Resistance - J.M. Dillard [4]
Over the past months, the Klingon had behaved with uncharacteristic restraint, a degree of somberness that Picard attributed to grief over Data and the reassignment of so many crew members. The number of changes had required all of them to adapt. It had been hard enough, in the past, when the crew had lost the Enterprise herself; it was harder still to lose each other.
At the sound of the doors opening, Worf swiveled in the captain’s chair to glimpse Picard; not quite simultaneously, the Klingon rose and moved for the first officer’s position. Picard passed by him, turning his face just enough to order sternly, “In my ready room, Mister Worf.” He glanced back at navigation. “Lieutenant Nave, you have the bridge.”
The captain did not await an answer but headed directly for the ready room and his desk; he settled behind it, aware that the Klingon was following closely. The instant Worf entered, the doors snapped shut, and Picard gestured for him to take the hot seat.
The Klingon never looked comfortable sitting; Worf would far prefer to be standing at attention. Instead, he rested his great bronze hands awkwardly on his knees, looking like the essence of regretfully coiled power.
Picard forced away the smile that threatened, and with a calculatedly reluctant expression, launched into his performance. “Mister Worf,” he began, his voice low, “for the past few months you have, in my opinion, fulfilled your role as temporary second-in-command most admirably.”
“Thank you, Captain.” Worf shifted uncomfortably beneath the words of praise, poised on the edge of his chair, eager to vacate it as swiftly as possible.
“However,” Picard said, “I’m sure you can understand that the time has come to find a permanent replacement.” He paused a full two seconds to increase the sense of drama, relishing his role. “I want you to know that I made the case quite forcefully for keeping you as first officer. But Starfleet Command had already made its decision long before my recommendation.” The captain lifted his hand in a rehearsed I-did-all-that-I-could gesture, then sighed.
Worf was as motionless as stone.
“I’m afraid, Mister Worf, that I received the name of the new permanent first officer last night. He will be filling the position immediately.”
If Worf felt disappointment, he did not show it; Picard would not have expected him to. “I understand, Captain. Shall I return to my old post?”
The question caught Picard off guard. He had been counting on the Klingon to ask the name of his so-called replacement—especially since the officer was to take over immediately, which implied he was a member of the current crew. Wasn’t Worf the least bit curious that someone of lesser rank had been promoted over him? This was not how Picard’s little joke was supposed to play out.
Perhaps he had inadvertently offended.
“Mister Worf,” he said finally, his tone lightening; at last, he permitted himself to smile. “Forgive me for teasing you. I am proud to report that Command has approved my recommendation and appointed you permanent first officer of the Enterprise.”
A pause followed. Picard absolutely expected to hear the words, Thank you, Captain, but they never came.
“I am sorry, Captain,” Worf responded. “I must refuse the commission.”
At first Picard was certain he had misheard, but the longer the words hung in the air, the less he could deny them. His first instinct was to ask, Are you mad? His next was to consider that the Klingon had turned the joke on him. But there was no hint of merriment in Worf’s eyes; he fidgeted a bit in his chair, obviously eager to be done with the encounter.
At last Picard said, “Worf…I’m afraid I don