He did not even realize his eyes had been closed, and yet now he opened them.
A Klingon was looking down at him. It was not anyone he knew, and he wondered how in the world another Klingon had wound up in deep space with him. This new Klingon was clean-shaven, which in and of itself was something of an oddity. His hair was tied back on either side, and gray flecked his thick eyebrows.
Then, once piece at a time, Worf’s awareness of his whereabouts began to stitch itself together. He was no longer under water, that much was obvious. Nor, clearly, was he in space. That still left him, however, with a lot of possibilities.
“Worf,” said the Klingon. “The monitors indicate that you are conscious. Are you?”
“Yes,” Worf said slowly. His voice sounded strange to him, as if he hadn’t spoken in some time. He felt a strain in his vocal cords as well. “Yes…I am…”
“Good. In answer to the question that is probably next in your mind, I am Dr. Kwon, and you are in the personal medical facility of the leader of the High Council.”
“Gowron?!” Worf tried to sit up, and it was at that point that he realized he had a medical scanner mounted across him, holding him in place.
“Yes, Gowron, at least for the moment,” said Kwon. “Then again, such matters tend to change so quickly, it is hard to say for sure.”
“Then I am on homeworld. How did I—”
“Get here? Gowron desired to see you, to speak to you about matters of some urgency. We were able to learn that you were on Betazed, and tracked you there…only to arrive just as you apparently were on the losing end of an altercation with some Romulans.”
“Romulans…”
Then it all snapped back together for Worf. The fleeting images had been tumbling over themselves in his head, trying to sort themselves out, but now they came completely together for him once more. “Romulans! Yes! There was a battle, they—”
“They wounded you rather severely,” Kwon said. “You sustained more damage than I think you were truly aware of at the time. When the ship dispatched by Gowron showed up, you had just tumbled into a lake and were sinking fast. We beamed you out of the lake, and were at that point more than prepared to attend to the Romulans as well. However, upon seeing our arrival the Romulans took the opportunity to depart the area as quickly as possible. Cloaked and vanished. Typical. Surprise attacks with uneven odds, those the Romulans are more than happy to engage in. But an equal fight with a prepared foe, and the Romulans would sooner leave such matters to others.”
“So they got away?”
“The Klingon vessel attempted a pursuit, I understand, but the Romulans, well…you know their knack for stealth. They got away, I am afraid. Furthermore, you were in poor enough shape when you were fished out from the lake that it was felt putting you into stasis and getting you here as quickly as possible was the preferred course of action.”
“Blast! What about Alexander? And Deanna? And—”
Kwon put up his hands in an endeavor to quiet Worf down. “I do not know anything about any of the matters you are asking about.”
“I must go to see Gowron.”
“You,” Kwon said firmly, “are going to stay here until I feel that you are sufficiently strong enough to leave.”
Worf sat up.
The fact that the scanner was atop him, theoretically holding him down, did not slow him in the least. It broke clear off the bed and fell, in several pieces, to the floor.
Nonplussed, Kwon promptly said, “I will inform Gowron that you will be right along.”
“And those are my concerns, Worf.”
Gowron, paranoid as always, had chosen a fairly secluded place for his meeting with Worf: They were in the middle of a desert.
Hardened ground stretched in every direction for as far as the eye could see. Worf, wearing a full set of Klingon leathers and armor, walked slowly next to Gowron, his hands draped behind his back and his hair loose and fluttering in the faint breeze that was rolling along the desert surface. Gowron had just explained to him the current status of the Federation’s apparent budding alliance with the Romulans, as well as the other concerns that preyed upon him.
Before he had done that, however, he had given Worf detailed information as to what had occurred with the Romulans on Betazed. The information, supplied through K’hanq, was quite detailed and thorough. As Gowron told Worf of the disappearance of Deanna Troi and Alexander, and the capture of Tom Riker, he watched Worf’s expression carefully to see just how he took the news. Worf, commendably, betrayed nothing in his face. “Good, Worf, good,” he had observed. “A true warrior does not betray the impact that a loss has upon him, no matter what.” Worf had simply nodded at the compliment and then listened patiently as Gowron had gone off on his own concerns about the future of the Klingon Empire.
When Gowron had finished, Worf said, “If those are indeed your concerns, Gowron…worries that the Federation will betray the empire…then your concerns are misplaced.”
“Are they.” He did not say it in what sounded like a questioning tone. He was still clearly very suspicious.
“The Federation is not in the habit of betraying its allies.”
“ ‘Not in the habit,’ Worf, simply means that it does not happen with frequency.”
“It has never happened,” Worf said flatly.
“Unprecedented is not the same thing as impossible. Would you agree?”
“On that point, yes. But I say again, it will not happen.”
“I would very much like to believe you, Worf,” sighed Gowron. “I simply wish I knew…that I could.”
Pebbles and dirt were crunching under Worf’s heavy footfall. But something in the way that Gowron had just said that suddenly suggested to Worf an implied questioning of Worf’s integrity. He stopped in his tracks and said, “What do you mean by that?”
“Nothing.”
“No. You did mean something by it. Clarify it.”
“Worf…I tell you it was noth—”
“Clarify it now.”
Gowron had continued to walk even when Worf stopped, so when he halted in his tracks and turned to face Worf, he was several feet away. But the glare from him seemed to leap the distance. “You forget yourself, Worf,” he said dangerously. “Do not confuse our familiarity with one another with the right to take liberties. I am still leader of the High Council. I am still Gowron. And you, Worf, had best watch your tone if you would prefer to continue using that insolent tongue of yours.”
But Worf would not be cowed. “Did you intend, Gowron, to imply that I cannot be trusted.” There was something in his voice that hinted that, High Council leader or not, if Gowron did not clarify and possibly apologize for this point, he was going to have a fight on his hands.
“Worf,” he said slowly, “obviously I do not consider your ties to Starfleet, and the Federation, sufficient to challenge your loyalty to the Klingon Empire, the Klingon ethos, and the Klingon way. You have shown over the years that you are able to balance both…and indeed, when there is conflict between one and the other, you are fully capable of choosing the Klingon way.” Worf, of course, knew that he was referring to Worf’s slaying of Duras. “However,” he continued, “marriage is something quite different.”
“Marriage? You think that marriage to Deanna threatens my integrity?”
“I think it threatens your very essence, Worf. You proclaim your loyalty to Klingon ideals…yet your proposed wife, and the woman who would act as mother to your child, has philosophies that are as far from ours as they could possibly be.”
“The first and foremost philosophy of the Federation—that which I have lived my life by—is the acceptance of all races as equals,” Worf said. And, not without a sense of irony, he paraphrased words that had been said to him not very long ago. “This is not a competition. Different is simply different, rather than one inherently better than the other.”
“That is a very kind sentiment, Worf. I do not happen to believe it, but it is a very ki
nd sentiment. You and a Betazoid…”
This reaction served only to anger Worf. “Perhaps,” he said, “there are things we can teach each other.”
“Superb notion, Worf. We can teach Deanna Troi how to fight, and she can teach us how to be captured.”
Worf crossed the distance between himself and Gowron in what seemed little more than a single step. His face only inches from Gowron’s, his eyes blazing with intensity, Worf said, “To voice disrespect for my fiancée…is to voice disrespect for me.”
Gowron did not come close to looking upset or losing his cool. He simply stared at Worf for a time, and then replied in an unhurried tone, “No disrespect intended.”
Worf took a step back, nodding and acknowledging it.
“However,” continued Gowron, “the fact remains that you owe your status—your restored honor—to me, Worf. To me. And when I say to you that I believe a Klingon and a Betazoid is an inherently wrongheaded match, I expect you—at the very least—to consider my words. For if you were not to do so, then you would be treating me with disrespect. And that, Worf…could be very unwise.”
“Your point is well made, Gowron.”
The moment of hostility apparently having passed, Gowron clapped a hand on Worf’s shoulder. It smacked down with a loud, leathery sound. “Stay with me for a time, Worf. Stay here on Qo’noS. There is no reason you cannot. Your vessel, the Enterprise, has been destroyed anyway. So you have no duty to hurry back to Picard. I believe, Worf, that you must recapture your Klingon roots. You must remember who you are.”
“I must find my son and fiancée first,” Worf replied. “I have no other choice.”
“Starfleet has been alerted to the kidnapping. Certainly they are attending to it.”
“They were taken from me. My fiancée, my son. They are mine. It is a matter of honor that I pursue their kidnappers myself.”
Clearly Gowron was about to debate the point, but he saw in Worf’s eyes that such an endeavor would be utterly fruitless. “Very well,” sighed Gowron. “Do so for the sake of your son…as opposed to the proposed union which I do not approve.”
“You are not required to approve it.”
“I suspect the head of your house will not approve it, either,” replied Gowron. “If she does not approve it, there will be no wedding, as you well know.”
Worf bristled at the thought. “She would not refuse me.”
“You, she would quite easily refuse. Me, however, she would not refuse.” As Gowron said this he smirked slightly and ran a finger over his mustache.
“What are you saying, Gowron?”
“I am saying, Worf…that I can be more useful to you as an ally than as an enemy, as you well know. And I would be a more willing ally were I not concerned that, in becoming involved with this woman, you were in danger of turning your back on your heritage.”
“I have lived with humans since an early age, Gowron,” Worf said heatedly. “When the empire required me, I left Starfleet to answer the call. I raise my son in the Klingon way. Am I not sufficiently ‘Klingon’ for you? What more would you have of me?”
“It has not been easy for you, Worf,” acknowledged Gowron. “You are to be commended for all that you are. But I am nonetheless concerned about what you will be. Perhaps these concerns are misplaced, perhaps not.” He paused. “Tell me, Worf…what are the chances that Starfleet will provide you with a vessel with which you can attempt to track down your son and missing fiancée?”
“I…do not know,” he admitted.
“And if you ask me for the same…?”
He glowered at him. “You will help me…if you believe it will serve your own purpose in the future.”
“You know me well, Worf. Perhaps too well. I will provide you with a long-range scout ship, armed with phaser cannons, in order to aid you in your endeavors. However…”
“However?”
“After you have accomplished your mission, for good or ill…you will return here, with your son—and fiancée, if you are so disposed—and remain until I am personally satisfied that the union does not pose a threat to either your resolve or your son’s future as a member of the Klingon Empire. Agreed?”
Worf’s first impulse was to argue, but he couldn’t help but feel that every moment he might spend arguing was another moment wasted. He needed to go after Deanna and Alexander. He needed to rescue them, whatever it took.
“Agreed,” he said. “And I would like you to agree to something as well.”
“And that would be?”
“Inform Captain Picard of your concerns.” As Gowron started to protest, Worf overspoke him. “You know that Picard can be trusted. He will be honest and direct with you; he always has been in the past. State your concerns to him. I suspect he may be able to put your mind at ease.”
“All right, Worf,” Gowron said reluctantly. “I will do as you suggest. Although I suspect that it will not do much to assuage my concerns. No matter what he may say to us…nothing can change the fact of the Federation’s overtures to the Romulans. But let no one say that Gowron was unwilling to listen. So…” He brought the topic back to the matter of Worf’s impending quest. “Where will you go first? Into Romulan territory? If you think you can simply head straight into the Neutral Zone undetected, you are mistaken. The scout ship does not come equipped with a cloaking device; it is too small, with nowhere near sufficient energy…”
“If it is necessary, I will find a way. First, however, I will question Tom Riker. You said the Cardassians have brought him to a labor camp?”
“Yes, on Lazon Two, according to our information. Apparently he had already been there and escaped. I imagine they questioned him and did not find him particularly cooperative.”
“I will speak to him myself,” Worf said coldly, shaking his head. “It is difficult for me to believe that Tom Riker would cooperate in such a venture. That he would have turned to the Maquis. He is a duplicate, down to the smallest detail, of William Riker…and Commander Riker is one of the most morally centered individuals I have ever known.”
“Obviously this Tom Riker is not William Riker.”
“Obviously,” agreed Worf. “And I will learn what happened to Deanna and Alexander…if I have to break every bone in Tom Riker’s body.”
Seventeen
The room was completely without furnishings. There was only one source of light, in the ceiling, and it was not a particularly strong one. Much of the room remained shrouded in darkness.
Deanna sat just within the rim of light, feeling as if she were some sort of primitive creature, fearing the eyes that hovered in the darkness just beyond the light. In this instance, though, there was only one pair of eyes watching her from the dark, and she knew to whom they belonged.
Her body ached and she had no idea why. Some part of her felt as if she was in constant pain, but they had not really laid a hand on her since her captors had brought her to this place. Each time she awakened, it was with the feeling that she had not slept at all, even though she knew she had. And she felt…tormented. Physically, spiritually, it was as if someone had been at her nonstop.
And Will…she kept thinking of Will…
But he wasn’t coming. He couldn’t…he had no idea where they were, no…
She forcibly pried her mind away from those thoughts. “Alexander,” she said softly, her legs tucked up under her chin, “how long are you going to sit there?”
There was no immediate reply, and then finally he said, “How long have we been here?”
“I don’t know. I’ve really lost track of time. Now Vulcans…Vulcans can keep track of time. It’s amazing. They have an internal clock that is like nothing that you’ve ever—”
“You do not need to make small talk in order to ease my worries,” Alexander told her.
“Oh.” A pause. “Are you worried?”
“No. I am angry. I am angry I did not do more. I let our captors take us and bring us here…wherever here is.”
“You??
?re just one person, Alexander, and a rather young one at that.”
“When Kahless was half my age, he laid waste to half a continent, engaging in single combat with over three thousand foes, and he defeated them all.”
“Really.” She laughed softly. “Alexander, with all respect to Kahless…don’t believe everything you read.”
His eyes floated toward her and he emerged into the light. To her surprise, there was clear anger on his face. “Are you saying that Klingon history is filled with lies?”
“I am saying, Alexander, that history is written by the winners. I don’t doubt that Kahless had great and tremendous victories. But sometimes, in the retelling, achievements get exaggerated. People like to embellish, it’s only natural. Plus it can sometimes serve individual purposes, particularly if someone is trying to build themselves up. Inflating one’s own accomplishments are not exactly unheard of in—”
“I think you are insulting Kahless the Unforgettable,” Alexander told her. “Whether it is your intention or not, that’s what I think you’re doing.”
“Alexander, I sincerely don’t mean to make you feel that way. Tell me, though: Who was the first person who called Kahless ‘the Unforgettable’?”
Alexander’s annoyance seemed to waffle a bit. “Well…”
“Well what?” she prodded gently.
“I…seem to recall it was, uhm…Kahless. At his great battle rally on the Mount of Despair, he said, ‘I am Kahless the Unforgettable. Know my name and tremble in fear.’ ”
“Mm-hmm.”
“But that proves nothing.”
“All right.”
They were silent for a time longer. Alexander had, unconsciously, adopted Deanna’s legs-curled posture.
“My father isn’t dead, you know.”
“I know that,” Deanna said with conviction. “It would take a lot more than that fall to stop your father.”
“And Riker! How could he have joined the Romulans? I thought I knew him! I thought he was nice! It’s because you and my father are engaged, isn’t it?”
“Alexander…”