STAR TREK: Strange New Worlds II

by Dean Wesley Smith (Editor)

  Worf said nothing as the little Klingon continued.

  Doubts eventually arose among some subcommanders. Loski was challenged in personal combat several times. There also emerged rumor that the Homeworld had reestablished contact with System Loski and had ordered the project halted, and that Loski had ignored orders and gone renegade. Chaos and civil war erupted.

  K’pril stayed loyal to Loski. The civil war lasted for months until the tide turned and Loski decided to order his flagship into a suicide attack against superior forces.

  K’pril was aboard that ship.

  Three days before the suicide attack, K’pril underwent the first stages of the bioengineering process.

  He knew he had a rare genetic trait that would make transformation fatal for him. But he did it now, before the flagship died in battle, because he had an idea. To die with the ship, with his commander, would be honorable, as would [143] Hegh’bat, ritual suicide. But K’pril wanted to die a true warrior’s death, fighting hand-to-hand, as a Klingon warrior was meant to die.

  “We were close to Federation space at the time,” he said. “We knew of Federation warships in the area, and we had intelligence the Enterprise was among them. My plan would permit my life’s ambition.”

  “Your commander agreed?”

  “He did not know. He was too busy with his war. I got help from friends.”

  “You built a lifeboat and launched it toward Federation space? I am certain the Federation, even then, knew Klingons did not have such things. How did you know you would be rescued by a Federation vessel?”

  “Remember, at the time we’d fooled the Federation about our very appearance. Besides, the Federation is driven by curiosity. Even if suspicious, they would take on the lifeboat just to see what it really was. They are also driven by compassion. A weakness. I intended to exploit both.”

  “You hoped the Enterprise would pick you up?”

  K’pril shrugged. “Or another Federation warship. It did not matter. One where I might die as a Klingon warrior is meant to die: fighting.”

  “And you were a scientist?”

  Worf must have signaled revulsion in his facial expression and body language, because K’pril grabbed Worf’s shoulders and stood facing him, glaring up.

  “Was,” K’pril spat. “Now I am a warrior. I, K’pril, son of Korpi, have chosen to single-handedly attack a Federation ship. Can you say there is no honor in such a death? Can you say I am not a warrior? Can you?”

  [144] K’pril’s grip was weak, and Worf fought an urge to laugh in mockery. His hand clenched the hypospray in his pocket.

  “Have you ever fought?” Worf asked.

  K’pril frowned, puzzled, as if the question were a problem he needed to calculate.

  “Who have you fought?” Worf persisted.

  K’pril stepped back and took a challenging stance. “Question my honor and I will kill you.”

  Worf said nothing. K’pril had made an honorable choice, even though he wasn’t trained to fight. But there are complications you don’t know about, scientist-turned-warrior.

  K’pril took Worf’s silence for agreement. Thinking himself victorious, he relaxed.

  “Now I have told you my story. You have agreed to answer my questions.”

  Worf nodded.

  K’pril spread his little hands and looked around the room, nose wrinkled in distaste. “Where is this place?”

  “I assure you, you are quite safe here.”

  “Safe?” K’pril’s fists balled and he glared up at Worf. “Safe? I do not want to be safe, tlhIngan jIH! I am a Klingon! A warrior! I want to fight!”

  Worf braced himself for attack. “You do not understand—”

  “Oh, but I think I do, Worf, son of Mogh. You are the one with a strange accent, not I. You don’t talk like a Klingon. I was a scientist in the Klingon Defense Force, but now I’m a warrior—and a better one than you.”

  Worf growled and one hand went toward his empty holster—

  —Which K’pril noticed for the first time. He gasped. [145] “Unarmed? How can that be?” K’pril looked quickly around the room, sniffing. “toH! I have it now. You said this was not a Klingon ship. Federation? Yes, I see the truth of it now in your eyes. You’re not Klingon. You’re—”

  With a growl, K’pril reached for his d’k tahg. It had been removed, but he had only a second to notice.

  Worf moved fast He wanted to strike K’pril down, but he remembered Dr. Crusher, watching with Deanna, and her warning that the little Klingon might die if overstressed. The man’s weakness sickened Worf. Still, he fought back his revulsion and hit K’pril with a hypospray tap to his neck.

  Thinking the hypospray had killed him, K’pril smiled weakly, softening his features. “I die a warrior,” he muttered as his eyes glazed over in unconsciousness.

  Worf didn’t think about those desperate warrior eyes as he lowered K’pril’s limp body back onto the bed. He thought instead of the compassion for the warrior, compassion he knew emanated now from Deanna’s watching eyes.

  Again, the thought irritated him.

  They arrived quickly, but a moment before Dr. Crusher and Deanna entered the room, Worf knew what he must do.

  “I shouldn’t have let you talk me into this,” Dr. Crusher muttered, scanning her patient with a medical tricorder. “I told you. His condition is fragile. The shock might have killed him.”

  “You’ve hurt him,” Deanna accused. She spared a barbed glance at Worf before bending over the unconscious Klingon, fussing with him tenderly.

  Worf sighed. He didn’t try to defend himself. I suppose I expected as much. He kept an irritated retort sealed between [146] clenched teeth and took the abuse in silence. His mind was elsewhere. Planning.

  He left the women as soon as he could and went to his room, where he took precious minutes to study history—restudy it.

  Worf prided himself on his knowledge of Klingon history. He’d heard only scant mention of a bioengineering affair, nothing important, in the early war years with the Federation. It was a minor incident, though it had spanned several years; he’d paid it no attention. Now he knew why.

  “The High Council was embarrassed, so they buried it in the footnotes,” Worf muttered to himself.

  Also: the house of K’pril was gone, dissolved in disgrace long ago. K’pril was alone. He didn’t know how alone.

  Federation records were easy to find once Worf knew what to look for. Until today, he’d had no reason to do so. Federation officials didn’t hide their early misidentification of Klingon physiology or offer excuses.

  The Organian affair had been well documented. Worf knew of it—Kirk and the old Enterprise, and Klingon Commander Kor. The Organian Peace Treaty. Until now, he’d had no reason to look at visual images from then. From the old records, K’pril’s bizarre, mutant face looked back at Worf.

  “Worf to Captain Picard.”

  “Yes, Mister Worf?”

  “I wish to speak with you, sir. In private.”

  A pause. Then: “In my ready room.”

  “I just talked with Beverly.” Picard sat behind his ready-room desk as Worf entered. Worf remained standing. “I viewed a record of your conversation with K’pril.”

  [147] Worf said nothing. The captain’s expression looked odd.

  “K’pril will soon be leaving us, Mister Worf.”

  “I know, sir. Eighteen hours, according to Doctor Crusher.”

  “Before then.”

  “Sir?”

  “It’s out of our hands.” Picard’s voice rose as if expecting an argument. “I’ve informed Starfleet Command and they have notified Empire authorities. We rendezvous with a Klingon warship, the Pagh, in two hours.”

  “Sir, you know what will happen if K’pril returns to Klingon hands.”

  “I know. Old soldiers never die, they just—”

  “They do not even exist. He shames the empire. This is why the truth has been suppressed over the years. Even his family has been e
xtinguished.”

  Picard’s lips tightened into a thin line. “He must be prevented from committing Hegh’bat while aboard the Enterprise. Is that clear?”

  “When he gets on board the Pagh—”

  “When he is given over to the custody of his own people, his welfare is no longer our concern. Is that clear?”

  Worf blinked several times, stung by the captain’s rebuke.

  Picard softened. “Believe me, Worf, I don’t like it either. Inside that little scientist beats a warrior’s heart. Poor man. He’d tried so hard. So brave and desperate.” He shook his bald head. “So futile. His family disgraced, you say? There seems to be no right way to end this.”

  “No right way, sir. But an honorable one.”

  An expression formed on the captain’s narrow face. Worf [148] recognized it: curiosity. Curiosity, K’pril had said. A Federation weakness. But Picard understands Klingon ways.

  Heard tugged on his tunic. “I’ll hear you out, Mister Worf. But this better be good.”

  “The Enterprise,” K’pril hissed between gritted teeth, looking around at the bare walls. Worf checked K’pril’s wrist restraints again before he nodded to two security officers.

  “Let’s go,” Worf said. The officers took up positions flanking their charge.

  Worf wore his Starfleet uniform, and K’pril glared hatred at him.

  “Perhaps you should let Doctor Crusher sedate him,” Deanna muttered, arms folded, “and you could carry him out like a sack of garbage.” Worf ignored the uncharacteristic sarcasm. He felt thankful Dr. Crusher herself wasn’t also present to amplify the barb and complicate matters further.

  “Why do you do this, Worf ?” K’pril’s eyes blazed with anger, narrow shoulder muscles bunched.

  “I am under orders—”

  “Federation orders. TlhIngan jIH! I am a Klingon! What are you?”

  Worf bit back a retort. He jerked his head toward the open door to the corridor, a silent order. K’pril spat. Qo’: I refuse.

  Patience lapsed, Worf grabbed for the man’s arm. K’pril whirled suddenly and kicked. The sudden attack, unexpectedly agile, caught Worf off guard. The blow hit him on the [149] jaw and knocked him backwards. His head thunked against the floor.

  In the haze on the borderline of consciousness, he heard K’pril howl in attack, phasers blast, and Deanna cry in pain.

  Seconds later, Worf awoke to the acrid smell of burnt flesh and stood, dizzy. In the room lay two dead security officers, the restraints lying on the floor. K’pril and Deanna were gone.

  Shouts from the corridor. K’pril still had Deanna and was using her for—for what?

  Worf knew, and he smiled with grim satisfaction as he stood. K’pril would finish his mission, even if delayed one hundred years. He’d go to engineering or the bridge. He’d kill as many people as he could and destroy the ship. If he could.

  The shouting came from near the turbolift.

  Worf ran that way.

  He tapped his combadge and shouted over the blaring security klaxon. “Security. Where is he?”

  “The bridge, sir. He’s got Counselor Troi.”

  “Do not fire on him. I repeat: do not fire.”

  Worf ran to his room, not far away. There, he grabbed two bat’leth swords. They would do.

  He got to the service corridor outside the bridge moments later, where security guards had cordoned off the area.

  “Systems have been shut down, sir,” one officer said. “He can’t hurt the ship and he can’t get out.”

  “Casualties?”

  “Three. In there.” He nodded toward the bridge. “Ensigns Hanson and Stern. And Commander Riker. All dead.”

  [150] “Who is in there with him?”

  “Counselor Troi. He’s threatening to kill—”

  “I know.” Worf stepped onto the bridge.

  “He has a phaser,” the officer warned.

  Worf ignored him.

  Deanna sat in the chair at the defense and weapons station, hair disarrayed, hands on the computer board in front of her. K’pril held a phaser against her neck.

  “The computer’s been locked out,” Deanna said, voice cracking. “I can’t get in.”

  “Stand away from her.” Worf aimed his phaser. He didn’t look at the bodies.

  K’pril ignored him, scanning the weapons panel as if to divine its secrets.

  “I will shoot you,” Worf said.

  “You will not.” K’pril pressed the phaser into Deanna’s neck with one hand, fiddled with the computer board with the other. “If you do, I will kill your friend as I die. Or maybe you will miss and kill her and then I will kill you.”

  “You are a coward.”

  K’pril barked a contemptuous laugh. “You cannot provoke me, Federation lackey.” He didn’t look up.

  “Klingons do not take hostages.”

  K’pril spat. “I’ll swap you adage for adage. How about this one: Klingons are resourceful. I’m outnumbered by hundreds. What is the crew complement on the Enterprise? A thousand? This human,” he jabbed the phaser again and Deanna cried out in pain, “evens the odds.”

  Worf tossed one bat’leth across the room. It landed on the floor behind K’pril. K’pril turned, saw the blade. He understood.

  [151] “You and I, traitor?” He smiled.

  Worf held the other bat’leth and stepped down behind the helm. “To the death.”

  “Your troops will not interfere?”

  “I so order it.”

  “Louder. I barely heard you.”

  Worf shouted. “No one interferes. Understood?”

  A small chorus acknowledged the order.

  Worf faced K’pril. “Satisfied?”

  “I would rather kill a Klingon traitor on the bridge of the Enterprise than a hundred Federation soldiers anywhere else.” K’pril jerked Deanna by the neck and thrust her toward Worf. She stumbled. Worf, watching his enemy, with one hand helped her stand. In the other hand, he held his bat’leth ready.

  “Worf, you shouldn’t—” Deanna began.

  “Go.” Worf pushed her away, but he didn’t watch to see if she left. He faced the enemy.

  K’pril stood away from the weapons station and tossed the phaser aside. He picked up the bat’leth and fingered its deadly, gracefully curved blades. He seemed to relax and stand taller.

  “Heghlu’meH QaQ jajvam,” he said with reverence.

  “It is a good day to die,” Worf echoed the traditional salute in English.

  Then they fought.

  The klaxons had stopped. On the Enterprise bridge, two Klingon warriors fought. They grunted in exertion and roared battle cries in fierce counterpoint to the crash and clang of the bat’leth being wielded with deadly force. They tripped over the three dead bodies, slipping on the bloody [152] floor, but they rose and fought on. They smashed computers, monitors, and other equipment as they slashed, kicked, and dodged.

  K’pril was smaller, but he was faster, more agile and more determined, more vicious. He danced away from blow after blow and countered with lightning jabs, cutting Worf on an arm with this pass, on a leg with another. K’pril laughed and taunted, increasing Worf’s frustration. At last, muscles rubbery and bleeding from a dozen small cuts, Worf made a mistake and stumbled, his bat’leth slipping from his sweaty hands.

  K’pril stood over Worf’s exposed throat. “After you die,” he panted, “maybe I will fight a real warrior.” He raised the bat’leth over his head.

  “No!” Deanna cried out Worf saw a blur of Federation uniform; Deanna, rushing at K’pril from behind him, d’k tahg raised high. Face distorted in rage, she plunged the blade into K’pril’s back.

  K’pril’s eyes widened. A brief smile formed on his lips, lavender with his blood; then he fell. The bat’leth dropped from his hands.

  “Computer! End simulation!” Deanna’s voice.

  The bridge disappeared, along with the two blood-soaked bat’leth, the d’k tahg, the two dead crew members and Riker, and t
he simulated Deanna Troi.

  Worf lay on the bare holodeck floor. Uninjured. K’pril lay a few meters away on his back, motionless, Dr. Crusher bent over him, tricorder poised. Deanna, the real Deanna, stood over Worf, fists balled at her hips.

  Dr. Crusher stood. “Neurological system failure. Even his redundant systems. He’s dead.”

  [153] Deanna’s lips trembled and she glared at Worf through tears. “You have a lot of explaining to do.”

  Picard kneaded a cup of Earl Grey tea, hot, in his hands. He spoke pensively across the ready-room desk. “All’s well with Starfleet Command about our incident.”

  “Somebody will ask about this in the future,” Worf said, “and I will answer, ‘It is a long story.’ ”

  “It took some doing. Deanna’s report helped. She and Beverly could have had our hides nailed to the barn door.”

  “Sir?”

  Picard looked up. “An old Earth adage.” He sighed. “It was inevitable they would have found out, you know, Deanna and Beverly. They are good officers. The best.”

  “Indeed.”

  “The timing. Doctor Crusher assured Starfleet K’pril’s sudden death was due to complications related to his disease. Not our fault. The empire has interpreted her report to show K’pril died in battle. Simulated or not, an honorable death.”

  “There is a chance his house may be restored to honor.”

  “A delicate piece of work, that report. Brilliant. As I said, they’re good officers. And friends.”

  “We are blessed, sir.”

  “I hope you’ve come to grips with this, Worf. I have. At first I thought that I followed the Klingon way as I understood it. I later realized I allowed your impromptu simulation for human reasons: compassion. I felt sorry for him.” He paused and fixed Worf with a frown. “Do you understand what I mean, Worf?”

  “Human emotions are difficult to understand. I am trying to learn.”

  [154] “Yes.” Picard nodded. “Data has trouble with human emotions too. Too bad he wasn’t on hand to help you with your makeshift sim.”

  “I was pressed for time. But it was good that Data was not involved.” Worf sighed and leaned forward. “Sir, I have explained to Deanna. I said I was solely responsible, that I modified the training sim to accommodate the escape scenario in a hurry, that Data was not available to help, that I was in error and, and—”