Strike Zone Part 12

There was a bizarre noise from the Klingon on the viewscreen, and Picard, at first, thought the commander was dying. Then he realized what it was. A Klingon laugh. Kind of like a cross between clearing one's throat and gagging. "Very good! You must be the legendary Worf."

Worf suddenly realized he'd committed a breech of etiquette by speaking up without Captain Picard's approval. It had simply been automatic. He remained silent now until the captain inclined his head slightly in the direction of the monitor. "I am Lieutenant Junior Grade Worf."

"Not Commander Worf?"

Worf paused only slightly. "These things take time."

Picard glanced over at Riker who gave him a "What did you expect" look.

The commander was still addressing Worf. "It is most fortunate to have a member of the Klingon Empire aboard the Enterprise to act as additional insurance."

"I am head-of-security and under command of Captain Picard who is very diligent in such matters," said Worf stiffly. "In those circ.u.mstances, I am more than content to do my duty. However, I think of myself primarily as a citizen of the Federation, rather than as a member of the Klingon Empire."

Picard gave a small, approving nod.

The commander, however, stared at him skeptically. "Lieutenant Worf ... have you looked in a mirror lately?"

"I'm afraid I don't under-"

"A Klingon does as a Klingon is, Lieutenant Worf. Serve as your conscience dictates, but nothing can alter the fact that you are ... one of us." He turned back to the captain. "Prepare to receive the Honorable Kobry."

"We will greet him in the main transporter room," said Picard. "Enterprise out." He stood and said, "Mr. Riker, Mr. Worf, you will accompany me. Mr. La Forge, you have the conn."

As they headed for the turbolift, Picard said brusquely, "I hope that Counselor Troi finishes whatever it is that's delaying her. This is precisely the type of situation I'd like to have her along for."

"I can make discreet inquiries as to how long she'll be and meet you at the transporter room in a moment or two," said Riker.

Picard nodded briefly. "Make it so."

Deanna Troi forced herself to take a step back from the elf. It was so difficult for her to focus her thoughts, to remember what the subject that she was going to pursue was. "I wanted to ... to discuss with you your state of mind."

"Fine," said Jaan, showing his teeth. "I like women who are interested in me for my mind."

Troi shook her head quickly, as much to clear her own scrambled thoughts as anything else. "I think you're ... you're not understanding me."

"I understand you perfectly. You're the s.h.i.+p's counselor. You're concerned about me. You're doing your job. Quite simple."

"Yes." She took a breath. "Yes, it is that simple."

He had stopped approaching her, but now he reached out and rested a hand on her shoulder. His eyes glittered, and she noticed for the first time that his pupils seemed almost as if they had little specks of copper swirling about in them. "Although," he said in a low voice, "I thought perhaps you were attracted to me."

She tried to take another breath but her lungs felt heavy and constricted. "I've been getting ... feelings about you."

"And I for you," he murmured.

"No," but she wasn't able to muster much strength. "No, I knew you misunderstood."

"Did I?"

"Yes. I was receiving impressions from you of ... "

"Of what?"

"Fear. Fear of your condition, now that it's caught up with you. Fear and desperation, that you would do ... do ... "

"Do what, Deanna?" he asked. He seemed very amused.

Her pulse was racing and she could feel her blood pounding in her temples. What was happening to her? What was coming over her? She was starting to perspire.

"Anything"- and the word was a low moan.

"You would do anything?"

"Yes. No. I-"

"Look at me, Deanna."

She tried to look away, but he took the point of her chin in his hand and brought her eye-to-eye with him. He smiled. "Do I look like someone who's frightened? Who's desperate?"

"No. But you're not ... I mean, I-" She broke off, her normally ordered thoughts a total mishmash, her self-possession evaporated. She pulled at her uniform now soaked through with sweat and sticking to her. "Is it ... hot in here?"

"I don't think so," said Jaan innocently.

"My clothes ... feel so ... uncomfortable."

"Well, I know how to remedy that."

And the door buzzer rang.

Jaan wanted to call out "Not now!" But as his thoughts strayed for just a moment, so did his control, and Deanna broke free. But she was still wrung out, disoriented, and he took the opportunity to say, with force, "I'm fine, emotionally. There's no need to worry about me. None at all."

Chapter Nine.

THE FIRST KLINGONS to beam over from the Klingon s.h.i.+p Kothulu were the honor guard ... or, more precisely, bodyguards. There were eight of them, and to Picard they all looked remarkably similar. With some alien races, it was just difficult to tell individuals apart. Features seemed to blur together. He wondered if Klingons had difficulty, telling for example, himself and Riker apart. He glanced over at Riker, who was standing attentively next to the recently arrived Deanna Troi, and decided that that seemed pretty unlikely.

Although the bodyguards did not have their weapons out, their hands were comfortably within immediate reach of their holstered phasers. Without moving from the transporter platform, they looked carefully around the room as if concerned that a.s.sa.s.sins might leap out at any time.

The foremost of the Klingons now stepped forward. His clothing was more elaborate, bordering on the ceremonial, indicating some degree of rank He walked straight up to Worf, and said, "Captain."

For the first time that Picard could recall, he saw Worf look slightly fl.u.s.tered. Picard jumped in quickly and said, "Actually, I am in command of the Enterprise. Captain Jean-Luc Picard, at your service."

The Klingon turned slowly toward Picard. "My apologies, Captain. I saw a Klingon in uniform and ... well, you understand how the mistake is simple to make." He gave a stiff, Klingon salute.

Oh, I understand perfectly, thought Picard. You knew d.a.m.ned well who was in charge.

"Of course," Picard said, smiling, returning the salute. Such gestures were nonexistent on the Enterprise, but when dealing with visiting dignitaries, protocal required that you greet them in manners to which they are accustomed. "I'm certain that your error is merely a prediction of how far Lieutenant Worf will go in Starfleet."

"Ah yes," said the Klingon. "It seems like only yesterday, Captain, that if a Klingon was in the hands of Starfleet, the farthest he would go would be a prison planet."

"The Federation never had prison planets," replied Picard stiffly.

"Of course not," said the Klingon deferentially. "I am Tron, first officer to the glorious Klingon commander with whom you were speaking earlier."

"First officer. Then you will be returning directly to your s.h.i.+p?"

"No, not at all. I was one of the 'fortunate' few Klingons to have survived the initial skirmish with the Kreel on planet DQN 1196. As such, my expertise is required here. My commander will have to try to muddle through without me."

"And where," asked Picard, "is the amba.s.sador?"

"We had to secure the s.h.i.+p first," Tron explained.

Picard, ever the diplomat, masked the sour feelings that statement gave him and said, "I a.s.sured your commander, and I will a.s.sure you ... this s.h.i.+p is quite secure."

"That is because the Kreel are not yet aboard."

"It will be secure either way."

"As you say." He touched a communicator that was on his wrist. "This is Tron. The way is clear."

The commander's voice came over the communicator and said, "Good hunting."

The other Klingons stepped off the platform and, within moments, the Honorable Kobry had materialized aboard the Enterprise. Standing next to him was another Klingon, an attractive female, even by human standards. She was tall and slender, yet her shoulders were square and her exposed arms looked quite muscular. The rest of her figure was hidden in black and brown leather. She also sported a gold doublet. Her eyes were almond, both in shape and size, and her hair hung loosely around her shoulders.

Still, for all her beauty, it was the Honorable Kobry who was receiving the majority of attention. Picard stared at him openly for only a moment, impressed both by the Klingon's advanced years and negligible height. How in the world did someone so small, so physically helpless, come so far in the Klingon Empire? It was ludicrous.

Yet Picard managed once again to cloak his inner thoughts as he stepped forward, extending a hand. "Honorable Kobry."

"Captain Picard," said Kobry, and smiled.

Smiled!? Picard could scarcely believe it, and he actually heard Worf gasp behind him.

He shook Kobry's small hand, and for someone so diminutive, he had a h.e.l.l of a grip. "It is indeed an honor," said Picard.

"Yes, isn't it?" He chuckled. (Chuckled!) "Forgive me, Captain. A small joke. But then, most of mine are."

Picard realized that this was going to be some trip.

"This"- and Kobry gestured toward the young woman-"is my aide, Gava. Gava, the inestimable Captain Picard and his equally inestimable staff."

She shook hands with each of them, a good, firm grip, but she lingered longest with Worf.

"This is a pleasure," she said, and her voice was low and throaty, with a certain raspiness to it that lent a suggestive air. "Much has been written of you in our journals. I had a.s.sumed that a good deal of it was exaggeration, however."

"None of it," replied Worf with authority.

"How nice for all of us," she said.

The transporter chief now spoke up. "Sir ... we're receiving a call from Kothulu. They wish to know if all hands are aboard."

"Tell them"- and Picard glanced at Tron-"tell them everything is secure. They can move off at their leisure, and we wish them best of luck on their next a.s.signment." He gestured toward the door. "I'll show you all to the quarters we've arranged for you."

The honor guard promptly formed a semicircle around Kobry, keeping him serenely in the middle of it. Kobry appeared to take no notice of it whatsoever. "Lead the way, Captain," he said.

Data, while sitting at the ops station, heard the beep of his communicator. Tapping it he said, "Data here."

"Data"- and the voice from the other end sounded fatigued and a bit raspy-"this is Wes. Look, I need some help."

"Is this related to why you've been temporarily relieved of duty?" Data said.

The conversation was already drawing surrept.i.tious glances from around the bridge. Everyone was secretly somewhat curious about what was going on with Wesley. They all thought he was a bit precocious as it was. But when he started to act downright odd, well ...

"I wasn't relieved of anything, Data," came the annoyed response. "I just needed time to work on something else. Now can you come down here and help me?"

"Down there? No," said Data firmly. "I am on duty now. I cannot leave the bridge."

And Geordi who, as was everyone else, was listening in, spoke up, saying, "I can find a sub for you, Data."

"No, Geordi," and Data couldn't be swayed. "It is my responsibility. I cannot leave. But is there something I can help you with now?"

"Sure. Sure, okay, listen ... you know the ... hold it. Look, at least go into the conference room so it'll be private, okay?"

Data turned questioningly toward Geordi who said, "It's not like you're actually leaving the bridge. If we need you, I'll knock."

Moments later Data stood in the conference room, addressing Wesley's image on the computer/speaker. "What is the difficulty, Wesley?"

"You know a disease called 'the Rot'?"

Data had been working lately on making his answers more succinct. On some things he knew absolutely nothing, and on others he knew so much that he still had difficulty sorting out trivialities from important aspects. He was trying to learn to distinguish between the two. "Yes. I know of it."

"Good. Okay, look, I've found this one drug they used to crack cancer back a century ago."

"Solicyclin?"

"No, the other one."

"Nembitol?"

"Yes!" Wesley seemed to be frantically flipping through notes. "I've been reading on it and it seems to have properties that make it incredibly applicable to the Rot. It's so perfect that I can't believe it's never been tested before. What I wanted to know from you is if it-"

"Twenty-three years ago. It was ineffective."

All the blood seemed to drain from Wesley's face. "Are you sure? I mean, are you absolutely sure? I've been combing the journals and haven't found any reference to Nembitol at all."