SHIP OF FOOLS

Chapter 19

"Worf," the captain said after a long silence, twisting round in the command chair. Worf appeared behind the Tactical console. "Sir?"

"How is it going?"

"The main computer is of little use as we cannot trust it, but we are trying to prevent further damage. Data has disassembled one of the devices. He – "

"I am working to determine a way of comparing the two devices, sir," Data's disembodied voice said from behind. "Unfortunately the equipment does not lend itself to this kind of diagnostic work. The sickbay computer would be preferable, but sickbay appears to be very busy. We could not hope to do any undisturbed work there."

"Sir. We might be able to flood sickbay with anesthezine gas," Worf said, sounding excited all of a sudden. "It would give us access to their computer."

"I know. But the place is full of people needing help, Worf," replied the captain. Catching Worf's disappointed expression he added: "Besides, their diagnostic equipment is part of the main computer as well... What do the probes say?"

Worf checked. "No ships in the vicinity, sir."

Picard sighed. "I just hope those things are still reliable. The thought of facing a Cardassian ship in our present condition..."

"It would be disgraceful," growled Worf. "I do not trust any of the crew to react appropriately. I am not even sure the phaser arrays are working. We could barely defend ourselves."

"Let's keep our assignment in mind – we shouldn't have to."

Worf responded with a soft snarl, then pulled himself together. "With all due respect, sir, I prefer a ship in fighting condition." There was a pause, just long enough to make up for the unspoken And so would you. "As it is we could neither fight them in space nor hope to repel a boarding party. We have no shields. If that device had had its way," he concluded grimly, "we could not even die with honor."

Picard raised his eyebrows. "Worst-case scenario. I've never known you so defeatist before, Worf."

Worf scowled. "I am not being defeatist, Captain."

"You most certainly are. If all you can think of getting out of this situation is a warrior's death you have given up already."

"Klingons do not give up," stated Worf with obvious annoyance at having to remind the captain of something he really should know by now. Picard suppressed a smile.

"Well, in that case you might help me think of a way to handle this if Data doesn't find a means of counteracting that device."

Worf leaned further forward over his console, and Picard sighed. "Down here if at all possible, Lieutenant. This is giving me a stiff neck."

To Picard's relief Worf raised no objections. He merely nodded, strode down the ramp, and lowered himself into Troi's seat. He had evidently been trying to set his appearance to rights, that Klingon vanity finally getting the better of him, but he had been only moderately successful. True, his hair was severely pulled back and gathered into a makeshift and somewhat dishevelled version of his pigtail, and most of the dried blood had vanished from his face. It hadn't vanished from his uniform, however; neither had the ragged gash in his cheek received any treatment, and it was obvious now that his nose was indeed broken. He was looking as tired as Picard had ever seen him. Keep talking, the captain thought. It'll keep him occupied – and me focused, he added wryly to himself. The sensation of numbness seemed to be spreading, and he was cold, and he had felt his thoughts beginning to drift during the past hour or so. This won't do. He could feel Worf studying him while disposing himself in the unaccustomed seat.

"An unusual sight, Lieutenant," he said before Worf could comment on his own ravaged state.

Worf fidgeted, trying to get his bearings, and noticed to his dismay that the chair was very comfortable indeed. It must be difficult for Commander Riker when he was tired. He wondered for a moment why the captain had summoned him, then decided that he must be wanting someone to help him keep alert. He was looking spent Worf thought. Talk, said a voice in the back of his mind. I must keep the captain's attention. With great deliberation he stated: "It might be possible to deceive the Cardassians. If Data were to take the seat to your right, and I handled communication..."

"If this business is as delicate as Juarez has made it out to be, Gul Dravek won't be talking over the monitors. I wonder... Data, would it be at all possible to operate the transporter from here, and get him directly into my ready room?"

"I would not advise it," Data replied from his station. "It might be accomplished with a ship in full working order. Under the circumstances, the risks would be incalculable."

"I see."

"Sir," said Worf, "should we not consider the ship first? You yourself expressed doubts about this mission. Starfleet would have to understand if we aborted it."

"We'll have to tell the Cardassians something, Mr. Worf. We might as well try to save the mission as well as the ship... Could having no shields pass as a gesture of trust, do you think?"

Worf gasped, opened his mouth to protest, then shut it again. It was just possible that the captain was having him on. But whether this was a joke (a poor joke, Worf thought reproachfully) or not, the captain had a point. They would have to gloss over the fact that they had no shields. "We might be able to create an illusion," he said without much conviction.

"We know very little about Cardassian sensor technology," Data reminded them from behind. "There is a slim chance that they cannot tell whether or not our shields are operative. However, the possibility that all of this is part of a plot to incapacitate us cannot be wholly discounted. In this case they will expect to find a partially disabled ship, and deceiving them about the state of our defensive systems will be extremely difficult."

"I said so, sir!" Worf broke in. "We cannot trust them. If we cannot restore the ship's battle readiness we should not allow them near us. I suggest making the restoring of the phaser banks a priority."

"Right now, the restoring of my crew is my priority, Mr. Worf. And as for not allowing them near us – I doubt we'd get far in our present state."

"We have no warp drive, and I do not believe the sensors would work even outside the nebula," said Data.

"Phasers would," countered Worf. "Captain, could we at least determine if the self-destruct sequence works?"

And then he blinked in mild surprise as Picard said quietly: "I've done that, Worf. Apparently it does. It's a command function, and for all I know they haven't been able to break into those."

"We might be able to take the Cardassians with us," Worf said with a certain amount of satisfaction.

"Worf, for Heaven's sake, we're not at war with them!" scolded Picard. "It's a last resort before we do something utterly irredeemable. Such as attacking a Cardassian vessel that approaches us in good faith, for example. I only hope they haven't got their hands on the weapons systems."

"It does seem unlikely," Data's voice commented. "However, the crew's attitude regarding the Cardassians being what it appears to be we should be prepared for irrational acts." Worf gave a soft snarl of frustration, but Data continued inexorably: "In fact, once we have established Gul Dravek's bona fides the only course open to us may be to leave this nebula and ask for help, or else to try and reach Starbase 179 at whatever speed we can achieve."

Worf saw Picard close his eyes for a moment at that, a tiny crease between his eyebrows. Concern and exasperation gave his voice a dangerous edge as he asked: "What if we can not establish his bona fides?"

"I do not know," Data replied simply. "There is still a chance that we might be able to restore the crew, as the captain put it, before he arrives."

"And if we do not we will be at the mercy of the Cardassians!" snapped Worf. "Forgive me, Captain, I will gladly die defending you and the ship, but I will need the means to do so. This is impossible!"

"We haven't quite reached that stage yet, you know," said Picard, sounding so tired that Worf asked sharply: "Sir, are you sure you would not rather lie down?"

"Quite sure, thank you, Lieutenant."

"We should have enough maneuverability to be able to ram them if necessary. Sir, if we cannot restore phasers and torpedoes, will you allow me to take the conn?"

"That would be the Klingon way, Lieutenant," Data's voice said over a brief chitter from his console. "Rational consideration would suggest a different course."

"I believe determining our defensive capabilities to be quite rational under the circumstances," replied Worf, bristling again.

"Gentlemen, please," said Picard. The quiet voice had an instant effect.

"Yes, Captain," Worf said immediately.

Conversation lagged somewhat after that. Worf thought he could see the captain shivering a little. "Sir," he began, tentatively.

"Yes?"

"We could adjust the environmental controls to a slightly higher temperature."

He had fully expected a denial of some sort, but after a moment the captain nodded. "Thank you, Lieutenant. I'd appreciate that."

"Commander, would you – "

"I have already effected the necessary changes," Data's voice said from behind. "In fact I believe they might increase Lieutenant Worf's comfort as well."

Worf scowled. "Why?" he demanded.

"You appear to be quite tired. The Klingon metabolism can be expected to react favorably to a higher temperature due to the climatic conditions of the Klingon homeworld. In fact a reasonable approximation could be achieved by a dimming of the lights and a raising of the atmospheric humidity. According to my databases, the atmosphere of the Magh'Rava region on the southernmost continent of Qo'noS, for example – "

"Thank you, Data," Picard said gently. "We're doing fine."

"I am quite comfortable with the lighting on the ship, sir," Worf added rather hastily. Catching an imploring glance from his Chief of Security, Picard changed topics without missing a beat.

"Commander Riker tells me you've adjusted a holodeck program specifically for combat in human daylight."

Worf threw him a grateful look. "Yes, sir. I felt I could use the practice. My people do see best in twilight. We believe that our remote ancestors hunted in the dusk. Even today our eyesight in twilight or darkness is superior to that of humans."

"You're hunters still," said Picard.

"Yes, sir," Worf replied readily, quite pleased to see his strategy working so well. "The ritual hunt is still an important part of our culture. It keeps the spirit and senses – " he frowned briefly – "honed, much like the use of archaic weaponry. I believe I told you about it when I taught you the use of the bath'telh."

"I haven't forgotten. Even humans can still appreciate the point."

Worf nodded, remembering that the captain was a fencer himself. After a short silence Picard said: "Worf, did Commander Riker mention what he thought that device had done for him?"

"No," growled Worf. "He was eloquent on what it might do for me. He said" – the growl became a snarl – "it might reconcile me to... certain things. I do not wish to be reconciled in this manner. It is things that would have to change, not myself."

Dear God, Picard found himself thinking – not because the statement held any surprises for him but because that much, from Worf, amounted to a baring of the soul. And now Worf said, chin raised in a very Klingon gesture of defiance: "A warrior faces both misfortune and failure. He overcomes them or is overcome. He acknowledges his part in them and does not look for easy ways out."

A little startled, Picard turned in his chair. "Worf, what are you blaming yourself for this time?"

"Sir?" asked Worf, alarmed.

"That sounded like a note of self-reproach."

"I was merely stating my intention to remain true to my chosen duty, no matter what excuses or distractions I am offered. A Klingon does not forget his loyalties, even though others may forget theirs."

Picard gave him a quizzical look. "Intriguing," said Data's voice from behind before he could answer. "It appears that a duty considered pleasurable before by large parts of the crew is now perceived to stand in the way of the individual's attaining the desired goal. In this case, would the saying that the grass always appears greener on the other side apply?"

The captain smiled at that. "That was rather brilliant, Data."

"Thank you, sir," said Data, pleased. Worf threw an annoyed look back over his shoulder. "They are fools to allow themselves to be swayed by the lure of an illusion. A duty should not be chosen lightly, and once chosen should not be set aside."

"A ship of fools," the captain said softly, almost to himself.

"Sir?"

"A very old Terran conceit," Data's voice supplied helpfully. "The ship of fools is a metaphor of the world, the idea being to expose human vices and follies by personifying them, and to effect a cure by inducing self-knowledge and the acknowledgement of fallibility. Chief among the follies..."

"Not now, Data!" sighed the captain.

"No, sir," Data said readily, if slightly puzzled.

"How are those probes doing?"

"They report no ships in the vicinity, sir."

Picard nodded as if he hadn't been expecting anything else, and leaned back in his chair. At his station, Data processed a new piece of information. The art of nonrelevant conversation, its nonrelevance notwithstanding, was less easily mastered than it would appear. A new subroutine was called for, which he created while cautiously tackling an evident trap placed in the software. It bore the hallmark of Geordi's programming, and he had discovered earlier that removing them could set off other, more sophisticated traps. A human, he knew, would experience hurt feelings at this sign of focused disloyalty. He wondered what they felt like.

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