by Peter David
"That's a fairly dramatic reaction," Lwaxana said tartly, "from someone who once dismissed the Sacred Chalice as an old clay urn."
" 'Moldy old pot,'" Deanna corrected, sounding a bit chagrined. "It's what it symbolizes, Mother, no matter what it may actually be. Even your mother, although she disapproved of your marriage to my father, still passed on the Sacred Chalice in the time-honored manner. Would you be even more strict than she was?"
"I would do whatever I have to do," replied Lwaxana, "to make you realize the foolishness of this. Little One, he's so wrong for you.. . ."
"You said that Will Riker and I 'complemented' each other. Did you ever stop to consider, Mother, that perhaps Worf and I likewise complement each other?"
"It's a matter of extremes, Deanna. There's no middle ground, there's no . . ."
"How can you know that? You don't know him, not really.
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Although you certainly seemed to get on well enough with his son. As I recall, you adored Alexander."
"That's true enough," Lwaxana said slowly, even grudgingly. "He was the most soulful child. He seemed to be enduring a world of hurt with utter stoicism. I think I actually made some serious progress with him."
"If that's the case, then think how much progress I could make with him if I were like a mother to him. Or at least a continuous positive female influence on him."
"Taking care of the child on a temporary basis is one thing, Deanna. Becoming his full-time mother is something else again. I just. .."
For a moment, Lwaxana seemed to be out of words, and Deanna used the opportunity to jump in. "Mother, at least give him, and us, a chance. Speak to Worf. Spend some real time with him and Alexander. Show a bit of faith in my judgment and realize that we truly are good for each other, Worf and I."
Lwaxana sighed heavily, as if expelling the weight of the world. "All right," she said finally. "Bring them here for dinner tonight. We'll have a nice, small, intimate little gathering, and discuss matters then."
"Thank you, Mother." She kissed Lwaxana on the cheek. "You won't regret it."
"I do already," Lwaxana said.
"A small, intimate little gathering?"
"That is what she said," Deanna told Worf. They were in a room at a nearby inn. Alexander had already found the mattress on his bed insufferably soft and, tired as he was from all the traveling, he had simply taken a blanket and dropped to sleep on the floor.
Worf was looking out a window at his view of the city. The clouds were pink and puffy in the sky. The city was a virtual tapestry of smoothly integrated buildings that were practically monuments to symmetry. It made him itch just to look at it.
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I
"It's beautiful, isn't it," Deanna said, noticing that his gaze seemed captivated by it.
"Yes," Worf replied. Eager to change the subject, he said, "And your mother's reaction was ... what? Is that all the two of you discussed? You told her of our engagement, and she invited us to dinner?"
"There may have been some chitchat in between, but that's more or less how it went."
Worf grunted. He didn't seem remotely convinced, which was understandable since Deanna was one of the worst liars he had ever known. Indeed, that may have been one of her more endearing qualities. "Were I your mother ... I would not be pleased about this union."
"Worf! How could you say such a thing?"
"Look at me, Deanna. Put yourself in her position, and look at me not as a woman in love with me, but as a woman who would see me married to her daughter. I do not take it personally, but let us be realistic: Is a Klingon the ideal choice for a Betazoid son-in-law? For any son-in-law?"
She put a hand gently to his face. Not for the first time, she was amazed by the roughness of it. "You are my first choice, and that is all that matters."
He grunted again, and simply replied, "We shall see."
When they arrived at the mansion that evening, it was a mob scene.
It was not particularly loud or raucous. Indeed, it was amazingly quiet, for the house was packed with well over a hundred Betazoids. Deanna gaped in astonishment at the huge throng of people who were visible through the door opened by Mr. Homn. People she hadn't seen for years, major notables of Betazed, all were packed in. Mr. Homn barely afforded Worf a glance as he gestured for the Klingon to follow Deanna in. Alexander, staying close at his father's side, entered quickly, as if afraid the door would shut him out into the night.
"Mother!" Deanna called out. In comparison with the
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silence in the main foyer and every visible area, her voice was like thunder.
Lwaxana hustled across the foyer to her, her full-length pufiy blue dress swirling about the floor, and light sparkling off a dazzling array of stones on a jeweled choker she wore around her throat. "Little One . . . Worf. . . Alexander . . . how wonderful to see you." She touched the choker. "It's new. Be honest... do you think it's too much? Does it stand out?"
"Absolutely," Worf said flatly. "When I saw you in the middle of this crowd, the first thought I had was 'Choker.'"
Lwaxana bobbed her head in appreciation, and then did a split second of a double take as she realized she wasn't entirely sure what he had just said. Recovering quickly, she said, "My apologies, children, for the unexpected crowd. ..."
"You said a small, intimate gathering, Mother!"
"I know, Little One, and I forgot that I had arranged for a banquet here in your honor. The invitations had gone out, the food already prepared." She shrugged grandly, as if appealing to the universe to solve her problems. "What else was I supposed to do?"
"They're very quiet," Alexander noted.
"They're communing telepathically, for the most part. Does it bother you?"
"We can adapt," Worf said. "Correct, Alexander?"
"Yes, Father."
"Oh, no, you shouldn't have to .. ."
"That's correct, Mother," Deanna said icily. "They shouldn't."
Deanna!
A cry of pure joy sounded in her head and Deanna turned to see a slim blond woman, running toward her with her arms wide.
"Chandra!" Deanna cried out.
Deanna! Chandra replied directly into Deanna's head. She embraced her eagerly, then turned to Worf and thought, And this is your fumce?
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1 M Z A D I II
That's right, said Deanna as she informed Worf aloud, "Worf, this is Chandra, one of my best friends growing up. I was maid of honor at her wedding."
Worf nodded his head slightly in acknowledgment. "Hello."
"How did you know Worf was my fiance?" Deanna asked.
"Are you joking? It's all over the city that you brought home a ..." She stopped, turned, and smiled winningly at Worf. "... a ... fiance .. ."
Worf became painfully aware that he was rapidly becoming the center of attention. In the supernaturally quiet gathering, more and more Betazoids appeared to be glancing his way. He couldn't hear any of the conversation, of course, since it was all being conducted on a telepathic basis. But Worf had rather impressive peripheral vision, and he couldn't help but notice how people would glance quickly in his direction and then look away just as quickly.
It irked him to say the least.
"Deanna . . . perhaps Alexander and I would be best advised to return to the inn. . . ."
Upon hearing this pronouncement, Alexander's face immediately darkened in concern. "Is it something I did, Father?"
"No. No, it has nothing to do with you."
"Well, what then?"
"Yes, Mr. Woo . . . Worf, what could it be?" Lwaxana asked as she tousled Alexander's hair. "You know how much I adore spending time with you and, particularly, your son. Look, everything is set up." And indeed that was the case. Long tables had been put out, lined with an assortment of Betazoid delicacies. One would have thought that it required an army of servants to deal with the cooking, preparation, and setup. But instead there was just Mr. Homn, putting the finishing touches on the t
able and seemingly unperturbed at handling the massive undertaking, as near as anyone could tell, single-handedly. The room itself was rather opulent, with a glittering chandelier overhead that-very likely not coincidentally- matched Lwaxana's choker. Portraits of previous heads of the Fifth House lined the walls. It was easy to tell the order of
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ascension: Each painting was progressively larger. Not by much, each one perhaps no more than ten percent. But it was still evident when seen all together. The one of Lwaxana took up half a wall. Worf had a feeling that, when it came Deanna's turn, they'd have no choice but to paint a mural of her on the ceiling.
"This is clearly intended as a reunion for Deanna and her friends and associates," Worf observed. "We would seem . .. out of place."
There was a moment of silence, and it was Lwaxana who commented, very quietly, "If you say so, Mr. Worf."
"Father . . ." Alexander hesitated, clearly loath to say what was on his mind.
Worf looked down at him. "What?" he said with clear impatience.
"It's like . . . running away."
The words had the exact effect on Worf that one could have expected. He drew himself up, squaring his broad shoulders, and glowered. "This is not a matter of cowardice," he rumbled. "I am simply thinking of what is in Deanna's best interest. . .."
"If that is the consideration," Deanna said, "then it is in my best interest, as far as I'm concerned, that you remain. Either that or"-and she cast a defiant look at her mother-"we will all leave."
"Oh, but that would be terrible,"said Lwaxana.
"Come, Worf.. . let's go." Clearly the decision was made, as far as Deanna was concerned. Since it was still largely silent in the room, eerily to Worf, like a morgue, her voice carried throughout the great dining room.
"Worf, please, stay ... all of you." There was something akin to genuine pleading in Lwaxana's voice. Worf was not entirely sure just how she had been anticipating that this night would go, but he was positive that having Deanna simply walk out was not one of the options she had been strongly considering.
"Yes, of course we will stay," Worf said quickly.
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Deanna turned to him. "Worf, we don't have to remain on my account. .. ."
"We will stay," he told her, "because it is the right thing to do."
"Thank you, Mr. Worf," Lwaxana said, and she even bowed slightly with apparently no hint of sarcasm. Then she turned and said loudly to the other guests, "My friends.. . out of respect for our guests tonight... I would ask that you converse out loud this evening. I would like them to feel as much at home as possible, in keeping with the Betazoid spirit of welcoming all who would join us."
There was a hesitation, as if everyone was self-conscious about being the first to open their mouths. But one after another they began to speak, and soon there was an undercurrent of polite conversation. Hardly a roar of noise; the Beta-zoids were too understated for that.
"More like the sort of sounds you're accustomed to at a social gathering, Mr. Worf?" Lwaxana asked.
"Most Klingon gatherings have the sound of bone striking bone scattered throughout," Worf replied. "However, I do not think it necessary to replicate that here."
The banquet was designed as purely a stand-up affair, with all of the food prepared as finger food so that the Betazoids would be able to more easily circulate around the room. Once she was convinced that Worf was truly comfortable hi the surroundings, Deanna did not hesitate to begin serious mingling with her old friends. Lwaxana, meantime, had gravitated to Alexander and was making it a point to introduce the youngster around. At first Worf was a bit suspicious of it, but he quickly dismissed it from his mind. It was indisputable that, for whatever reason, Lwaxana had taken a shine to the lad. She had displayed it when she had met him on the Enterprise several years ago, and that attraction was resurging now.
But Worf was convinced that she was less than ecstatic about the prospect of the boy's father becoming a relation through marriage.
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Worf was no fool. Despite Deanna's claims to the contrary, he knew where he stood with Lwaxana. He told himself that it was her problem rather than his, but he couldn't help but feel that that was simply too facile an answer.
He tried to stand off to the side, to remain inconspicuous, but Deanna saw him isolated and-believing that she was doing him a favor-pulled him along with her as she went from one cluster of people to another. With each group, it seemed to Worf that they were tripping over their words, trying to be polite but unaccustomed to verbalizing their thoughts, and certainly not used to dealing with Klingons.
An older man named Gart Xerx, who had introduced himself as Chandra's father, stood there with a drink in his hand and asked, "So what do you two talk about?"
"Talk . . . ?" Worf clearly found the question puzzling. "We talk about... all manner of subjects."
"Worf is extremely well read," Deanna said.
"Really? What sort of topics do you like to read about, Worf?"
"Strategy. Combat tactics. History. . . ."
"Ah, history. What sort of histories?"
"Warfare, for the most part."
Gart frowned in polite puzzlement. "And you find that. . . relaxing?"
"The purpose of reading is not to relax," Worf replied. "It is to learn. To learn and to plan for whatever situations may arise."
"But what about Klingon philosophies and such. Or do you have any?"
Worf immediately bristled and Gart took a step back, clearly startled by the intensity of the emotions he was feeling. "No offense intended," he said quickly.
"Worf. . ." Deanna said, putting a hand on his arm. As if her empathic abilities didn't already cue her to his mood, she could feel the muscles bunching up
"Our philosophies," Worf said, "are as important and
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integral to our way of life as yours are to you. In many ways, we are the same."
"But. . . your way of life is war. Ours is of peace. They could not be more different. Or do you believe in peace as a way of life?"
"If Worf did not believe in the viability of peace as a way of life," Deanna told Gart, "then he certainly would not have chosen Starfleet as a place to spend his life."
"Is that why you chose Starfleet, Worf?" asked Gart.
And for the briefest of moments, Worf s mind flashed back to Khitomer. To being buried under rubble, sobbing and furious at the weakness implicit in his fear. In his mind's eye, he saw the rubble being pushed aside, saw the man who he would come to call father, saw the uniform that he wore and the round, metallic symbol on his uniform jacket... a symbol that would come to be synonymous with life, hope, and a second chance, one that he would covet as his own....
But peace?
His desire for a life in Starfleet was born from an act of war. Peace never factored into it.
All this went through his mind in an instant, and the moment that it did, it was immediately known to Gart Xerx. "As I thought," he said politely, and he glanced at Deanna- not with any sort of triumph or smugness-but rather with a sort of detached sadness, as if to say, How little you know of the truth.
Worf felt anger bubbling within him. "A life dedicated only to peace is a pleasing fancy for children. Adults know better."
Gart's tone was not at all challenging or superior. If anything, he seemed mentally stimulated by the conversation. "Are you implying that we Betazoids are children? We have known only peace."
"Then you are ripe for conquest."
The quiet draped over the room as if a blanket of silence had been tossed upon it. Worf realized that, although he had been speaking out loud with Gart, Gart in turn was "multitasking,"
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keeping a mental link with others as he engaged Worf in conversation. He might very well have been mentally chatting with others about utterly innocuous matters, but Worf s comment had immediately nailed the attention of everyone in the room.
"Is that a threat, Worf?" Gart asked.
<
br /> "Gart! How could you-" Deanna began.
But Worf cut her off with a gesture. "No. Merely an observation. Peace . . ." He hesitated, trying to determine the best, least inflammatory way in which to put it. "... Peace can be... deceptive."
Mr. Homn appeared, as if by magic, and handed a drink to Worf. Worf took it and knocked back a swig automatically . . . and it registered on him, to his surprise, that it contained prune juice.
"Deceptive in what way?" asked Gart.
"At times of war, you know your enemy, you test his resources. In peace, you deceive yourself into believing there is no enemy. But there is. And your enemy prepares, while you delude yourself into thinking that the peace will be everlasting. It never is. Peace is a luxury purchased for a brief time through the efforts of war. Compassion, while praiseworthy, has been the downfall of a number of races who thought they had no enemies."
"And who would be our enemy?" Gart said in amusement, as if the very idea were beyond ludicrous.
"I do not know. But there is an enemy. There is always an enemy. That is the way of things."
"It is not," Gart Xerx said quietly, "our way."
"Then I pity you. For when an enemy does come, you will not be ready .. . and you will suffer all the more for it."
There followed another silence, and then Gart swirled the contents of his glass a bit and stared down into it as if hoping to find the secrets of the universe contained therein. "I believe I speak for all of us, Worf, in saying that we of Betazed do not feel as if we are in need of pity."
"I did not intend to insult," Worf said.
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"Oh, you do not. Amuse, perhaps, but not insult."
The glass that Worf was holding shattered in his hand as he squeezed it reflexively. When he spoke, it was with waves of barely contained fury radiating from him, so suffocating and overwhelming that a number of Betazoids in proximity to him visibly flinched.