Star Trek - Diplomatic Implausibility Part 16

Clapping his hands, Vail said, "Of course, Mr. Amba.s.sador. I'll, ah, I'll just need you to stop looming over me, sir, so I can get up and, ah, and conduct Mr. Wu to the console."

Worf stood up straight, allowing Vail to rise from his chair.

"Right this way," Vail said to Wu, and the pair of them moved toward a corner in engineering.

Krevor approached Worf. "Sir, if you don't mind my asking-why do this in person? Why not just use the intercom?"

"Some things require the personal touch, Bekk. And intimidation is a skill that needs to be practiced."

"I'll remember that, sir."

Klag slew the Vorta again. He thought it would be better this time-he'd finally gotten the smells right, for one thing, and it got his blood boiling-but there still seemed to be something lacking.

It was just too d.a.m.ned easy.

Every time he relived the Battle of Marcan V in the holodeck, it got easier. He wondered if the scenario as he had programmed it-based on his memory of the incident -matched what had truly happened.

Klag had told the story of Marcan V many times in the months since the battle-including once, very recently, to a strange tavern full of fellow ship captains. A song had been written about his exploits and sung at one of the many postwar festivities on Qo'nos-Klag had yet to grow tired of listening to the recording. "Typically, Klag had embellished the stories with retellings, and he wondered if those embellishments had also been programmed into the scenario.

Only one way to find out, he thought.

"Computer, restart program with new parameters," he said. "Create a new plan of attack for the Jem'Hadar based on Dominion War battle reports. And," he added, suddenly inspired, "replace the seven Jem'Hadar with seven different ones, chosen at random. Create them using information from available prisoner-of-war and intelligence databases."

The computer screen blinked the word wait for several seconds before flashing the word ready. Klag smiled. "Begin."

Once again, Klag stood at the Pagh wreckage. Once again, he moved toward where the Jem'Hadar ship crashed.

A Jem'Hadar materialized sooner than expected and cut Klag down.

The holodeck had a mortality fail-safe-after all, there was no honor in dying at the hands of a hologram-so the Jem'Hadar did not actually kill Klag. The blast from the creature's weapon did, however, break a rib or two.

"Computer, restart program." The second time, Klag brought a scanner with him. He managed to slay the first Jem'Hadarjust as the second one materialized behind him and "killed" him.

The third time, the first one attacked Klag's right side, leaving him defenseless.

The fourth time, Klag managed to get through three of them before he was stopped.

The fifth time, he didn't even make it past the first one.

The sixth time, he threw nostalgia to the wind and subst.i.tuted a disrupter for the mek'leth. He killed four Jem'Hadar that time.

The seventh time, he was stopped before he even saw any Jem'Hadar.

The eighth time, he realized two things. One was that the circ.u.mstances on Marcan were unique. The adrenaline surge he had gained from the anger at seeing his crewmates ma.s.sacred made up for the inherent tactical flaw of going after seven Jem'Hadar while crippled-and was impossible to re-create on a holodeck.

The other was that, his long hours of practice notwithstanding, he was a very long way from being properly skilled at fighting one-handed.

"Computer," he said, breathing heavily now from his exertions, and from the multiple injuries he'd sustained in eight straight hand-to-hand fights, "delete Marcan V program." No more living in the past.

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 pa.s.sed 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 s.p.a.ce 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 a.s.semble 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 compose 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 stalact.i.tes 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 Amba.s.sador 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.