To Storm Heaven - Esther Friesner [69]
“What did you say, Ensign?” Worf demanded, his eyes flashing.
“I only meant, well—” She gestured at the hamster, now happily creeping from one of Alexander’s hands to the other, whiskers twitching and small pink nose wiggling avidly. “It may be pretty small, but pound for pound that’s some fighter you’ve got there, Alexander,” she said.
“It is brave, spirited, strong, and ferocious, a warrior beast,” Lt. Worf agreed. “And as such, it is a more than suitable companion for my son. I regret having underestimated it.” “You know what they say, sir,” Lori reminded him.
“Appearances can be deceiving.” “Then it is our duty to make certain that no one else is ever deceived as to the true worth of this creature,” Worf declared. “We will give it a more fitting name than”—he made a face—”Fido. It is a warrior beast and it shall bear a warrior’s name! I call it batth-ghobbogh-ylH.” He made an elegant gesture over the hamster’s head with his uninjured hand, then announced, “Now I will go to sickbay.” Ensign Wolf looked at Alexander. “What kind of name is that for a hamster? It’s bigger than the whole animal.” “It means Tribble-who-battles-with-honor,” Alexander explained, stroking his pet’s tiny head with his thumb. “I liked Fido better, but at least Father won’t mind my keeping him any more.” Tribble-who-battles-with-honor gave a happy little sigh, then burped.
When Lt. Worf arrived in sickbay he learned that his injured finger would have to wait.
“Ah. You are here already, sir. Very good.” Mr.
Data stepped forward to intercept the Klingon. “Has Dr. Crusher explained the situation or did she merely urge you to come as quickly as possible?” “What situation?” Worf demanded, the hamster’s bite immediately forgotten. “What are you doing back aboard? Where is the rest of the Away Team?” His eyes swept sickbay, spied Riker’s body stretched out at one of the diagnostic stations. Dr. Crusher was working over him, her face a study in tension and perplexity. “What has happened to the commander?” In his usually concise manner, Mr. Data explained the fate that had befallen the Away Team on Ashkaar.
In conclusion he remarked, “I would theorize that there is some level of psionic capability in the native population, more strongly developed in a few select individuals than in the general population.” “Psionics?” Worf repeated. He had encountered numerous examples of mental powers both in his studies at the Academy as well as firsthand, during his career with Starfleet. Yet in spite of his familiarity with such phenomena, he still found them disquieting and, somehow unnatural, even in those close to him.
“What kind? Do the Ashkaarians possess broadspectrum psionic abilities orw” “I do not think that they do, sir,” Mr. Data replied.
“From what I have observed, I would say that their capabilities are limited but effective, and concentrated in the field of mental compulsion. You can see for yourself the effects of this power at its most potent in Commander Riker. He is still immobilized under the influence of a psychic attack, despite the fact that our encounter took place some time ago.” Lt. Worf studied the face of his felled shipmate.
Riker’s eyes stared up into nothingness, his expression blank. The Klingon tried to lift one of Riker’s arms, expecting it to be limp, and instead encountered a good deal of resistance. His eyes met Dr.
Crusher’s. “What is your prognosis?” “He’ll recover,” she replied. “Unfortunately I can’t give you any estimate of how long that will take. His mind has received the equivalent of a substantial physical blow. I can’t gauge the strength of it any