Strike Zone Part 5

"Permission to speak freely, sir?" said Worf.

"Permission denied."

Worf blinked slightly, but said nothing.

Picard paced the inside of the ready room, finally sitting behind his desk and fingering a small souvenir on it, as if to focus his thoughts. "I know there are certain Klingon imperatives that are part of your emotional makeup, Worf ... but they have never interfered with your ability to carry out your responsibilities or with your loyalty to the Federation."

"I have always taken great pride in that," Worf said stiffly.

"As well you should. Of course, you did have the benefit of being raised by humans, although," he added, antic.i.p.ating what Worf was thinking, "I imagine most Klingons would consider that to be something of a handicap."

"I was not going to say that."

"But you thought it."

"Of course."

Equivocation was definitely not one of Worf's problems. Picard was almost tempted to smile, until he thought of the destroyed Kreel ship. "What is it between Klingons and Kreel, anyway?"

"Permission to-"

"Yes, yes, granted."

"The Kreel have always picked at the bones of Klingon conquests, as jackals do after the lion has had his kill. Klingons are warriors. Kreel are savages, always at the outskirts of Klingon activities, envious, plotting, thoroughly repulsive in att.i.tude and appearance."

Picard was impressed. It was the longest speech he'd ever heard Worf make. Clearly it was something he felt quite strongly about, something that had been inbred early in his life and very thoroughly. The Kreel were practically a taboo thought to Klingons, much as incest or cannibalism was to most humans.

Still ...

"Everything, Lieutenant, has its positive aspects-if you just take the time to look."

"As far as the Kreel are concerned, sir, I'd prefer to look from a distance," said Worf.

"Duly noted. But Worf ... that's a flaw in your character ... racial memory or not, a flaw. I suggest you do whatever it takes to correct it."

"Yes, sir."

"And if you ever shout out of turn in that manner on the bridge again, I'll have you rotated off the bridge crew. Clear?"

"As crystal, sir."

Picard motioned toward the door, heard it hiss open as Worf left. He looked down, trying to sort out what had happened. It took several seconds for him to realize that the door had not shut again. He looked up and, although Worf had gone, another figure was standing in the doorway.

"Yes, Mr. Crusher?"

"Captain, I ... I wanted to apologize."

"Apologize?"

"Yes, sir. You ordered evasive maneuvers earlier, and I froze." Wesley took a tentative step forward. "I wanted to acknowledge my mistake and let you know I was working to improve myself."

Picard waved him off. "It's not your fault, Mr. Crusher."

"It's not?"

"No. Simulations and run-throughs are one thing, but thrusting a raw teenager ... no matter what his abilities ... into a life and death situation was inappropriate. I'll be aware of that for next time."

Wesley hardly felt mollified by this. "Sir, I really ... "

"That will be all, Mr. Crusher."

Wesley hesitated. There was so much he wanted to say, but he couldn't bring himself to say it. He desperately wanted Picard's understanding, not condescension. Then again, what else could he, Wesley, have expected, considering the way he'd acted. Still, he couldn't just let it pa.s.s.

"Captain, I-"

At that moment Picard's communicator beeped. Picard touched it lightly, answering the page.

"Captain," Riker's voice filtered through the device, "I think you'd better come down to the cargo transporter room. You're not going to believe this."

"On my way, Number One." He stood and c.o.c.ked an eyebrow at Wesley. "Anything else, Mr. Crusher?"

"No, sir."

"Good. The next time you write your mother, please send my regards."

"I will, sir." Wesley stepped to one side as Picard walked past him and off the bridge, calling out to Worf that he was now in command.

Wes stood there for a long moment more, staring at the inside of the captain's ready room. Then he turned and saw Deanna standing behind him.

He raised a finger. "Not a word. All right? Just ... not a word."

"Whatever you wish, Wesley."

He walked back out onto the bridge and glanced around. "Hey Marks ... you want conn back? It's all yours."

Marks, who was standing at science station Two, looked with mild surprise at Wesley. "You sure? Usually it takes a crowbar or a blaster to get you off the bridge."

"Well, you know us genius types. Erratic as anything," said Wesley with a bitterness he couldn't even begin to disguise. Then he turned and walked off the bridge.

Deanna watched him go and made a mental note to talk to the captain, at length, about Acting Ensign Wesley Crusher.

Chapter Three.

TAKA NAGAI, HEAD of Federation internal affairs, felt a certain degree of antic.i.p.ation. Sitting in her office, drumming her fingers on the table, she stared resolutely ahead and tried once again to frame exactly what she would say when this most respected person stepped through her door.

There was a soft buzz on her intercom and she tapped it. "Yes?"

Over the intercom the receptionist said crisply, "The Amba.s.sador is here to see you."

"Send him in."

Nagai stood, out of respect. She was not particularly tall, and she was getting on in years, but nevertheless, she projected an aura of power almost unconsciously.

The door slid open and two burly Klingon "honor escorts," a cheerful euphemism for "body guards," entered the office and looked around carefully. Despite the fact that they were in the posh surroundings of one of the top people in the Federation, they were taking nothing for granted.

Then they stepped aside and the Amba.s.sador entered.

Taka Nagai was momentarily startled. She'd seen pictures of him, but they had not prepared her for the in-person experience.

"Honorable Kobry," she said, bowing slightly at the waist.

Kobry looked ancient. Klingon life expectancy was one of the great questions of medical science since, until recent years, few Klingons had had the opportunity to die quietly in their beds. So no one was certain what "old" for a Klingon was. But whatever it was, Kobry was it.

He was also the shortest Klingon Taka had ever seen, coming barely up to her waist. His hair, indicative of his age, was long and flowing but quite pale. His skin looked relatively normal, but his eyes were also fairly light.

But the oddest thing about him was that he was ... smiling.

Taka Nagai, in all her years of dealing with Klingons, had never seen one smile. Oh, to be sure, Kobry wasn't exactly grinning ear-to-ear. It was a small smile, playing across his lips, as if he were aware of everything that was running through her mind.

He returned the bow. "Honorable Nagai," he said, and, unsurprisingly by this point, his voice was quite soft, almost musical. "It is a pleasure to meet you."

"And I you, Amba.s.sador."

Nagai sat back down and then realized to her horror that she'd forgotten to adjust the chairs for his height. But the Klingon, hopping up into the chair opposite her, seemed not the least bit concerned that his feet didn't quite touch the floor.

They paused a moment, taking each other's measure silently. Then Kobry spoke. "You are aware we have a difficulty."

"Quite aware." She did not even have to consult the reports that were glowing for her inspection on the nearby computer screen.

"The situation is incendiary," said Kobry. "We are dealing with something that could lead to war between the Klingons and the Kreel."

Upon the speaking of the latter name, one of the two Klingon guards spat. Kobry fired a look at him and said, "Don't do that again. It's impolite."

"It's tradition," rumbled the Klingon.

"Not ... here," said Kobry in a tone that indicated he was not joking. The taller Klingon fell silent, and Kobry turned back to Taka Nagai.

"If this is brought to Federation Council," continued Kobry, "into an open forum, tempers will flare, and we will have war. I would prefer not to see that happen. I'm certain you would prefer not to as well."

"The Federation prefers moderation whenever possible. War and violence are to be avoided, since they usually accomplish nothing," said Nagai.

"However," Kobry said, "it has taken the Klingons many centuries to learn this, and indeed"- he glanced at his guards-"some of my people are still chafing at the bit, so to speak. There are factions within the Empire who wouldn't mind war in the least. And considering the provocation we've been given, it would be understandable. Klingon blood has been shed."

"True. But so, I understand from reports of skirmishes, has Kreel blood. This is the danger of war ... that both parties attempt to end hostilities with force and, instead, only succeed in aggravating them."

Kobry nodded. "Indeed so. But asking the Klingon Empire to deal with the Kreel ... that is not something that will sit well in many quarters."

"The Kreel have come to us for intercession."

Kobry made no effort to hide his surprise at this. "Is this true?" he said at last.

"The mishap on DQN 1196 a month ago has escalated. The Kreel wish to end it before the result is all-out war."

"But the Kreel are not members of the Federation."

"Yes, but the Federation is very anxious to avoid war, and so we will be happy to act as mediators in this situation."

"That is all well and good," said Kobry. He leaned forward. "It is fortunate that you mention DQN 1196. That planet happens to be within Klingon territory."

"The Kreel say it's within theirs."

"Yes, I know." Kobry smiled ruefully. "Absurd, don't you think? Stars and planets that have been there while we were climbing from the primordial muck and will continue to be there long after the 'glorious' Federation and Empire have long pa.s.sed from the history of the universe. And we have the temerity to argue over who they 'belong' to. Nevertheless, the Emperor is quite firm on the point."

"So are the Kreel. And since they're currently in control of the weaponry on that planet, that makes them difficult to deal with."

"Very true." Kobry paused a moment, looking thoughtful. "Perhaps it would be best for parties of both Klingons and Kreel to be brought to the site of the dispute. That is, after all, where it all began."

"I don't know if the Kreel will agree to that," said Taka Nagai.

Kobry raised an eyebrow. "I had thought they came to you, asking for mediation."

"Oh yes," she said quickly. Too quickly.

"That being the case, I'm sure they would wish to cooperate in any way possible."

"Of course. Of course. I'll talk to them. And, perhaps, what would be best is if both parties are brought there on a Starfleet vessel. Just to underscore the Federation's interest in keeping hostilities from escalating."

"Excellent idea," said Kobry. "May I suggest that, whatever ship you choose, it be one that has a great deal of room. If you're going to have contingents of Klingons and Kreel on the same ship, then you're going to need room."

"I think that's a very valid suggestion." She quickly called up on the screen the roster and location of various ships, keeping a particular eye out for Galaxycla.s.s vessels.

"There are several excellent choices here," she said.

"Good," said Kobry. "I will leave the details to you, then."

Nagai rose as Kobry stood, and she remained that way until after he'd left. Then, as soon as the door to her office was safely closed, she sent out a call to the Kreel amba.s.sador who had shown up a day earlier at the Federation's repeated behest.

G.o.ds, he is a repulsive one, she thought as his image appeared on her screen, but quickly brushed that sentiment aside as inappropriate.

"Well?" said the Kreel amba.s.sador. "How much longer is this foolishness supposed to go on?"

Using the exact same tone and phrasing as she had with Kobry moments earlier, she said. "The Klingons have come to us for intercession."