The Brave and the Bold Book Two - Keith R. A. DeCandido [97]
“I have spent a great deal of time over the last few years with the Romulan people. They should not be punished for the shortsightedness of their government—or of someone else’s. However,” Spock said quickly, “I too feel the need to offer an apology. I now understand the crux of your argument: that, while the Klingon Empire and the Federation went to war with the Dominion in order to preserve the Alpha Quadrant, the Romulan Empire went to war to preserve the Romulan Empire. A subtle distinction that I, in my zeal to protect the Romulan people, lost sight of.”
Worf shook his head. “Not at all. I believe that both arguments have merit.”
“Indeed. And we shall have many opportunities to present them at Khitomer.” Spock paused and regarded Worf with a penetrating gaze. “You have led a most—intriguing life, Mr. Ambassador. If you have time—and the inclination—I would like to discuss certain elements of it with you.”
Had anyone else made the request, Worf would have refused. But, just as Spock had obviously been intrigued by Worf’s life, so too was Worf by Spock’s. The man was truly a living legend, and Worf had gained some—there was no other word for it—fascinating insights into the man behind that legend. It left him with a great desire to learn more.
Then he remembered something. “Computer, time?”
“The time is 1105 hours.”
“I am sorry, Mr. Ambassador. I would like to have those discussions—but not at the moment. I have an—appointment on the Gorkon.”
Spock inclined his head. “Of course. We will have ample opportunities to converse over the next few days in any event.”
Worf stood up and drained the rest of his prune juice. “I look forward to it.” Truly, he did—had he not made the promise to Klag, he would have stayed to talk with Spock for as long as the Vulcan ambassador wished. Leaving aside his interest in discussing the things Spock had seen, the battles he had fought, it was also an infinitely preferable alternative to the mindless drudgery of Worf’s life as Federation Ambassador to Qo’noS. Khitomer promised plenty of that as it was—talking with Spock would be a welcome palliative.
Leonard McCoy was tired.
Less than a year from his hundred and fiftieth birthday, McCoy got tired fairly easily these days. On top of the usual fatigue of daily existence as a cranky old man, he had to put up with Malkus invading his cranium. Admittedly, dealing with it was less of an issue than it might have been for a younger person. After all, your limbs not doing what you intend them to do was a fact of life the longer you spent on the wrong side of the century mark. Still, it wasn’t usually the whole body.
McCoy sat in the Enterprise’ s Ten-Forward lounge, sipping a syntheholic mint julep that tasted about as dreadful as he expected. But his cardiovascular system couldn’t really handle the real thing all that much these days—especially after the exertions Malkus put him through.
“How are you feeling, Doctor?”
The sudden voice at his back almost made McCoy drop his glass. He turned around to see Spock standing behind him. Only a few minutes ago, McCoy had noticed Spock sitting with Worf. The doctor looked over to see that their table was now empty.
As his old comrade sat down across from him, McCoy said, “I hate it when you do that. And to answer your question, I was fine until you scared the daylights out of me. How ‘bout you?”
“The effects of the mind-meld have almost faded. There will always be a residue of Ambassador Worf inside me and of me in him, but that is to be expected.”
McCoy chuckled. “After all the melds you’ve done in your time, your cerebral cortex is probably more crowded than Paris on Inauguration Day. As for me, I like to keep my head to myself, thanks. It was bad enough when I had to share my brain with you way back when. Malkus was a helluva lot