Filthy Letters - Worf Meets His Match
The scene was reminiscent of some he had witnessed during his
recent experiences in the Klingon Empire during the revolution. Ten
Forward was a wreck, drapes smoldering, transparent duraplast
tables smashed, crew members lying about like scattered children’s
toys. After making a quick appraisal, he slapped his comm badge
angrily and growled, “Worf to Sick Bay! We need a medical team to
Ten Forward, several crew members with light to moderate injuries!”
His security team was already picking their way through the
wreckage, seeing to immediate first aid where necessary, others
questioning dazed-looking people who seemed unhurt. Worf himself
stepped across what had once been a chair, and stood before the
bar. Before him Guinan stood with her head cradled on her arms,
bent over the bar, her shoulders shaking. “Are you injured?” he
asked her gruffly, but with real concern tinging his voice. The
enigmatic woman looked briefly up at him, grinning like a loon,
before letting her head fall again on her arms to continue laughing
helplessly. “This is not a laughing matter!” Worf told her more
sternly. “What happened here?” Guinan looked up again, tears
standing in her eyes from the laughter. She was still unable to
answer him, but pointed across the room weakly. Following her
gesture, Worf’s eyes found a figure who seemed utterly out of
place, a woman dressed in an immaculate white cling-suit, holding
a drink and looking out the viewport at the stars.
What Worf did not notice was how unusual the woman was. To another
human, she would have appeared majestic, statuesque, unusually tall
and heavy-built. To the Klingon security chief, she was just
another fragile human, smaller than he, and likely to break if he
was not cautious. Worf, always the consummate warrior, walked up
to her obliquely, some vigilant reflex within him watching for a
sudden move or attack. He could see from her stance and the tension
in her body that she was equally aware of his approach and prepared
to defend if necessary. Some part of him heartily approved, but he
had a duty. “Worf, Security: I require your assistance,” the
Klingon announced. The strange woman ignored him, seeming lost in
her reverie, but his battle training took in minute changes in
stance and breathing, telling him that she was well aware of his
presence. “It is a violation of regulations to refuse to answer an
inquiry from a Security officer!” he growled. She turned then, all
at once in a motion so graceful that it didn’t even startle his
reflexes into causing him to strike. But now she was well inside
arms’ reach, and could attack is she chose. He restrained his
impulse to step back, but braced himself for possible combat.
end of part 2 … to bee continued