Part 3 (1/2)
”Are you hungry?” Worf asked the boy in Klingon.
Turrok blinked and stared at him for a moment.
”Food?” Worf elaborated.
Turrok nodded warily, his long, matted hair tumbling over his forehead.
”Keep talking,” Beverly suggested. ”Use as much Klingon vocabulary as you can. His childhood language and experiences are all in his mind, if we can just reawaken them.”
”I have to gain his confidence first,” said Worf.
Before the point could be debated further their bodies began to sparkle and disappear. Turrok dropped the tray and gripped his stomach in shock, then howled in fright. Before the cry was all the way out of his mouth he, Beverly, and Worf regenerated in the center of a cheery forest with the sun beaming through the gently waving branches of big oak trees and a stunning blue sky overhead.
Turrok spun around on his heels, hardly believing his good luck. He opened his mouth and cut loose with a trilling cry that sounded like a birdcall. He waited, but there was no answer.
”He's calling his comrades,” said Worf.
Beverly replied, ”But n.o.body's going to answer. He'll soon figure out he's not in his own forest.”
From the trees, Geordi strolled into their midst carrying a large tray full of fruits and sandwiches. Behind him came Deanna Troi with a bundle of clothes under her arm. They both smiled warmly at the confused Klingon.
”Is this okay?” Geordi asked Worf.
The Klingon shrugged. ”Set it down, and we'll see.”
Geordi did as requested, making sure he didn't get too close to the wary youth. Deanna unfolded the gray tunic and pants she was carrying, then laid them on the ground.
”I think these will fit,” she said.
”Eat,” Worf told the boy in Klingon. He motioned to the food and the clothes. ”It's all for you.”
Cautiously Turrok knelt in front of the food and sniffed it. He finally took a peeled banana and stuffed the whole thing in his mouth, then began to do the same with a sandwich.
Geordi smiled. ”Well, he eats like a Klingon.”
Worf flashed his s.h.i.+pmate a quick glare, then returned his attention to the hungry boy. ”His name is Turrok,” he said. ”His Klingon has been corrupted, and I'm not sure how much he understands of what I've been telling him.”
Deanna smiled. ”I think you're doing splendidly, Worf. I sense that his fear and distrust are diminis.h.i.+ng. Coming here was a good idea.”
”But how should I proceed?” asked the Klingon.
”Make friends,” suggested the Betazoid. ”That's all you can do.”
”You have the holodeck as long as you need it,” said Geordi. ”This program is the Mount Gilead Park in central North America. If you stroll over that rise there, you'll find picnickers, a lake, and a reservoir. n.o.body will bother you, but if you want to get rid of the people, just tell the computer. Above the dam there's a great place to catch crawdads.”
”And take a bath?” suggested Beverly.
”Crawdads?” asked Worf uncertainly.
”Small freshwater crustaceans,” said Geordi, holding his fingers a few centimeters apart.
”You're good at bonding with children,” Deanna said encouragingly. ”Later maybe you can introduce him to your son.”
Worf heaved a deep sigh as he watched Turrok devouring the food. He wouldn't trust this wild creature with his boy for two seconds. ”Perhaps you should leave us now,” he muttered.
”Good luck,” said Geordi, patting the Klingon on his ma.s.sive back. ”I'm going back to scanning his planet. There are some interesting things going on down there.” Geordi strolled off into the trees.
”I can wait to examine him,” said Beverly, ”but call me as soon as he goes to sleep. Or if you need help.”
”I will,” said Worf.
Deanna seconded the sentiment, ”Call me if you need anything at all.”
Worf nodded again and watched the two women wander away into the holodeck woods. Then he turned and looked at the crouching boy, who was stuffing food in his mouth as if it would be taken away any moment. Turrok's wary eyes were never still as they scanned the forest for trouble.
He wiped food off his chin and stared at Worf. ”No like them,” he said, pointing after the departed humans. ”Kill them.”
Worf furrowed his huge brow, unsure if he had understood the broken Klingon correctly.
”Kill them,” Turrok repeated. He stabbed his fist in the air as if holding a spear or a knife.
The elder Klingon shook his head. ”They're my friends. My comrades.”
Turrok made a motion with his hand over his ridged forehead as if to say they were different. Worf knelt down in front of the boy, who scurried several meters away. When he saw that the big Klingon wasn't going to do anything but look at him, he crawled back toward the food.
Worf let the boy resume eating, then asked, ”Why do you want to kill them?” He made the same striking motion with his fist.
”Evil!” spat the boy. He pointed to the sky.
”But you take their food,” said Worf, pointing toward the sc.r.a.ps on the tray. ”Their food is not evil.”
Turrok looked away as if he didn't want to acknowledge that point. ”Balak say,” he finally replied.
”Is Balak your leader? Is Balak chief?”
”Chief,” nodded Turrok. He suddenly leapt to his feet and demanded, ”I want to go home!”
”Home,” nodded Worf, standing slowly. ”What do you remember about your home? Before Balak, do you remember anything?”
”Before Balak?” asked the boy, frowning at the alien concept.
”You are a Klingon,” said Worf forcefully. ”You come from a proud heritage. You have a history. Do you remember your parents?”
”Parents?” asked Turrok, tasting the unfamiliar word.
”Computer,” intoned Worf, ”replace the humans in this simulation with Klingons. Klingon families.”
”Request acknowledged,” answered the feminine voice of the computer.