A Call to Darkness - Michael Jan Friedman [12]
Forty-three minutes and six seconds.
Not much longer to go-objectively speaking. But to Worf, it seemed like a lifetime. The pain was giving way now to a numbness-a lack of control that was infinitely harder to master. Slowly, the eurakoi started to sink from shoulder level.
The Klingon stifled a whimper. No!
But he couldn’t help it. There was hardly any feeling left in his forearms or in his hands. The shrogh weights were getting the best of him.
“I see,” said Data unexpectedly, “that you are about to fail at this exercise.”
Worf glowered at him. Bile rose in his throat like liquid anger.
“But then,” Data went on, “I did not believe you would succeed. After all, you are only flesh and blood. And flesh, as the saying goes, is weak.”
Worf could not believe the android’s insolence. It was more than mere naďveté- it was a direct and purposeful insult. The warrior inside him uncoiled, surged to the surface.
“Are you angry with me?” asked Data. “Do you wish to wring my neck?”
Worf’s rage made him inarticulate. All he could do was sputter and hiss like a trapped animal.
The android grinned-grinned! -with satisfaction. “Good. I was afraid that my words would not have the desired effect.”
Worf almost lost control-came within a hair, in fact, of lashing out at Data with the eurakoi.
And then he realized what the android was doing.
He looked up at the digital display.
Forty-four minutes and fifty-seven seconds. Fifty-eight. Fifty-nine…
Forty-five minutes.
With a howl of triumph, Worf knelt and let his hands-still holding the eurakoi-come crashing down to the padded deck. For a moment, he knelt there, savoring his accomplishment.
Then he peered up at Data.
“You did it,” said the android, obviously pleased with himself. “And I helped.”
“Yes,” rumbled Worf. “You helped.” But he couldn’t keep a note of rancor out of his voice entirely.
in a sense, Data’s intervention had cheapened his victory. It had distracted him, even as the Vulcan technique would have-and thereby eased the path to his goal.
But that was all history now. Challenges were things of the moment; what was past was past. And whatever might be said of Klingons, they did not bear grudges. Not unless they were big ones.
“You see,” said Data, “once I came to understand the nature of your exercise, it was a simple matter to devise a ploy to spur you on. As the Klingon psyche does not respond significantly to encouragement, I chose to taunt you. To mock you. To question your abilities…”
“Yes,” said Worf, cutting the android off. “It is clear to me now.”
Data’s smile faded a little. “I hope I was not… what is the expression? Out of line?” He regarded the Klingon. “Perhaps it was presumptuous of me to interfere.”
Worf scowled, shook his head. What could one say to someone like Data? “No,” he assured him. “You did not overstep your bounds.”
The android’s smile came back with renewed enthusiasm. “I am glad, then, to have been of service.”
Leaving the eurakoi on the floor, Worf stood. He towered over Data by half a head.
“What are you doing in the gym anyway? I thought you had no need of physical education.”
“True,” said Data. “No more than I have need of other forms of diversion. But the captain ordered us to recreate, and he did not make my case an exception.” He paused. “I had thought to spend some time on a holodeck, but they all seem to be in use. Nor was there anyone I knew in Ten Forward, so… here I am.”
Worf grunted. “Here you are.”
The android glanced around at the various activity areas, shrugged. “Would you care for a game of Ping-Pong?”
“Ping-Pong?” said Worf.
“Yes. I have seen it played in tapes. And if I am not mistaken, the Ping-Pong table Commander Riker created is still right over there.”
The Klingon eyed the table, snorted. “No,” he said. “Thank you.” And stooping to pick up his eurakoi, he went to replace them in his locker.
Doctor Katherine Pulaski sat on the hard edge of a lab table, her arms