To Storm Heaven - Esther Friesner [96]
“We, too, should be part of these discussions,” Ambassador Lelys said. “Legate Valdor, I think it would be best if you were our representative among the Ne’elatians. I will attend the Ashkaarians, and as for Hara’el—” “I will accompany my father,” Hara’el spoke up.
There was no mistaking his intention to stand with his father as equal, not shadow, in the counsels of Ne’elat.
“Then that’s settled.” Picard stood up.
“Commander Riker, please conduct the Masra’et to an appropriate meeting room. Counsellor Troi, do the same for the Na’amOberyin. Report your progress to me within two hours, when it is my sincere hope we can reconvene this meeting under more civil conditions. Dismissed.” He left the briefing room, his own departure followed in swift succession by the Ashkaarian and Ne’elatian delegations and all Starfleet personnel except Geordi and Lt. Worf.
Geordi stared wistfully at the door through which Ma’adrys had just departed. “Nothing for us to do now but wait,” he said.
“You have no other duties?” Worf asked tersely.
Geordi touched the thready wound that Bilik’s dagger had left on his neck. “Well, I suppose I do have business in sickbay.” He, too, left.
Now the only persons remaining in the so recently crowded briefing room were Lt. Worf, Bilik, and Avren. The Klingon regarded the men suspiciously.
“And you?” he asked. “Why have you not gone with your own people?” “I don’t think my people are in any hurry to see me just yet,” Avren said with a note of self mockery in his voice.
“Nor are mine,” Bilik mumbled, his head bent.
Here was no irony turned inward, but only purest misery. “She hates me now. Why did it have to happen? Our lives were simple, they had direction, we could have lived happily if only we had been left alone. But no.” His head came up suddenly and there was a dangerous light in his eyes. “This all began when she was first stolen away from Iskir. Stolen by you.t You will pay for my sorrow!” He launched himself bare-handed at Avren and siezed the false shepherd by the neck, trying to choke the life out of him.
Lt. Worf was not about to stand aside and witness such goings-on. It was laughably easy for him to intervene, separating the two. “You,” he informed Bilik, “will go with your own people. You have done nothing to inspire hostility in the Na’amOberyin, and the girl Ma’adrys is too intelligent to allow her personal feelings for you to interfere with more important matters. And you—” He turned to Avren.
“Themthe Masra’et really won’t behave as intelligently as Ma’adrys,” the Ne’elatian agent said, rubbing his assaulted throat. “If you force me to attend their meeting, nothing will get done except maybe the passing of a resolution to skin me alive.” Worf sighed. “Very well. Then you will come with me.” “Yes, sir,” said Avren meekly, and still fidgeting with the edge of his hat, he trailed after the Klingon.
Chapter Sixteen
“A WHAT?” AVREN ASKED, fascinated by the little animal in the tank.
“A hamster,” Lt. Worf answered absently, distracted by the fact that he was having no luck whatsoever finding the item that he sought, a small figurine of Vulcan origin, one of the few art objects he had found worthy of owning. “It belongs to my son, Alexander.” “Really.” Avren peered at the small ball of fur more closely. “I think it’s dead.” “It is not dead, it is asleep. It sleeps much, conserving its strength for battle.” Worf snapped out his reply. He was fast approaching the end of his patience. He didn’t like being frustrated in this manner, and with warped logic he was beginning to blame his inability to find the elusive figurine on Avren.
Why did I have to bring him with me to my quarters? he thought ferociously. He is no help, and he persists in diverting my attention. I should have placed him in the custody of Ensign Fougner when the call came fiom