The Art of the Impossible

Chapter 36

U.S.S. Intrepid

“No, not like that! You must hold it so it can rest against your forearm!”

Sergey Rozhenko forced a frown onto his face, even though he wanted to smile. Of course, he knew by now how to hold a bat’leth—Worf had shown him the proper hold a dozen times over the past few days—but he also knew that the young Klingon enjoyed his role as stern tutor to Rozhenko’s bumbling student. And Doctor Tavares said that the time Rozhenko was spending with the boy—virtually all his off-duty time—was aiding in Worf’s recovery.

It also aided in Rozhenko’s recovery. The more time he spent with the six-year-old Klingon boy, the less the stench of burned flesh lingered in his nostrils.

The Intrepidwas docked at Starbase 24. As good as the ship’s sickbay was, both Worf and the woman they’d beamed up required the superior medical facilities on the starbase. According to Tavares, the boy had suffered brain damage that needed to be repaired. He had come out of surgery just fine, however, and was now recovering in the Intrepidsickbay.

Juanita Tavares herself entered as Rozhenko took yet another stab at a proper bat’lethgrip, and instead almost took a stab at his own abdomen.

Shaking his head and blowing out a breath of frustration, young Worf said, “You are nevergoing to be a warrior this way, human.”

Smiling, Tavares said, “Good thing he’s an engineer, then. How are you feeling, Worf?”

“I am fine.” The perfect stoic.

“Good.” She turned to Rozhenko. “Chief, can I talk to you for a minute?”

“Of course.” He handed the weapon gingerly to the boy, who almost snatched it out of Rozhenko’s hands. “Perhaps tomorrow I will get it right.”

“I doubt it.” The boy’s voice was sullen, but Rozhenko could tell that the boy looked forward to continuing the lesson. His face had the same I’m-enjoying-this-but-I-want-you-to-think-I’m-mad look that his son Nikolai got whenever he was feeling especially stubborn.

Rozhenko followed the raven-haired doctor to her office. “I have good news and bad news,” she said, sitting at her desk.

Taking the guest chair, Rozhenko smiled. “Experience has taught me that it is best to get the bad news out of the way.”

Tavares chuckled. “Maybe, but the bad news stems from the good. All of Worf’s brain damage has been healed. It’s a good thing we got here when we did—and that Doctor T’Mret was available. However, there’s no reason why he can’t live a normal, happy life from here on in.”

“And the bad news?”

She sighed. “He did suffer some memory loss, and there’s no way to get that back. The tissue was repaired, but the damage was done. There will be parts of his life prior to the attack that are lost to him forever.”

“If the attack itself is one of those parts, then this was a blessing, Doctor.”

Tavares visibly shuddered. “I won’t argue with you there. The Klingons who arrived at Khitomer are still sorting everything out, but they double-checked with their Homeworld—the only people at Worf’s family’s home there are serving staff. According to them, the entire family was at Khitomer.”

Afraid to ask the question, yet knowing he had to, Rozhenko asked, “Have they found any other survivors?”

Tavares shook her head sadly. “Not all the bodies are accounted for, but they could have been vaporized—or captured.” She smiled wryly. “From what Captain Deighan told me, if it’s the latter, they’re dead anyhow. Klingons would rather die than be taken prisoner.”

That was an attitude Rozhenko could never understand, but he was not about to get into a philosophical discussion right now—that could wait until di

“She’s the other reason I wanted to talk to you,” Tavares said with a smile. “She finally came out of the coma about half an hour ago. Her name’s Kahlest, and she’s apparently Worf’s ghojmok,which seems to be their equivalent of a nursemaid.”

So she is the same woman Worf claimed to be protecting back on Khitomer.“Good.” Rozhenko was relieved. His act of pretending to be Worf’s bat’lethstudent was only going to carry him so far. The boy needed someone who knew how to take care of him, especially if his whole family was dead.

“I told her that you’d been taking an interest in Worf, and she seemed both relieved and scared. Then she asked to talk to you.”

“To me?” That surprised Rozhenko. “Why?”

Shrugging, Tavares said, “I honestly don’t know. She also asked to be transferred to the starbase medical facility after she talks to you.”

“With Worf?”

“She didn’t say.”

Rozhenko then proceeded to the part of sickbay where the Kahlest woman lay on a biobed. She seemed nice enough, for a Klingon. At least she wasn’t bleeding profusely, nor was she missing any limbs—or her head. He liked the idea of having another image, besides Worf, of an intact Klingon to focus his attention on, so it would crowd out all the corpses on Khitomer.

The woman sat upright and spoke in a whispery voice. “You are the human who has been caring for Worf?”

Tilting his head to one side, Rozhenko said, “You could say that. I have been spending time with him when I can. He has been teaching me the bat’leth.”He smiled. “Worf does not think I am very good at it.”

Kahlest did not return the smile. “You must listen to me, human. Worf must be taken away. It is not safe for him.”

“What do you mean?”

The nurse looked back and forth, as if expecting there to be spies. Rozhenko had heard stories that Klingons kept their citizenry under constant surveillance, but he had no idea how truthful they were. “Worf’s father was sent to Khitomer to find a spy. I do not know if he found him, but if he did, that person’s family may take vengeance on Worf, as the last survivor.”

Rozhenko’s head started swimming. “I do not understand. Vengeance?”

With an impatience that was of far greater moment than Worf’s a

“Won’t you be, as well?”

“No. I am dead. I will remain dead.”

Remembering some other stories he heard about Klingons, Rozhenko said, “You do not plan to kill yourself?”

Now, Kahlest looked upon him with pity. “You really do know nothing of us, do you?” She grabbed Rozhenko’s arm. “I beg of you, if you want that boy to live to grow into the great warrior I know he can be—do notlet him return to the Empire. If you do, his life will be as forfeit as that of those people on Khitomer.” She let go of his arm, and looked down. “And of me.”

The first thing Sergey Rozhenko did when he returned to his quarters was contact Helena on Gault.

When the face of the most beautiful woman in the galaxy appeared on the viewer in the quarters Sergey shared with another noncom (currently on duty in security), his heart sang. Her smile brightened the darkened room—he hadn’t bothered to turn the lights on, he knew his way around just fine, thanks.

“Sergey!”Then her smile fell. “What is wrong?”

He chuckled and shook his head. “I never could keep anything from you.”

Then he told her everything. He told her about the Intrepidresponding to the distress call and Lieutenant Tobias informing him that he’d be on one of the away teams. He told her about the broken, burnt bodies and the two survivors they did find. No details were spared. If he tried to hide something, she’d know. If he tried to downplay how much it affected him, she’d know that, too. She always did. Besides, they took a vow to share their lives—that included the hardships. Helena would never forgive him if he didn’tdivulge it all.