Imzadi_ Triangle Part 14

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 Betazoids 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.

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 cl.u.s.ter 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 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 "mult.i.tasking,"

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.

"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. Compa.s.sion, 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 amus.e.m.e.nt, 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 gla.s.s 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.

"Oh, you do not. Amuse, perhaps, but not insult."

The gla.s.s 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.

"AMUSE?" he practically roared.

"Worf, calm down!" Deanna said forcefully.

"I am not here for your amus.e.m.e.nt! You wished to know of Klingon philosophies, and I have told you. We believe in vigilance ... in readiness. Our philosophy is one of strength, and that is what has enabled our people to survive for centuries while other races have vanished beneath the bootheels of conquerors."

"And here I thought," Gart shot back, showing a trace of annoyance for the first time, "that your people survived through the sufferance of the Federation and the Khitomer conference a century ago. A time when your race was weak and helpless, and the members of the Federation who were concerned over your barbaric ways-were they of a Klingon mindset-would have left you to die as a race, and thus have one less enemy with which to concern themselves. And for your information, Betazed was sitting on the Federation Council at the time. How fortunate for the Klingons that we believed in that praiseworthy compa.s.sion which, according to you, might yet be our downfall."

Worf was glowering so furiously that it seemed as if his eyes were about to leap from his skull. " 'Bar ... baric...'?" he said with an unmistakable edge of danger.

Immediately Gart was contrite. "Perhaps that was the wrong word ... and it was very long ago ..."

"Barbaric!"

Deanna put a hand on his arm and said urgently, "Worf, perhaps it would be better if we left; we've had a long journey, and rest might be-"

"I think it best," he said in cold, measured tone, "if I departed. I do not believe I am welcome here."

"That's not true..."

He turned to her and for a moment... just a moment... there was a flicker of sadness in his eyes. "Trust me." He paused, then added, "Bring Alexander back to the inn when the party is over. We will talk then." And he walked quickly away, keeping his focus straight ahead of him, not looking at Alexander and, most particularly, not looking at Lwaxana Troi.

When Deanna and Alexander returned to the inn not too long after Worfs unceremonious exit, Alexander quickly retired to his own bedroom, not wanting to be present for the scene that he knew, beyond question, was to follow.

Deanna had half-expected to find Worf packing. Worf had half-expected that Deanna would simply drop Alexander off, turn on her heel, and head back to her mother's house. Both of them were inwardly pleased to see that their worst expectations had not been realized, but there was a long way to go when it came to finding a meeting of minds.

"Would you like to tell me what that was all about?" said Deanna, facing him with her hands planted firmly on her hips.

"A philosophical difference of opinion," he rumbled.

"The h.e.l.l it was!" said Deanna with such vehemence that Worfs surprise was evident on his face. "You went in there spoiling for a fight!"

"I went in there expecting a small gathering, not an ambush."

"It was not an ambush, Worf!" she moaned, running her fingers through her hair in frustration. "Mother explained that-!"

"Are you taking her side?"

"I'm not taking anyone's side!"

"I would have hoped that you would take mine. That is the purpose of a marriage, is it not?"

"Worf, if you think the purpose of marriage is that the wife I M Z A D I II.

leaves her opinions at the doorstep and blindly follows her husband down whatever path he might randomly choose to take..."

"He called my people barbarians!" His fury was beginning to mount again.

Deanna, however, showed not the least signs of being intimidated. "And what did Klingons call other races? Races whom they considered weaker, or ripe for conquest? Terrans, Betazoids, Vulcans ... are you saying there were no contemptuous nicknames for them bandied about in the places of power at the Klingon Empire? How clean have Klingon hands been, Worf? How clean are yours?"

The uncharacteristically harsh words from the normally calm counselor brought Worf to a halt. Deanna, for her part, immediately felt contrite ... and then, to the surprise of both of them, she laughed softly. "What is so funny?" Worf asked testily.

"It must be beyond doubt that I love you. If I didn't, you couldn't possibly have gotten me as angry as you just did. I'm a professional counselor. I stay calm for a living. Only a loved one can get quite so under one's skin."

Worf shook his head. It seemed to Deanna that he was very far away, wrapped entirely in himself and whatever demons were eating at him.

"Worf..." And she sat next to him as he stared coldly into the air. "Worf... you seem so conflicted. Even frustrated. Can't you tell me what you're thinking?"

"It is not... easy ..."

"The Worf that I know hasn't ever flinched from a challenge."

"I act... differently when I am with you. Perhaps the Worf you know is an illusion."

"Oh, Worf, I knew you for six years before we became involved as a couple. I think I've a fairly accurate a.s.sessment of your character. Please ... tell me what's bothering you."

"He felt he was on display."

Both of their heads snapped around and they saw Lwaxana standing in the doorway. To Worf, it was nothing short of amazing that she had managed to make such a stealthy entrance. Indeed, it was somewhat alarming. Deanna was simply annoyed. "Mother..."

There had been any number of times where Lwaxana Troi had come across as a bit of a scatterbrain. Then there were other times when she was simply irritating, or amusing, or outrageous. But that was not the Lwaxana Troi they were seeing now. This was a woman who was accustomed to being attended to, listened to, and obeyed. Deanna didn't manage to get out another word, and Worf never even got started.

"Mr. Worf here went through much of his childhood feeling the outcast," Lwaxana said. Her dark eyes seemed to bore straight into the back of his skull. "He lived in a world that prided itself on having outgrown racism, yet did not hesitate to ostracize him because of who he was, and the world did not grasp its hypocrisy. He insulated himself from that upon joining Starfleet, but the raw wounds of his childhood are present in him always. At the gathering this evening, he found himself not in the mindset of Lieutenant Commander Worf, but instead with the injured ego of young Worf Rozhenko, reacting to every taunt, every hara.s.sment, every challenge to his very heritage that he faced as a youth. You were correct, Little One. He was spoiling for a fight, but only because he was simply seeking to repeat a pattern that was all too familiar to him from his childhood."

"Get out of my head," Worf said angrily.

"Well, it's a big head, there's enough room in there for everybody."

"Mother!"

"Oh, calm down, Little One, it was a joke." She leveled her gaze at Worf, and her expression seemed to soften ever so slightly. "Worf... for what it is worth ... I do apologize for the mild fiasco this evening. I truly did intend for it to be just us. But when my absentmindedness and fate conspired to make it a large gathering, I thought that it might be easier rather than harder. That you would feel as if there was less pressure; you would just be a face in the crowd. I thought that the sizable gathering would be a blessing in disguise."

"It was a superb disguise," Worf noted.

"So ... here is what we are going to do. Mr. Worf... do you still wish to marry my daughter?"

Almost to Worf s own surprise, he said without hesitation, "Yes." Even Deanna seemed startled by the speed and vehemence of his reply.

"Very well, then. In that case, Worf, to better understand us you will receive a full training in Betazed philosophy and harmony. You will plumb the very depths of our definitions of love and sacrifice. You need not necessarily subscribe to those beliefs, but at the very least, you will come to understand them and maybe-someday-embrace a few of them. I will handle your indoctrination into our principles myself."

"You? Mother, to begin with, I'm more qualified to-"

"You are too close to the situation, Little One, and besides, I am a Daughter of the Fifth House ... holder of the Sacred Chalice of Rixx, and Heir to-"

"The Holy Rings of Betazed," Worf and Deanna intoned together.

Lwaxana appeared to take no notice of the sarcasm. "The point is, I can certainly impart upon Worf what he needs to know and do so in a dispa.s.sionate manner. Unless, of course, Worf feels it to be too much of a difficult undertaking ..."

"Reverse psychology is hardly necessary," Worf informed her. He turned to Deanna and asked, "If I do as she requests ..."

"I wasn't presenting it as a request," Lwaxana said.

He glanced at her and said flatly, "Yes. You were."