CHAPTER SEVEN
As his
fellow officers filled the Observation Lounge, Worf watched with what could
only be called a tactician’s eye for detail, and grunted quietly to himself. As
was usual, the topic of their pre-conference banter was far removed from the
critical situation facing them.
And, as was
usual, he found it irritating.
Counselor
Troi and Commander Data provided a glaring example. As the Klingon took his
seat, he picked up the thread of their exchange.
“–en
you called me in Ten-Forward, did you use the phrase, ‘around fifteen minutes’?”
The
android responded promptly. “Yes. I am experimenting with generalizations in an
attempt to improve my conversational skills. Was I successful?”
She
smiled gently, and replied, “Somewhat.”
Geordi,
who had been following their interplay, coughed to disguise a chuckle.
Data
managed to look even more perplexed than was usual for him when attempting to
deal with the complexities of humor. A moment later, he brightened visibly.
“Ah.
I understand. You have juxtaposed another generalization with min–”
The
two captains, followed by Riker and Warrick, entered. Worf watched them choose
their places with particular interest.
Though
Picard took his customary chair at the head of the table, the Klingon thought
he observed a brief hesitation—as if, perhaps, the captain had felt it a point
of honor to offer it to his guest. Mantovanni, though, bypassed what could have
been an awkward moment by quickly slipping into the seat at Picard’s left.
Worf,
almost imperceptibly, nodded in approval.
Warrick
was at Mantovanni’s side, but didn’t exactly relax into his chair. Like a targ commanded to ‘heel and guard,’
he thought.
Picard
remained standing, and addressed himself to his two guests.
“I
believe introductions are in order. Gentlemen, the rest of the senior staff.”
He
indicated, in turn, “The ship’s Chief Medical Officer, Dr. Beverly Crusher;
Lieutenant Commander Geordi LaForge, our Chief Engineer; and, finally, our
Tactical Officer and Head of Security, Lieutenant Worf.”
As
he seated himself, his expression now grave and determined, Picard continued,
“Rather than leaving you in the dark any longer, Captain Mantovanni and I have
determined the best course of action is give you access to what information we have.”
Picard then gestured towards the mission specialists. “If you would,
Commander.”
“Yes,
sir,” Warrick replied; and, without preamble, launched into his briefing.
“As
far as what we actually know, there isn’t much to share. Two days ago, the
Romulan Ambassador demanded a closed session with the Federation Council,
during which he accused Starfleet of covertly attacking Romulan shipping—in
effect, fighting an undeclared war.”
The
staff exchanged incredulous glances, and Riker said, “That’s a little outrageous,
even for the Romulans.”
Warrick
gave a brief nod, then continued. “As you might have guessed, the Council asked
for evidence to corroborate what sounded like some half-baked Tal Shiar scheme.
“The
ambassador responded, and I quote here, ‘We have no intention of delivering
into your hands evidence which your government will later claim was
fabricated.’”
“Sounds
like they’ve got something they think is pretty juicy,” Geordi speculated.
“It
gets better… and worse. At that point the council again demanded proof. His
reply this time was that since the evidence was of a sensitive nature, it had
to be examined on site, and—get this—that the Federation was welcome to send
in a team for just that purpose.”
“To
Selerria Four?” Crusher asked, confused. “Isn’t that rather deep into the
Neutral Zone?”
“At
warp nine-point-two, Selerria Four is one hour, fifty-seven minutes from the
Federation side of the border,” Data informed her.
“Oh, is that all?” She shook her head in disbelief.
Warrick
had looked progressively more irritated at the series of interruptions in his
briefing. When he began again, he started with a somewhat pronounced, “At any rate...” hesitated just long enough
to let his annoyance be known, and finally continued with, “...our assignment
is to view the ‘evidence,’ determine its validity for ourselves, and report
back to Starfleet.” He leaned back in his chair and turned to face Captain
Picard, who nodded in silent acknowledgement.
“In
addition,” Picard continued, “this rather... perplexing invitation from the
Romulans comes after they’ve already
recalled their attachés and other diplomatic officials, and warned that as far
as they are concerned, the Treaty of Algeron is already in abeyance.” He
let them digest that for a moment. It was Troi who finally voiced the
consensus.
“Doesn’t
that mean that we’re actually at war with the Romulans even now?”
Picard
exhaled slowly, and then answered, “Technically, it does.”
“Then this is a fool’s errand,” Worf
asserted. “We should be deploying to repel the inevitable Romulan invasion, not
delivering the flagship to them so they can disassemble it and use the
knowledge against Starfleet in upcoming battles.”
“Evidently
the Federation Council feels differently, Mr. Worf.” Picard’s mild response
seemed to mollify the Klingon momentarily, but his fellows knew another
outburst was almost certainly in the offing.
“Even
so, Captain,” Worf finally replied, “we must be prepared for treachery at any
turn. The Romulans are a people completely
devoid of honor.”
Slowly,
Captain Mantovanni moved his fingers to his temples, as if attempting to
forestall a headache… or relieve one. The reason became clear a moment later,
as Warrick turned to Worf and smiled grimly.
“I’ll
be sure to tell my wife you said that.”
If
anyone’s attention had wandered briefly, that particular revelation restored
it.
With
comedic timing which in him was, of course, purely unintentional, Data piped up
with, “No doubt the fact that you have a Romulan wife was a factor in your
selection as a mission specialist.”
Without
moving his gaze from Worf, Warrick echoed, “No doubt.”
Riker,
at that point, made a game effort to get the briefing back on track. “There’s
just something incredibly odd about the entire situation. Sending us unescorted
into what’s now a war zone....”
Warrick
moved into the breach.
“We’re
going to make preparations with the assumption we’ll have to fight our way back
through enemy lines to rejoin the Federation fleet. Captain Mantovanni and I
will help in preparing Enterprise-D
for just such an eventuality. Lieutenant MacLeod, you will be assigned to
assist us as necessary.”
The
reactions around the table were varied: Crusher had obviously been offended at
Warrick’s reaction to her comments; Riker, Geordi, and Troi seemed nonplused at
his revelation; Worf looked for a moment as if he would burst; his jaw worked
determinedly, and then he regained his composure—or at least that measure of
composure Klingons possessed. Only Picard, MacLeod—and, of course, Data—seemed
unaffected.
It
was Captain Picard himself, suddenly conscious of the fact that the meeting had
become counterproductive, who broke the lengthening silence.
He
looked at the assembled officers, and smiled slightly. “Let’s see if we can
find some answers. Dismissed.”
“Lieutenant
Worf,” Captain Mantovanni spoke at last, and brought the Klingon up short.
“Please remain a moment.”
As
the rest filed out and the doors slid shut behind them, Worf drew himself more
fully to attention, and prepared himself for a dressing down by his superior.
“You
seem to have made the assumption that our presence here is a slight both on
your personal honor and that of your department. I wish to assure you, that’s
not the case.”
Worf,
exhibiting his usual Klingon stoicism, did not reply.
“Make
no mistake,” Mantovanni continued. “Enterprise-D
was chosen because she’s one of the best ships in the fleet, with a crew whose
performance is beyond reproach. I know that to assist you with tactical
preparations may seem something of a redundancy, but don’t allow your pride to
obscure an opportunity to hone your abilities. Commander Warrick will sharpen
even your skills, if you
let him.”
His
voice at that point became something just above a conspiratorial whisper, even
though the room was otherwise empty.
“I
don’t particularly like Romulans myself, Lieutenant. In that, I can imagine, we
are similar in attitude.”
“Aye,
sir,” Worf answered promptly, his glower at last lessening marginally.
Considering the man’s history, he knew
that to be something of an understatement.
“However,
if, in the near future, you feel an irresistible need to comment on your
opinion of Romulans in general, or particular Romulans specifically, bring
those comments to me.
“You
see, I don’t imagine they’ll go over very well with Commander Warrick.” The
Klingon was not especially adept at sarcasm, but he could tell when it had been
used effectively.
“Understood,
sir.”
Mantovanni
stood. “Then I’ll not keep you from your duties any longer. Please send
Lieutenant MacLeod back in when you assume your station. Dismissed.”
As
Worf made his way back onto the bridge, he wondered at the powers-that-be in
Starfleet, who had paired one of the Federation’s most infamous Romulan
killers…
…with a man
who had one for a wife.