
If Deanna didn’t understand the Klingon way, then nobody did—except Captain Jean-Luc Picard and Commander William T. Riker, who’d served on Klingon ships. That meant the program had failed and the crew was at risk. That meant Worf had failed.
[134] The thought of failure frustrated him. Anger boiled in his blood and he clenched his fists and growled.
Which gave him an idea.
Anger. Of course. SeymoH QeH: Anger excites. Why didn’t I see it before? Anger is the missing element. Deanna is not angry enough, not made to be angry enough. Again, my fault. But how do I—
“Picard to Lieutenant Worf.”
“Worf here.”
“Report to my ready room immediately.”
“Aye, sir.”
Worf headed to the bridge. At the turbolift, the ship’s executive officer, Commander Will Riker, joined him.
“How’s the new security simulation working out?” Riker asked.
“It is not yet ready for general use by the crew, sir.”
“Problems?”
Worf glared at Riker, at first affronted. Then he took in the concern in Riker’s piercing gaze and relaxed. Though Riker and Deanna had once been lovers, Riker’s present concern didn’t relate to the memory of those intimate times. The two were friends now, and Riker was concerned as a friend. And as Deanna’s commanding officer.
Riker had at first opposed using Deanna as Worf’s first—what word had he used? Guinea pig? Deanna had insisted on helping. She helped win the captain’s approval. Riker had once provoked Deanna to anger, Worf remembered. It helped her get bridge command certification.
Yes, I’m on the right track. Anger, or rather, Deanna’s lack of it, is the problem.
[135] “There are problems,” Worf admitted. “I will fix them.”
“Maybe we should reconsider real-time war games in the corridors, but—” He shrugged.
“Too risky.” Worf dismissed the notion firmly, again. The captain had already agreed with Worf. Who would know good war games from a real emergency?
The turbolift door opened on the bridge.
“Qapla’,” Riker said: “Success.” He assumed command of the bridge, and Worf strode to the adjacent ready room.
He found Captain Picard waiting for him with Lieutenant Commander Geordi La Forge, the chief engineer, and Lieutenant Commander Data.
Picard nodded to indicate a chair, and Worf sat, waiting for his captain to speak. Picard got right to the point.
“We’ve taken on what appears to be a lifeboat which we found adrift. It’s in cargo bay one right now.”
“Why wasn’t I summoned before it was brought aboard?”
“It was brought in under a force field,” Picard said, “just in case. You were observing your new training simulation and I didn’t deem it necessary to interfere at the time.”
“Geordi and I examined the vehicle,” Data said in his emotionless android voice. “Though our search was cursory, you will find our examination adequate. We determined it represents no threat to the Enterprise. It is most intriguing—”
“Worf, you won’t believe this,” Geordi butted in, his excitement volcanic. “It’s a Klingon ship—I mean, a lif
eboat from a Klingon ship. It’s a hundred years old. A century! Can you believe it? I’ve never seen anything—”
A lifeboat? On a Klingon vessel?
[136] “We look forward to your detailed engineering report, Mister La Forge. Meanwhile, Mister Worf, the reason you’re here is because there is a passenger. A Klingon. That is, we think he’s Klingon, but—” Picard shrugged.
“But what? Either he is or is not. I do not understand.”
“The passenger is alive,” Picard said. “He was found in a stasis field. Doctor Crusher did an examination and ordered him moved to sickbay.”
“Sir, you still haven’t explained—”
“Crusher to Captain Picard.”
“Picard here.”
“Captain, you’d better get down to sickbay. I think Lieutenant Worf should come too. Our patient has revived.”
Concern etched the corners of Dr. Crusher’s mouth as she met Picard and Worf at the sickbay door with Geordi and Data. “I’m sorry, Captain. I had to sedate him seconds after he revived, right after I called. He awoke, looked around, bolted up, and went berserk.” She nodded toward a nurse sitting on a nearby bed. Deanna sat by the nurse, an arm around her, murmuring. “Scared Ensign Hammond badly, I’m afraid, though she’s not hurt. Thankfully, Deanna was here.”
“Counselor Troi?” Worf said. “How so?”
“She’d just walked in for treatment of minor bruises—your training program, I believe—when the patient revived. She distracted the patient long enough for me to administer a sedative. She did a brave thing, under the circumstances—”
“I look forward to hearing the whole story,” Picard said. “Later. Meanwhile, how’s our guest?”
“Harmless for the moment. Sedated. See for yourself.” [137] She nodded toward a bed across the room. A force field flickered around the bed.
The officers approached the bed. Worf frowned.
The man on the bed did not appear Klingon; he lacked the heavy, corrugated forehead characteristic of Klingon physiology. Thick black eyebrows arched up on a smooth humanoid forehead. A long, tangled moustache and a small trimmed beard framed his glistening, almond-dark face. The beard looked new, the Klingon looked young. About my age, or only a few years younger.
The helpless, slack-jawed man looked part Klingon and part human. To Worf, he looked like a pathetic joke, an aberration.
He pointed a finger, almost touching the force field. “This man is not Klingon,” Worf said, disgusted.
Dr. Crusher sighed. “My internal scan shows Klingon physiology; only the external is—different.”
“Obviously,” Worf snorted.
“He’s been bioengineered,” Dr. Crusher continued, “deliberately made to look un-Klingon.”
“What do you make of it, Mister Worf?” Picard asked.
“It is a mystery, Captain. See the uniform?”
“Go on.”
“It is the uniform of a Klingon warrior, but it is an old style, long unused.” Worf shook his head. “And a lifeboat? From a Klingon ship? Not a sleeper ship, but a lifeboat? As if he’d fled?”
Picard nodded. “Un-Klingon-like. Mysteries. Not like the Klingon sleeper ship, T’Ong. You handled that well two years ago, Mister Worf. Take charge here. I want answers. You may have Mister La Forge and Mister Data to assist you.”
[138] Picard turned to the android. “Your comments, Mister Data?”
“Sir, the vessel is of Klingon design. I found writing in pIqaD, the Klingon script, and the computer is an old Klingon style. The uniform and other factors confirm its Klingon origin and indicate an approximate age of 100.26 years. Despite all we know of Klingon ways, the vessel appears consistent with a lifeboat. It is not a sleeper ship.”
“Impossible,” Worf and Picard muttered together.
Picard glanced at Worf and proceeded. “Something’s not right here, and you’re going to find out what it is, Mister Worf. Start immediately and report anything—”
“Sir,” Dr. Crusher’s voice grew stern, “may I remind you this is my patient, and he is under sedation. In addition—”
“Can you revive—”
“In addition.” She took a breath, then lowered her voice. “Sir, there’s something you should know.” She took in Worf as well as the captain. Picard nodded for her to continue.
“Captain, this man is dying. He was dying when he went into stasis.”
As Dr. Crusher spoke, Deanna gazed at the reclining Klingon. In her soft, dark eyes Worf saw compassion. The look annoyed Worf and he gritted his teeth. He is likely a coward who deserted battle. He deserved no compassion.
“I see,” Picard said. “Can you do anything?”
She shook her head and looked away.
“How long—”
“Twenty-four hours. At most.”
* * *
[139] “There were humans here,” the Klingon said with an odd accent. “Did you kill them?” He tried to rise on one elbow. “How long have I—”
Worf put a strong, steady hand on his shoulder. “They are gone.”
The warrior lay on a bed in a small, bare isolation room adjacent to sickbay; all distinguishing features had been removed from the room. Worf agreed with Dr. Crusher that the man should be revived with as few jolts as possible. The doctor said his condition was such that any shock or exertion could kill him instantly, despite his redundant internal systems.
After Worf changed to Klingon garb, Crusher reluctantly agreed to leave him alone with her patient under the condition that she’d observe from a nearby room on a security camera. Deanna stood at Dr. Crusher’s side.
Worf had a hypospray in a pocket, also at Dr. Crusher’s insistence.
The warrior sagged, still groggy from the sedative. “What is this place?”
“Do you require water? Food?”
He shook his head. “I am K’pril, son of Korpi. Warrior.”
“I am Worf, son of Mogh.”
“I do not know your house.”
“Nor I yours.”
“We have much to talk about,” K’pril said. “Do we not?”
“We do.”
“What is this place?” He sat up, sniffing the air. “This does not smell like a Klingon vessel.”
“It is not.”
“Where are we?”
[140] “You should first ask what year this is.”
K’pril looked hard at Worf. “Why?”
Worf told him, and watched. K’pril’s expression changed from shock and disbelief to anger in swift succession. Within three breaths, he recovered. He stood abruptly, fierce determination spreading lips over gritted teeth, a growl starting deep in his throat.
Worf stopped K’pril’s hand short of the hilt of his d’k tohg sheath. The sheath was empty. Dr. Crusher had ordered the weapon removed. K’pril hadn’t noticed yet that it was gone; he kept his eyes fixed on Worf’s.
When K’pril staggered to his feet, for the first time, Worf saw how small he was. K’pril was a head shorter than Worf, and probably fifty pounds lighter. A runt, Worf thought, as he held the groggy warrior’s d’k tahg hand rigid without effort. Why wasn’t he killed at birth?
“Why do you stop me, Worf?” K’pril grunted.
“You would kill me for telling you the truth?”
The warrior sagged. “No. Me. Hegh’bat. Something went wrong. So many years? It means I have failed.”
“Failed what?”
“My mission.”
“Tell me of your mission. The vessel you were found in looks like a lifeboat, yet it looks Klingon. You were in stasis. You speak Klingon, yet your accent is wrong. You do not even look like a Klingon.” Worf added to himself: And you are too weak to be a warrior.
K’pril seemed to shrink in on himself. For a moment a defeated look, like the one Worf had programmed into his sim, filmed his eyes. The moment passed and he returned Worf’s hard gaze.
[141] “I will tell you. Then you, Worf, will tell me things I want to know. Agreed?”
Worf nodded, and the little warrior told his story.
Admiral Loski was military governor of an entire star system, three planets and a dozen moons recently colonized by the empire far from the Homeworld. In the earliest days of the war on the Federation, through military misadventures in the sector and some freak accidents and coincidences, System Loski, as it was known then, got cut off. As Klingon commanders are trained to do in such cases, Loski carried on.
His idea of how to do so stretched the boundaries of military ingenuity. Loski had scientific pretensions. Another scientist, K’pril, helped devise a plan to infiltrate the Federation. The plan was to bioengineer Klingon physiology so warriors could infiltrate targets not accessible to overt Klingon forces and attack from within—in hand-to-hand combat.
The physical transformation was implemented in individuals in phases. It worked. Despite the physical grotesqueness involved, it met with great joy among warriors under Loski’s command. It was accepted because it meant a chance to fight, not from a distance but hand-to-hand as a Klingon warrior was meant to fight. In fact, the idea gained such popular support that nearly every Klingon Defense Force member in the system, from the lowest clerk to the highest officer, underwent the transformation, or some stages of it.
Early probes into certain Federation facilities, like Deep Space Station K-7 and Sherman’s Planet, with partially altered warriors and commanders, proved successful. Partially altered, Commander Kor’s troops faced the [142] Federation in the Organian affair. For a time, the Federation believed the modified physiology prevailed throughout the whole empire. To Loski’s delight, his warriors even got aboard a Federation ship and examined it. The ship: the notorious U.S.S. Enterprise ...
“The Enterprise?” Worf said.
“You have heard of this ship? After so many years?”
“I have. But never mind. What role did you play in this, this—scheme?”
“I had personal motive in seeing the project succeed. My house has produced scientists for generations. I followed my family’s ways, but I wanted to be a warrior. I have a warrior’s heart,” K’pril thumped his chest, “and look at me. Do you not see the body of a warrior?”
STAR TREK: Strange New Worlds II Page 12
