Part 22 (1/2)

He was first alerted to his error by the much heavier footfall. He glanced up, and there, standing just inside the doorway, was Tron.

”What are you doing here?” said Worf.

Tron c.o.c.ked his head slightly. ”You said I could come in.”

”Yes,” was the terse reply.

They paused a moment, sizing up one another.

”Gava is very attractive,” said Tron.

”Yes.”

”How loyal are you to her?”

”Mind your own business,” Worf said, pulling on his other boot. Then he stood and faced Tron, topping him in height by several inches. ”If you have something on your mind, be direct with it.”

”I am merely interested.”

”In matters outside your purview.”

”No. In your opinion. And your views.” Tron was speaking very slowly, very carefully, as if afraid to give away what was truly on his mind. ”You were raised by humans, I understand.”

”Is there some point to this?” asked Worf impatiently.

”A Klingon raised by humans. So-do you consider yourself loyal to the Klingons, or to humans?”

”I believe I have already addressed this question,” said Worf. ”I see no need to broach it again.”

”Ah, yes. You are loyal to the Federation.”

”As I have said. And demonstrated. Now I must be going ... ”

”And the Kreel?”

Worf paused. ”What about them?”

”Are you loyal to them?”

He turned slowly toward Tron. ”What are you talking about?”

Tron stepped closer to him; his voice was hard-edged, anger evident in his eyes. ”I'm talking about the tolerance being displayed toward those animals on this s.h.i.+p,” he said in a barely-controlled fury. ”I'm talking of my own men fraternizing with them. I'm talking of Klingons becoming so weak of mind and spirit that they forget who their enemies are. Have you forgotten, Worf?”

Worf stood there, rooted to the spot, his mind spinning back to the most horrible hours of his life. Those hours trapped beneath the fallen shelter with only his mother's crushed body between him and certain death.

He had not told Gava everything. He had not told her of the stark terror that had filled his every moment, about being buried alive, trapped with only the least bit of stale air managing to work its way down to him. He had not told her that, at first, his efforts to dig his way out had stopped when he heard the gleeful and hideous chortling of the newest arrivals to the destroyed outpost of Khitomer.

Like laughing hyenas, the Kreel had swarmed over the planet. They had followed in the devastation by the Romulans, descending on the planet like flies swarming over a corpse. Perhaps the Romulans had even told them of the intended strike to add insult to injury.

Young Worf had lain there, buried under the rubble, his ears a.s.sailed for endless hours by the brutal laughing, coa.r.s.e jokes, and nauseating voices of the Kreel. At one point, as they were rummaging around above him, he wanted nothing more than to claw his way out, grab a knife or a gun or a rock, anything, or just crush the head of the nearest Kreel. The Romulans had remained in their s.h.i.+ps, aloof and untouchable. They had laid waste and had gone, beyond his reach. But the Kreel, the Kreel were there, big and alive and something that he could hate and think about killing.

And yet, much to his subsequent shame, when discovery by the Kreel had actually seemed a possibility, he had burrowed farther down in fear, actually retreating to what seemed the safety of his mother's body. It was, he deemed later, pure cowardice. That he would most surely have been killed had he been discovered was of no consequence. That he was only a few years old and utterly helpless did not matter. All that he remembered was shaking with fear and impotent fury as the Kreel ravaged what was left of his home. It was a shame he had carried with him to this day, and not all the years he put between himself and that time, not all the great deeds he accomplished, not all the medals he acquired, could satisfactorily distance him from that moment.

”I have no great affection for the Kreel” was his carefully phrased answer.

Tron slowly nodded. ”Nor do I, fellow Klingon. Now the Honorable Kobry has created his d.a.m.nable treaty. Kobry is supported by the Federation.”

”And by the Klingon Empire,” Worf quickly reminded him.

”And by Gava,” said Tron with ironic emphasis. ”Let us not forget our priorities.”

”Your point, Tron?”

”My point is, how much are you able to bury your instincts? How much will occur before the Klingon warrior within you screams, 'Enough! I have had enough!' ”

”I dislike the drift of this conversation,” said Worf dangerously.

”This is no conversation. This is a warning, from one Klingon to the other.”

”Are you threatening me?” was the icy question.

”Not at all. It is not that sort of warning. If you will, take it as a caution to the head-of-security.”

”That caution being-?”

Tron was thoughtfully fingering a double-bladed weapon that was mounted on Worf's wall. ”That caution being that it is dangerous to ignore one's instincts. And your Klingon instincts, as do mine, scream that the Kreel are not to be trusted. Yet here we are, violating that instinct, trying to ignore the warnings our heritage provides us with. They're up to something. I can feel it.”

”Do you have any proof?”

”Proof? Over a century of aggression, of back-biting and sniping, of parasitic feeding off of Klingon fortune and misfortune. That is my proof. I would hope that it would be good enough for you. It is certainly good enough for me.”

And, having successfully prodded Worf's fundamental concern with the situation, he took his leave. It was enough to prompt Worf to contact the bridge and inform them that he would be a few minutes late coming on to s.h.i.+ft. There was a matter regarding internal security that he needed to check out. And then he headed straight to the Honorable Kobry.

”Approaching DQN 1196, sir,” said Data crisply.

Picard breathed an inward sigh of relief. He had never thought they would make it this far without blood being spilled at some point. But d.a.m.n, that Kobry had been absolutely astounding. He had arranged for the Klingons and the Kreel to actually get along with each other. They were hardly the best of pals, but at least the temperature in the room wasn't dropping twenty degrees every time the two of them got together.

Furthermore, it was his understanding that Kobry and the Kreel amba.s.sador, Aneel, had actually been having lengthy discussions about mutual grievances, that the foundations for a long-term peace were actually being laid. Now, Picard had little doubt that Kobry was sincere-the diminutive Klingon seemed sincere in all matters. Whether the Kreel were trustworthy, well ... that was another question altogether. But Kobry seemed to feel that the risk had to be taken, and who was he, Picard, to gainsay him.

”Standard orbit, Mr. Data,” he said. ”Open a hailing frequency, Mr. Marks.”

Marks, subst.i.tuting for the otherwise-occupied Worf, did so. They attempted to raise the planet and received no response. They continued to do so for several minutes. Finally, Picard looked at Riker with curiosity. ”There are supposed to be Kreel down there. Yet they do not respond. What do you make of it, Number One? A prelude to hostilities?”

”I doubt that, sir. If they wanted to be hostile, they could have attacked us before we got anywhere remotely near them.”

”Yes, I understand that's how they were greeting most Klingon s.h.i.+ps. Very well, prepare an away team to make initial contact.”

”All right. Data, Geordi, with me.”

”Good,” said Geordi. ”I'm looking forward to seeing this place close up. Tiny,” he referred to his pet name for the big, unfathomable gun, ”had been giving me fits.”