The Brave And The Bold Book Two Part 14

"Thank you," Worf said, not meaning it, and looking at the arm as if it were a poisonous snake.

"So, Woof, you're an amba.s.sador now. I guess we'll be seeing a lot more of each other at diplomatic functions like this conference on Khitomer."

"It would appear so," Worf said neutrally, long since having given up correcting Lwaxana's perpetual misp.r.o.nunciation of his name. For lack of anything better to say, he asked, "How is your son?"

"Doing as well as possible, under the circ.u.mstances," Lwaxana said, with a notable dimming of enthusiasm. Betazed had been conquered by the Dominion during the war. In fact, both Lwaxana and Worf had both been involved in the planet's liberation a little over a year ago-Worf had commanded the U.S.S. Defiant, one of the Starfleet s.h.i.+ps involved in the mission, and Lwaxana had led the Betazoid resistance movement-though they did not encounter each other then.

"How is the rebuilding progressing?" he asked.

"Slowly. I just came from Earth, actually, and had a talk with the Federation Council about it. I spent two days wrangling with Minister al-Rashan and a tiresome little Carda.s.sian who's trying to get the Federation to commit more resources to Carda.s.sia than to Betazed! Can you believe it?"

"No," Worf said truthfully. Carda.s.sia was the enemy. Betazed was part of the Federation, and deserved consideration before a foe.

"Neither did I. But this Eli Gark person, or whatever his name is, he's a sneaky one," Lwaxana said, not concealing her annoyance.

Worf started. "You mean Elim Garak?"

"Don't tell me you know the little toad?"

Hiding a small smile, Worf said, "Oh yes."And, he thought, if ever two people deserved each other, it is Garak and Lwaxana.

"I'll pretend I didn't hear that, Mr. Woof," Lwaxana said testily.

Worf suppressed a growl.

There was an uncomfortable silence as they continued down the corridor. Worf was not looking forward to the next few hours. He doubted he would be able to contrive an excuse to use the St. Lawrence' s aft compartment to grab a quick nap-not with Lwaxana accompanying him.

"Worf-" Lwaxana started.

This got Worf's attention, both because she p.r.o.nounced his name properly and because she was hesitant. He had known Lwaxana Troi for twelve years, and he would never have used that word to describe her before.

Against his better judgment, Worf prompted, "Yes?"

"You saw Odo before he-before he went home?"

Suddenly, Worf understood. Odo was the security chief on Deep s.p.a.ce 9; both he and Worf had ended their tenures serving there at the same time. For reasons Worf could never comprehend, the changeling and Lwaxana had formed a close friends.h.i.+p. In fact, they had even temporarily married-something involving the custody of her then-unborn son.

"Yes," Worf said simply.

"I know what happened. He wrote me a very nice letter before he left explaining that he was returning to the Founders' homeworld to be with his people. I know that that's what he always wanted, but I need to know from someone who saw him. Was he-was he happy?"

Worf would no sooner have used happy to describe Odo than he would have used hesitant to describe Lwaxana. But Worf had come to respect Odo during their time serving together, and while they were hardly friends, Worf felt he knew the changeling fairly well.

Choosing his words carefully, Worf said, "He was-content. He had found a mission, a-purpose. It gave him strength."

They arrived at the landing pad. Lwaxana smiled and patted Worf on the biceps. "Thank you, Worf. I needed to hear that." She extricated her arm. "I need to get back to my room and meditate before my s.h.i.+p leaves tonight."

"Tonight?" Worf's heart almost sang. She's not coming with me?

"No, I'm not coming with you. I'm just waiting for these idiot engineers to finish repairing the matter interflux broomihator or some other such thing on my personal transport. Then I can go on to Khitomer. I'd offer you a ride, but I suspect you'll find your companion on the St. Lawrence more-entertaining." She smiled enigmatically. "I look forward to seeing you at the reception, Amba.s.sador. And good luck to you. I'm sure you'll continue to serve the Federation with honor."

Worf blinked. It was the nicest thing Lwaxana had ever said to him. In fact, it might have been the nicest thing Lwaxana had ever said in his hearing. "To you as well, Amba.s.sador Troi. Betazed could have no better advocate."

Lwaxana's smile widened. "See, Woof, you just proved my point. You lie like a diplomat. You'll do quite well."

And with that, she turned and continued down the corridor, laughing.

Which raised the question of who it was that Worf was sharing the runabout with.

The landing-pad door slid open to reveal the inside of a standard Starfleet runabout. Two humans in Starfleet uniforms sat at the fore of the vessel, going through the preflight checklist. One turned around and said, "Ah, Amba.s.sador Worf, good to have you aboard. I'm Lieutenant Matthew Falce, and this," he indicated the person to his right, "is Ensign Hilary McKenna." He indicated one of the side chairs. "Have a seat-we'll be taking off within five minutes or so."

Worf was about to ask if the other amba.s.sador had reported or not when a surprisingly familiar voice came from the entryway to the aft compartment. "Welcome aboard, Mr. Amba.s.sador."

The last time Worf had heard that voice, it was in a corridor on Deep s.p.a.ce Station K-7 a hundred years ago. The Defiant had gone after an elderly Klingon spy who had traveled back in time to a.s.sa.s.sinate CaptainJames T. Kirk and restore his own lost honor. They had succeeded in stopping the spy without altering the time lines-which meant, among other things, that the person in the St. Lawrence had not known of Worf's clandestine trip to the past.

They had encountered each other on several occasions besides that, of course, but this was their first meeting as colleagues.

Inclining his head respectfully, Worf said, "Amba.s.sador Spock. It is an honor, sir."

And he meant it. Like Worf, Spock had become an amba.s.sador after serving in Starfleet, but both his military and diplomatic service were the stuff of legends-admittedly, as much due to the sheer volume of them by comparison to Worf's own much shorter career in both fields.

Indeed, the man standing before him seemed to carry the weight of his years. He was dressed in an austere black robe that covered him from neck to foot; his face-the features of which displayed only his Vulcan heritage-was heavily lined, his black hair thinner than Worf remembered it being in the long-ago corridors of K-7.

Then he spoke, and his lips rose in the tiniest of smiles-the first betrayal of the human half of his lineage. "The honor is mine, Amba.s.sador Worf. Your accomplishments have been quite noteworthy."

"You flatter me."

"Not at all. You have had perhaps more impact on Klingon politics over the past decade than any other individual. And I speak as one who has some pa.s.sing familiarity with the vicissitudes of Klingon politics."

Worf took a seat on one of the rear chairs of the runabout. "That is something of an overstatement of my accomplishments, Mr. Amba.s.sador."

One of Spock's eyebrows climbed up his forehead as he took the seat opposite Worf. "Indeed? Given that your actions were directly responsible for the ascents of the last two chancellors, not to mention the installation of Emperor Kahless and the fall of the House of Duras, it is, if anything, an understatement."

"I simply have done my duty."

"As have I."

Falce and McKenna communicated with Starbase Operations to receive clearance to disembark. As they did so, Worf said, "An intereresting statement, Mr. Amba.s.sador, given that you have spent the last several years attempting to reunify Romulus and Vulcan. Some might argue that such an act was contrary to your duty as a Federation amba.s.sador."

"And would you be among those?"

"My-experience tells me that any attempt to deal with the Romulans is one fraught with peril. I have witnessed Romulan treachery firsthand on far too many occasions-starting on the very planet we are heading toward."

Spock nodded. "Ah, yes, the so-called Khitomer ma.s.sacre."

Worf tensed. "'So-called'?"

"My apologies-I did not mean to belittle your tragedy, Amba.s.sador."

The words were a poor attempt at soothing Worf, and he was having none of it. When he was six, he had accompanied his mother, father, and nurse to Khitomer for an extended stay. That stay had been cut short by a cowardly Romulan attack on the planet, one that wiped out thousands of Klingon lives. Worf and his nurse were the only ones who were not killed or taken prisoner. While his nurse returned to Qo'noS, Worf was raised by a Starfleet chief petty officer and his wife on Gault and Earth.

"Still," Spock continued, "the symbolism of this particular planet is potent, wouldn't you agree? The site of the first significant peace talks between the Federation and the Klingon Empire took place at Khitomer after Praxis's destruct-"

"I'm aware of the planet's history, Amba.s.sador," Worf said testily, "as well as your own role in the Khitomer Accords. What I have to wonder is if you truly intend to represent the Federation at this conference-or the Romulans."

The runabout cleared the station and went into warp. As it did so, Spock's head tilted. "An odd accusation, given that my presence at the conference is over the objections of the Romulan senate. They still view me as a criminal. In any event, the Romulans did ally with the Federation and the Klingon Empire during the war."

"Eventually, and only when confronted with evidence of the Dominion's treachery-treachery that we had to bring to their attention." Worf leaned forward, aware that his voice was rising, but too tired to really care at this point. "And even so, they are demanding equal reparations from the Breen even though their losses were a fraction of those suffered by the Empire or the Federation."

His calm in direct contrast to Worf's rising anger-which served only to make it rise further-Spock said, "The Empire's losses were as much due to the irresponsible troop allocations of Chancellor Gowron as anything. Given that you challenged him on that very basis, I should think you'd be aware of it. The Romulans should not be penalized for that." Before Worf could respond to that, Spock held up a hand. "I do not dispute your points, Mr. Amba.s.sador. May I humbly suggest that we table our debate until we reach the proper forum for it?"

Worf bit back an instinctive reply. Why am I having this argument? he asked himself. He had had no intention of engaging Spock this way-indeed, he had nothing but respect for the man, even if he personally found his mission of reuniting Romulus and Vulcan to be a useless cause that would probably do more harm to Vulcan than good.

Instead, he leaned back, again inclined his head, and said, "Agreed."

"Good. I-" The amba.s.sador cut himself off and put his hand to his forehead, closing his eyes.

Worf frowned. "Is something wrong?"

"Just an odd-" Again, he cut himself off, this time opening his eyes and letting his arms drop to his sides.

Almost robotically, Spock rose from his chair, turned, and walked toward the aft compartment.

"Amba.s.sador?" Worf got up and went after him. Spock had a reputation for many things, but wandering off in the middle of a conversation-the middle of a sentence-was not one of them. And Worf had spent far too much time serving in Starfleet to be anything but completely on his guard when witnessing such behavior.

Worf followed Spock aft to find him opening the runabout's weapons locker. Taking a tiny palm-sized phaser out of a small pocket inside his jacket, Worf said, "Move away from there, now."

Moving with surprising speed for someone of his age and enc.u.mbered by so large a cloak, Spock whirled and fired a hand phaser at Worf, who ducked out of the way and fired his own phaser. It glanced off the amba.s.sador's shoulder, but he barely seemed to notice. The hit should have stunned him-or at least slowed him down.

It did neither. Spock dove for Worf, his free hand reaching for Worf's shoulder. The Klingon tried to twist out of the way, knowing full well what Spock intended, but the crowded confines of the runabout gave him little room to maneuver, and Spock was able to grasp at the nerve cl.u.s.ter in Worf's shoulder even through the thick leather of his jacket.

Worf's thumb spasmed on his phaser as he pa.s.sed out.

"You call this a bed?"

Dr. B'Oraq smiled at the wizened old human who stared incredulously at the metal slab in the rear compartment of the shuttlecraft.

"Actually," she said, "I call it a QongDaq, and it's good for your back."

"Good for your back, maybe. Me, I'll take a feather bed any day of the week and twice on Sunday."

"Most humans with spinal difficulties have them because they sleep on surfaces that are too conforming. It encourages misalignment of the vertebrae."

"Look, little lady, you rationalize your Klingon excuses for hurting yourselves in the name of honor all you want, but what it comes down to is you folks just like pain too d.a.m.n much. When you get to be my age, you start to appreciate comfort."

"Most Klingons don't get to be your age." B'Oraq tugged on the braid that extended down past her right shoulder. The hairs in that braid, which was secured at the end with a pin in the shape of her House's emblem, were the only ones of that length. The rest of her auburn tresses were kept at neck level.

"Good point." The human actually let out a smile at that one, which B'Oraq took as an encouraging sign. "Still, that'd go a long way toward explainin' why the state of your medicine's still so blasted appalling."

Smiling, B'Oraq said, "That's what I'm hoping to change, Admiral."

Leonard H. McCoy let out a noise that sounded like a bursting pipe. "Don't you start with that 'admiral' nonsense. I'm just an old country doctor tryin' to find reasons to keep on goin'. The name's Leonard."

Again tugging on her braid, B'Oraq said, "I could not be so-so familiar, sir."

"Poppyc.o.c.k. We're colleagues."

B'Oraq's eyes widened. "Hardly. You are-the same as a Dahar master, only in medicine. I am just a humble physician attempting to live up to your ideals. To call us colleagues would be like saying a third son of a lowlevel House is the same as a member of the High Council."

"Don't sell yourself short, B'Oraq," McCoy said, taking a seat in a metal chair next to the bunk. "You're doing some d.a.m.n fine work."

The shuttle was the captain's personal transport from the I.K.S. Gorkon, B'Oraq's posting. Captain Klag had generously allowed his s.h.i.+p's physician to make use of it to escort McCoy to his speaking engagement on Qo'noS. The shuttle's aft compartment would normally serve as the captain's cabin, with the pilot, copilot, and up to four pa.s.sengers using bunks lining the walls of the hallway between the c.o.c.kpit and the rear.

Sitting on the edge of the QongDaq, B'Oraq said, "Perhaps. And perhaps one day, I will be able to call myself a 'colleague'of Leonard McCoy." She smiled. "After all, even the third son of a lowlevel House may get a seat on the Council-one day. But that day is not today."

He chuckled, a papery sound. B'Oraq was glad the elderly human was able to travel. He seemed fragile physically, even by the low standards of humans, but his mental acuity hadn't dimmed with age. When she had asked him to give a talk on improving medical practices within the Empire to the High Council, he had happily accepted.

"May I offer you a drink, Admiral?"

"If you're gonna insist on t.i.tles, stick with 'Doctor.' Just 'cause Starfleet promoted me out of lack of any better use to put me to doesn't mean I have to like it. As for a drink, no thanks. I don't think these old bones could handle your Klingon hooch-not to mention this old cardiovascular system."

"Actually, I had something else in mind." She turned to the replicator next to the QongDaq and said, "Bourbon."

McCoy's eyes went quite wide at that. Smugly, B'Oraq handed one of the mugs that materialized at her instruction to the human.

The old doctor took the mug and then gingerly sniffed its contents. He looked quizzically at B'Oraq. "Sour mash?"

She nodded. "One of the benefits of studying medicine at your Starfleet Academy. An old medical-school friend gave me the replicator pattern when I saw him last."

"Good ol' Southern boy, huh?" McCoy asked with a grin.

"Actually, he's a Trill, but he acquired a taste for the stuff during one of our post-finals pub crawls third year."

Another papery chuckle. "Yeah, I remember several pub crawls like that during my med school days, back in the mists of prehistory." He gave the mug a look, then raised it toward B'Oraq. "Mud in your eye."

B'Oraq watched as McCoy took a sip, rolled it around in his mouth, then swallowed. He closed his eyes tightly, opened them, shook his head from side to side twice, then let out a long breath. His voice cracking, he said, "Smooth." He coughed once. "Not bad, as replicated mash goes. Course, back in my day, we made this stuff ourselves."

"Unfortunately, the ingredients are hard to come by, and I didn't have the time to acquire them and brew them before you arrived, otherwise I would, of course, have provided that."

McCoy grinned. "Don't worry about it, B'Oraq. This is as fine a gift as you can give me. 'Sides, given what I'm about to face, I might be better off with a few of these in me."

"Don't be so sure. I had expected more resistance from the High Council when I first proposed this, but they were surprisingly receptive." She tilted her head. "Then again, Chancellor Martok spent many years stationed at Deep s.p.a.ce 9 with access to Federation medicine. That may have colored his perceptions. Besides, the Empire has become more receptive to advanced medical treatment over the past few years, especially thanks to the war."

"Really?" McCoy asked, then took another sip. B'Oraq noted that the second swallow was less of a struggle than the first.

"It's much easier to insist that you can survive with an injury and that having it treated shows weakness when you are just fighting alongside other Klingons. But when your Federation and Romulan allies are fully recovered from more devastating injuries in less than a day, you start to learn the value of being able to return whole warriors to the field of battle."

McCoy held up his mug again. "I'll drink to that."