STAR TREK: DEEP SPACE NINE
WHEN THIS KNIFE FALLS
Worf and Alexander had moved at a steady pace along the river bank for almost three hours before Worf stopped abruptly. "I have its scent," he said. He looked expectantly at his son, now a teenager serving in the Klingon military, who wore only a confused and slightly embarrassed expression. Alexander quickly caught himself and turned his head from right to left, drawing in a deep breath through his nose. When his head completed the motion, he spotted a dark speck on the horizon, moving upstream. He nodded slowly, as if to show that he had just finished analyzing all the nuances of the smell that he could not, in fact, detect at all.
"I have it, too," he answered. Alexander adjusted his grip on his spear. His body language suggested he was waiting for Worf to take lead, but the larger Klingon stood with his feet firmly planted.
"You will have the honor of the kill," Worf declared.
Alexander's lower lip trembled just noticeably before he gave his father a stiff nod. The young warrior crouched slightly and took off at a jog along the fast moving river's edge. Worf assumed a similar posture and kept pace with him from several steps behind.
As he watched his son's back rise and fall from the motion of running and heavy breathing, Worf pondered the fact that he had clearly lied about picking up the animal's scent. It was probably just a harmless desire on Alexander's part to be more of his father's peer, but that was certainly not something Worf expected him to achieve.
They closed the distance quickly, as their prey had stopped to trap a fish in its jaws. Alexander skidded to a halt when they came within a dozen meters of it, kicking up some large clumps of earth and moss. He teetered on the edge of the embankment for a moment before regaining his balance. Worf had stopped as well, though he had not expected to, as the proper attack method would have called for Alexander to come closer to the beast and make the throw without breaking stride. Worf bit back any admonishment and watched in silent anticipation as his son drew back his spear arm.
Alexander sighted along his outstretched left arm as Worf had taught him, and launched the projectile in a long, graceful arc. Worf didn't breathe as the spear came down on a direct course toward the beast. A victory cheer was on the way up from his chest when the spear struck the tiger's flank.
And bounced off harmlessly into the water.
Both warriors watched in shock as the tiger's entire rear half twitched in response. It's head reared and it looked straight at them before scurrying up the river bank and into the woods.
Alexander stood panting for a few long seconds before running down to the spot in the river where the tiger had been. Worf followed, but not with the young man's vigor. The current was fast, but the water was only half a meter deep. Alexander plunged his arm into the water and felt around blindly until his hand closed around the shaft of the spear. He pulled it to the surface with a splash, the black fur of his uniform's sleeve soaked and flattened. He turned the weapon end over end, trying to figure out what had happened.
Worf approached slowly, making long strides across the river, and seemed virtually unaffected by the force of the current. Alexander's eyes were wide with confusion and disappointment. "I don't understand, Father. I know any blood would be washed away, but the tip isn't blunted at all by the impact—"
Worf took the spear from his son. He didn't snatch it, but he pulled it from him firmly nonetheless. He looked down for a moment, watching the water rushing around his knees, apparently trying to draw patience and grace from its onslaught. He then looked straight at Alexander. "Do you know what you did?"
Alexander at once offered a stammering theory while simultaneously shaking his head 'no.' "If the creature had an exoskeleton or—"
"I will tell you," Worf cut in. He took hold of the spear in both hands and fixed his eyes on the butt of the weapon. "You threw it backwards."
Alexander opened his mouth as if to argue, but the truth quickly hit him and he remained silent. He seemed to almost shrink with shame. Worf handed back the spear, which his son lamely accepted. As they both turned toward the far embankment to track the tiger once again, Worf put a hand on Alexander's shoulder. "I know such… debacles… are discouraging, but you have cause to remain confident. Your aim was true, and you will not make that mistake again." They trudged on across the river, and Alexander seemed unaffected by Worf's words. "Throwing a spear accurately in the manner you did is extremely challenging. In the days of old, it was a prized skill as that warrior could capture an opponent quickly without killing him."
Worf had no idea if there was any historical truth to that anecdote, but it made sense, and Alexander responded with a small nod of appreciation. It occurred to Worf that his son had lied to him about the prey's scent to earn his confidence, and he had in turn fabricated a story to restore his son's. Was this honorable behavior? Worf shook his head and put the thoughts aside. They were here, together, father and son, on the kah'desh hunt. Strengthening their bond was paramount. As was the honor they would win for K'Ehylar.
As dusk approached on the unclaimed planet Sarma, Worf and Alexander moved through the forest on the trail of their prey. Worf had gotten hints of the creature's scent at sporadic intervals, and he was confident they would have another confrontation with it before nightfall.
A fallen tree branch snapped crisply from behind him. Worf ground his teeth together, but managed to withhold criticism, and not for the first time since they took to the woods. Certainly it was more difficult for Alexander to move stealthily in his armored Klingon boots than for Worf in his minimalist Starfleet-issue ones. But the boy needed to focus if they hoped to make this kill.
"Father," Alexander whispered sharply. Worf froze mid-step. He looked back at Alexander questioningly, but without speaking. He wondered why his son insisted on not using Klingon hunting codes, and then guiltily remembered that he had never taught them to him. "I think I might have its scent," he said excitedly.
"I do not—" but then Worf stopped. Without warning, the smoky, pungent odor of the native tiger wafted across his nostrils. He rotated silently on the balls of his feet, all the while inhaling until the smell became most potent. At that instant Worf stopped and stalked straight towards the source. He raised his spear to the ready position and gestured with his free hand for Alexander to follow.
They moved silently down a mossy slope that wasn't steep, but was fraught with dew-slick stones and the treacherous root structures of the large trees flanking their path. On either side, grassy hills formed, and the two Klingons descended into the small valley. After a few minutes, they came to a dead end in the form of a rock face, and stopped about twenty meters short of it. At the lower right side of the angled stone wall was the mouth of a small cave. Within the shadows, they could make out the silhouette of the tiger's body. Its bulky torso rose and fell at slow, regular intervals. Worf allowed himself a small smile and turned to face Alexander. He silently mouthed two words:
It's asleep.
Alexander smiled also, turned back to watch the creature, and felt his smile fade. He looked at his father once again, who still gazed at him warmly. He placed a hand on Alexander's shoulder and drew his ear close. "The kill is still yours," he whispered. "You detected its scent. You've earned the honor." He pulled away and saw the troubled look on his son's face. Alexander looked down at the point of his spear and then at the cave where the tiger slept.
"Like this?" he asked.
Worf's brow furrowed in confusion, but after a moment of studying Alexander's expression, understanding washed over him. After decades of living among humans, the look of pity was readily recognizable to him. It was a human sentiment that was just beyond the boundary Worf set for himself.
He nodded to Alexander. "I understand how you feel. This animal is the greatest predator on this world, and the opportunity to track it and confront it is a great honor for us. As you contemplate killing it in its sleep, you feel that the honor will be lost—that we'll have cheated the beast, and ourselves."
Alexander nodded. He looked as though he was going to say something, but Worf had not finished. "There is more you are not considering, though. This creature knows, beyond any doubt, that it is being hunted. For it to leave itself so vulnerable in this way implies a number of things. It may be overconfident, or it may be well past its prime. It may also have a disease that has impaired its instincts." Worf pressed on. "But regardless of which of these is the truth, we, as Klingon warriors, have an obligation to finish the hunt. This creature is a hunter just as we are. It does not want to just wither and die."
"I just never imagined it would be this way," Alexander said.
"It is not the type of kill one hopes for," Worf agreed. "But to pity this creature is to dishonor it, and the quest we have set upon."
Alexander looked directly at Worf. "I doubt Mother would have wanted a sleeping animal slain for her benefit."
The simple truth of that statement struck Worf hard. K'Ehylar was a great woman and a fierce warrior, but she was also half-human and had lived largely by human values. She would find killing an animal in this manner just as offensive as any other human would. But the fact of the matter was that Worf had undertaken this ritual hunt more to improve his relationship with his son than to honor his fallen mate. Now he found himself at an unfortunate intersection of Klingon duty and compassion from the grave.
It was certainly not the type of kill he had hoped for.
"Your mother would have insisted we give it a fighting chance," Worf said. He flipped his spear around so that he held it backwards. "I think one of your moves could work well." Before Alexander could respond, Worf hurled the weapon butt-first at the sleeping beast.
The spear flew straight through the cave's mouth and struck the tiger squarely in the back. It bolted to its feet with a vicious howl that displayed a mouth studded with efficient fangs. It looked Worf right in the eyes.
Worf didn't break the stare, but he spoke to Alexander, who was tensed in readiness. "We go on my mark. I'll cover the left, you take the right. If it falls back into the cave, we go in and take it as quickly as we can. We don't want to be in close quarters with it any longer than necessary. Understood?"
"Yes."
"Go!"
They tore down the hill, trampling slick grass under their feet. Alexander held his spear cocked at the ready, and Worf unhooked his mek'leth sword from the back of his sash.
The tiger whipped around and shot into the darkness of the cave. Worf swore inwardly and felt his thighs burn as he pumped his legs harder. The situation had just become infinitely more dangerous. Klingons were long on talk about dying good deaths, but there was no way he'd let that thing send Alexander to his. If that made him less Klingon, so be it.
Alexander may not have been the best fighter but he was quite agile, and Worf was only a step ahead of him when they plunged into the cave. It was nearly pitch dark, but Worf saw a shadow flash and heard the skittering of claws on granite as the beast turned into an adjacent cavern. He was about to charge in after it, but was stopped dead in his tracks by a burst of golden light and the shrill whine of a phaser beam from around the corner.
Worf instantly whipped out his arm and caught Alexander across the torso. His legs shot out in front of him, but Worf maintained a hold on the boy and set him down on his feet.
"What the hell was—"
Worf clamped a hand over Alexander's mouth and pulled him back so that they each had their backs to the granite wall. He could smell the reek of incinerated flesh drifting in from the next tunnel. He released his hand from his son, who remained silent.
Alexander was in the Klingon Defense Force, and while he didn't know Klingon hunting codes, he had to have known military ones. Worf made the symbol for a tricorder and Alexander pulled it silently from its pouch and handed it over. Worf activated it and scanned the tunnel beyond the corner. He was relieved to see there were no life signs, eliminating the chance that there was an armed party waiting for them. As for the phaser blast, his scans confirmed what his experience had already told him. He turned to Alexander and made three distinct hand symbols.
Cardassian. Sensor-controlled. Phaser.
Surprise lit up Alexander's eyes, but to the boy's credit, he worked past that reaction quickly. He motioned to the tricorder in Worf's hand, and then pointed up and to the left to indicate the phaser positioned in the next cave. Worf considered for a moment, nodded, and then slowly eased the hand unit around the stone corner.
Klingon engineers believed that no tool could be called such unless it also functioned as a weapon. Worf tapped a few keys on the tricorder, and the small display screen switched from a sensor graph to an infrared viewer. It showed the clear outline of the phaser set into the upper-right corner of the next cave, and what looked like some supply cases underneath. The screen's glowing crosshairs allowed Worf to aim, and he fired a thin energy beam out of the tricorder's front, striking the phaser. The weapon responded instantly, laying down a ferocious pattern of fire. It blew great chunks of granite from the walls and came close to vaporizing Worf's exposed hand. His aim never wavered though, and a moment later, the phaser exploded with a flash of blinding light and a deafening roar. Several small pieces of rock shot out from where the phaser blew, one of which took the tricorder out of Worf's hand, shattering it.
"Father!"
"I'm all right," Worf said. "Stay back." Worf picked up a small stone from the floor and tossed it across the other cave's entrance. Nothing happened, and Worf stepped cautiously inside. In the upper-right corner of the small dead end cavern was a black stain where the phaser had been. Beneath it were two barrels, both stamped with the emblem of the Cardassian Union. The tops of the barrels and the floor were littered with metal scraps and bits of rock from the explosion.
Worf looked at the barrels and cursed the loss of the tricorder. They did not appear to be booby trapped, but such things seldom did. He looked back at Alexander, who stood in the cavern's entrance, looking wary but ready to assist.
"Move to a safe distance," Worf instructed him. "If anything happens you will need to get word to the Federation." Alexander looked reluctant, but he obeyed without comment and stepped out of view.
Worf swept the debris on top of the barrel aside, took a deep breath, and twisted the lid. There was a slight hiss of air as he broke the seal, but that was its only response. He dropped the lid to the ground and examined the contents inside.
The barrel was filled with stacked trays of hypospray vials. A quick inspection of the second one revealed the same contents.
Alexander returned to a spot just around the corner, and called out to Worf to ask if it was all clear. Worf gave the affirmative, and a moment later they stood together looking down at the rows of vials.
"Biological weapons?" Alexander ventured.
"Perhaps," Worf answered. "But I doubt they would store such an agent in vials this small." He pulled one free of its slot. "We have to go back to the runabout to analyze this. Then we'll transmit a report to DS9."
"And the kah'desh hunt?" Alexander asked.
Worf's posture diminished, and Alexander realized how important the ritual was to him.
"We'll do our best," he said quietly.
Moments later, Worf and Alexander emerged from the cave, and found a fair-haired woman standing directly in front of them. She was Bajoran.
She looked at them with an expression of detached wonder, as though she didn't believe what she was seeing to be real, but was too intrigued by the illusion to look away. Worf's instinctual response was to bring up his mek'leth, but he saw she carried only a small satchel, and abandoned the motion before it was completed.
"Who are you?" he asked.
"Nila," she answered in a soft, clear voice. She looked at his weapon, his uniform, and his face, and then did the same to Alexander. A question was clearly forming, but Worf took a step forward and cut her off.
"You have nothing to fear from us, but you must answer my questions." She nodded her assent.
"How many Cardassians are on this planet?"
"One."
"Where is he?"
She moved her head to indicate the direction beyond the cave. "His lab is on the
mountain."
"Are there any Jem Hadar?"
Her brow furrowed. "I don't know what that is."
Worf held up the vial he had taken. "What are these?"
She looked at it for a moment, and then answered without hesitation. "Medicine."
Worf frowned with suspicion. "You are sure?"
She nodded. "It's what I came here to get." Worf was not yet convinced, but he lowered the vial. His expression softened slightly. He looked back at Alexander, and then at Nila. He then asked the only question he already knew the answer to.
"Do you need our help?"
With that, she coughed out a sob, and nodded vigorously as tears ran down her face.
A few minutes later, Nila was able to calm herself. The sun had set, and the three sat in a loose circle on the ground in the dark. She told them about the Cardassian who held her captive.
Dr. Majdak was insane. All of the Bajorans at the Galitepp labor camp knew this, but it was not perceived as a situation to be remedied or an obstacle to be overcome. To complain about Majdak was no different than complaining that the soil was too rocky or the air too humid—he was no less a facet of the environment than the bleak gray skies or the ore they broke their backs to exhume.
Majdak, a Cardassian of about fifty, strolled about the perimeter of the work site as was his practice, speaking into a recorder strapped around his left wrist while keeping his right hand behind his back. His female servant Nila trailed a meter behind him with a data pad taking dictation. Majdak was thorough even by Cardassian standards, and he always recorded his research in at least two formats.
On that morning, he paid particular attention to a group of four Bajorans filling a hole in the ground from a neighboring mound of soil. Each man stood at a different position on the small hill, driving the dulled tips of their shovels into the densely graveled earth and tossing scoopfuls into the pit below, which was roughly the size of a shuttlecraft.
Majdak kept his distance, surveying the scene from a position set back from and above the gutted piece of ground. Two bored and boorish Cardassian guards stood off to the side of the diggers, their rifles held casually in the crooks of their arms. The doctor noted all of these details verbally while Nila rapidly tapped them into her pad as he spoke them.
"I have asked my assistant for the serial number of the subject second on the left." His recorder paused automatically when he stopped speaking, and he cocked an ear toward the Bajoran woman but did not make eye contact.
"18359-D" Nila answered.
This was the moment. She was a collaborator and she knew it, but like most long-term guests at Galitepp, she was unable to feel one way or another about it. This, however, was the moment when she would feel—feel a rush of nervous and horrific exhilaration as she waited to see what string Majdak would cut, and feel a dull loathing for herself for having that melancholy privilege.
"Subject is 18359-D," Majdak repeated, echoed by Nila's frenzied key strokes. He drew a sleek black remote from his belt. "I have initialized Scenario 27 Beta. Full details can be accessed via provided data link, but the events played out as follows."
Sometimes Majdak described what would occur beforehand. Nila could then just enter the horrors in her pad and clamp her eyes shut when he brought them to life. Today, however, the doctor let his wrist recorder click to standby, and Nila's battered willpower could not stand against her own disgusting curiosity. He entered a series of commands on the remote's keypad, and when he finished a round button separated from the others lit red. He pressed it.
On the mound below, the four disheveled Bajorans continued to toil through monotony, although a burst of small sparks shot out from all around one man's neck, dissipating instantly into hissing tendrils of steam. Without further grandeur, the head atop that neck pitched forward and rolled off, striking the surface of the hill once before spinning off into the hole below. Nila's mind's eye instantly had a vision of it impacting at the bottom with a puff of dusty smoke.
The worker standing farthest down on the hill had not seen the other man's neck combust, and when a Bajoran head spun past his feet, he fumbled and dropped his shovel. This sort of thing could easily draw a sharp kick from a guard, but their attention was fixed on the unbelievable sight above.
The headless body was still digging.
It stood in the same spot near the top of the hill with a blackened, cauterized stump on its shoulders. That aside, the body continued to efficiently shovel the earth at its feet into the hole below, in affect burying its own head.
Whether fortunately or unfortunately, the Bajorans were all too used to this sort of thing happening, and they were able to resume working quickly. One of the Cardassians guarding them, a young man named Tarum, was not so seasoned, and after taking a moment to process what he was seeing, promptly vomited on his boots. His older comrade, Drevo, barked out a laugh and clapped him on the back, causing him to wretch once more.
When Tarum looked up from his undigested breakfast, he caught one of the Bajorans watching him. The worker instantly shifted his eyes to his dirt, but the damage was done. The embarrassed guard unslung his rifle, and fired a burst straight through the worker's chest. The man tumbled down the hill and into the hole without making a sound. The Cardassian then shot the worker on the right, peppering the dirt behind him with bits of blood. The Bajoran near the peak of the hill had time to throw aside his shovel in defiance before a beam lanced through his throat. He rolled briskly down the hill into his grave.
Finally, the Cardassian took aim at the headless digger, but his fellow guard clamped a restraining hand on his shoulder. Tarum looked back at his partner in disbelief. Drevo gestured toward the high ground where Dr. Majdak and Nila stood. Majdak was looking directly at them and was calmly speaking into his wrist recorder. The Bajoran girl typed briskly on a data pad. Tarum glowered at them for a long moment. He then roughly slung his rifle back over his shoulder and stormed off.
"Sentry number two executed the remaining three workers, presumably to allay his humiliation," Majdak observed. "He was prepared to do the same to the subject, but was instructed not to by sentry number one. Number two displayed anger towards the researcher, but there was no confrontation. Number two was apparently distraught enough to abandon his post." With that last thought, the recorder clicked off. Majdak then strolled back towards his lab with Nila in tow.
All the while on the dirt hill below, the headless body shoveled, burying the other slain Bajorans who lay smoldering at the bottom of the pit.
"How did he do it?" Worf asked. The night had grown cold while Nila told her tale, and he had risked building a small fire, which they now all sat around.
"Nanites," Nila said. "He is a doctor of nano-technology, but he thinks of himself as some sort of psychologist. He uses nanites to manipulate the bodies of his victims, and studies the responses of the people around them."
"Disgusting," Alexander said. The flickering flame lit his face just enough so that Worf could see he was profoundly appalled. "What benefit could his experiments possibly have?"
"None," Nina answered ruefully. "Majdak's genius has no basis in reality. But he is a Cardassian aristocrat, and no one will embarrass his family by committing him, or so I've heard. In the meantime, who cares if he mutilates a few Bajorans when it suits him?"
She took a ragged, calming breath and warmed her hands by the low flame. "They marooned him here, but he thinks he's on sabbatical. We've been here since just after the Galitepp accident that gave us all Kalinora disease. Those barrels you found are our medicine stockpile. A supply ship beams them down every six months."
"And the phaser?" Worf asked.
"It's meant to ward offer scavengers. It will shoot anything other than a Cardassian or a Bajoran." Nila dropped a fallen leaf into the fire and watched it curl. "We stock extra medicine because of the clones."
Worf fixed her with a hard stare. "Clones?"
She nodded, and Worf could see her eyes were welling up again. She swallowed and tried to speak clearly. "He used the DNA of former Galitepp inmates to clone new subjects. He created them five years ago. He starts with the nanites tomorrow."
Alexander got to his feet. "He won't have the chance," he said sharply. Nila stood up as well, and looked ready to throw herself upon with him sobbing thanks.
Now Worf rose. "Wait a moment. How many clones are there?"
"Thirty," Nila said.
Worf shook his head. "That is too many for us to take in the runabout. We will have to call for the Defiant to come and transport them."
"But for now—" Alexander began.
"For now we wait," Worf cut him off. "The Defiant can beam the whole group up in an instant, and the Cardassian right into the brig."
"When could they arrive?" Nila asked.
"Two days."
"No, it has to be sooner." She was rapidly losing her composure. "He's just one old man, you can stop him, I know it."
"Father," Alexander said imploringly.
"There are procedures to be followed, and we are not prepared to care for such a large group of prisoners. It will wait for two days."
"But he's going to use the nanites on them tomorrow," she cried.
"I understand—"
"They're just children!" she screamed. "Five-year-olds, damn you! They'll have a chance at a decent life if you'll just help them."
There was a long moment of silence as the gravity of the situation settled upon Worf. "He did not employ growth acceleration," he realized aloud.
"No," Nila said hotly, staring daggers at Worf. "They're Bajoran children, just like any others."
"Father, we must go now. We can't leave them with that Cardassian."
"Come with me," Worf said. The two walked through the woods to a point where they could keep Nila in sight but keep their conversation private.
Alexander spoke before Worf stopped walking. "This can't wait for two—"
Worf spun around. "Never contradict me in front of others. Haven't you learned anything serving on that ship?"
"You're going to let that maniac hurt those kids. And for what? Procedure? You've never let the rules get in your way before."
"I did not know they were children, but that isn't the point."
"Really? I just thought abandoning children had become second nature to you."
Worf jerked as though he'd been stung. "You watch yourself." Alexander just stared back at him, not giving any ground.
"We will strike at dawn," Worf said, still smoldering. "And I will take the Cardassian. You will observe from a safe distance, and go to the runabout to contact the station when it's done."
Alexander's eyes went wide and he nodded as a realization came to him. "That's what this is about," he said. "You don't want to take me into combat. You think I can't handle one deranged old man."
"You are not ready—"
"You have no faith in me!" Alexander bellowed. "That Cardassian is scum and I want to kill him myself."
"Alexander, I do have faith in you, but this won't be glorious combat. Nila said he barely knows where he is half the time. If he tries to resist or does something stupid there may be no choice but to kill him."
"And you think I can't do it."
"I don't want it on your conscience. You didn't want to kill the sleeping tiger. How will you feel about killing an old man?"
"What about your conscience, Father?"
"My knowledge of Klingon beliefs and philosophies will allow me to handle what must be done. Your upbringing was more steeped in human values—"
"So was yours!" Alexander shot back. "I was raised by the same humans as you were. You had to look to yourself to be a Klingon—and it worked. But I looked to my father, and got nothing."
"If you had taken your Klingon studies more seriously as a boy—"
Alexander turned his back on Worf mid-sentence and stalked off towards the cave. He ducked inside and did not return.
Worf made the short walk back to the campfire alone. He was hurt and exhausted. His chest and stomach felt heavy, and he could feel a brutal headache emerging from behind his eyes. When he reached the site, all he wanted to do was lay down on the soft grass and get a few hours of black, dreamless sleep. He knew the odds were against him.
Nila stood leaning on a nearby tree as Worf settled to the ground. He ignored her.
"A father and son shouldn't have such anger between them."
"Worry about your own children," Worf answered from behind closed eyes.
"I do," she said. "But I feel much better knowing you'll help them tomorrow." Worf did not respond, but he was annoyed and embarrassed that their whole argument had carried throughout the woods.
Sleep was not coming to him, and he tried to clear his mind and focus on the soothing nocturnal sounds of the forest.
"Can I ask you a question?" Nila said.
Worf let out a long, annoyed breath. "You may ask."
"Why did you come here?"
Worf was laying on his side with his back to Nila. He did not roll over to answer. "We were here to perform the kah'desh ritual. In Klingon beliefs, one can honor the dead by slaying a fierce predator in their name on the anniversary of their death. Alexander's mother died on this day some years ago."
"And because of what happened in the cave, you've lost your chance."
"There will be other chances," Worf said. "I planned this journey more so that we could spend time together. It has not gone as planned."
"As you say," Nila said, "there will be other chances. I have to get back before Majdak misses me. Do you need to go over the layout of the lab again?"
"I have all that I need."
"Then I'll see you in the morning." She bent down and laid a hand on Worf's shoulder. To his own surprise, he barely twitched. "May the Prophets bless you."
In the deep blue haze of pre-dawn, Worf and Alexander made steady progress towards Majdak's lab, which stood on a grassy bluff near the top of the mountain.
Worf pulled himself over a chest-high stone outcropping and turned to offer a hand to Alexander. His son ignored it, digging the steel talon on his boot into a groove and pushing himself up to Worf's level. Alexander moved past him without a glance, grabbing hold of small trees and handholds as he trekked up the steep stretch of rock. Worf followed silently.
Dr. Majdak's laboratory was a standard Cardassian prefab unit, one story high and not very large. The swath of ivy across the lower half showed it had been in place for quite some time. A phaser cannon just like the one from the cave was stationed above the doorway. It was the building's only defense.
Near the edge of the stretch of grass the lab occupied was a fairly large boulder. Worf and Alexander crouched behind it.
"Do you see the generator?" Worf asked.
Alexander looked around the corner of the boulder at a loose circle of trees to the left of the lab. Each of them had a small silver disc embedded in the trunk, but the one closest to the lab had a larger, more elaborate one, which housed the power source for the rest. When active, it created a force field around the perimeter of the trees.
Alexander could also see the children resting in sleeping bags in the center, looking completely at peace, as though they were off on a camping trip together. It occurred to him all at once that Nila had raised these children, being mother, nurse, and teacher every day of their lives. They slept peacefully because they were loved and cared for. She had done an incredible job.
"I see it," Alexander answered.
"Good," Worf said. He gestured to Alexander's waist. "Your belt buckle contains an explosive compound."
"I know. There's a time delay detonator switch inset on the back." Alexander assumed Worf would tell him to hand it over.
"The unit is magnetic. While I handle the Cardassian, you will run over to the generator and plant it. When it detonates, the force field will collapse. Round up the children and get them to the best cover you can find."
Alexander realized that this revision of the original plan was his father's peace offering. It gave him a chance to make an important contribution to the mission. Worf, however, was still disallowing him to make the kill.
He peered a little further around the boulder, and saw the lab's door sitting quietly in place. He imagined himself walking through it, d'k tahg blade in his fist, and finding Majdak sleeping head down on his desk, surrounded by data pads full of his lunatic scrawling. He imagined jamming the cold steel point into his waiting back, and hearing the horrible cry as Majdak awoke, briefly, for the last time.
He imagined those things, and felt a surge of relief at his much more noble assignment.
"Thank you, Father."
Worf nodded. Where their argument was concerned, nothing more needed to be said. "Are you ready?"
"Yes."
Worf gave him a feral smile. "Qa'Plah!" With that, he darted out from behind the boulder and sprinted to the right across the grass.
The cannon above the door acquired him almost instantly and began tracking his course and firing. The golden plasma bursts gouged smoking holes in the ground in a trail following Worf as it attempted to lock onto him. But the mechanism had not been maintained, as Nila had indicated, and it was unable to swivel fast enough to keep up. As the Klingon warrior moved, he drew his mek'leth from his sash. In an incredible feat, he threw the weapon as he ran, sending it in a pinwheeling arc straight towards the phaser. The honed blade neatly bisected the barrel, and it fell to the earth with a thump. The cannon was silent.
At that moment, Alexander leapt out from behind the boulder and made a dash for the holding area, magnetic bomb in hand. He kept his focus on the generator, and as his heart pounded in his ears and his boots slapped the damp grass, he marveled at how combat opened his senses. His eyes never strayed from his target, yet his peripheral vision seemed to encompass everything around him. He noticed some of the children stirring from the phaser fire, and kept track of Worf's careful progress towards the lab.
And he saw Dr. Majdak, a tall Cardassian with graying hair, step confidently out the front door, phaser pistol in hand. Majdak raised his left wrist to his mouth and began recording. "There was a disturbance at the lab on the morning I began Phase Two. An intruder disabled my defensive system."
By this time Worf had seen that Majdak was armed and apparently quite alert, and skidded to a halt. He ran back towards the rim of the bluff to regroup. Majdak raised his right hand and fired a steady rain of shots at Worf. Beam after beam lanced through the scattered trees, and the birds inhabiting them tore screaming for the sky.
More children were bolting up in their sleeping bags as Alexander closed the last few steps between him and the generator. He slapped the bomb onto the unit, and turned just as one of Majdak's shots struck a tree Worf was darting past. It blew a shower of wood and bark into Worf's face and knocked him off his feet. He tumbled once across the grass, and dropped right off the edge of the cliff. He never made a sound.
In that moment, Alexander became an engine of purpose, a being that existed for only one reason. All past and future concerns were forgotten. He launched himself into a dead run at Majdak. His peripheral combat senses disappeared, and it was as though he were in a tunnel, with his father's attacker looming at the end. He heard nothing. He felt only rage.
Majdak was still rambling into his wrist recorder, and stood near the lab's doorway with his back to Alexander. "The intruder was dispatched relatively quickly, though I regret his fall from the plateau. His DNA would have been useful in—"
Alexander hit Majdak like a freighter, slamming him clear off the ground where he stood. His arm hit the doorframe as he flew back, and the bone snapped. His pistol spun off to parts unknown.
When the Cardassian struck ground, Alexander was on him in an instant. He punched Majdak's confused face again and again. On the fourth blow, he paused to yank his d'k tahg from its sheath, and brought the knife down in an overhead thrust. Majdak snaked out his good arm and caught Alexander's wrist at the last moment. The blade quivered as both men put all their exertion against it. As the steel tip slowly sank towards Majdak's chest, a thought penetrated Alexander's fury. When this knife falls, I'll be a killer. Always.
He couldn't begin to predict what that would mean for him. His father had killed people. Would Alexander now find it as hard to smile as Worf did? Would he fight holodeck monsters well into the night, exhausting the anger and pain until he was drained enough to sleep?
Would he avoid his family, because they were just more loved ones that a brutal galaxy hadn't taken yet?
The thunderclap of the generator blowing snapped Alexander out of his reverie. The sound echoed in his mind, bringing forth the image of the tree exploding next to Worf, and pitching him off the mountain. His father was gone, and the absolute permanence of that astounded him. Only a response of equal and unchangeable consequence could possibly suffice. Gritting his teeth, Alexander surged forward, bringing his full weight and his entire being upon the hilt of his knife. Leverage took care of the rest. Majdak's constant speech trailed off, and the predator was no more.
If Majdak had had a firmer grip on reality, and if Alexander had been a more experienced field soldier, both would have remembered that there was a broad ledge just beneath the section of cliff Worf fell from. His descent had stopped not three meters from where it began.
As consciousness returned to Worf, he blinked his eyes open, and tried not to wince at the pain of his countless cuts and abrasions. He was laying on his back, and when the world came into focus, he saw a dozen Bajoran children peering down at him from the edge of the cliff. Each child lay on his or her stomach, face protruding past the edge. They watched Worf in wide-eyed fascination.
Alexander.
Worf bolted upright with such urgency that the children scattered, all calling out for Nila. He was dizzy from his head wound, but refused to let it slow him down as he climbed unsteadily to the top. Nila ran over just as he was pulling himself up onto the grassy surface.
"Worf! Worf, take it easy. Your son is all right." She took hold of his arm and helped him up.
"Where is he?" Nila pointed towards the lab. Worf looked past her and saw his son kneeling alongside a dark slab that could only be Majdak's body. Alexander's head was tilted towards the sky, and his eyes were closed. He was speaking, but Worf couldn't hear the words over the ringing in his ears.
The kah'desh, he realized. He's dedicating the kill to K'Ehylar. He's slain the fiercest predator in the land.
"Does he know I'm alive?"
"Yes," Nila answered.
Worf walked over to him just as he finished reciting the concluding prayer. He put a hand on Alexander's shoulder. "How do you feel?"
Alexander opened his eyes, but did not reply for a few seconds. He was thinking about his answer.
"I don't know. It feels strange. He deserved to die. He was going to hurt innocent children." He looked up at Worf. "But that wasn't why I killed him. I thought you were dead, and when I attacked, I barely even remembered we were on a mission. I wanted vengeance, and I took it." He gave Worf a small, sad smile. "And you were alive the whole time."
"This man was owed vengeance many times over," Worf said. He looked over at Nila, who was tending to the children. "A lifetime's worth."
"But was it my place to take that vengeance? If I'd kept my head and remembered the mission, would I have realized that I didn't need to kill him?"
Worf pulled Alexander gently to his feet, and embraced him. "It was a combat situation, and you did what you had to do." He felt Alexander shudder against him, and the boy began to weep.
"I think I did the right thing," Alexander said through his tears. "But I'm not proud."
Worf continued to hold him. "It's all right." He separated himself from Alexander so that he could look in his eyes. "Have you seen all of these children?" They could each hear the laughter in the background as Nila kept them occupied. "You saved them. Thirty children will grow up and have good lives because of you. You've honored your mother, and your house. Be proud of that. I am proud."
Alexander managed a smile. "Thank you, Father."
Worf nodded and clapped him on the arm. "Come. We will call for the Defiant, and get these people home."