Diplomatic Implausibility by Keith R. A. DeCandido

threw his head back and laughed. “Of course you do, my friend!” Raising his own mug, he said, “I toast us both. Two warriors who have at last found their place in the universe.”
    Riker smiled and clanked his mug against Klag’s. “I’ll drink to that.” Suiting action to words, he drained his mug. “And with that, I really do need to be getting back. We’re due at Starbase 10 in two days.”
    Klag stood up; Riker did likewise. “It was good to see you again, my old comrade. Perhaps someday, we will fight side by side—you in the ship of your dreams, and I in mine.”
    Riker had had enough battles over the past couple of years to last him several lifetimes, but he gamely said, “It would be an honor, old friend.”
    “Good.” Klag hesitated. “One question, before you go.”
    “What?”
    Again, Klag hesitated. “Ambassador Worf. You served with him.”
    “For over seven years. He’s one of the finest officers I’ve ever known.”
    “Then you think he is worthy of his new position?”
    Folding his arms, and resisting the obvious answer to the question, Riker said, “I take it you don’t?”
    “What I
think
is that he received this post because he is of Martok’s House, just as Kargan gained his by being of K’Tal’s. And I have had my fill of such things.”
    Riker straightened. “Worf isn’t Kargan. And the Federation isn’t in the habit of basing its diplomatic assignments on nepotism.”
    Klag got a faraway look for a moment, then blinked at Riker. Then he laughed and slapped Riker on the shoulder—but it was not Klag’s trademark throw-back-the-head laugh, more of a snort or a chuckle, if a Klingon could ever be said to chuckle. “Perhaps not. Well, enough of this. You must be returning to your ship. And let me give you a piece of advice.”
    “Yes?”
    “Grow the beard back. You look like a Romulan without it.”
    Returning Klag’s laugh, Riker said, “I’ll think about it.
Qapla’,
Klag.”
    “Qapla’,
Riker. And farewell.”
    As Riker headed toward the
Gorkon’s
transporter room, he thought,
That’s two Klingons who think I should
grow the beard back. Maybe I should consider it.
    Then he remembered kissing Deanna while still bearded and her subsequent reaction: “Yuck.”
    Naaaaahh.

    When Worf concluded his meal with Martok, he was greeted in the transporter room by Drex.
    “Commander,” Worf said as he stepped down from the platform. “Has my aide arrived?”
    “Yes,” Drex said. “I will take you to your quarters.” Drex then walked up to Worf and stared him directly in the eyes. “We are House-mates now, son of Mogh. See that that does not change.”
    Worf had to stop himself from rolling his eyes. But then, he did not expect Drex to make it easy for Worf to fulfill Martok’s request. “If it does change, Drex, it will be of no consequence.”
    Drex snorted, then turned and exited the room. Worf followed.
    A woman in a
bekk’s
uniform stood at attention outside the quarters where Drex led Worf.
    “This,” Drex said as the doors opened at their approach, “is Krevor. She has been assigned to you for the duration of this mission. Unless,” Drex added with a sneer, “you have some objection.”
    Sighing, Worf said, “I have none.”
    Drex glared at Worf. “Very well. If there is anything you need, Ambassador—I am sure you will know how to obtain it.”
    With that, Drex turned on his heel and left.
    Worf shook his head as he entered his quarters. He suspected that Drex had deliberately chosen a female as an insult. However, if Worf was insulted by anything, it was Drex’s belief that Worf would be so easily offended.
    The room he entered was large by Defense Force standards, which meant it was still smaller than anything on the
Enterprise.
In fact, it reminded Worf of the quarters he had taken on the
Defiant,
though this had two separate beds instead of bunks. He and Wu were meant to share.
    The latter sat on one of the beds. He rose at