All Good Things__ - Michael Jan Friedman [1]
He looked up at the waiter. “No, thank you,” he replied, in the same dialect. “I‘11 be leaving in a moment. Places to go, things to do, Starfleet officers to torment. You know how it is.”
The waiter didn’t, of course, so he just smiled. “If you are leaving,” the man suggested, “may I bring you your bill?”
He nodded. “Why not? We’ve all got to pay the piper sometime, don’t we?” He frowned as the music swelled to even more infuriating levels. “Or in this case, the damned balalaika player.”
According to the ship’s computer, the Eskimos of Earth’s North American continent had sixteen words for snow. In that light, it had always seemed strange to Worf that his own people, the Klingons, should have but one word for honor.
The word was batlh. And for all its simplicity, it was forced to cover a wide variety of situations. For instance, there was the sense of honor that accom-panied a promise kept, or a job well done. There was the standard of honor that encouraged warriors to die bravely. And there was the principle of honor that presided over a government, or a ship, or even a marriage bed, when all parties dealt openly and fairly with one another.
It was this last sort that occupied Worf’s mind as he escorted Deanna Troi from one of the Enterprise’s holodecks. For as much as he enjoyed her company, it did not come without its share of… inconveniences.
“That was an incredible program,” said Deanna, smiling as she looked up at him.
The Klingon nodded. “I am glad you approve. I have always found the Black Sea at night to be a most… stimulating experience.”
His companion rolled her eyes at him as they walked down the stark, metallic corridor. He wondered what he had said to occasion such a reaction.
“Worf,” she moaned, “we were strolling barefoot along the beach while balalaika music played in the air. A sea breeze washing over us… stars in the Sky… a full moon rising… and the most you can say is ‘stimulating’?”
He groped for a more appropriate responseú “It was ú.. very stimulating? Extremely stimulating?”
Deanna shook her head in mock disapproval as they approached a turbolift. “Honestly, Worf. If you weren’t such a delightful companion…”
Entering the lift, she instructed it to take them to deck eight. As the doors closed, the Klingon looked at her. She looked back. And, unable to help himself, he looked away.
Strange, wasn’t it? He would rather face a roomful of Romulans than speak of certain personal concerns… even with someone like Deanna, who was bound to understand them. HeWs blasted battleground… if she didn’t, who would?
“The truth is,” said the Betazoid, obviously changing the subject for his benefit, “I don’t spend nearly enough time in the holodecks. I should take my own advice and use them to relax.”
Worf thought about his rolodeck calisthenics program. “Most times,” he confessed, “I use them for other things besides relaxing.”
Deanna chuckled softly. “Yes,” she said. “I’ve heard.” As the doors opened, depositing them on deck eight, they stepped out. The entrance to her quarters was just opposite the lift.
“Next time,” she went on, ‘I’ll choose the program. If you like the Black Sea, you’re going to love Lake Cataria on Betazed. Especially the aurora… the way it folds and twists and changes from blue to violet to a sullen orange. And the scents that come out of the forest that surrounds the lake… You’d really enjoy it.”
For a moment, as they stood outside her suite, their eyes met and established a bond. Worf basked in the scent of her, in her warmth, in her beauty. He felt his discomfort slip away… and decided this was as good a time as any to mention his misgivings.
‘Deanna;’ he began, “perhaps before there is a ‘next time,’ we Should discuss… Commander Riker.”
She grinned playfully. “Why? Will he be coming along?”
Worf frowned. This was a serious matter, and she didn’t seem inclined to make it any easier for him.
“No,” he said. “But I do