Star Trek - TNG - 61 - Diplomatic Implausibility

by Keith R. A. DeCandido

  Klag left the holodeck and headed for the medical ward.

  He strode purposefully down the corridor, not allowing the great pain he was in to show. He was the captain, after all. And it's time I started acting like it.

  Rodek passed him in the corridor. "Captain," the gunner said respectfully.

  "Lieutenant." Realizing that Rodek was reporting for his shift--a watch during which Klag was also supposed to be on the bridge, especially with Drex currently detached to Tiral--Klag added, "I will be on the bridge shortly. I have something to discuss with Dr. B'Oraq.

  Toq is in command until I return." "Yes, sir," Rodek said, and Klag noticed the distaste in

  Rodek's voice. Rodek had never been particularly demonstrative in the past.

  "Is there a problem, Lieutenant?"

  "No, sir. At least, nothing with which you need concern yourself. It is--personal."

  "If you have a personal problem with Lieutenant Toq, I suggest you keep it to yourself, Rodek. The first time I see evidence of it on the bridge will also be the last." "Yes, sir," Rodek said.

  Klag nodded, and continued on his way to the medical ward. That felt good, he thought.

  B'Oraq was finishing off a report. Two of the engineers had spent their off-duty time doing bat'leth drills, and one had cut the other's arm open. Pretty standard stuff. B'Oraq had to admit to being bored.

  She missed the war. Then, at least, she was always busy. Now, though--they had been in space for a month, and seen only two battles, both of which had been won handily by the Gorkon with minimal injuries.

  She had only disposed of two bodies, and her days mostly consisted of the usual contusions of everyday life.

  Then the captain walked in.

  The doctor's first thought was that Klag had come in to tell her that he'd changed his mind and she had to get rid of the prosthetics. This was based partly on the determined stride with which he entered, as if he had something important and dangerous on his mind.

  Her second thought was, He's in terrible pain. This was based on his near-collapse the minute the door closed and no one but B'Oraq could see him. Only the fact that he fell to his left kept him from striking the deck--he braced himself against the wall with his one remaining arm.

  "What happened to you?" B'Oraq asked as she ran to him, medical scanner in hand.

  "Holodeck," Klag said through gritted teeth.

  She guided him slowly to a bio bed and ran the scanner over him.

  "Seventeen broken ribs, multiple blaster-fire burns, fractured pelvis " She gave up reading all the injuries aloud. "What were you doing in there, Captain, reliving the entire war?"

  "No, just my little corner of it. And I've come to a realization. You were right."

  B'Oraq had grabbed a bone-knitter, and now almost dropped it. "What about?" She started applying the knitter to Klag's chest.

  "My arm. I must report to the bridge once you are done healing me here, but at a later time--I think I will want to talk further about doing something about my lack of a right arm." B'Oraq smiled. "I look forward to it, Captain. I've got the latest prosthetics that can--"

  "You misunderstand me, Doctor," Klag said, his mouth twisting into an expression of disgust. "I have no interest in grafting one of those foul contraptions onto my shoulder." Blinking, B'Oraq said, "In that case, Captain, I'm-well, confused. What other way can we ' something' about your arm?"

  "After our last conversation, I took a look through the files in your medical database--to see what I can expect from my Federation-trained medical officer. I noticed that the precursor to prosthetic attachments was live transplants."

  The doctor couldn't help but laugh. "Captain, transplants are an outmoded, barbaric form of medicine. You can only use a limb from a recently deceased Klingon with the same blood type as you, and your body may reject even a compatible transplant. With the prosthetic, there's a ninety-five-percent chance of success--with a transplant, even if I can find a viable donor, there's only a sixty percent chance at best"

  Klag slammed his one fist onto the bio bed B'Oraq hastily switched off the bone-knitter. As it was, Klag's actions moved his body sufficiently that B'Oraq came within a crest's-breadth of fusing one of Klag's ribs to his lower aorta.

  "I am a warrior! Perhaps you do not know what that means, Doctor, but I do. I will not place a machine on my person and call it part of me.

  If I am to restore my warrior's prowess by replacing my arm, I will do it with the limb of a warrior."

  "Captain, if you wish me to heal you, you have to sit still," B'Oraq said, trying to keep her voice calm. But her head was swimming. She struggled to keep her hand steady as she turned the bone-knitter back on. "Let me understand this correctly. You not only wish me to perform an antiquated medical procedure on you that may not even work, but it has to be with the limb of a warrior. Not just any Klingon whose biology is compatible with yours."

  "Whether it is biologically compatible is irrelevant." Maybe to you, B'Oraq thought, but wisely chose not to say out loud.

  "What matters," Klag continued, "is whether or not the arm belongs to someone who is worthy of having his deeds continued on my person. Your task, Doctor, will be to assemble a list of donors. You will make whatever medical determinations need to be made, but I will approve the

  list on the basis of their worthiness to be part of the Hero of Marcan." Shaking her head, B'Oraq said, "Sir, the chances--"

  "Those are my orders, Doctor. Are you finished?"

  Moving the bone-knitter down toward Klag's hip, she said, "With the ribs, but there's still--" She was by the door opening once again. Leskit and Kurak entered, the latter supporting the former, who had a long gash in his left thigh. They were both out of uniform--in fact, they were out of almost everything, each wearing only a long, loose shirt.

  "You didn't tell me you had a sword there," Leskit was saying.

  "I never expected us to make it all the way to-Captain!" she said quickly upon sighting Klag, who sat up at the intrusion.

  B'Oraq took Leskit from Kurak and brought him to another bio bed "What happened?" "Slight accident with a sword," Leskit said. "It's minor."

  "I'll be the judge of that." B'Oraq examined the wound. In fact, Leskit was right, it wasn't that bad. The cut was long, but not very deep, and would be simple to repair.

  However, since the captain's injuries were more serious, B'Oraq handed Leskit a bandage. "Put pressure on it. I'll be with you in a minute."

  She started repairing Klag's pelvic fracture. B'Oraq was more than a little surprised. She hadn't thought Kurak the type to engage in a shipboard liaison, least of all with Leskit. Such an act required a level of frivolity that B'Oraq hadn't given the engineer credit for.

  But then, she thought, it seems to be my day for being surprised by the personnel of this ship.

  As she finished knitting the fracture, the alarm went off. Toq's voice sounded over the speakers: "Alert status! All hands to battle stations! Captain Klag to the bridge!"

  Klag, naturally, stood. Knowing full well she wouldn't get to finish the sentence, B'Oraq started, "Captain, you--"

  "--will finish this after the battle, if we are still alive." As he headed to the door, he looked at Kurak and Leskit. "Commander, report to engineering.

  Lieutenant, with me."

  The pair exchanged a glance. They were out of uniform.

  Before they could say anything, B'Oraq said, "Lieutenant Leskit needs medical attention, Captain, he--"

  Klag looked at Leskit. "Can you sit upright?"

  Shrugging, Leskit said, "Yes."

  "Do your hands work?"

  "Oh, yes," he said with a grin. Kurak actually looked away at that.

  B'Oraq fought to contain her reaction.

  "Then you can fly the ship. You're with me."

  The three of them left the medical ward with dispatch.

  B'Oraq looked around at the now-empty room. She wondered if boredom might not be so bad.

  She sat down to co
mpose a letter to Beverly Crusher. She had to share today's news with the one person who could properly appreciate it.

  The cave into which Worf and Krevor materialized was, if anything, colder than the council chambers. Worf would not have believed it possible, especially since this tunnel was rock rather than ice.

  It was also dark--even more so than the Gorkon. There was a light source farther down the corridor, but it took a few moments for Worf's eyes to adjust. He and Krevor moved up against the wall, which angled inward. The tunnel was barely taller than Worf himself, and his head kept brushing up against the tiny stalactites on the tunnel roof.

  Krevor held a hand scanner. She whispered, "Sir, readings are sporadic. I can't get a fix."

  Worf peered over at the bekk's scanner. "The hand scanner isn't as powerful as the shipboard sensors," he whispered back, "and the concentration of Element 604 is especially high here--which is probably why the rebels chose it. Here." He made a few adjustments, and the scan quality improved.

  "Thank you, sir. There are four al'Hmatti coming this way."

  Worf nodded to Krevor, who moved into an alcove, out of sight. Worf moved to the center of the tunnel.

  He could hear the al'Hmatti before he could see them. They spoke in their native tongue, which shared a certain guttural quality with the Klingon language.

  A light moved toward Worf slowly around a bend, then the al'Hmatti themselves came into view. One held a hand lamp and walked on her hind legs, albeit stooped over; the cave could not accommodate the average al'Hmatti at full height. The others were on all fours. Unlike the ones Worf had seen in the council chambers and on the satellite, these al'Hmatti all had indulged in some form of bodily decoration and or modification. Some wore necklaces (only females, he noticed), others wore earrings, many wore both. A few had let their fur grow out in spots and braided it, or tied it in a ponytail or topknot. Some had shaved their fur, exposing the skin underneath--which, to Worf's surprise, was a deep black color, in stark contrast to the light-colored fur.

  All four of them had the same pattern shaved into the sides of their heads--some on the left, some on the right.

  "Greetings." Worf's voice echoed in the tunnel. "I am Ambassador Worf of the United Federation of Planets. I would speak with your commander."

  An al'Hmatti bellowed three words, one of which was Klingon, and then three of them--all but the one holding the hand lamp--shifted their weight to their hind legs and moved to un holster their disruptors.

  Before they could do so, Worf had unholstered his own disrupter and fired a shot over the al'Hmatti's furred heads.

  "No weapons, please," he said. "I wish to discuss terms with your commander." One of the al'Hmatti said, "We will die before we '' anything with you conquerors!" and then continued taking out her weapon.

  "Don't do it," said Krevor, who appeared behind the al'Hmatti, as planned. She placed her disrupter's muzzle into the neck of the al'Hmatti who had spoken.

  Then two disrupter shots fired from around the bend, missing Krevor's head by millimeters.

  "Death to the Klingons!" one of the al'Hmatti cried.

  All four al'Hmatti went for their disruptors. Worf fell to the ground while firing two shots. He stunned two of the rebels before they could fire. Krevor shot a third--the one she had gotten the drop on. The fourth fired a shot that would have hit Worf had he not ducked. Worf took out that fourth al'Hmatti with another shot.

  Krevor was then hit in the shoulder with another blast from behind. As she fell, she fired back; Worf heard a scream a moment later, indicating that she'd hit someone.

  Time, he thought, to end this. As he ran over to Krevor--ducking a disrupter blast--he shrugged out of the backpack in which he'd been carrying the scattering field generator. When he was at Krevor's side, he activated th e field.

  The disrupter fire stopped.

  Several angry shouts came from down the tunnel as the al'Hmatti tried to fire disrupters that would no longer function. The scattering field would only keep the disruptors inactive for a few minutes--but that should be all I need, Worf thought.

  "I would speak with your commander!" Worf repeated.

  An al'Hmatti with gray fur ran toward Worf on all fours, moving with tremendous speed for one of such bulk. Worf barely had time to unsheath his mek'leth, and did not have time to use it.

  The al'Hmatti leapt at Worf, who fell backward to roll with the impact.

  The al'Hmatti tried to claw and bite Worf, but she hadn't expected him to roll. The two of them tumbled over into the tunnel wall. Worf managed to angle it so that the al'Hmatti took the brunt of the impact.

  Hissing, the al'Hmatti tried to bite Worf's neck. At the last second, Worf twisted himself so that she bit his left shoulder instead. Her teeth penetrated the thermal suit.

  Worf grabbed the woman's muzzle with his right hand and, with his left, stabbed her in the side with the mek'leth, She let go and screamed, giving Worf the opportunity to throw her off of him--an action that took all of his considerable strength. She fell to the floor, blood darkening the fur on her right side.

  He looked over to see Krevor struggling with a white furred male al'Hmatti. He swiped at her with a giant paw, which she partly dodged.

  Instead of taking her head off, it only scratched her right cheek and ripped out some of her black hair. She had bolstered her disrupter and unsheathed her d'k tahg. Now she slashed at the al'Hmatti with it.

  Like her, he dodged; like him, she drew blood anyhow, following the move with a punch to the al'Hmatti's stomach. It had no effect on the al'Hmatti that Worf could see, as the alien then lunged forward, hissing. Krevor ducked and rolled under the lunge and took another swipe with the d'k tahg, this time at the side of the al'Hmatti's neck.

  The al'Hmatti had fallen to the ground on its stomach, but he got up quickly. Worf was about to move to aid Krevor, but that proved unnecessary, as she took another swipe at his neck. The al'Hmatti bled from four wounds, two in the neck, one in the upper chest--and one, to Worf's surprise, in the stomach, where Krevor had punched him. She must have blades in her gauntlets, he thought.

  The last cut to the neck did it. The al'Hmatti stumbled backward, clutching pointlessly at his neck with black padded paws, failing to stanch the blood that flowed freely from the wound.

  Worf and Krevor turned to face the other al'Hmatti, who circled cautiously around the Klingons.

  The combined smell of al'Hmatti and Klingon blood was intoxicating.

  Pain wracked Worf's left shoulder, sending his brain into a pleasant haze. He felt the adrenaline churn within him, heard the cry of his warrior's heart. His mind's eye could see the al'Hmatti lying bloody at his feet.

  For the briefest of instants, Worf let the pure Klingon within him come to the fore, let the bouquet of the blood wash over him. It would be so easy to give in completely and show these creatures what a true warrior was capable of.

  But these weren't creatures, these were sentient beings fighting for their home. And he was here as a diplomat, not a warrior. It was time he acted like one.

  Decades of living among humans had forced Worf to learn how to suppress his natural Klingon urges with relative ease. He straightened as much as he could in the cave and dropped his mek'leth to the ground. As he turned to Krevor, he grabbed his shoulder where the al'Hmatti had bitten him, putting pressure on the wound. "Drop your weapon, Bekk."

  "But, sir--" Krevor gave a vicious snarl. Her own blood lust was rising as well.

  "Now!"

  Trying and failing to keep the disgust off her face, Krevor dropped her blade.

  Worf turned to the al'Hmatti, who still circled the two Klingons, most of them on all fours. "I am the Federation ambassador that you requested! If you wish to end the fighting, you will listen to me--if you do not, I will alert Governor Tiral and he will obliterate this base!"

  One of the al'Hmatti males stepped forward on his hind legs. Worf assumed him to be one of the leaders, if not the leader himself. "Do you think
me a fool to believe that such as you represent the Federation?"

  "Do you think your enemies to be such fools as to commit so obvious a deception?"

  The al'Hmatti glared at him. "Perhaps not. Identify yourself."

  "I am Worf, son of Mogh. Although Klingon by birth, I was raised in the Federation and served in Starfleet for fifteen years before I was made ambassador after the Dominion War."

  "I've heard of you. As I recall, you were involved in the installation of Chancellor Gowron when you served under

  Captain Desoto on the Endeavour. Desoto was Chancellor K'mpec's arbiter of succession."

  "I served on the Enterprise at that time," Worf said, "under Captain Picard, who was K'mpec's arbiter. I find your transparent attempt to test me insulting."

  "Perhaps, but I feel it is necessary." The al'Hmatti stepped forward.

  "I am re'Trenat. I believe I am the person you have sought out."

  "If you lead these rebels, then yes, you are."

  "Tell me, Ambassador, do you always attend diplomatic negotiations armed?"

  "Only ones where I expect to be shot at on sight." "Fair enough," re'Trenat said. "Fetch the doctor for ma'Frnats and the others," he said to one of the al'Hmatti, who nodded and loped off on all fours. "Come with me, please, Ambassador."

  Another al'Hmatti, a female with yellowish fur, said something urgent in their native tongue.

  Before re'Trenat could respond, Worf said, "If I were here to do anything other than talk--I would not be here at all. The Gorkon would simply obliterate this entire cave system from orbit. That is still an option if I am not satisfied with this meeting." "You speak our language?" re'Trenat said.

  "No. But your comrade's concern is obvious. You don't trust me, even though I am here at your behest. Even though I did not fire the first shot. Even though I am all that is keeping you alive right now. The officers of the Gorkon are the ones who found your base, re'Trenat, not the tad authorities. I have not shared this intelligence with Governor Tiral--yet. Whether I do or not depends upon our discussions. If I had, you would not be alive to discuss the matter."

  "Our lives are unimportant, Ambassador. We will do whatever it takes to ensure that our people are free."