A Time for War, a Time for Peace - Keith R. A. DeCandido [5]
The intercom beeped. It was Gorjanc again. “Sir, your son has arrived. He’s coming through security at the front gate now.”
Worf allowed himself a smile. There will be time for security concerns and politics later. “I am on my way.”
He switched off his computer and proceeded to the narrow hallway outside his office. The embassy was shaped like an inverted pyramid, and Worf’s office was located on the second floor, taking up the entirety of the south section of that level. The north section contained Wu’s office and the embassy library, a narrow hallway between them, ending on the west side with a turbolift and on the east with an emergency stairwell. In the center of the hallway was a large desk, where Carl Murphy sat. The human handled Worf’s in-embassy appointments.
As Worf nodded to Murphy on his way toward the turbolift, another steward ran up to him. Worf recognized him only because he had just seen the boy’s personnel record. His name was Kl’rt, and he was hired only four days previously.
“Mr. Ambassador!”
“What do you want?” Worf asked by way of greeting.
“Supervisor Vark needs to see you right away, sir.” Vark was the head of the kitchen staff.
“Regarding what?”
“I don’t know that, sir, I only know that it’s urgent.”
Worf turned his back on Kl’rt. “I have an appointment that is more urgent. Tell Vark to make an appointment with Mr. Murphy.”
“Sir, Supervisor Vark told me to fetch you and not come back without you. He’ll kill me if I disobey.”
Closing his eyes, Worf thought, I do not have time for this. He turned to face Kl’rt. “Then you will die, for I will not see Vark now.”
Then he saw it.
All the stewards in the embassy wore the same two-piece white outfit, a simple shirt and pants. They were generally formfitting, though Kl’rt’s was a bit loose on him. Too loose, in fact—the quartermaster was generally more competent at getting the sizes right.
Kl’rt’s service record, which Worf had just been perusing, along with those of the other new arrivals to the kitchen staff, indicated no injuries or deformities of any kind. Such things were always listed in the records—for example, Vark’s record noted that he was missing two fingers from his left hand, which happened either in glorious battle against the Kinshaya or after an accident in the kitchen of the House of K’mpec, depending on how drunk the kitchen staff supervisor was when he told the story.
Yet there was no indication in the records of the bulge Worf now saw on Kl’rt’s right hip.
Worf hesitated for only a moment, but that was apparently enough for Kl’rt, who removed the small weapon from under his shirt and fired it at Worf. The life of a diplomat had done little to dull Worf’s reflexes, and he was able to duck to the floor to avoid the weapons fire, which he recognized as being that of a Breen disruptor.
Murphy, to his credit, immediately pressed the panic button on his desk—one of many security procedures instituted by Worf. The panic button would alert the security forces throughout the embassy of a breach, and also set off an alarm throughout the building.
That alarm did not sound.
Worf reached into the pocket of his floor-length leather coat and pulled out a small Ferengi phaser and fired it on Kl’rt—
—just as Kl’rt turned his disruptor on Murphy.
Both men fell to the ground a moment later.
“QI’yaH,” Worf cursed. He ran over to Murphy’s desk. Worf had stunned Kl’rt—he would need to be questioned—but the human was quite dead. Carl Murphy was a good man who had served the Federation well. Worf swore that those responsible would pay for his life.
A quick check on Murphy’s computer revealed that the security system