Reunion - Michael Jan Friedman [81]
Picard regarded him. “And what has occurred to change your mind?”
Worf’s brow lowered-a sign of sincerity, of earnest-ness, Picard had learned over the years. “Captain, I had occasion to speak with Commander Asmund. She claimed that she was innocent-no surprise under the circumstances. But in the process of defending herself, she made some points that rang true. About honor—comKlingon honor.” Picard was interested enough to hear more. “Go on,” he said. “In essence, Commander Asmund told me that the murderer’s approaches weren’t worthy of a Klingon-which she considers herself to be. In this, I had to agree. None of the attempts fit in with the Klingon tradition of assassination.”
“But we know that some of your people take that tradition less seriously than others,” the captain pointed out. He had firsthand knowledge of that fact, having been the intended victim of a dishonorable attempt back on the Klingon homeworld. “Rue,” Worf conceded. “That is why Commander Asmund referred me to the details of her sister’s crime. You recall those details?” “I do.” Picard saw the scene again, just as it had been presented to him when he and Ben Zoma rushed onto the shuttle deck: Gerda swinging the deadly ironroot. Morgen lurching to avoid the blow, and only barely succeeding. And McDonnell lying prone in the fore-ground. “They are not easy to forget.”
“You recall, then, that Gerda Asmund did not kill the one called McDonnell-though it would have been well within her power, and even advisable. A loose end is a loose end, yet Gerda chose to avoid unnecessary death.” The captain nodded. “That is correct.” “What is more, Gerda used a simple weapon-as
prescribed by Klingon tradition. Usually a knife is the weapon of choice, but certainly an ironroot is not out of the question.” “The point being that she probably could have gotten her hands on a phaser-but dhose not to.”
“Exactly.” Worf paused to let the significance of that sink in. Then he went on. “Note also that the assassination attempt was carried out by a single individual-one on one. And finally, that the first blow was not a killing one-giving the intended victim an opportunity to view the face of his killer, so he would know whom to curse in the afterlife.” His voice grew weightier. “Finally, there is the matter of the poison.”
The captain couldn’t help but wince at the memory. No one had expected Gerda to have a ku’thei nodule under her armpit-not even Idun, who had shaken off her shock long enough to warn them about a suicide attempt. Fortunately, Greyhorse had gotten to Gerda in time.
“Again,” Worf finished, “all in accordance with Klingon custom. All honorable.”
Indeed. And the crimes committed on the Enterprise had been anything but honorable—just as Idun had pointed out. Picard measured one set of facts against the other. “What you are saying, then,” he told Worf, “is that since Gerda Asmund acted according to your code, Idun—as her identical twin-would have done the same. And because the murder attempts were conducted dishonorably, by Klingon standards, they could not have been the work of Idun. Eh?” Worf scowled. “Is it not a logical conclusion?” “Perhaps,” the captain conceded. “And if less were at stake here, I might be inclined to accept it. But we are dealing with life and death; we cannot take the chance
that our logic is flawed.” He leaned back again. “It is no secret that I have been one of Idun Asmund’s staunchest supporters. Even when some of your fellow officers were ready to condemn her, I refused to believe them—to judge her on the basis of her sister’s actions. But now…” Picard shook his head. “I cannot release her. I cannot risk another murder. You may log your observa-tions for the judge advocate general’s office, Lieutenant —but the matter is really out of my hands. I am sorry.”
The Klingon lifted his chin. “I understand,” he said. Though his disappointment must have been keen after all the trouble he had gone to-after what he