A Call to Darkness - Michael Jan Friedman [2]
The exchange aroused Picard’s curiosity. What could the man have had to say that could not have been communicated over the intercom?
And then he realized what had just happened.
That security officer had been Worf’s replacement. The Klingon’s shift was over, and yet he had refused to abdicate his position on the bridge.
It was a breach of regulations, no matter how small or well-intentioned.
Picard traversed the bridge, leaving the expanding shape of the planet behind. As he approached the aft stations, Worf glanced at him and looked away again.
Surreptitious behavior, observed the captain. He knows that I know.
“Mister Worf,” he said. “A word with you, please.”
With obvious reluctance, the Klingon tore himself away from his place at one of the scanner monitors.
Picard headed for his ready room. The doors slid aside and he entered. Nor did they close again until Worf had followed him in.
Picard sat down behind his desk and watched his security chief take a seat on the other side of it. The Klingon didn’t seem comfortable-and not just because the chair was a bit too small for him.
“I thought,” said the captain, “that we had been through this already. Months ago.”
Worf scowled, held his head up with what would have appeared to be defiance in a human. “Aye, sir,” was all he said.
“Then why did you refuse to turn over your duties at the end of your shift?”
The Klingon shrugged his broad shoulders, eliciting a tiny klink from the metal honor band he wore across his chest. “It seemed the best course of action at the time.”
Picard grunted. “I applaud your perseverance, Lieutenant. No one will ever call you a shirker. But all those selected for bridge duty are highly trained-as you well know, having provided the training yourself in some instances. What’s more, we have finite shifts for a reason. Neither human nor Klingon-nor anyone else, for that matter-can maintain a peak level of performance indefinitely.” He paused for effect. “Do I make myself clear?”
“Aye,” rumbled Worf. He seemed as if he was about to say something more, but didn’t.
“Is there anything else?” prodded the captain.
The security chief’s scowl deepened, but he could not avoid answering the direct question. At least, not altogether.
“There is,” he said finally.
“Elaborate,” Picard instructed, having had the experience of having questioned his Klingon officer before. It was a laborious process, to say the least.
Worf’s eyes narrowed. “You,” he said.
The captain leaned forward, his curiosity piqued. “Me? What about me?”
“You are the reason I acted as I did-sir. It is apparent that this mission means a great deal to you. So I took it upon myself to become more… personally involved.”
It was perhaps the longest speech Picard had ever heard him make. And it took him aback. Surprised him.
Not that Worf had seen through to his anxiety-but that he had been so wrong when he thought he’d masked it. That his judgment could have been so far off.
The captain cleared his throat. “Tell me,” he said. “Have you shared this perception with the others?”
Worf nodded-a short, quick movement of his oversize head. “It was Mister La Forge who pointed it out to me-though I had already come to my own conclusion.”
Picard considered that. “Mister La Forge,” he echoed. “He also thinks I’m… agitated over the outcome of this mission?”
“Aye,” said Worf. “Also Mister Crusher. And Commander Riker. And Counselor Troi, I believe, though she would not comment on the matter.”
Picard found that his mouth was open. He closed it.
“Is that all?” he asked.
“No,” said the Klingon. He went on to list the others.
“Really,” said the captain. “And to what do you-all of you-attribute this agitation?”
Worf shrugged a second time. “That,” he said, “is unknown. Except, of course, to you-sir.”
Inwardly, Picard breathed a sigh of relief. At least that stone had remained unturned. He leaned forward over his desk.
“I must confess,