Undercurrent

Disclaimer: STAR TREK and its plethora of characters and locales are the property of Paramount and Viacom. This particular story is mine, though.

Feedback: As with others of my kind (writers, that is), I encourage feedback from anyone who enjoyed my story -- or hated it, for that matter. Kudos and general praise are preferred, however. Aforementioned commentary can be sent to me at: co216@freenet.carleton.ca

ENJOY! :)

--Jeff

CHAPTER ONE

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At the sound of the door chime, Molly O'Brien glanced up from her latest artistic masterpiece and gazed at the door to the quarters she shared with her Mommy and Daddy and Yoshi. Mommy was on Bajor again, with her friends Flora and Fauna. Molly had never met this pair before, but Mommy must like them a lot, since she visited the often. Sometimes she actually got to go with Mommy to Bajor (and on those occasions she never saw Flora or Fauna, oddly enough), but this time she was staying on the space station with Daddy. He was changing Yoshi's diaper in another room right now and that meant she was all alone with the chiming door.

"Honey, would you mind getting that please?" came her father's voice from Yoshi's room.

Heeding her father's request like the big girl she was, Molly got to her feet and walked to the door. On the panel to the door's right, she pressed the button just as she'd been taught, and watched as the door slid aside to reveal the visitor who'd come calling.

It was a very big man standing in the corridor and she easily recognized him as her "uncle" Worf, a Klingon; she knew he was a Klingon because of the bumps on his head. Worf wasn't *really* her uncle, of course, since that would have meant he was the brother of either Mommy or Daddy, and clearly *that* wasn't the case. She giggled in her head at that silly thought.

The Klingon had taken her right out of Molly's tummy a long time ago, when Molly was just a baby, and because that was such a good thing to do (what if she'd been stuck in there forever?!), Mommy and Daddy had made Worf an honorary uncle. It was the same deal with "aunt" Nerys, who wasn't *really* her aunt, but who had given birth to Yoshi last year instead of Mommy.

Molly wondered if everyone had aliens for uncles and aunts. Worf looked down at her for a moment, then looked into the room, as if he was looking for someone else. But since she was the only one there, he looked back down at her.

"Is your father here?" he asked. Worf had a deep, rumbling voice that sounded like reverberations from some heavy machine.

Molly turned slightly and pointed towards the room she shared with Yoshi. "He's in there," she said.

Worf glanced that way briefly, then regarded his diminutive host. Molly thought he seemed a little shy, like herself, since he wasn't saying a whole lot.

"May I come in?" he asked.

Molly stepped aside and watched with her big eyes as the Klingon walked into her house. The door swooshed shut behind him. Actually, Molly corrected herself, the doors around this place didn't "swoosh" like the ones on the spaceship where she'd lived before; these ones groaned, like she did when she was sick sometimes.

She ran into her room and told her father that Worf was here, and a few moments later, Miles O'Brien appeared. There was a bag slung over each of his shoulders and he was cradling Kirayoshi in his arms.

"Do you have your bag packed, Molly?" O'Brien asked his daughter, then gave the Klingon a quick, "Hey, Worf."

"Yes," replied the girl and went to the end of the sofa, where she'd stowed her bag.

"Okay, I think we're ready to go, then," O'Brien declared. "Uh, Worf, would you mind?" he asked, then handed Yoshi over to the Klingon while he struggled to adjust the bags on his shoulders.

Worf was momentarily startled by the request, but relaxed a moment later as he took the baby in his arms. For some reason the little guy found comfort in his arms, and right now, he simply looked up at Worf with his wide baby-eyes. He wished he'd been able to know Alexander at this age, and looked forward to the day when he and Jadzia would have a child of their own, and he would be given the opportunity to raise a son (or daughter) right from day one.

"All right, troop," the Irishman said, "let's ship out." Lugging her bag, Molly followed her father and Worf and Yoshi out into the corridor and they walked for a few minutes to where Aunt Nerys lived. She and her brother would be staying there for a few days while Daddy and Worf went on a holiday together. She wasn't sure where they were going, but she hoped her father had lots of fun.

Molly pressed the door chime and a moment later, Aunt Nerys appeared in the doorway. The Bajoran smiled widely, displaying almost all of her teeth, it seemed.

"Hello," the major said happily. "Come in, come in."

Molly, O'Brien and Worf went inside with their respective cargo and the chief was relieved when he finally set his two bags down on the floor. Molly put hers down right next to those ones. "

So, where are you boys off to?" Kira asked.

"I'm not exactly sure," O'Brien replied, then glanced at Worf. But the Klingon's expression didn't change. "Uh, now Major, I've got all of Yoshi's things in these two bags. The first one has all of his clothes, and the second one--"

"Chief," Kira cut in. "Don't worry. He's in good hands. And Molly will help me too, won't you?" she asked the girl.

"Yes," Molly replied with a vigorous nod.

The major turned back to O'Brien and said, "Go have fun."

"Right," O'Brien said. He turned and headed for the door before he could think of an excuse to delay his departure. He heard Worf fall into step behind him, but as the door slid aside, their departure was put on hold.

"Worf," Kira called, and the Klingon turned back. "I think Yoshi's staying here with us."

Worf realized he was still holding Kirayoshi in his arms, and grimaced in embarrassment. "Of course," he said, then handed the boy over to Kira. "Perhaps next time."

Kira smiled. "Right."

The runabout Ottawa coasted away from Deep Space Nine and Worf set a course for their destination, of which Chief O'Brien still had not clue. Since Worf had joined the crew of DS-Nine, he and his former Enterprise crewmate had never done anything together as friends, and Worf decided it was time to change that.

"I can't believe you talked me into this," O'Brien said from the co-pilot's seat. He saw a brief smile on his lips and wondered whether that was a good or bad sign. He was well aware of what sort of recreation Worf liked to engage in -- battling holodeck monsters, recreating and participating in bloody Klingon historical battles -- and he wondered if he'd make it back to the station alive.

"I can be very persuasive," Worf noted.

O'Brien chuckled. "I suppose being Chief of Security on the Enterprise for seven years must have been good for something." He smiled when Worf gave him a look. "And I can't believe you talked Julian out of coming. I never thanked you for that, by the way."

"Dr. Bashir is a fine physician, but he is not a warrior," the Klingon said. "I described the conditions we would be facing and he decided it would be best for him to remain behind."

"Maybe if you told me what you told him, *I'd* have some idea what we were facing," O'Brien suggested.

"It would not matter," Worf said. "I...exaggerated somewhat."

"Exaggerated?"

"Yes."

O'Brien looked at his companion and had a pretty good idea what Worf was talking about. He'd probably scared Julian enough that the doctor felt he probably wouldn't survive the experience.

"Where *are* we going?" the chief asked.

Worf tapped a series of keys on his console, setting the ship on auto-pilot, then swivelled his chair to face O'Brien. "We are going to the Klingon world K'Eltach to hunt sabre-bear."

"Sabre-bear?"

"A formidable prey that will ensure hours of challenging pursuit," Worf replied. "Many songs have been sung about the sabre-bear and the hunt, and before we return to the station, *we* will have sung our own song."

"I can't wait," O'Brien said, forcing a little enthusiasm into his voice. What had he gotten himself into? *Sabre-bear*? That didn't sound too promising, and he didn't even know what one looked like! Was it a bear-like creature with sabre-like claws, or fangs? How were they supposed to fight it? With phasers? Bat'leths? Their bare bloody hands?

"So, how many sabre-bears have you hunted?" he asked after a moment.

"Many," Worf replied wistfully. "I used to accompany my father on the hunt, to learn how it is done. I, of course, will teach you what I know. Together, we will be a formidable adversary against the beast."

"That's good to know," O'Brien said. "Ah, just how big are these sabre-bear?"

"Standing upright, they are as tall as a Nausicaan, with tempers to match. They are built much the same way as the big cats that once existed on Earth."

How comforting, O'Brien thought. "Why aren't they called sabre- cats then?" he asked.

"Because they are sabre-*bears*," Worf replied simply.

"Of course," O'Brien murmured. "Tell me, Worf -- why did you ask me along on this excursion?" he asked. "Why not Dax, or General Martok? I mean, don't get me wrong -- I'm honored you asked me and all; I was just curious."

Worf took a moment before answering, as if carefully contemplating his words. "Since I came to DS-Nine, we have not...bonded, as friends should do. I thought it was time we did more together than simply sharing a drink or playing darts at Quark's."

"I had no idea you even considered me a friend," O'Brien said, slightly astonished. Back on the Enterprise, Miles had never "hung out" with Worf or had dinner in his quarters or anything like that. He saw him whenever he came into the transporter room, of course, and often saw him in Ten-Forward, but the two of them had never been chummy.

"If you are not my enemy, you are my friend," Worf said.

O'Brien smiled at the simplistic viewpoint, and then realized it was good fodder for a tease. "Quark must be your friend then, right? Surely you don't consider him an enemy."

Worf gave O'Brien a look, but took the jovial ribbing in good stride. "There *are* certain individuals who belong to a category all their own," Worf told him.

"Ah, yes," O'Brien said knowingly. "Neither friends or enemies. They're a questionable lot, aren't they?"

"They are indeed," Worf agreed.

"So how long does it take to reach this -- what was it, K'Altech?"

"K'Eltach," Worf corrected. "It will take twelve hours at maximum warp."

"Which is only Warp Four in a runabout," the human noted.

"Yes," the Klingon answered. "We will use the time teach you about the hunt and what you need to know to avoid being slaughtered yourself."

"I guess that's one lesson I don't want to miss then," O'Brien remarked in good humor. Since he'd learned Worf had invited him on this trip as a friend, it had changed his viewpoint considerably. He might wind up getting mauled by a sabre-bear in the end, but strange as it seemed, he was actually looking forward to it.

The hunt, that is.

* * * *

The forests of K'Eltach were thick and green and reminded O'Brien, at least from above, of a dish Keiko had made him once that hadn't agreed with him. But as Worf brought the ship down, the woodland looked like any other -- except for the fact there were sabre-bears lurking about, but those weren't visible. At least not yet.

On landing the runabout, the two men disembarked with their gear and O'Brien followed Worf along a path towards the nearest outcropping of trees. The sun was high, and out in the open it was quite warm. The shade of the trees would be a welcome relief.

"Have you hunted sabre-bear here before?" he asked the Klingon.

"This is where I was first introduced to the glorious hunt of the sabre-bear," Worf answered. "My father brought me here when I was a boy, and I remember the excitement, the thrill, of stalking the beast in its own domain." He paused a moment, recalling the memory fondly. "What we did not know at the time, however, was that the sabre-bear was stalking *us* as well."

"What happened?" O'Brien wondered.

"The bear attacked our hunting party when we stopped near a stream to rest," Worf replied. "My uncle's shoulder was impaled by one of the bear's horns, but that was the extent of the damage."

"And the bear?"

Worf gave the human a look, then said, "Delicious."

O'Brien chuckled and they continued along. When they reached the woods, Worf led the Irishman about twenty metres into the foliage, then stopped in a small area that had been worn down by other hunters who had passed this way recently. In the middle of this area was an extinguished camp fire.

"We will wait here until dusk," said Worf, "then we will begin."

Unslinging his pack, O'Brien looked at his companion. "We hunt this thing at *night*?"

"The sabre-bear is a nocturnal creature," Worf told him.

"Ah," the chief uttered and said nothing more about it. Instead, he busied himself with building a fire, and after a few false starts, the two men were sitting around a small blaze.

After a time, O'Brien found himself staring at Worf as the Klingon gazed into the fire. It seemed strange that the two of them had worked together on the Enterprise for over five years, after which O'Brien was transferred to DS9, and now the two of them were serving together once again on the station -- and sitting around a campfire on a Klingon planet, waiting to hunt sabre-bear.

Worf glanced up and noticed the Irishman looking at him. "What?" he asked.

"Oh, nothing," O'Brien replied. "I was just thinking. We've come a long way you and I, haven't we? The Enterprise, DS-Nine...we've seen a lot."

"Yes," Worf replied weakly. What else was he supposed to say? Was O'Brien trying to engage in small talk?

"I never asked you before," O'Brien said after a silent moment, "what's the new Enterprise like? Is she better than the 'D'?"

"Better?" Worf returned. "That is a relative term, Chief. The Enterprise-E is smaller, sleeker, more sophisticated. But it is not as...comfortable as the Enterprise-D was."

"Well, that's understandable," O'Brien replied. "The Enterprise was like a hotel suite on Risa. Besides, that was your ship -- *our* ship, actually. You're not part of Captain Picard's crew anymore, so I doubt you'll ever be as comfortable there. Unless you're planning on making yearly visits," he added with a chuckle.

Worf gave him a reproachful look, but remained silent.

Suddenly, a howling noise erupted in the forest, sounding like a cross between a cry from a wolf and a sea-lion.

"Come," Worf said, rising to his feet, his stance alert. "It is time." He grabbed his spear and headed into the brush. O'Brien followed with the mean-looking mek'leth blade Worf had given him.

After jogging for about one-hundred metres, Worf stopped and sniffed the air, searching for the sabre-bear's scent. Finally, he zeroed in on the beast. "There...Do you see it, Chief?"

"Uuh..." O'Brien uttered. He couldn't see much of anything in this darkness, let alone an animal that was probably hiding from them.

About twenty metres ahead, the foliage suddenly swished and an animal bolted away to their left. Worf grunted and charged after it, blindly running through the underbrush. O'Brien couldn't believe Worf actually thought he could catch the bloody animal, but he ran after the Klingon anyway, not wanting to be left alone.

As he ploughed through the underbrush, something changed in the forest, and he recognized it immediately as being a problem. "Worf!" he called out, but the Klingon didn't respond. He called his name again, and this time Worf stopped dead in his tracks.

"What is it?" he demanded, as if upset that he'd interrupted the hunt.

"Listen," he told him.

Worf listened for a few moments. "I do not hear anything," he responded impatiently, eager to continue the hunt.

"Exactly," Miles replied. "There's not one sound beyond the two of us. Did every living thing in this forest suddenly drop dead?"

Worf's eyes narrowed. O'Brien had a point. The forest dwellers were usually not disturbed by the activity of the hunt, but now, as the Chief had said, it was as if everything had fallen silent. That fact disturbed him somewhat, though he did not know why.

"Something is not right here," he noted darkly.

"No kidding," O'Brien said. "What do we do now?"

"We continue," Worf replied. "I am still picking up the scent. But we should be cautious."

Miles nodded and they set off again, though this time it was at a comfortable hiking pace; Worf no longer seemed to be in a hurry. And when the Klingon's nose led them to their prey, he realized why: the sabre-bear was dead, already slain by some unknown predator.

"Who did this?" O'Brien asked, looking down at the creature. Up close, the sabre-bear was even larger than he'd imagined. Strangely enough, it reminded him of a cat his grandmother had when he was a kid.

"I do not know," Worf replied.

"I thought other Klingon hunting parties were supposed to wait until a group already on the hunt was finished before they started their own."

"That is true. It is a sign of respect."

"So, what -- we're dealing with a bunch of disrespectful Klingons?"

"No, it is worse than that," Worf responded in that tone of voice O'Brien was beginning to dislike.

"I'm almost afraid to ask," O'Brien muttered.

"It would appear, Chief, that *we* are now the ones being hunted."

CHAPTER TWO

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"*What?!*" O'Brien blurted. This trip had suddenly taken a downward spiral. "Are you telling me *we're* being hunted by a sabre-bear now?"

"No," Worf replied. He was scanning the dark forest for any movement. "Whoever killed this bear is hunting us. It is most likely a lone Klingon warrior on the war path."

"Oh, is *that* all?" Miles muttered dryly. "How can you be so calm about this?"

"I am not," Worf admitted. "But I do not panic easily."

O'Brien suddenly founding himself mimicking Worf, peering into the dense foliage for any sign of their adversary. He also realized he was gripping his mek'leth so tightly his knuckles were white. He forced himself to relax his fingers; but he was still primed to attack the moment the need arose.

"So what do we do now?" he asked his hunting guide.

"Now we attempt to make our way back to the runabout," Worf replied. "I believe we have overstayed our welcome."

"Won't this lone warrior of yours have disabled the ship by now?" the chief asked.

"That is a possibility."

"Then why bother?"

"Because it may *not* have been disabled it."

"Look, I don't know about you, but I don't want to have our hunting excursion ruined by a dishonorable Klingon afraid to show his face." He surged to he feet suddenly and shouted into the woods. "You hear that?! Show yourself! Or are you so afraid of a weakling human and a dishonored Klingon warrior that you fear for your own life?!" He crouched back down and glanced at Worf. "No offence."

"None taken," Worf replied. "But that was not very wise."

"I know...but it felt good," O'Brien said with a slight grin. "Maybe it'll force our friend to attack. And then we'll be ready to turn the tables on him -- turn the hunter into the hunted."

Worf looked at the human through narrowed eyes, seeing the chief in a new, intriguing way. "I have never seen this side of you, Chief," he said. "You have the blood of a warrior running through your veins."

"It's been dormant for a long time," O'Brien replied in good spirits. "But when it surfaces, you better not mess with Miles Edward O'Brien." Worf smiled. "Do you think he's watching us out there?"

"I am certain of it," the Klingon said. "But to gain the upper hand, we must ascertain his location."

"And how do we do that?"

"We return to our fire and wait," Worf answered. "Your taunting no doubt enraged him. He *will* come to us when the time is right."

"Fine by me," O'Brien returned. "I'm starting to get a little chilly now anyway."

They eventually wound their way back to their campsite and sat down. O'Brien threw a few more pieces of wood on the blaze to build it up some more and before long, the two men were warm again.

"So," Miles said after a time, "you really think I have warrior's blood in my veins?"

"Figuratively speaking, yes," Worf replied. "Your gall impressed me. It is a pity this side of you did not fully realize itself when you masqueraded as a Klingon last year."

"I *did* make a pathetic Klingon, didn't I," the chief conceded.

"You looked the part," Worf allowed, "but your behavior suggested a performer acting in the role of a Klingon. You are lucky it did not get you killed."

"Well, I wasn't planning on a career change anyway," O'Brien assured his friend.

"I am glad to hear that, Chief."

About fifteen minutes later, they heard a rustling sound from the trees to the east that drew closer and closer by the second. Finally, it paused at the edge of their campsite, but whoever or whatever it was, was still obscured behind the thick foliage.

Worf rose slowly into a crouch, raising his spear and aiming it towards the spot where their uninvited guest was concealed. O'Brien grabbed his mek'leth and held it ready for the inevitable confrontation.

"We know you are there!" Worf boomed at the dense flora. "Show yourself now, and we will show mercy." He exchanged a glance with O'Brien and they waited for a long moment. Finally, the foliage parted and out stepped their would-be assassin.

It was a Klingon girl, no more than four years of age. She stood there with her hands demurely clasped behind her back.

O'Brien blinked. "*This* is our warrior on the war path?" he asked incredulously, a smile of disbelief crossing his face. The two men relaxed, but Worf's omnipresent frown deepened even more.

"I do *not* understand," Worf muttered.

The girl, whose face showed as much expression as a block of stone, looked up at the men before her. "Are you going to hurt me?"

"Of course not, honey," O'Brien replied as he moved to the girl, his fatherly instincts taking over. "Where did you come from?" As the child side-stepped away from him, the chief saw that she held a Klingon dagger behind her back. "Hey, what's--"

The heel of a little palm lashed out and smashed into his nose, sending the Irishman sprawling backward with a painful howl. Worf had been watching everything, of course, and was ready when the girl lunged at him with the weapon. He deftly grabbed her wrist and applied pressure until his attacker squealed and dropped the knife. Trapped in his grip, the girl snarled at him impressively, but she was otherwise rendered harmless.

Her free hand, however, had other plans. It pounded harmlessly against Worf's chest, and as the second blow came, Worf caught the little fist in his own hand. Worf spun the girl around, and held her arms in such a way to cause some pain. The girl cried out again.

"Hey, Worf," O'Brien wheezed, the hand at his nose covered in blood, "ease up there. She's only a kid."

"Her intentions were far from childish, Chief," Worf answered. "She must be interrogated."

"Agreed, but breaking her limbs isn't the answer."

Worf ground his teeth together, considering, then finally relented. He looked down at the little Klingon and fixed her with a menacing gaze. "If I release you, will you attempt to escape?"

"No," the girl replied. "My destiny crosses with yours, son of Mogh."

This statement caught Worf by surprise. "You know me?"

The girl struggled in his grasp until the elder Klingon finally let her go. "Of course," she answered, rubbing her right wrist.

Worf eyed the dagger she'd dropped and picked it up, examining the House seal on the hilt. A flash of recognition crossed his face, but he wanted to hear his suspicions from the girl's own mouth.

"Sit," he told her, pointing to a spot around the fire. As the girl sat down, Worf noticed O'Brien had the med-kit open and was passing an instrument over his damaged organ. "How is your nose, Chief?"

"Better," he replied, then looked at the girl. "You pack quite a wallop there, missy."

The girl cocked her head ever-so-slightly and looked at him curiously for a moment as he repaired the nose. Finally, she nodded at him, accepting his remark as a compliment.

"Where did you get this dagger?" Worf asked her, turning the blade over in his hand.

"You know who," the girl accused. "I can see it in your eyes."

Impressive, Worf thought. "You are very perceptive for someone so young."

"I am a warrior," she replied confidently. "Perception is an important skill to have."

"Very well," Worf said. "You are the daughter of Lursa, sister of Duras."

"Yes," the girl replied.

O'Brien looked at Worf. "How'd you know that?"

"The seal of the House of Duras is on the hilt of the dagger," Worf explained. "About a year prior to her death, Lursa admitted she was with child. Evidently you are that child," he said to the girl.

"I was born later that year," she replied stiffly.

"Lursa's dead?" O'Brien asked. He recalled Lursa and her sister, B'Etor, had been involved in the Klingon civil war several years ago, and stirred up trouble on DS-Nine shortly after he was assigned there.

"Yes," Worf replied. "She and B'Etor were killed in the attack that ultimately resulted in the Enterprise's destruction at Veridian III. And you," he said to the girl, "are here to seek the Rite of Vengeance."

"You killed my mother and her sister -- and their brother," the girl spat. "It is time that *you* should die."

"I did not kill your mother and B'Etor," Worf told her. "They killed themselves by acting foolishly and allying themselves with a madman."

"You were tactical officer on your ship. You fired the phasers that destroyed them."

"They died in battle -- the desire of every Klingon warrior. Even now, your mother looks down on you from Sto-Vo-Kor, uncertain at the path you have chosen."

The girl seemed to consider this statement for a few moments. If that was true, would Lursa approve of seeking vengeance in this matter? "Do you want to die in battle?"

"If I am to die, I would prefer that it be in the midst of a glorious battle," Worf replied carefully.

"Then I challenge you to battle," the girl announced bravely, "and you will die."

O'Brien chuckled at the boastful little warrior. "Aren't you a little young to be challenging a seasoned warrior to combat?"

"Chief O'Brien is right, little one," Worf said. "It is not the time for you to make such claims."

"But it falls on me to seek vengeance on the shame you have brought on my family."

Worf gazed at her suspiciously. She spoke like someone who had been told the words, but had no idea what they meant. "Someone has been feeding you lies," he breathed, then glanced at O'Brien. "This is how blood feuds between families endure for decades. Truth is twisted out of shape and passed down to new generations," he said, looking at the girl, "who grow up to believe what they have been told by their elders."

Worf paused to give a chance for the little Klingon to say something, but she remained silent, waiting for him to continue. "It was not my family who first brought dishonor to yours, but the opposite. Have you been told of the Khitomer massacre?"

"Yes," the girl replied, though she now seemed unsure if what she'd been told was accurate -- if she could believe this Klingon. Who was to say *he* wasn't lying to protect his own family? "I was told that your father gave information to the Romulans, which allowed them to destroy the outpost."

Worf smiled; no surprise there, he thought. "I am not surprised that is the version of history you have been told. Although I do not understand why, even after the truth was uncovered in the High Council, your family is continuing to cling on to that fantasy."

"The truth was uncovered in the Council?" asked the girl.

"Yes," Worf replied. "And my father's honor -- and that of my family -- was restored by Chancellor Gowron."

The youngster seemed to look into nothingness for a moment, considering this new information. When she looked back at Worf, O'Brien thought she looked like a student enraptured with the words of a history teacher.

"What is this truth you speak of?" she asked.

"It was not my father who betrayed our people at Khitomer," Worf informed her, "but your great-grandfather, Ja'rod. His son, Duras -- your grandfather -- fabricated evidence that implicated my father, in order to protect his family. The truth remained hidden for many years. Later, when I became aware that my father was being accused of treason, I knew it could not be true. And when my mate began to uncover the truth, she was murdered by Duras. For that, I killed him."

"That was your duty," the girl said.

"Yes."

"But what about my uncle?"

"Your uncle?" Worf said, the realized who she meant. "Toral."

"Yes," came a voice from behind them, "let's talk about Uncle Toral."

Worf and O'Brien turned around and saw the illegitimate son of Duras step out of the darkness and into the firelight. He was holding a disruptor in one hand.

"Hello again, Worf," Toral said. "I see you've met my young cousin, K'Ehleyr." He smiled when Worf gaped in shock. "Yes, you heard right. It seems my late aunt had an ironic sense of humor."

"What do you mean?" K'Ehleyr asked.

"You are named for Worf's mate, who my father killed several years ago -- as you've just been told," Toral replied. "Personally, I'm repulsed by the name. I can't imagine what Lursa was thinking. She was probably drunk from too much bloodwine," he said and laughed coldly.

"Stop it, uncle!" K'Ehleyr shouted. She didn't like to hear her mother's name disrespected.

"Oh, don't take it personally, cousin," Toral pacified. "It's not your fault your mother gave you that name."

"You have a fine name, K'Ehleyr," Worf told the girl. "Do not let your cousin's words upset you."

K'Ehleyr held her head high as she glared at Toral, then turned to Worf. "I believe you were going to tell me about my cousin."

Worf glanced at Toral, who enthusiastically gestured for him to proceed, then turned his attention to the young K'Ehleyr. The girl was at an impressionable age, he knew, so he'd have to choose his words carefully.

"According to Klingon tradition," Worf began, "a son must bear the dishonor his father has brought upon his family and the Empire. Duras continued to fuel the lies that had started with his father. After I killed Duras, and it became clear that Toral was his son, he bore the weight of his family's dishonor. It fell to me as the elder son of Mogh, to take Toral's life in the Rite of Vengeance." He paused a moment, perhaps regretting his early decision. "But I refused and decided to spare his life. He was young, and had not personally done me any harm. It did not seem right to kill him."

"But why?" K'Ehleyr asked. "It was his place to die for the actions of his father and grandfather."

Why, indeed. Worf had often asked himself "why?" since he'd made that fateful decision, and wasn't always able to come up with an answer that satisfied him. Perhaps it was because he'd just reclaimed his honor and didn't want to mar the moment by killing someone; or perhaps his ideals as a Starfleet officer had prevented him from such a brutal act, even though it was the way of his own people. It had seemed to be the right decision at the time.

"You regret killing me that day, don't you," Toral said.

"No," Worf replied. "I stand by my decision. I do not blame you for the actions of your father, or his father before him."

"Then you are a fool."

K'Ehleyr turned to her uncle and asked, "Why do you hate Worf so much? His actions only followed the path of Klingon tradition. He killed your father in the Rite of Vengeance. Your sisters died in battle while facing Worf and his ship."

"And he ignored another chance at vengeance by sparing my life!"

"But if he had taken that chance you would be dead now!" K'Ehleyr squeaked. "You should be thanking him, not trying to kill him."

"Listen to you!" Toral spat at the girl. "You are starting to sound like Worf."

"I hear the words of an honorable warrior, not those of a liar," the girl shot back. Both Worf and O'Brien were continually impressed that the youngster was actually only four years old. She had the presence of someone more than twice her age. "You told me lies about Worf so that I would feel angry enough to kill him for you. That was why you sent me here. Are you too cowardly to fight your own battles that you would have a girl complete the task for you?"

"I wanted to give you the honor of killing an enemy of our family!" Toral answered.

"Under false pretences, uncle! He is only an enemy of our family because of our own family's dishonorable actions. The only enemy of the House of Duras is the House of Duras itself."

"And as your are my witness, *uncle*," she said speaking the word in a resentful tone as she rose to her feet, "I renounce our family and spit upon its name." She even spat for effect. "It dishonors me to be associated with it in any way."

Toral's face was twisted in a display of disbelief and outrage. His family's name was being raked through the coals by a child! Why had he come up with the idea of bringing her here in the first place? If he'd been alone, Worf would be dead by now. Instead, the infidel was still alive and gained an ally in the person who'd been sent to kill him.

Unable to find any words to express his feelings, the son of Duras roared like a beast and tossed away his disruptor, lunging at the girl with his bare hands. K'Ehleyr cried out in alarm and backpedalled right into the arms of O'Brien, who pulled her away before the enraged Klingon could grab hold of her. Instead, Toral found himself head-to- head with Worf.

"So," Worf said with a certain glee, "you add to your dishonor by trying to kill a child of your own house." He slammed the heal of his hand into Toral's face and the young man cried out in pain, stumbling back and clutching his nose.

Toral cried out and charged again, but Worf was ready with the dagger he'd confiscated from K'Ehleyr, and the blade sank into Toral's gut rushed the son of Mogh. A look of disbelief crossed the younger Klingon's face as he looked shakily down at the knife.

Still holding the blade, Worf twisted the knife inside Toral's body, a snarl curling his upper lip. He leaned in close and whispered, "Ironic that you should be killed by your own knife, at my hands." He released the blade and stepped back.

Toral's face had paled considerably and he fought to maintain his equilibrium. His hands were pressed to his wound, but he made no effort to pull out the knife; blood oozed profusely between his fingers, so it wouldn't have made much difference anyway. He opened his mouth to speak, but more blood gurgled out of his mouth, and he coughed, choking on the blood coming up his throat. When his air passage was clear, he finally spoke.

"At last," he wheezed, dropping to his knees, "justice...is done." With that, he fell backward to the ground. It took several minutes for him to finally die, but no one moved or said a word until Toral, son of Duras, had uttered his final breath.

Worf looked down at K'Ehleyr as she stared at her uncle's dead body, seemingly transfixed by the sight: the vacant, staring eyes, the d'k tagh knife protruding from his gut, the blood everywhere. It was death, and Worf was reminded of a brief speech he'd given Alexander before the body of the boy's mother, and he felt compelled to repeat it now to this young girl.

He crouched next to young K'Ehleyr and placed a hand on her shoulder. "Look upon death, K'Ehleyr, and remember it. It is a part of us, and should not be feared. Embrace it when it comes and you will be remembered with dignity and honor."

Together, they watched the body of Toral, as if standing watch as his spirit departed for Sto-Vo-Kor.

O'Brien, feeling increasingly awkward as their apparent fascination with the body continued, cleared his throat and said in a gung-ho manner, "Anyone care to go hunt some sabre-bear?"

His only response was the renewed chatter of the forest creatures that had been silent for far too long.

CHAPTER THREE

^^^^^^^^^^^^^

No one wanted to hunt sabre-bear, and truth be told, O'Brien didn't really want to either. This whole hunting party had taken somewhat of an unexpected turn and had developed into something quite unusual, particularly for Worf.

The Klingon had finally rid himself of Toral, the son of Duras who'd been a thorn in Worf's side for a number of years. And now, the latest member of the House of Duras (who'd been named for Worf's deceased mate, K'Ehleyr -- who'd been killed by Duras himself) had attached herself to Worf after originally attempting to kill him, no thanks to the propaganda her uncle had fed her. And now, with the truth having been told -- the *real* truth, of course -- young K'Ehleyr wanted nothing more to do with the Duras family and wanted instead to join Worf's family.

Just another typical day of Klingon family political upheaval, O'Brien thought as the three of them hiked back to the runabout.

Thankfully, their earlier fears that the runabout might have been damaged beyond repair by those who'd been hunting them, were unfounded. Either Toral hadn't seen the runabout or it hadn't occurred to him to neutralize it. Or, perhaps, he'd realized that as a Klingon warrior, Worf would not have turned tail and run for the ship, and instead face whoever had been stalking them. F

ortunately, the latter had been the case.

They boarded the ship and prepared it for takeoff, and before long, the Ottawa was lifting off from the planet K'Eltach and heading home. Worf had settled young K'Ehleyr into one of the bunks in the aft compartment, then returned to the cockpit where O'Brien was sitting quietly. The Irishman seemed to be in pensive mood, Worf thought, and he wondered how much of that had to do with their failed hunt.

"I am sorry, Chief," the Klingon said after he'd sat down. O

'Brien turned, puzzled. "For what?"

"Our hunting expedition did not go as planned," Worf said. "I know you were looking forward to snagging your first sabre-bear."

Well, not exactly, Miles thought. "Ah, don't worry about it. There's always another sabre-bear to be hunted, right? Maybe next time."

A small smile crept onto the Klingon's face, ever so briefly, and he nodded at his crewmate. "You are an agreeable man, Chief."

"I think that's why Keiko married me," O'Brien replied with a chuckle. "Besides," he said after a moment, "I think what happened today was a little more significant than a mere sabre-bear hunt, don't you think?"

"Yes," Worf agreed, though he didn't elaborate on his brief statement.

O'Brien continued when it was clear Worf would not. "I mean, who's left in the Duras family to cause you any grief? Duras's father died a long time ago, Duras is dead, Lursa and B'Etor are dead, and now Toral is dead. And little K'Ehleyr back there," he said nodding his head aft, "thinks the world of you."

"I am unaware of any other Duras that exist," Worf answered. "As far as I know, K'Ehleyr is the last of the Duras clan. I do not believe Toral was a father himself."

"There you go then," the Chief said happily. "Clear sailing ahead."

"Of course," Worf went on, "there is the matter of K'Ehleyr."

"What about her?"

"I suddenly find myself the guardian of a young girl," Worf said. He said "young girl" like it was some alien concept.

"So? You're a father already."

"But...I do not have any experience raising...*a female*."

"You didn't have any experience raising a male when Alexander first came aboard the Enterprise," O'Brien said. "What's the difference?"

"The difference is...she is a girl. I cannot raise a girl to be a warrior."

"Why not? Weren't Lursa and B'Etor considered warriors?"

"Yes, but--"

"And who knows, maybe K'Ehleyr won't want to be a warrior, just like Alexander didn't want to be a warrior. Maybe she'll want to be a...a...oh, I don't know -- a botanist."

Worf let out an amused laugh, a peculiar sound O'Brien had only heard once or twice in the past. "Chief..."

"You're right," O'Brien allowed. "Botany isn't exactly a typical Klingon occupation. They'd sooner *eat* the plants than grow them."

"K'Ehleyr is still young," Worf said. "What she plans to do with her life is not a concern that needs to be dealt with now."

"True enough. Now's the time for her to be a little kid."

"My main concern is how Jadzia will react when I bring K'Ehleyr back to the station," Worf admitted.

"You don't think she'll be pleased?"

"I don't know *what* she'll think. I am uncertain if she is prepared to be a mother."

"Who's ever prepared to be a mother? Besides, Dax has been a mother several times before. The advantage to living multiple lives is you get a lot of practice in certain areas -- like parenting, for example."

"Still, *Jadzia* has never been a parent."

"But we're talking about Jadzia *Dax*, Worf. Big difference."

"I know, but that is not what I mean. Jadzia Dax is not entirely the same entity as the previous Daxes. Becoming a parent will still be a new experience for her, at least to some degree."

"You're probably right," O'Brien conceded. "So, does this mean you're actually going to raise K'Ehleyr as your own?"

"I do not know," Worf replied. "I will have to ask K'Ehleyr what she wishes. At the very least, she will not want to remain a member of the House of Duras."

"I don't blame her."

* * * *

As Jadzia Dax leaned against the bulkhead opposite Airlock to Runabout Pad C, she was surprised to see General Martok appear from down the corridor. The one-eyed Klingon nodded at her, his large form an intimidating presence to anyone who didn't know that deep down, the Klingon was just a big, ugly pussy-cat.

"Commander," he said to the Trill, his long black hair swaying slightly forward.

"General," Dax nodded back.

"I see Worf has summoned you here as well," Martok said. He sounded somewhat annoyed, as if he'd been pulled away from something more important.

"Yes. Do you have any idea what this is all about?" she asked. "He was pretty vague in his message."

"He was just as forthcoming when he spoke to me," the Klingon admitted.

"Hm," Dax uttered thoughtfully. "Well, they should be docking any time now. I guess we'll just have to wait and see."

"I don't like mysteries, Commander," Martok said, more to himself, really, than to Dax. He turned to the airlock, folding his arms across his armoured chest. "Worf's request to meet him here puzzles me greatly, and I don't like puzzles either."

"Puzzles *are* mysteries, aren't they?"

"They are indeed," Martok answered, misunderstanding the Trill's query.

Before long, they saw activity on the other side of the airlock, indicating that the runabout had landed and Worf and O'Brien would be disembarking momentarily. And sure enough, as the inner gear-like door slide aside, their crewmates stepped into the inner chamber towards the outer door. And then the door before Dax and Martok opened and they saw Worf -- and the young Klingon girl standing in front of him. They gazed at the girl, then Worf, then each other, then back at the girl again.

O'Brien appeared next, walking up from behind Worf and then around him, and regarded the silence being exchanged between the four Klingons. He paused a moment, wondering what to do, then decided his presence wasn't likely required here.

"Well," he said, stepping down into the corridor, "I'll just go pick up Molly and Yoshi now. I'm sure they've been driving Major Kira crazy." When no one responded, or even looked his way, he took off.

"So," Martok said, "who do we have here?" He fixed the young Klingon with a questioning gaze, his single eye narrowed to a mere slit. The girl didn't waver in the slightest, keeping her head held high, and the general had to give her credit for her strong demeanor.

"I am K'Ehleyr," the girl said, and upon hearing the name, Dax glanced at Worf, who gave her a non-look in return.

"Well, K'Ehleyr," Martok was saying, "welcome to Deep Space Nine."

"Thank you," the girl replied, then her eyes shifted to the Trill. "Who are you?"

"I'm Jadzia, Worf's wife," Dax replied with a smile.

"But you're not Klingon."

"That's right."

K'Ehleyr craned her neck to look up at Worf, who just returned the look without a word. To Martok and Dax, he said, "Come, we four have much to discuss."

They left the docking ring and made their way to the Promenade, where K'Ehleyr was in awe of everything around her, staring silently at the wide variety of people walking around, and the many items on display in the kiosks they passed by. The vastness of the Promenade itself was quite awesome as well, and she felt so much smaller than she actually was.

Dax couldn't help but notice that K'Ehleyr never strayed from Worf's side, despite her obvious desire to examine the wonders of the Promenade more closely. The Trill desperately wanted to know who this child was, where she'd come from and whether it was a coincidence that she had the same name as Worf's previous mate. Curious, indeed.

The group made their way to the crossover bridge connecting the Promenade to the habitat ring, and proceeded to the quarters shared by Worf and Dax. Worf sat down on the sofa with K'Ehleyr, Dax positioned herself opposite her, and General Martok, as was generally the norm for him, remained standing.

"K'Ehleyr is the daughter of Lursa, sister of Duras," Worf began.

"Duras!" Martok spat. "A name that carries much dishonor in the Empire." The girl looked at the general, but remained silent.

"Why would Lursa name her daughter after your mate, whom her brother killed?" Dax asked.

"Toral believed it was Lursa's sense of humor that led her to do it," Worf replied.

"Toral is involved in this as well?" Dax recalled an encounter with the son of Duras two years ago during the search for the Sword of Kahless. She didn't particularly like the man.

"Yes," Worf answered. "He had sent K'Ehleyr to kill me, to rid his family of a blood enemy."

"It would appear she failed," Martok noted.

"Yes," Worf said, turning to the girl, "but she put up a valiant effort. For a time, the blood of a warrior flowed through her veins."

The girl smiled, then felt the urge to explain herself. "My cousin told me lies about the history between the Duras and Worf's family," she said. "He made me believe that Worf had dishonored us, and therefore needed to die."

"But you didn't believe him?" asked Dax.

"I *did* believe him," K'Ehleyr said. "That's why I tried to kill Worf. But Worf explained everything to me, the real history. And Toral didn't deny any of it."

Martok shook his head. "It does not surprise me that Toral would try to pass lies off as truth, even after those lies have been publicly denounced." He paused a moment, then looked at Worf. "What happened to him?"

"I killed him when he attempted to kill K'Ehleyr," Worf replied. "I was not about to let another member of the Duras family kill a second honorable Klingon with the name K'Ehleyr."

"So what now for you, young K'Ehleyr?" Martok asked the girl.

"I'm not sure," she replied. "But I want nothing more to do with the House of Duras. I wish to rid myself of that burden."

"With the death of Toral," Worf said, "K'Ehleyr has no more family. I thought perhaps, if you were willing, General, she could join the House of Martok."

"Ah, now my presence here becomes clear," Martok said, nodding.

"But what about your family, Worf?" K'Ehleyr protested. "I wish to become part of the great House of Mogh."

"There is no House of Mogh, K'Ehleyr," Worf told her. "At least not one that is officially recognized within the Empire. When I opposed Chancellor Gowron's invasion of Cardassia, he stripped my family of it's lands and holdings, and its place on the High Council. To speak of the House of Mogh is to spit upon the honor of Gowron. I was invited to join the House of Martok, and I accepted."

"Perhaps," Martok said to the girl, "when the reign of Gowron comes to an end, it will be time for the House of Mogh to resurface and to be spoken of with honor."

"Then...I choose to wait until that time," K'Ehleyr declared, then looked up at Martok. "No offence intended towards your family, General."

"None taken," Martok replied. "However, you cannot live within the Empire without a House to your name and expect to be looked upon with respect. Until the return of the House of Mogh, I would be honored if you would consider yourself a member of the House of Martok...when the need arises."

K'Ehleyr nodded after a moment. "I accept."

"Good!" Martok said, pleased with himself. "On that note, I will take my leave. Leskit has been pestering me to give him more challenging battle simulations, so I shall give him one he won't soon forget." He nodded to the others, then departed.

"So, Worf," Dax said, leaning back in her chair and propping her feet up on the table, "it appears we have a young Klingon under our care."

"Yes," said Worf, glancing down at the girl. "How do you...feel about that?"

Dax smiled that smile of hers and said, "I couldn't be happier. I've always enjoyed raising daughters."

K'Ehleyr glanced at Dax curiously. "You have other children?"

"Not exactly."

"But you said..."

"It is a long story," Worf cut in. "However, I do have a son, named Alexander."

"He is the son you had with K'Ehleyr," the girl said.

Worf nodded. "Yes."

K'Ehleyr looked at him for a long moment, nearly long enough to make him uncomfortable under her scrutiny. "You still miss her greatly."

At this statement, Worf glanced uncomfortably at Dax, but the Trill merely arched an eyebrow and waited for his response, a slightly amused expression on her face.

For a short moment, Worf wasn't sure how to respond. He didn't want to upset Dax, and he didn't want to deny his feeling for his deceased mate. But the truth of the matter was, he *did* miss K'Ehleyr. He didn't think of her everyday, as he once did following her death, but occasionally something would trigger his memory of her, be it seeing Alexander again or painfully banging his shin on a table. K'Ehleyr had completed him like no other had, or will again.

"Yes," he replied finally, and hoped that was sufficient. "Come, we should take you to the Infirmary and have Dr. Bashir check you out to ensure you are healthy."

"I *am* healthy," the girl informed him.

"Still, it would be best to sure."

"I *am* sure."

"But *I* am not."

"Aww," Dax said with a light chuckle, "your first argument. How sweet."

Both Worf and K'Ehleyr turned on her with icy stares and that was enough to halt Dax's train of thought before it went any further.

"And then the bear stood up on it's hind legs and roared like you wouldn't believe," O'Brien was saying. He was sitting on a biobed as Dr. Bashir examined his nose. "It had to be at least twelve feet tall and half that wide. And those fangs! Let me tell you, these beasts aren't called sabre-bears for nothing."

"I'm sure," Julian said. "Please, go on."

"Anyway, with Worf knocked unconscious, it was left to me to bring the dreaded sabre-bear down. I gripped my simple spear and stared into the beast's eyes. Julian, I'm telling you they were cold eyes -- dead eyes. We stood there, eyes locked, like two sworn enemies meeting for the final battle to the death..." He trailed off into silence.

"*And*?" Julian prompted, passing a medical instrument over O'Brien's nose. The chief gave him a blank look. "Well, what happened next, man?"

"Ah, I don't know," Miles replied meekly. "I haven't worked the rest of it out yet."

Bashir laughed and shook his head. "You're nasty, Chief."

From behind the two men, the sound of a throat clearing caught their attention and they turned to see Worf and K'Ehleyr standing in the doorway.

"Worf," O'Brien uttered. "I, ah, didn't realize you were there."

"Clearly," the Klingon replied with some amusement. "You retell history as accurately as Gowron did following the Klingon civil war."

"Thanks," Miles returned uncertainly. "...I think."

Julian grinned. "You know, on Bajor they used to call him 'The Storyteller'."

"I don't doubt it," Worf replied.

O'Brien gave Julian a sour look, but the doctor just laughed again and clapped his friend on the back. "You're all done, Chief. Your nose is as good as new."

"Thanks a lot, Julian," O'Brien said, then headed out.

"Chief," Worf uttered deeply, causing the human to turn back. "I look forward to hearing the rest of your story."

Miles grinned wanly. "I'll let you know," he said with a nod, then left the Infirmary.

Bashir chuckled again, then regarded the big man and the young Klingon girl standing next to him. "So, Mr. Worf, what can I do for you and your young friend?"

"This is K'Ehleyr, Doctor," Worf informed him. "I would like you to give her a full examination."

"Very well," Bashir replied. "Is there anything specific I'm looking for?"

"No. She has been through some...tough times, and I would like to ensure she is as healthy as she claims to be." He glanced down at the girl and found her smiling at him.

"All right then," Julian agreed. "I'll let you know when we're finished."

"I prefer to remain here."

"Um, since this is going to be a *full* examination, I'm not sure K'Ehleyr would feel comfortable with you standing watch. Am I right?" he asked her.

"You are indeed, Doctor," K'Ehleyr agreed most happily.

"Nevertheless, I--"

"*Sisko to Worf*," came the captain's voice over Worf's combadge.

The Klingon made a face, then responded promptly. "Worf here, sir."

"*Would you report to my office please.*"

"I am on my way," he replied, then glanced at Bashir as if he'd had something to do with Sisko's timely interruption. "Inform me when your examination is complete."

"Good idea," Julian agreed.

Worf sighed faintly, then left the Infirmary. K'Ehleyr, for her part, was quite impressed with the way Julian had handled the Klingon.

"I like you already, Doctor," she said with a smile.

****

"You wanted to see me, sir?"

Benjamin Sisko glanced up as the doors to his office groaned closed and regarded his strategic operations officer as he stood rigidly before the captain's desk. "Yes, Mister Worf. Please, have a seat." He gestured to an empty chair and the big Klingon visibly deflated before sat down. "I understand your hunting trip with Chief O'Brien didn't go quite as planned."

Inwardly, Worf sighed. Sometimes he was amazed how quickly information spread on a space station as large as this one. How many people had O'Brien told his tale to before he'd caught him in the Infirmary? he wondered.

"Yes," Worf said. "We encountered some difficulties."

"Difficulties?" Sisko said with some surprise. "From what Chief O'Brien has been saying, that sounds like an understatement." "The Chief has been...exaggerating...the details of what happened."

"I see," said the captain. "Then Toral, son of Duras, didn't really come close to having you killed?"

"No, that part is accurate," Worf replied, then amended: "Although it was not *that* close."

Sisko let a small smile creep onto his face, then staved it off with some effort. "Should we expect retaliation for Toral's death?"

"I do not think so," said Worf. "As far as I know, there are no more Duras alive to carry on the blood feud."

"What about the girl you brought back?"

"She has renounced her family name."

"Loyal friends of the family?"

"They would not risk starting a blood feud with the House of Martok simply to get back at me. Besides, I suspect even Toral's friends did not like him all that much. He is dead, and that is the end of it."

"Well," Sisko said with a satisfied sigh, "I hope you're right. That will be all, Commander."

Worf rose and departed, passing by Major Kira on his way to the turbolift.

"Oh, Commander," the Bajoran called, halting him. "That little girl you and Dax adopted is adorable. I never knew Klingon kids could be so cute."

Worf did everything he could do to keep from rolling his eyes. "We have not adopted her, Major. At the moment she is merely a guest."

Kira's grin faded somewhat. "Oh, but Chief O'Brien said--"

"Chief O'Brien has said many things since we returned," Worf interrupted with disdain, "very little of which has been true."

"Oh," Kira said as Worf turned and continued to the turbolift. "Well, she's still cute."

****

"You don't say, Chief," Garak's voice rang out into the Promenade. "Well, I must say that *is* quite a story."

Worf stopped dead in his tracks as he heard the flamboyant Cardassian's voice echo out from his shop. He sighed, subtly ground his teeth together then headed for the clothing shop. He paused in the doorway and saw Chief O'Brien talking to the tailor.

"Chief!" Worf barked from the entrance. Both human and Cardassian jumped at the suddenness of Worf's voice and turned with startled looks on their faces.

"Ah, Worf...buddy," he said lamely, then swallowed hard. Miles didn't think his old friend would kill him, but there was always the possibility of broken bones and/or psychological damage.

"I would speak with you," the Klingon said deeply, his eyes barely visible under his furrowed brow.

"Well, Chief," Garak said and clapped O'Brien on the back, "it was nice knowing you. I'll pass the bill for that hemming job on to your widow."

"Thanks a lot," O'Brien muttered then joined Worf. He put on a cheery face and turned his twinkling eyes to the Klingon. "What can I do for you, Worf?"

"You can stop spinning lies about what happened on K'Eltach."

"I haven't been lying," O'Brien returned somewhat defensively. He didn't like being called a liar, even when the accusation was more or less sort of valid. "I've been..."

"Exaggerating," Worf supplied brusquely. "Yes, I know. But the events that took place are sufficient as they happened and do not require your...colorful...enhancements. You are dishonoring the memory of what happened by altering the facts. Klingon history, even something as trivial as a feud between rival houses, should not be tainted to make it sound better to a waiting audience."

O'Brien was silent for a moment. He hadn't realized the severity of what he'd been doing. "I'm sorry, Worf. I meant no disrespect. I was just having a little fun, that's all."

"Apology accepted," Worf said.

"Do you think I should announce a retraction through the station's comm system regarding my 'colorful enhancements'?"

Worf smiled slightly. "I do not think that will be necessary."

O'Brien chuckled. The suggestion hadn't been a serious one and had been meant only to lighten the mood, so he was glad Worf had rejected the idea.

*"Bashir to Worf,"* came the doctor's comm voice.

"Go ahead, Doctor," the Klingon replied.

*"Would you report to the Infirmary immediately please."*

"On my way," he said, then turned to the chief. "K'Ehleyr must be through with her examination. I will see you later, Chief."

"Will do," O'Brien replied and watched him stride away.

When Worf entered the Infirmary a few minutes later, he was momentarily concerned. K'Ehleyr was nowhere in sight, and for a moment he thought perhaps something had happened and she'd been taken somewhere else -- perhaps the surgical ward, or--

"Ah, there you are," Bashir said as he came out from another room.

"Where is K'Ehleyr, Doctor?"

Julian could see the concern on his face, and made his discovery even more profound. "Don't worry, Dax picked her up about ten minutes ago."

"Then why have you called me here?"

"Come with me, please." He led Worf over to a diagnostic screen and keyed in a few commands. "I discovered something rather interesting during my examination of K'Ehleyr and thought you should know about it." On the screen, an image came up and moved across the screen. "Do you know what this is?"

Worf looked at the image for a moment. "It looks like a DNA pattern."

"Correct," Bashir said. "In fact, it's yours."

The Klingon looked down at the human with increasing impatience. "Doctor, I do not understand what this has to do with K'Ehleyr. Why have you called up *my* DNA pattern?"

"Well, that's just it -- I didn't. Your DNA pattern came up when I did her bloodwork."

Worf was hearing Bashir's words, but he was having trouble comprehending them. "Doctor..." he said, gazing at the viewscreen, refusing to see the connection. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying, Commander, that K'Ehleyr is *your* daughter."

CHAPTER FOUR

^^^^^^^^^^^^

Worf's eyes bulged wide for a moment, then relaxed when he realized Bashir's information must be faulty. "That cannot be," he said with certainty.

"Well, DNA can't lie," Julian told him and brought up another image on his screen. "Look here -- this is the DNA pattern from your medical file. And this," he said pointing to a second image, "is the the same pattern found in K'Ehleyr's blood. This one right over here would have been passed down from her mother, but there's no question who the father is."

"But this is impossible," he said, despite the proof staring him in the face. "I never mated with Lursa. K'Ehleyr cannot be my daughter."

"And yet, she clearly is," Julian pointed out. "Can you think of *anything* that might explain how it happened?"

Worf thought about that for a moment and could think of only one occasion that might be related. "Six years ago I was captured by Lursa and B'Etor during the Klingon civil war. For a time I was unconscious, and when I awoke, they expressed their wish for me to mate with B'Etor, to continue the Duras line and strengthen my own family through an alliance with them."

"You refused, of course," Julian said.

"Yes," Worf replied. "However, I suppose it *is* possible that they somehow extracted my DNA while I was unconscious, in the event that I refused their offer."

"Sounds plausible," Bashir agreed. "If that's true, though, why was it Lursa who wound up with the child and not B'Etor?"

"I do not know," Worf said. "And another thing: Lursa did not become pregnant until two years after that time. K'Ehleyr should be two years older than she is."

Julian's brow knitted briefly as he pondered that puzzle. "Well, you said this was during a period of civil war on your homeworld. She probably felt it wasn't an ideal time to be pregnant, so she may have put the DNA in some sort of stasis and waited until the crisis was over. This would account for K'Ehleyr's age variance."

Worf nodded thoughtfully and stepped closer to the DNA display, still boggled by this revelation. He had a daughter. First, an unexpected son, and now a daughter. He was surprised he hadn't heard any rumours regarding the child's parentage. Why hadn't Lursa made it publicly known -- or at the very least, to her own family members -- that he was the father of her child. Clearly, Toral had been ignorant of the girl's true parentage. Of course, at the time, the House of Mogh had still been out of favor, but he still couldn't fathom why Lursa would use his DNA to create a child if not to use it as some sort of leverage against him? Why had she kept the truth from him four years ago when it was revealed on the Enterprise that she was with child? He certainly couldn't believe this was all the result of some forbidden affection she'd harboured for him. *That* was too preposterous to even consider.

"So, what are you going to do now?" Bashir asked.

Worf looked at the doctor. "What do you mean?"

"Well, are you going to tell K'Ehleyr the truth? She's really quite fond of you, you know. I'm sure she'd be delighted to know you were her father."

"I am not certain," Worf replied. "This matter must be handled with great care." He nodded and started to leave, then paused for a moment. "I trust you will keep this revelation to yourself."

"Of course," Julian replied.

Worf nodded, then went on his way.

****

"Miles, what's wrong?" Keiko O'Brien asked her husband as they sat together in their quarters. She absently scratched Chester's ears, the feline cuddled contentedly in her lap. "You look about as cheerful as a Brikar birthday clown."

The Irishman chuckled lightly after picturing that truly cheerless image. "That's a funny thought."

"Come on, what's the problem?" Keiko prodded.

"I think I insulted Worf today," O'Brien said. "Making up all those stories about what happened was disrespectful of the seriousness of how things really happened, and he called me on it."

"But you apologized, didn't you?"

"Of course. And Worf accepted the apology."

"But...?"

"But," the chief went on, "I still feel lousy. I mean, after serving with Worf for over five years on the Enterprise and three years here, I've learned a thing or two about Klingon tradition and rituals. And what do I do? I turn around and make a blunder like this. I don't even know why I did it in the first place. It was childish!" he berated himself.

"Don't beat yourself up about it, Miles," Keiko told him. "Worf forgave you. Just put it on the list of stupid things you've done in your life and move on."

"Ah, you're right. There's no sense in dwelling on--" O'Brien broke off, realizing what his wife just said. "Hey, what list?"

"List?" Keiko asked innocently. "Did I mention a list?"

****

K'Ehleyr ventured along the upper level of the promenade and felt like a greeber worm in a huge planting field. The station was so big and wide, and there were so many different people walking here and there, that she felt somewhat insignificant and vulnerable. If she was suddenly snuffed out of existence, she doubted anyone would notice.

She approached the railing and looked down. Standing together near some sort of booth were three Klingons, one of whom was General Martok, the one-eyed man she'd met earlier. She'd liked Martok from the outset; he looked mean, especially with the one eye, but deep down he was nice enough.

There were so many different-looking people here it was hard to keep track of them all. There were many humans here, she observed, including quite a number that seemed to have damaged the bridge of their noses. These ones also wore jewellery on one ear, so perhaps they were part of some cult.

"Can I help you?"

K'Ehleyr turned upon hearing the voice and saw a strange being standing before her. He was humanoid, but didn't have very much detail on his face, as if someone had been moulding him out of clay and then abruptly gave up, leaving him unfinished.

"No thank you," the girl replied.

"Are you here with your parents?" Odo asked.

"I don't have any parents."

"Then how did you get here?"

K'Ehleyr tried to think of a creative answer to give the man, but couldn't manage it. "I came with Worf."

"Ah," Odo said, nodding. "And does he know you're here?"

"I don't think so."

"Should you be out here by yourself?"

"I'm not. There are a lot of other people around here," she said, spreading her arms out to indicate the station's many denizens.

"But they're not *with* you, are they?"

"Not exactly."

"Then maybe we should find Commander Worf and let him know where you are."

"That isn't really necessary."

"Oh? And why not?"

"I'm old for my age. I can take care of myself."

"You don't look very old to me."

"Klingon children mature very quickly."

Odo eyed the girl appraisingly. Indeed, she spoke like someone much older than she appeared, and she certainly knew how to hold her own in a conversation with him. Still, he didn't like the idea of a little child roaming around the station by herself. The Promenade itself was harmless enough, but there were certain areas that could become careful is she wasn't careful. Hell, she could take a wrong step and find herself tumbling over the railing right here.

"I'll tell you what," he said finally. "I'm going on my rounds now. If you'd like, you can accompany me. That way, you'll be able to see a lot of the station and be safe at the same time."

"Okay," she said, sounding quite agreeable. "What's your name?" she asked as they started off.

"Odo," the Changeling replied. "I'm the Chief of Security on this station."

"Where's our first stop, Odo?" K'Ehleyr asked.

Odo smiled a moment before he said, "Quark's," and then the two of them headed towards the bar/casino.

When they walked into the establishment, K'Ehleyr felt like she'd stepped into another world. There were so many things happening at once, so much noise, that it was hard to know where to look first. Thankfully she was with Odo, and she just followed him to the bar. The shape-shifter lifted her up onto one of the stools that lined this side of the long table, but he remained standing. After a moment, a sharp-toothed alien came over. He had a bulbous head and ears that looked like larger, orangier versions of targ doo-doo, which she'd seen once on a farm near where her mother had raised her. Thankfully this fellow didn't smell the same.

"What can I do for you, Odo?" Quark asked, then glanced at the Klingon girl. "Is this your new deputy?"

"No," replied the Changeling. "She's a visitor accompanying me on my rounds. "That doesn't make you *nervous*, does it?"

"Of course not," the Ferengi said smoothly. "I have nothing to hide."

"Not today, perhaps," Odo murmured.

K'Ehleyr was enjoying the bantering men and she smiled at them. "How long have you two been friends?"

"Friends?!" Quark scoffed and laughed like a sick banshee. He bent over the bar as he chortled, as if he was in danger of losing his balance.

"Hunh!" was Odo's response, and he folded his arms across his chest as if to block himself from any further ludicrous claims. "What makes you think we're friends?"

The girl shrugged. "I don't know." Clearly she did, but neither Odo or Quark had any desire to press her for further details.

"Have you had any problems?" Odo asked of the Ferengi, getting back to business.

"Nothing beyond the usual," Quark replied. "Certainly nothing that requires your services."

Odo narrowed his eyes and peered at the the other man as if ready to make some sort of accusation, but then he uttered another "Hunh," and looked down at K'Ehleyr. "All right, let's go."

"We're leaving already?" the Klingon asked as Odo lifted her off her stool.

"Don't worry," Quark said to her, leaning across the bar. "You come back without your chaperone and I'll give you a free glass of Trixian bubble juice."

K'Ehleyr smiled at the Ferengi as Odo led her away.

****

The door slid aside with its usual groan and Worf found himself looking at Dax as she stood in the middle of their quarters, a frown on her face and a hand pressed to her forehead.

"What's wrong?" he asked. He didn't need to be an empath to know something wasn't right.

"Uhhm," uttered Dax. She glanced around the room as if looking for something, and Worf was beginning to get the uncomfortable feeling he knew what was missing.

"Jadzia..." he prodded.

"Worf...*dear*...I don't want you to overreact when I tell you this, but--"

"You have lost K'Ehleyr," Worf blurted. "Haven't you?"

Dax was first surprised that her husband had figured out that, yes, K'Ehleyr was indeed missing; but then she was more surprised that he would actually accuse her of *losing* the child. The nerve of him!

"I *didn't* lose her," she shot back at him. "It's not as if I left her on a table in Quark's and forgot about her."

"Do not try to lighten the mood by referring to my first edition Luk'Shar opera. That was the *wrong* metaphor to use."

"I'm sorry -- you're right," Dax said, rolling her eyes. She remembered Worf's panic when he told he'd 'misplaced' his precious opera.

"How could you have left her alone in the first place?"

"I had to step out for a minute or two," Dax said. "Lieutenant Gorman needed to show me something in the science lab."

"And it couldn't have waited?"

"Worf, I'm the science officer on this station," Dax said pointedly. "Whenever I get the chance to actually exercise my abilities in that area, I jump at it."

"Could you not have taken her with you?"

"I was only going to be gone ten minutes."

"I entrusted her to your care. If you cannot..." Worf stopped, feeling it best not to make things worse by saying something he would regret later.

"What?" Dax pushed. "Go ahead and say it. I can handle it."

"Never mind. What we should concern ourselves with now is--"

"Worf," the Trill sighed. "We're married now. If we can't be honest with each other, then we're not going to last. And I'm not about to give all those people who put wagers on how long our marriage is going to last the satisfaction of seeing us break up."

"Very well," Worf said. "I was going to say--"

At just that opportune moment, the door to their quarters swung open and K'Ehleyr appeared in the doorway with Odo. The girl walked inside, but Odo remained in the threshold.

"K'Ehleyr," Worf said. "Where have you been?"

"I was with Odo on his rounds," the girl replied.

Odo spoke up to expand on her explanation. "I found her wandering around the Promenade alone and decided to bring her with me for safekeeping."

"Why didn't you contact me?" Worf demanded.

"She claimed it wasn't necessary."

"She is just a girl."

"Who can take care of herself," K'Ehleyr chimed in.

"Look, Commander," Odo said, "She wasn't in harm's way and it gave her the opportunity to see a lot of the station."

"I was in Quark's," she said with glee.

Worf opened his mouth to protest that point, but Dax deftly interjected. "That's wonderful, honey. But you should have told one of us -- or waited until I came back. You worried us both very much." She glanced up at Worf.

"Yes," agreed Worf.

"And I suppose," Odo said, "I should have informed you of her whereabouts, despite her assurances to the contrary."

"I wouldn't have liked that," K'Ehleyr maintained.

"You're just a child. You would have survived the disappointment," he told her dryly. "Now, if that's the end of the crisis, I'll be on my way."

"Thank you, Odo," Dax and K'Ehleyr said at the same time. The Changeling nodded once and departed.

"Well," said K'Ehleyr, "now that that's over with..."

"Just a minute," Worf said. "We are not finished here." The girl sighed and came close to displaying a genuine pout. "I do not want you exploring this station on your own again. It is not a playground here, and can be very dangerous to anyone not being careful. Understood?"

"Understood," she agreed.

"Good," said Worf. "Now, there is something I need to discuss with you two. While Dr. Bashir was examining you, K'Ehleyr, he discovered something that--"

"*Kira to Worf*," came the Major's voice through his combadge.

Worf cursed and answered the call. "Yes, Major?"

There was a brief pause as Kira probably registered the agitation in the Klingon's voice. "*Did I catch you at a bad time, Commander?*" she asked in a somewhat admonishing tone.

"Yes, but that does not matter."

"*I'm glad to hear it. You're needed in Ops right away.*"

"I'm on my way," Worf replied, then turned to Dax and K'Ehleyr. "We will continue this discussion at a later time." With that, he turned and departed.

After a moment, K'Ehleyr turned to Dax and asked, "What's a Trixian bubble juice?"

* * * *

Worf returned later to find the two females in his life had departed in his absence, and he sighed morosely. "Computer, where is Commander Dax?"

"*Commander Dax is in Quark's Bar*," came the bland reply.

Worf sighed again.

A short time later, as he approached the bar, Worf heard the most peculiar sound. Klingon opera was being sung within the establishment, and it was being sung with the clarity of a seasoned performer. Even better, the piece being sung was from "Aktuh and Melota", one of his favorites. He was not aware of anyone aboard the station who could possibly sing such art as he was hearing it now. The youthfulness in the singer's voice was evident, and it was obvious she -- for Worf had identified the voice as being that of a female -- must be a protegee of one of the great opera singers on Qo'noS.

So he was understandably shocked to discover the singer was K'Ehleyr!

The girl was standing atop one of the tables and singing for a large group of patrons who'd formed a circle around her and seemed to be hanging on her every word, even if they didn't understand what she was saying. Dax was sitting at the same table, a small smile of satisfaction on her face.

As K'Ehleyr sang the aria, Worf closed his eyes and imagined himself in one of the great opera halls on the homeworld, picturing the heroine, Melota, at the edge of the cliff singing to her doomed love, Aktuh, who'd been a victim of betrayal and deception. K'Ehleyr standing atop the table, above her audience, was an appropriate stand-in for the towering cliff and Worf was suddenly overwhelmed with an intense feeling of pride. Not only could she sing the words perfectly, but she seemed to understand what she was singing at the same time. The fact the girl was only four years old made it all even more significant.

Finally, K'Ehleyr built up to the emotional finale, and as Worf watched her, he could almost believe she was singing of her own personal experience. Were those *tears* he saw in her eyes? And then, as she hung on the final note, she leapt off the table (cliff) and plunged into the waiting arms of the crowd (the jagged rocks) below her.

As the onlookers set the girl down onto her feet, they erupted into a loud applause that Worf had never heard the likes of before -- at least in Quark's Bar. He rushed to the girl's side and could see she was somewhat overwhelmed by all the attention. Worf swept her up in her arms and hefted her up onto his shoulder.

"K'Ehleyr!" he hollered, and the applause strengthened briefly. Eventually, it died down and the patrons returned to their tables and their drinks, much to Quark's relief. "That," Worf said to the girl as he set her down into an empty chair, "was...outstanding."

"Beautiful!" Dax gushed.

K'Ehleyr could only grin at this point.

"How...Where did you learn to sing like that?" Worf asked her.

"My mother taught me," K'Ehleyr replied.

Worf frowned. "But your mother died when you were no more than a year old."

"She once performed in 'Aktuh and Melota' in one of the theatres near where we lived, and it was her recording of it that I studied, listening to it over and over again."

"You taught *yourself* to sing like that?" Dax asked, amazed.

K'Ehleyr nodded. "I know the entire opera by heart."

Worf was stunned. His daughter had taught herself to sing like a pro -- no, *better* than a pro. He hadn't heart singing like that in years. A self-taught soprano with talent like this was unheard of. And surprising still was the revelation that Lursa had given a performance good enough to inspire K'Ehleyr to learn from it.

He found it hard to picture Lursa in such a role. He'd only known her to be a corrupt, power-hungry member of a disgraced family who'd stop at nothing to achieve her goals. Obviously when dealing with that aspect of her, there was no opportunity to see her more artistic side.

"You taught yourself well," Worf said. "And your inspiration must have been equally impressive."

"Thank you," the girl said with a smile. "Did you really think it was good?"

"I did."

Dax reached over and touched the girl's arm. "Worf's quite the connoisseur of opera, K'Ehleyr, so he knows what he's talking about."

"That's actually the only one I ever learned," K'Ehleyr said. "But I know it backwards and forwards and inside and out."

"You should be proud of your achievement," Worf said. "And you should not let your talents go to waste."

"What do you mean?" the girl asked.

"You should study opera on a full-time basis," Worf suggested. "Improve upon the considerable skills you already have, and one day, perhaps, you will be the greatest performer in Klingon history."

"Do you really think so?"

"Yes," said Worf. "If you wish to pursue this, we will support you."

K'Ehleyr turned towards Dax who smiled encouragingly, and then she looked at Worf. "I accept the challenge."

The elder Klingon smiled and nodded. "I knew that you would."

"How?" the girl asked.

Worf considered saying something profound like "A father knows his daughter better than she would believe possible," but he decided at the present time, he should keep his part in K'Ehleyr's parentage a secret. If she knew the truth, she might want to stay, and Worf would likely have trouble refusing her.

"I knew your mother," he said at last. "She, too, would never back down from a challenge."

K'Ehleyr smiled at that, and when Worf glanced over at Dax, he found that she was smiling at him as well.

****

The following morning, they were gathered at the airlock. Worf had made some inquiries back on Qo'noS the previous evening, and a spot in a prestigious theatre company had miraculously opened up for K'Ehleyr. She was to start in one week.

"Do I have to leave *now*?" K'Ehleyr griped.

"I am afraid so," Worf replied. "You start your classes in one week's time, and the trip to the homeworld will take at least five or six. That will give you at least a day to become comfortable in your new home."

"But I'm comfortable here, with you and Jadzia."

"Yes...I know. But Noggra has been a good friend to my family for many years. You will be comfortable there as well. And Noggra's son, Rodek, will keep a close eye on you. You will have nothing to fear."

"I will not let you down," K'Ehleyr said, struggling to keep the tears from spilling out onto her cheeks.

"Do not worry about that, K'Ehleyr," Worf told her. "Do this for yourself. Make yourself proud. And then we will be equally proud of you."

The girl stepped forward and embraced the big Klingon, and Worf returned the gesture with a tight squeeze of his own. When they parted, K'Ehleyr moved to Dax next and hugged her as well.

"Thank you," she whispered in the Trill's ear.

"You're welcome," Dax replied. She kissed the girl's forehead as the airlock door slid aside to reveal Alexander Rozhenko, son of Worf.

"Alexander," Worf said with a nod.

"Father," replied the youth, then turned to Dax. "Hello, Commander."

"Hello, Alexander," Dax said with her easy smile.

Alexander saw the young Klingon with Dax and regarded her. "And who might you be?"

K'Ehleyr looked up at Alexander and said, "I am K'Ehleyr, daughter of..." She trailed off a moment, realizing she was no one's daughter anymore. "...of the House of Martok."

Alexander glanced at his father upon hearing the name of his mother, but didn't question the point. "I, too, am of the House of Martok," he told the girl. "That means we are like brother and sister."

"You're Worf's son," K'Ehleyr said. "He spoke of you before."

"That pleases me to hear," the youth replied with a hint of a grin. "My ship will be taking you to the homeworld. During that time, I hope we can get to know each other better."

K'Ehleyr nodded, then stepped up next to Alexander. With a final wave goodbye, she turned and walked into the airlock, a step ahead of Alexander, who gave his father a reassuring nod before following the girl inside.

When the airlock door slid closed and locked into place, Dax went to Worf and stood next to him, wrapping an arm around him, as they both looked at the now-empty airlock.

"She will be fine," Worf said, more to reassure himself than to ease the mind of his wife.

"Of course she will," Dax said. "Her father has seen to it, hasn't he?"

Worf looked down at the Trill and wondered how she could possibly know. There were times when she seemed wiser than any person he'd ever known, as if her many lifetimes had given her an awareness beyond that possessed by most beings. As he looked at her, he found her smiling at him, and he couldn't help but smile back.

Together, they watched the airlock for a little while longer.

~The End~

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