Part 15 (1/2)

Ensign Ro had just returned to eating her salad, despite the stares of her colleagues, who apparently didn't eat at their posts in the lab. She didn't care- she had to eat, and she wouldn't leave the seismographs. So intent was her observation of the instruments that the voice on her communicator startled her.

”Picard to Ro.”

”Ensign Ro here,” she replied with a dry swallow. She knew perfectly well why he was calling.

”Is everything under control?” asked the captain.

Ro swallowed again. Was she going to mention the fluctuations? The records were so poor in the lab that minor temblors like that could have been occurring for months without meaning anything.

”Ensign?” said Picard with concern. ”Is everything all right?”

”I don't trust those tectonic plates,” answered Ro, ”or Raul Oscraras.”

”I share your concerns,” Picard said gravely. ”The s.h.i.+p is leaving orbit now, but we'll return as soon as possible, perhaps in as few as fourteen or fifteen hours. Look out for yourself and don't hesitate to use their radio.”

”Understood, sir,” answered Ro.

”Enterprise out.”

Chapter Thirteen.

THE FOOD WAS swiftly disappearing, and the young Klingons were glancing warily over their shoulders at Deanna, Worf, and Data, wondering what would happen next. So was Deanna. She was certain of only one thing-whatever happened, it would not involve the Enterprise. The s.h.i.+p was gone, and she wondered how much of the peacekeeping authority of the Federation was gone with it.

She glanced at the slim android and the brawny Klingon beside her. Data was watching the young Klingons with a studious detachment, as if they were specimens in a jar, and Worf seemed immersed in thought, his jaw working nervously, his fists clenching and unclenching.

”We made them wear comm badges inside their clothing as a condition of getting more food,” she told Worf. ”So we are ready to proceed to the next step-whatever that is.”

Data replied, ”I have the communicator given to us by Raul Oscaras-we could contact the settlement for more food.”

”No,” growled Worf, ”their need is not more food for their stomachs, but food for their souls. They must be made to realize that they are Klingons, and Klingons do not hide in the woods or accept second-cla.s.s citizens.h.i.+p. They are the original settlers of Selva, and it's time they claimed their rights.”

”That is well to say,” said Data, ”but do you have a plan?”

”Only to turn them into real Klingons,” answered Worf. ”Do I have your permission to try, sir?”

Data nodded. ”As long as we are not endangered, you may proceed.”

Worf strode down the mound toward the diners, who were so sated by now that they were picking at their sc.r.a.ps. The roast turkey had proven to be very popular, and the biggest youth-now that Balak was gone-was gnawing on a bare carca.s.s that had been picked as clean as a drum skin.

Maltz studied Worf from the corner of his eye as the uniformed adult sat cross-legged on the ground a few meters away from him. Deanna took that as a clue as to how she should behave, addressing the adolescents as equals rather than grownups who stood over them. She hurried down the hill and sat beside Worf. He nodded gratefully to her and just kept smiling benignly until he was sure he had the attention of each of them. Data, who could hear perfectly well from atop the mound, maintained his lookout post.

Deanna Troi glanced at Wolm, knowing the bruised girl had performed an act that was violent and reprehensible, yet n.o.body had seen fit to punish her for it. Perhaps, thought the Betazoid, she was punis.h.i.+ng herself. Wolm sat apart from the others, and her head hung low; she seemed distracted and exhausted, as if the weight of her action had just hit home.

Turrok had been welcomed back and was sitting with a group of younger Klingons, but Wolm sat alone, an instrument of change and an object of fear. She had a.s.sa.s.sinated Balak, their first and so far only leader, and she would always be known for that. Her punishment or accolades would come later, when her comrades knew what to think about these fast-moving events.

”Did you like the food?” Worf asked them.

There were some grunts but no complaints, until Maltz tossed the turkey carca.s.s over his shoulder into the woods. ”You knew we would like the food,” he said with a scowl. ”What do you want from us? Friends? All right, we are friends.” He sprang to his feet. ”Now we go home.”

”Wait,” said Worf. ”There is plenty of light left in the sky, and I thought we could sit and talk. I will tell you exactly what we want.”

The others looked expectantly from Maltz to Wolm, then to one another, and there seemed to be a consensus that they could sit a while longer. Deanna was receiving so many conflicting emotions from this troubled group that she didn't know how to interpret them. Fear, curiousity, confusion, hope. Their instincts told them to kill the strangers and run off to their hutches, but their reason told them to listen. Their faces reflected a childlike nativete and a longing to be nurtured, yet Deanna knew they practiced ritual torture and slit throats without compunction. She remembered the cold knife point at her own throat and swallowed nervously.

Worf took a shaving mirror out of his pack and held it up for all of them to see. ”Do you know what this is?” he asked. ”It's called a mirror. You can use it to see what you look like.” He tossed the mirror to a startled Maltz, who caught it in spite of the frown on his face.

”If you look at yourselves,” Worf continued, ”you will see that we are alike. We are of the same race-Klingon-with the same history and the same destiny. Even if you don't understand anything else that I tell you, you must admit that you are Klingon, like me.”

Maltz scrutinized himself in the mirror, touching his cheekbones and rugged forehead. Then he handed it to a comrade, who twisted it, trying to find his best angle. Others peered over his shoulder at the glimmering object.

Worf pointed to Deanna and said, ”Counselor Troi is not Klingon-she is half Betazoid and half human. You only know this one planet, this one place, but people from many different races live together peacefully on many other worlds.”

He smiled. ”You are not that much different from Klingons elsewhere. We are warriors!” he cried, pounding his chest. ”We settle wars and disputes with blood, and the greatest joy for a Klingons is to die in battle!”

Now he had their attention, thought Deanna, but she hoped this wasn't giving in to their primitive tendencies. She caught herself biting her nail.

”But worlds are not founded on battle,” said Worf, ”they are founded on peace. War is destructive and tears things down. You need peace to build things.”

He motioned to the sky and said, ”I cannot teach you to be a citizen of the galaxy unless you first learn to be Klingon. In this life-the only life you remember-your allegiance has been only to one another. That is fine. You will always be brothers and sisters because of your experiences here. But you must bond with your people-the Klingons and the Klingon Empire.”

He bowed his head and added, ”I have also sworn my allegiance to the Federation, which is a group of races that share friends.h.i.+p. That is not a decision you have to make today. I made that decision because I was once like you-cut off from my family and heritage. Like you, I was not a Klingon, because I was not raised as one. But when I was old enough, as you are, my foster parents began to teach me what it was to be a Klingon.” Worf smiled. ”They are great believers in tradition.”

He slapped his knee and added, ”Later I went to live among my kinsmen, as you may choose to do. They taught me to be Klingon, as I will teach you. You will become one with me-and all other Klingons-and take me as your brother.”

The young people looked at one another in confusion. ”How will we do that?” asked one.

Worf smiled. ”We have a ritual called the R'uustai. The Bonding. You will become part of my family and I of yours. We will be brothers and sisters forever, and you will be Klingons, not just look like Klingons.”

Worf rose to his feet and added, ”There is just one thing. You will have to bring back the lanterns you took from us. In fact, bring back all the lanterns, flashlights, and anything else that makes light before darkness. We will need them for the R'uustai.”

Still looking s.h.a.ggy and unfed despite their large meal, the young Klingons rose uncertainly to their feet and peered at one another. Deanna was waiting for one of them to object, to challenge the idea, but no one said anything. They were still in shock. She hoped they would be able to absorb what Worf was offering them, and she wondered if it was wise to let them go. But she knew that Worf was right in letting them discuss it in private-they had to accept change of their own free will.

Led by Maltz, they jogged off into the woods. Turrok grinned and waved, and Wolm hung back, looking like someone who wanted to talk. But her companions were racing away, and Wolm wanted to be with them. She managed a brief smile before das.h.i.+ng off into the forest.

Deanna said with all honesty and admiration, ”That was very well done, Worf. I approve of this tack. It will increase their self-esteem.”

Worf gazed after the fleeting figures and muttered, ”Praise me later, Counselor-when they return.”

Ensign Ro rubbed her bleary eyes and leaned back in her chair, which creaked in protest. She had fidgeted with her instruments for two hours, scouring the vast continent that sprawled along the ocean floor. Somewhere in that concave wilderness there was a temblor every second, but the trouble spot closest to them was quiet, having exhausted itself with those little shrugs a few hours earlier. With enough time, from a platform like the Enterprise, they could eventually map all the fault lines, volcanoes, and other forces at work, along with their interconnections down to the mantle and the core. But for now she could only watch and fine-tune the sensors, wondering what she would do if the planet suddenly erupted in a growing spurt. Crawling under the desk was about all she could think of.

The Bajoran's worried musings were interrupted by a small voice. ”Ro?” it asked plaintively.

She turned to see a small girl with very large red eyes. Ro instinctively opened her arms and enveloped the child, and Myra responded with sobs hiccuping in her throat.

”They relieved him of duty,” she murmured with incomprehension. ”My dad. I feel awful for him, because he's done all he can, and they're stupid! But the kids in my cla.s.s-they say you and he ... I told them it wasn't true, and what difference would it make anyway?” Sobs overcame her, and her slight body trembled in Ro's grasp.

”Myra,” said the ensign evenly, ”it doesn't matter what they think. As for your father being relieved of his duties, I'm certain that is temporary. The one who should be relieved of his duties is Raul Oscaras. I've seen this my entire life, so perhaps I am cynical about it, but men such as he rule by force of personality, not apt.i.tude. He'll be proved a fool eventually. And your father will be proved innocent of whatever accusations Oscaras has trumped up.”