Day of Honor 01_ Ancient Blood - Diane Carey [15]
Worf decided he would have to do without a broken arm, and therefore crammed his elbow into the face of a second Rogue and knocked him silly. Two down.
He knew he might be giving himself away—certainly, if they paid any attention they would see the Starfleet training involved in his movements. Not just the systematic moves of a schooled Klingon, but uneven elements of surprise, attack, feint, never letting his timing or style be mapped. Just when he was expected to block a punch, he would let it through, but dodge it, ripping every tendon in his attacker’s arm. The two remaining Rogues were still fighting, but they were also dizzy and grunting.
Driven by the personal insult these men were to him, Worf took on both at once, not allowing them to divide the attack as they attempted. He took a vicious blow from one, but, instead of swinging back, he reached out to the other and dragged them together before him.
Then, with physical control that surprised even himself, Worf lowered his arms and stood very still. His shoulders went slack. His stance changed. He stopped fighting.
Since he had stopped, the two remaining Rogues could no longer be justified in attacking him again. Like wolves twitching around a stag who refused to run, they blinked, gaped, shifted, and glanced back at Mrs. Khanty, but they didn’t know what to do. Boiling with frustration, Ugulan burped a command in Klingon, and then the Rogues grappled the newcomer.
Their eyes rolled with contempt, for he had humiliated them by stopping. Clearly, they knew, Worf hadn’t had to let himself be arrested.
His plan was a success. Odette Khanty was intrigued.
She moved between her battered guards and stood before the only Klingon in the square who didn’t work for her.
“Why did you let yourself be taken?” she asked.
Worf controlled his breathing enough to imply that he wasn’t even winded. He could breathe later.
“Because you have to maintain order,” he said, too quietly for the people watching to hear. “If your men are not feared, you will not have order.”
“Then why did you fight in the first place?”
“To demonstrate that I did not have to be moved if I did not want to be.”
“If you had just let yourself be stunned, you’d have just woken up later on the street. Now they’re going to have to beat you.”
“Fine.”
“And after making your point, you’ll let yourself be beaten?”
“That’s right.”
“You’d have done very well during the Middle Ages. On Earth, I mean. Where did you learn to fight?”
He felt his dark face flush bronze. “I tried to join Starfleet.”
“Why?”
“Some Klingons claimed that Starfleet is the place to be. That they were trying to get in. I spit on them all.”
“On Starfleet?”
“Daily.”
“Why do you spit on a force you tried to join?”
“I spit on their insistence that lessers should be able to tell me what to do. That I should be subservient to people I knew were not my equals. They do not allow men who disagree to settle it like men.”
“So what happened? They kicked you out? Why?”
“I disciplined my commanding officer.”
Odette Khanty grinned. She seemed to find that idea appealing, considering Starfleet’s buttoned-up manners.
“Well, you’re going to be taken into custody for a while for disturbing the peace. What’s your name?”
Worf said nothing.
The woman continued to gaze at him, refusing to ask again.
Finally he shifted and answered, “My name is Worf.”
“All right, Worf. I’ll probably speak to you later.”
Odette Khanty looked through the groaning guards to Ugulan, who was glaring through his own wounded ego at Worf.
“Detain him in the capitol prison. Hold his friend, too.”
“On what charge?” Ugulan asked.
“The same. And check out his story about Starfleet.”
“Yes, Mrs. Khanty.”
“Well, here we are. In jail.”
Grant seemed untroubled by their predicament, Worf thought.
“Obviously.” Stating the obvious was another of Grant’s habits that Worf found hard to bear. Then again, what was obvious to Grant might not be