To Storm Heaven - Esther Friesner [102]
“Different enough to satisfy protocol,” Picard replied. “It appears that the contrary members of the Masra’et are more than willing to assume a benevolent role regarding their neighbors, as long as it is to their own advantage. Plus ca change…” “The more it changes, the more it stays the same?” Riker raised one eyebrow, amused. “I don’t think anything’s going to stay the same for Ashkaar.”
Epilogue
“HEY, WORF, WHO’S YOUR DRINKING BUDDY?” Guinan asked, leaning across the bar to set a glass of prune juice down in front of the Klingon.
“He is called batlh-ghobbogh-ylH,” Worf replied, sliding a dish of peanuts closer to the hamster. “He has done much to earn a reward for his services t~ Starfleet.” Tribble-who-battles-with-honor had recovered from his exposure to n’vashal, scented the peanuts, and plunged into them nose first, stuffing them into his pouches until his cheeks bulged out sideways wider than his plump hindquarters.
Guinan gave a low whistle of admiration. “Now that’s ugly.” “It does not need to be attractive; it is practical, as is any truly great warrior,” Worf explained, respectfully patting batlh-ghobbogh-ylH with a caution bred of many bites. “By enlarging its cheeks with supplies it not only carries more than enough provisions for any military campaign, it also makes itself fearful to behold, a terror to its enemies.” “Military campaign,” Guinan repeated. “A terror to its enemies?” The terror in question sat up on its haunches and boldly twitched its whiskers at Guinan.
She pursed her lips. “And they say you Klingons don’t have a sense of humor.” “We do not need one,” Worf averred, and set the sated hamster on his shoulder where the beast began to alternately groom himself and nibble on Worfs hair.
“Ooooookay.” Guinan turned away, rolling her eyes, and surveyed the rest of her customers. There weren’t all that many; things were fairly quiet in the bar at the moment. Besides Worf there were about three people from Security and a couple of Science personnel.
Then she noticed the couple at the most secluded table the bar could offer. It was Geordi La Forge and that Ashkaarian girl—what was her name?—oh yes, Ma’adrys. She looked like another person entirely now that she had put aside those flowing robes she used to wear. Instead she was clad in a serviceable jumpsuit rather like the Starfleet uniform, trim fitting and about as unremarkable. Her hair was pulled back and secured in a bun worn low at the back of her head, bringing out more of the beauty in her face.
“You do like it?” she asked Geordi, eyes shining.
She seemed half afraid to hear his answer.
“Of course I do,” he said, doing his best to cheer her. He clasped his hand over hers on the tabletop between them. “You’re always the prettiest woman in the room, no matter how you wear your hair.” “Oh.” Ma’adrys sounded a little disappointed. She pulled her hand out from under his and smoothed back a wayward wisp of hair that wasn’t there at all.
“Ambassador Lelys suggested this style. She said that as Iskir’s first envoy to Orakisa and S’ka’rys, I should try to look more mature.” “Once you open your mouth and start speaking, no one will doubt your rightness for the job and no one will look twice at your hairstyle.” Despite this heartfelt reassurance, Ma’adrys bowed her head and folded her hands in her lap. Her mood troubled Geordi—her worries had always been his— and his chief desire was to discover the cause of her unhappiness and put an end to it. He leaned forward, reached out, and stroked her cheek lightly with his fingertips. “Ma’adrys. Dearest Ma’adrys, what’s wrong? Tell me. Please.” The Ashkaarian gift jerked her chin up. There were tears misting her eyes. “Oh Geordi, I am so afraid!” “There’s nothing to fear. Ambassador Lelys will take the best care of you, and so will Hara’el. Look, I know you’re all going to be put aboard a different starship in a couple of hours, but it’ll be all right. It’s necessary. The Marcus is one of the fastest ships in