Strike Zone Part 23

Instead, Picard had suggested, now would be the perfect time to have that diplomatic gathering that had been suggested-by Guinan, he hastened to add-a notion that was unanimously, if somewhat cautiously, received by all sides. It was decided that the ideal place for the soiree was the Ten-Forward Room. It had a nice philosophical aspect to it-that place in the s.h.i.+p that was most forward, representing the future of the Klingon and the Kreel. It also had a very relaxing atmosphere to it. And best of all, Guinan, who had an incredible knack for putting everyone at ease, would be pouring out the drinks.

The Enterprise's inability to raise anyone on the planet was dutifully reported to Aneel, but he expressed an utter lack of concern over it.

"You have to understand, Captain," he had explained, "we don't carry those marvelous, highly-transportable communications devices, as you do. We have one communications area set up on the planet, and if no one happens to be nearby it, you won't get a response."

"We've performed a sensor sweep as well," Picard had told him. "We can detect no life readings at all."

"There is your proof then. They're probably beneath the planet's surface, in the middle of their explorations. Remember that the entire planet was extremely resistant to sensor scans."

So, although he had misgivings about the situation, Picard had resolved to worry no further about it.

Deanna Troi slowed down as she approached the Ten-Forward Room. The party was already in full swing, and she could hear loud voices and chatting.

Parties always made the s.h.i.+p's counselor uncomfortable. At any large gathering, her empathic ability always made her feel as if she was under attack, as if a radio was turned up too loud and she was being a.s.saulted by sound. For Deanna, her empathic ability was always on. She had to make a concentrated effort to screen out the feelings of others-a simple procedure for a full Betazoid, but somewhat more of a strain for one of mixed blood such as she. A party was a burst dam of feelings, and she had to put a mental finger in the dike so as not to be totally washed away.

She would have preferred to skip such events. But as s.h.i.+p's counselor, it was her responsibility to, at least, put in an appearance, and also to be available for her people at all times.

Nevertheless, it was actually with some degree of relief that she found herself being flagged down by one of the Klingons from Kobry's group. He was in the hallway alone, nursing a drink, and he actually seemed pleased to see her. Now, which one was he again-?

It was as if he could read the question going through her mind. "Sklar," he said.

"Honorable Sklar," she said.

He shook his head. "No. Mere 'Sklar' is correct. This is quite fortunate, Counselor Troi."

"Why is that?"

"I dislike parties. Too many opportunities for someone to slip a knife between your ribs."

Well, that certainly accounted for the feelings of free-floating anxiety she was picking up from him. What an att.i.tude to have. "I also feel ill-at-ease at such gatherings," she admitted, "although hardly for the same reasons. I should really go in though-"

"Why hurry?" he asked. "It will be going on for some time. I do not have the opportunity to meet many other races. This is my first a.s.signment off my s.h.i.+p in quite some time. Please do me the honor of talking out here for a bit, where at least we can hear each other."

She smiled. He was extremely well-spoken for a Klingon. "Very well," she said. "At least for a while."

"Thank you. I will admit something, in candor. You are very attractive and"- he looked down-"attractive women make me nervous."

She stared at him incredulously. It certainly explained that still-free-floating anxiety, but ...

"Are you sure you're a Klingon?"

He looked up and said, in no uncertain terms, "All Klingon."

Inside, the party was progressing quite smoothly. Kreel and Klingons were still giving each other a healthy distance, but there didn't seem to be a lot of tension in the room. Guinan, behind the bar, was wearing a hat the size of Canis Major and cheerfully working on keeping everyone's gla.s.s filled. Clearly she was in her element.

Geordi who, with Data and Riker and a security man named Tuttle, would be heading down to the planet surface, was in a conversation with Aneel. "Anything I should be on the look-out for, while we're down there?"

Aneel ran through, in his mind, the things that they had discovered down there. Immediately, he thought of the door that had killed Budian.

He stared at Geordi and decided he didn't like anyone whose eyes he couldn't see.

"Nothing of any real concern," he said. "Don't point anything at anyone."

"Words to live by," said Geordi.

From across the room, Jaan watched Geordi in deep discussion with Aneel.

When Aneel had first brought up the cure, Jaan had toyed with the idea of simply telling the captain and making sure that it was the first thing that the away team looked for when they went down. Aneel had squelched that thought real fast.

"We found it purely by dumb luck," the Kreel had said. "One-in-a-million chance. There's no guarantee that, unaided, anyone else will find it. Ever. Certainly not before you're moldering in the grave. Now, if you mention it to anyone, I can a.s.sure you that the Kreel will offer no help. In fact, I'll even deny that it exists. If, of course, you'd like to take your chances, go right ahead. But just how many chances do you think you've got left?"

It had been an argument that Jaan was unable to counter. So he had kept his silence and had prayed that his actions thus far to save his life would not have serious consequences.

But how could they? Everyone seemed to be getting on well enough. Certainly the Kreel now had hidden phasers tucked away in their breeches, but no one needed to know that. Things were progressing smoothly. The odds seemed very much against any weapons having to be drawn. No one had missed the phasers yet, and the last time he had pa.s.sed Chafin, the security man had been standing there still looking somewhat puzzled over what had gone on before. When he had looked at Jaan, it was with the same kind of semiblank stare one gives when one isn't sure whether something really happened or if it had just been dreamed.

Jaan looked to the other side of the room, and there was Data chatting with the Klingon amba.s.sador ... now, what was his name again?

"Honorable Kobry," Data was saying, "I'd like to ask you a question if that is all right."

"Certainly, young man."

Data brightened. "You are the first person ever to call me that. Everyone else seems to be able to tell by my coloration that I am an android."

"Are you?" said Kobry mildly. "I never a.s.sume anything, particularly when it concerns albinos. Excuse me a moment, though." He put his drink down on the table next to him, popped open his large ring, extracted a pill and swallowed it.

Picard, standing nearby, drifted over and said, "Still having health difficulties, Honorable Kobry?"

"Oh no, Captain. As I mentioned to you, it's simply a medicine I take at food or drink times. Makes it easier to digest. Advanced years. You understand."

"Of course," said Picard.

"Now then, young man ... your question?"

Data said, "Why are you always addressed as 'Honorable'?"

"Data!" said Picard. "I think you could have phrased the question a bit more tactfully than that. You're implying that the Honorable Kobry is not worthy of that designation."

"Am I?" said Data. "It was not my intention. But you, sir, are not addressed as 'Honorable Captain', nor Commander Riker as 'Honorable Riker' nor Geordi as-"

"I perceive your meaning," said Kobry quickly. "You must understand that, to Klingons, names are very important. Those who are highly honored, like myself, always have such t.i.tles as 'Honorable' placed before their names in direct address. Others who have distinguished themselves in battle, or have reached extremely high rank, are given the ultimate honor of not having their names spoken in direct address at all. At least by other Klingons."

"Why is that an honor?" asked Data. Picard himself was curious over that one.

"To speak someone's name is to establish a degree of familiarity," replied Kobry. "It gives you a certain power over someone with whom you talk, either bringing you up to their level or them down to yours. It's done to some degree on this s.h.i.+p. Those you consider your peers you address by given names. But you would not dream of addressing the captain as Jean-Luc, nor would I."

"Why?" asked Data. "Because you would not want to bring the captain up to your level, or you would not want to bring yourself down to his?"

And Kobry the diplomat and great thinker stood there, open-mouthed, temporarily brought to a halt by the innocent question. Picard graciously stepped in and said, "Because it would imply a degree of familiarity that does not exist."

"Thank you, Captain," said Kobry in mild relief.

"I've dealt with him longer than you have."

"So you see, Data." Kobry tried to bring the conversation back on track. "Our emperor is simply called Emperor, although certainly his name is on record in our history. The Klingon commander who was in charge of the s.h.i.+p that brought me here-a highly-ranked, well-respected warrior, who is simply addressed as Commander. No crewman would dare speak his full name. By the same token, the greatest punishment that can be inflicted upon a Klingon is to take his name away completely. Do you have any idea, Data, what it is like to have no name?"

Data considered that for a moment and Picard dreaded the answer. Any answer.

"It would be terrible," said Data.

"Absolutely," said Kobry, and Picard breathed a sigh of relief. "You see-"

"For one thing, you could never get any mail," said Data.

Oh lord, here we go, thought Picard.

"No one would ever be able to send you party invitations," Data continued. "And if you were being attacked on a planet, you couldn't say 'So-and-so to Enterprise, beam me up,' which could be fatal."

Kobry was starting to look sh.e.l.l-shocked.

"And of course it impedes conversation. For example, if someone wanted to say-"

"Data, shut up!" ordered Picard.

Data smiled graciously. "Thank you, sir. An excellent example. Let's say that Captain Picard wanted to say, 'Data, shut up!' If I had no name, he wouldn't be able to direct the comment to me and I would not know that he wanted me to shut up."

"Data, you have a name and it still didn't help," said Picard.

Data stared at Picard, processing what he had just said, and it started to penetrate. "Oh," he said in a small voice. "Have I been babbling again?"

"Like a brook," said Picard.

"It is quite all right, young man," said Kobry. "The Klingon race can be somewhat stolid at times. Your enthusiasm is a refres.h.i.+ng change."

There was a tap on Data's shoulder as Geordi said, "Come on, Data. Riker says it's time to move out."

"The Honorable Riker," corrected Data.

Geordi shook his head, not even pretending to know what Data was talking about. Bidding their goodbyes, they left the Ten-Forward Room, along with Riker, and headed for the transporter room.

"Well," said Kobry, "that was invigorating." He glanced up. "Tron, are you enjoying the party?"

Tron, who had been standing nearby, nodded curtly.

"You don't look it," said Kobry. "Klingons never do," he confided in Picard before turning back.

"Gentlemen!" Picard said in a loud voice, and as always his commanding tone immediately caught the attention of everyone in the room. He raised his gla.s.s. "I'd like to propose a toast."

Kobry glanced around and picked up his drink from where he'd left it. All around, others were raising their gla.s.ses as well.

"To a new era of peace between the Klingons and the Kreel"- and he swung his gla.s.s in a slight arc-"the Kreel and the Klingons," he continued, ever mindful of the ego involved in both races. "We are pleased beyond measure that two races renowned for their prowess in battle were willing to come to the Federation and ask for aid in avoiding war that would have served no purpose. We have all come so far in our development, and we have brought ourselves this far by our own diligence, and intelligence, and dedication to a greater good."

"Hear-hear," was murmured throughout the Ten-Four Room.

"To the crew of the Enterprise and to her guests, I say ... this is yet another signal that the best is yet to come."

He tilted back his gla.s.s and drank, as did the others.

There was a burst of applause and Picard smiled, bobbing his head slightly. From behind him, Kobry said, "Well spoken, Captain. You would make an excellent diplomat."

"So much of my job is diplomacy, Honorable Kobry, that it would not be much of a stretch, I a.s.sure you."

"I remember my early days," said Kobry. "I ... "

Kobry staggered, suddenly grabbing for the edge of the table. He dropped his gla.s.s. The cras.h.i.+ng noise was barely audible in the hustle and chatter of the party.

"Honorable Kobry?" said Picard. "What's wrong?"

Gava was standing a few yards away, talking with Worf, but with some sixth sense, she suddenly turned and saw her father. "Kobry!" she shrieked.

That brought attention immediately. All talk stopped as the dwarfish Klingon lost all control of his muscles and toppled over, gagging and clutching at his throat. His body was trembling and he was trying to talk, but he couldn't get a word out.

"Kobry!" shrieked Gava again, as she made it to him and dropped to the floor. "Father!"

"Picard to sickbay!" Picard shouted into his communicator, "Dr. Pulaski, emergency! Ten-Four Room!"

Kobry's pale eyes glazed over, and it was as if he was looking straight through his daughter. His mouth moved but no words came out.

Worf picked up the fallen gla.s.s and studied it. He saw a faint residue along one edge.

"Poison," he said.

Picard's head snapped around. His voice a hoa.r.s.e whisper, he spat out, "Are you sure?"

Worf nodded wordlessly.

Pulaski barrelled in, with a medivac cart and two med techs behind her.

"Out of my way!" she snapped, dropping next to Kobry and practically shoving Gava to one side. The Klingon woman staggered back, fighting off tears because Klingons did not cry, no matter what happened. She moved against a solid, comforting chest and knew without looking that it was Worf, but he said nothing to her, made no comforting gesture. His mind was racing forward, grasping the implications of this sudden, shocking scene.

Kobry had stopped moving, stopped breathing. Pulaski was running her medical tricorder over him and whatever it said, it couldn't have been good, because she quickly pulled a hypo from her bag. She injected him; the hiss of the hypo was the only sound in a room that had previously been deafening.

From the far end, Deanna Troi entered, having been in the hallway with Sklar when Kobry went down. Immediately, the s.h.i.+p's counselor was a.s.saulted by wave-after-wave of concern, panic, anger, fury, all indistinguishable from one another.

Pulaski pa.s.sed the tricorder over him one more time and all the blood drained from her face. Slowly, ashen, she turned to Picard.

"He's dead, Jean-Luc."