Death in Winter - Michael Jan Friedman [53]
Some years earlier, when she and some of Picard’s other former colleagues visited the Enterprise, the ship was plagued by a series of vicious murder attempts. In time, the evidence seemed to point to Idun Asmund.
Worf, who was Picard’s security officer at the time, was forced to place the woman in the brig. Still, he became the only one who would heed her protestations of innocence.
But then, he was a Klingon born and she-despite her blond hair and unmistakably human features-had been raised as a Klingon on Q’onoS. Worf could see beyond the appearance of guilt and conclude that Asmund was telling the truth.
Though no one would listen to him, she told him she was grateful for his efforts on her behalf. Later, of course, she was proven innocent of the charges. But being a Klingon, she would not have forgotten Worf’s faith in her.
Hence, his decision to contact her under these circumstances. If any of the captain’s former colleagues might consider helping him, it would be Idun Asmund.
“Congratulations,” said Worf, “on your promotion to captain.”
Asmund smiled a tight, controlled smile. “That happened several months ago, and you did not see fit to contact me then. To what do I owe the honor now?”
Worf wasn’t surprised by her directness. Klingons weren’t in the habit of mincing words.
“I have a question,” he said, “that you may be able to answer.”
The captain nodded. “Go ahead.”
“Doctor Crusher has been declared missing in action and Captain Picard-along with some of your old colleagues-has been assigned to find her. I thought you might know where the captain’s mission was leading him.”
Worf had barely gotten the first sentence out when he saw the look of surprise and concern on Asmund’s face, and knew by that sign that she wouldn’t be able to help him. If she hadn’t heard yet about Beverly’s disappearance, she certainly wouldn’t be able to point Worf in the captain’s direction.
“I am sorry to hear about Doctor Crusher,” said Asmund, who had served with the physician’s late husband on the Stargazer. “Unfortunately, I have heard nothing about this mission, so I cannot be of help to you.”
“I understand,” said Worf, containing his disappointment.
“But missing-in-action reports are not always as final as they appear to be. Doctor Crusher may yet turn up unharmed.”
“That is our hope,” said Worf.
But he could tell by Asmund’s tone that she wasn’t optimistic, despite her words of encouragement. In her view, no doubt, the doctor was as good as dead.
Of course, she didn’t know Beverly the way Worf did. “I will not take up any more of your time,” he said. “Qapla’, Captain.”
Asmund inclined her head. “Qapla’, Worf, son of Mogh.” A moment later, her image on the screen was replaced with that of the Federation logo.
Expelling a sound of disgust, Worf sat back in his chair. Asmund had turned out to be a dead end. But surely, there were other avenues he and Geordi could pursue.
He just hoped one of them bore fruit.
Worf’s sleep had been interrupted by a vision the night before, a dark and unsettling drama in which he learned that the doctor had perished on some obscure and foreboding world trying to help a species oblivious to her efforts. In the dream, it fell to Captain Picard to bring her body home, just as he had done with Beverly’s mate decades earlier.
At the doctor’s funeral, the captain said that only one thing could have saved Beverly from death-the intervention of the Klingon warrior who had been her comrade. Unfortunately, said Picard, Worf had not made an effort to reach out to her. He had forgotten about her, allowing other matters to command his attention.
To a greater degree than most other species, Klingons put stock in dreams-and for all his exposure to humans and Starfleet, Worf was no exception. If Doctor Crusher perished, it would not be because he had forgotten about her.
With that in mind, he asked the computer for Geordi’s location on the ship.