Day of Honor 01_ Ancient Blood - Diane Carey [80]
Worf stared in raw astonishment at his son, who had been only a boy, in the truest sense, when he left. Now there was something else here.
Picard found himself staring, too. Was this Alexander? Was this a child?
He flinched involuntarily when Worf swung toward him. “Is this how you teach him? By not explaining the difference between a covert mission and perjury? Captain, I must protest—”
“Don’t talk to the captain! Talk to me.” Alexander gave his father a little push on the belt to get his attention again. “You’d shoot Mrs. Khanty if you saw her doing something bad, wouldn’t you? So what’s the difference? Are you going to stick up for Ross or aren’t you?”
“All right, all right, belay this!” Picard pushed between them. “Mr. Riker, I want Worf, Dr. Crusher, Mr. Data, and yourself in the briefing room in fifteen minutes. Alexander, go somewhere and gain control over yourself until I call for you. We’ll continue the Revolutionary War shortly. All hands, dismissed. Computer, store the program at this stage and end it until further notice. Don’t look at me that way, Mr. Worf. I said you were dismissed. Go wipe off.”
“All right, Mr. Worf, say what you have to say.” “I am deeply disturbed that Alexander yelled at me, sir.”
“I mean about Sindikash, Lieutenant.”
“Oh … yes.” Worf fought inwardly to bury his frustration with his son and the captain, and forced himself to concentrate on his mission.
He sat stiffly in the briefing room, directly opposite the captain, who was at the far end of the long table. At Worf’s right, Will Riker sat quietly. To Worf’s left sat Dr. Beverly Crusher, standing near the large viewport, Commissioner Toledano twisted and twitched, his arms in constant movement and his hands repeatedly clenching.
Worf twitched uneasily. Strange how out of place he felt among these people and on this ship. Like coming from the mountains to the flatlands and feeling as if he were about to fall off.
He drew a breath and plunged into his summary.
“The freighter, piloted by myself and the other Rogues, was supposed to be ‘caught’ on the border of Romulan space, in order to frame the lieutenant governor. When we circumvented Mrs. Khanty’s plan, she no longer trusted the Rogues to sacrifice themselves for her, and was forced to take events into her own hands. The only one she trusted was me, after I ‘saved’ the freighter from Starfleet capture with her Rogues aboard, which would have compromised her. So she put me on guard outside the suite, but evidently still did not trust me quite enough to ask me to assassinate the governor.”
“Good thing she didn’t,” Dr. Crusher’s fluid voice broke in. “You’d have blown your cover by refusing.”
“Very likely,” Worf agreed. “She needed public opinion to swing back to her, and to make that happen, she assassinated her husband. However, Grant witnessed her action, and he informed the doctors that there was some sort of toxin involved, which was confirmed. Now Mrs. Khanty is accusing Grant of being the assassin. However, he could easily have kept quiet and not claimed he was in the suite at all. The doctors and Lieutenant Stoner of the City Police all quietly agree that Grant needn’t have spoken up about the toxin if he had been the assassin. However, he sacrificed himself on the slim chance of saving the governor’s life.”
“Yes, I see the line of logic,” the captain agreed. “He could easily have protected himself. What’s happened since then?”
“I told you, sir,” Worf said abrasively, “Mrs. Khanty has claimed that Grant’s presence in the suite and my exposure as a Starfleet officer amounts to a confession. Federation personnel were in the room when they weren’t supposed to be there, and the governor was poisoned. She says any reasonable person would conclude the obvious.”
Picard frowned and rubbed his eyes. “That’s not what we had in mind, is it?”
“I’ll say it