by Christine Francis

NOTE:  This story is a sequel to "Vortex Revisited"; a story where Worf was confronted by the daughter Kurn never knew he had.  To preserve family honor and shut the girl up, he adopted her and began training her in the ways of her father's people.
...................................................................................

     Dax finished sending the final approach data to the arriving ship.  It would take time for the ship to enter, process, and implement the docking program, but the ship in question was still over an hour away.  Plenty of time to prepare.  With a private smile, Dax thought her husband would disagree with that.  Since last night, he'd been fussing and fuming and seemingly dreading the arrival, but Dax knew him too well to believe it.  She knew he was looking forward to seeing Drusilla Cavanaugh, every bit as much as she was.
     When things had started to look bad for DS9, Worf had sent his adopted daughter back to Earth.  She'd protested strongly, but Worf shamed her into it by saying only a coward would leave her mother alone at such a time.  So, with not just a few tears, Dru left with the first wave of evacuation.  Since then, until the subspace announcing her planned arrival, there had been no word either way.  Dax was eager to see how Dru reacted to some of the changes that had taken place; particularly the marriage.
     "How much longer?"  Benjamin Sisko asked, leaning on the console.
     "Not you, too!"  Dax smiled.
     "Why not?"  he shrugged.  "I officiated the adoption.  It's only natural I feel a little responsible for her."  He couldn't resist a smile.  "Actually, I want to get this over with, so Jake can get back to normal.  This morning, I actually caught him combing his hair."
     "Benjamin, Jake hardly has any hair."
     Sisko leaned in for emphasis.  "I know."
     Dax's laughter was interrupted when Worf stepped out of the turbo lift.  "Has there been any word?"  he asked, striving to sound only mildly concerned.
     "About another hour,"  Dax answered, shooting Benjamin a conspiratorial smile as he turned to go.  "I've just sent the docking signal."
     Worf nodded.  "Good.  I will be preparing our quarters-"
     "Worf, you've been preparing them for three days.  Give it a rest."  The guest room had gone through about a half dozen decor changes, in the last few days.
     He gave his wife an exasperated look.  "In this time, she has no doubt forgotten everything I have taught her.  It is essential that I resume her training immediately.  Anticipating her training needs will re-assert my position of authority.  Time is short, and I will soon have to return to the Rotarin."
     "I can't wait to see what kind of training requires flowers and a stuffed Targ,"  Dax muttered, then added in a louder voice "Well then, you'd better get to it."
     He gave her a quick glare, then left.  He knew there would be no reasoning with her, when she was in such a mood.

.............

     Dru pointed out a bright light.  "There it is,"  she said.
     The woman beside her squinted and leaned in, but to no avail.  "I dinna see how ye kin tell one from anudder."
     "It's getting bigger.  See?"
     "If ye say so.  Ach, look at yer hair!  I could weep, ev'ry toym oy look at it!"
     "Stop messing with my hair!  I told you, it's fine.  Why don't you brush your own hair?"
     "Well, now, at least oy've got summat ta brush!"
     Dru pulled a brush from a bag.  "Here, let me.  Turn around."
     The woman did as told, smiling serenely when she felt the brush tug at her flaming red hair.  It always made her feel so comfortable, when Dru brushed her hair.  She could always tell how things were, by the way Dru wielded the brush.  Just now, she could tell Dru was nervous, but also terribly excited in a very good way.  A good sign.

........

     Worf stood to one side of the airlock, standing just a little straighter once the doors opened.  People began to trickle into the station; each stranger's face making him long all the more for a familiar one.  Finally, his patience was rewarded. "qavan'a'," he said quietly, as she turned her face up toward his.
     "Uncle!"  she replied, then flung herself in his arms.  "I'm so glad to see you alive!"
     Worf was not sure what to do, or where to look.  He lightly returned her embrace, and stroked her hair- her hair?!  Looking back down at the head nestled in his shoulder, he cried out in surprise and shoved his adoptive daughter away.  "qavan'a'!  What have you done to your hair?!"
     Dru grinned, tilting her head to one side and patting at her abbreviated locks.  Wild strands curled and twisted up from her head, barely long enough to bend of their own weight.  Their reddish hue showed more brightly, now that the strands were infused with more air and light.  "I got tired of dealing with it, so I chopped it off.  Pretty hard to fight, with a big old wad of hair in your face, right?"
     Worf shook his head with exasperation.  "A Warrior's hair is a symbol of his pride and defiance, challenging his enemies to grab it if they dare!  It is his crown of glory!"
     Dru's grin faded.  "Relax, it'll grow back.  Geez!"
     "Lard knows, oy troyed ta till 'er, but she listens to naught oy say."  The older woman who accompanied Dru on her trip approached, shooting Dru a chiding glare.
     Dru returned the look with a mock scowl, then smiled.  "Uncle, permit me to introduce Eithne Cavanaugh, my mother."
     Worf looked at the woman more closely.  The wild hair, the stubborn set of the mouth and chin, the eyes that seemed somehow too old for the face... yes, he could see the resemblance.  "I am honored, madam,"  he finally said, holding out his hand.
     "As am oy,"  Eithne replied with a tilt of the head, and shook Worf's hand.  She gripped the hand tightly for a moment, looking up at the strange face before her.  "There's naught much of ye brother about ye, is there?"
     Worf cleared his throat, taking back his hand.  "Kurn, I think, took more after my mother's side."
     "Ach,"  Eithne, winked, "Oy doubt that, verra much!"  Her grin faltered, and she glanced away.  "Very sorry ta hear he doyd.  'E was a foyn man, and none could take ta verse like 'im.  'Is wards were loyk woyld tings dat sprung ta loyf wid na' mare dan 'is breath ta bring 'em."
     Obviously perplexed, Worf gave up trying to interpret, and simply nodded.  "Why don't I show you to our quarters?"
     "Aye.  Could do wid a bit 'o washin' oop."
     "Indeed."  As they entered the turbo lift, Worf leaned in to Dru.  "My universal translator must be malfunctioning,"  he whispered.
     "Nay,"  Dru smiled wickedly, in a fair approximation of an accent, "At's jus me ma.  Dinna warry yer salf, none."
     With a frown, Worf entered the lift and hit the appropriate buttons.

............

     The story always reminded Dru of fog and dew, because she never failed to stay up the whole night to see sunrise after hearing it.  It sang in her heart and her soul, it's melodies straining till the chill of morning intruded and chased them away.  So it was more the story, than the late hour, that made her draw her knees up under her chin and hug them to her chest.
     The rooming arrangements had been sorted out, dinner had been gotten through pleasantly enough, and Worf was even beginning to understand Eithne's brogue; which was probably what gave him the confidence to ask.
     "How is it you and my brother came together, in the first place?"
     Eithne smiled, as she always did; a little sadly.  Setting her tea to one side, she stood and began to slowly wander the room as she spoke.  "Can ye not guess?"  she asked, then, more to preserve the rhythm of the story than to answer the question, she said "Two tings there are, an Irishman loves:  A good fight, and a good lyric.  The fights, we had right from the beginning.  When I said up, 'e was sure 'twas down.  If I said left, 'e was bound to lean right.  I tink he resented bein' dirtside, ta begin wid, so there was little chance 'a him findin' anythin' ta be pleased wid; least of all, the likes 'o me."  Pausing for affect, she glanced at each listener and gave a secret smile.  "One day, Kurn was minding his business and purposefully ignoring me.  He must have actually forgotten I was there, for he began to sing.  Softly, at first, then with more strength, he sang a song so passionate, my curiosity enabled me to overcome my pride.  'Ere, wot's dat'cher singin', then?  I asked, and startled him.  He told me, missing nary a step.  'Twas a song about-"  She stopped short, then looked at Worf.  "Ah, but ye probably know it well.  'Twas "Wither thou Goest"; the song of-"
     "Kahless and Lukara,"  Worf said.  "I do know the song well.  It is a good one."
     "Aye,"  Eithne nodded, her eyes soft with memory.  "Well, what kind of self-respecting Irishwoman was I, to let him get away with that?  I decided, though, ta stick to the standard counter attack."
     "Danny Boy?"  Dax ventured, stifling a smile.
     "Precisely,"  Eithne admitted, a little embarrassed.  "Well, dat started the whole ting.  All night long, back and forth we went; singing and reciting at each other, exchanging verses and lyrics like blows of the sword.  By the time we finished, our emotions ran free like blood from wounds.  There was nothing else for it, but to fall into each other's arms."  Here, she looked away and gave a long sigh.  "If only dat night could have lasted a life time.  But, as always, the sun must rise and the day must begin.  We tried.  Oh, Lord, how hard we tried!  But... it was like something held our hearts in cages, just out of reach from one another.  No matter how tightly we held each other, we could not seem to make our hearts touch.  Like caged birds, they were helpless to do aught but call to one another, forming their longing into the shape of a song."
     Dax softly cleared her throat.  "Oh, Eithne,"  she said, quietly.  "You do have a way with words."
     Worf had turned away, hoping everyone would think he was brooding stoically.
     Dru sat, hugging her knees, and thought about the inexorable dawn; sweeping the land with a damp, chill, mist.

..........

     Unable to sleep, Dru waited till all was quiet before she rose from her bed.  Leaving silently, she roamed the halls; trying to outrun the feelings that flooded up from her past.  By reflex, she resisted the romanticized image of her father, focusing instead how he'd left her mother with never a backward glance.  Her mother had never once made her feel unwanted or unloved, but there was always the unspoken unintentional rejection hanging over her.  A pretty story did little to soften the old dull twinge. Trudging around the Promenade, she didn't look or care where she was going.  Something, though, made her stop and raise her eyes.
     "I... was hoping I'd get to see you,"  Jake said, stepping away from the wall he'd been leaning against.
     "How have you been?"  Dru shrugged off her mood.  "I'm glad to see you survived the Cardassians."
     "I managed,"  he shrugged back.  "So how are things with you?  I heard you brought your mother with you."
     "Yeah.  She's having a great time."  She took a small step toward him.  "I was really worried, when I heard about the news blackout.  Then, when your first report came through-  I know it was edited and censored, but I could tell it still was yours."
     "How could you?"  he asked, smiling slightly.  "They butchered it, pretty bad."
     "I still have your stories.  I recognized your style."
     "Oh."  He nodded, then began to search for more to say.  "How are things with... Kich?" he asked, referring to Martok's nephew.  Wincing inwardly, he waited for her answer.
     It should have been a touchy subject, but already those feelings seemed more like they'd happened to someone else.  "Martok's wife agreed to accept the adoption, so long as I agreed to marry outside the family,"  Dru shrugged.  "After that, it seemed pretty pointless.  We still talk, but there's nothing there."
     "Really?"  Jake barely stopped a smile.  "That's so unfair."
     "I don't know.  He was kind of a jerk."
     "Oh.  So I guess it's for the best."
     Dru smiled bitterly.  "Yup.  Seems I get to hear that a lot."
     "Dru-"
     "No, wait,"  she held up her hand, then sighed.  "I'm sorry, Jake.  It's not your fault."
     He started to say it was, or something just as useless, but decided to drop it.  "I like your hair," he changed the subject.
     "You do?  You must be the only one."
     "It's you.  I know how much you hate things getting in your way."
     She lifted one eyebrow, trying to decide what he meant by that.  "Well, apparently I've managed to chop off my symbol of defiance and pride."
     "I'm sure you can compensate."
     Dru relaxed a little, smiling again.  "Anyway, it's nice to have friends, here.  I mean, don't get me wrong; I love my uncle and Dax.  But between them and my mom, I get to feeling outnumbered.  With you and Ziyal- oh, I can hardly wait to see what she has to say about my hair!"
     Jake quickly glanced away.  Taking Dru's elbow, he gently led her to some chairs.  "I should tell you something."
     "What?  What's wrong?"  She began to feel a little worried, as she sat in the chair he'd led her to.
     Waiting till they were seated, he reached across the table and took both her hands in his.  "The battle here was pretty intense."
     "Yeah, I heard.  You have no idea how crazy I was with worry."
     "Not everyone made it."
     Dru nodded.  "That's what the reports said."
     "Dru,..."  Jake took a deep breath.  "Ziyal was... She... "
     Her eyes grew wide.  "Oh, no,"  she whispered, covering her mouth with her hand.  "But she wasn't even a soldier!"
     "A lot of civilians die, in any war."
     Dru shook her head.  "Why wasn't she evacuated?  Why in the world did she stay?"
     Jake shrugged.  "Everyone who stayed had their reasons.  We all took our chances."
     "Oh, Jake."  Dru dropped her hand and looked away, but he could see her chin trembling.
     It happened in a moment of scraping chairs and small noises from far down their throats.  They stood, clinging to each other, mourning the necessity to mourn.  Jake hadn't noticed Rom until he saw the Ferengi leave.  Looking over Dru's shoulder, he saw a couple of glasses of water on the table.  "Here,"  he said, letting go a little and lifting a glass.  Catching Rom's eye, he nodded his thanks.
     Dru took the glass and drank it down without a pause.  She didn't want to cry, so she washed down all her tears in greedy gulps.  When she finished, she looked back at Jake.  He still had one arm around her, but was gulping his own glass of water pretty heartily.
     "OK?"  he asked, setting his glass down.
     "Yeah,"  she nodded.  "Some warrior I am, huh?"
     Jake took her glass and set it on the table.  "So how is that going for you?  The warrior thing, that is."  He tried to seem nonchalant, but the old question hung there.  How much of her was Klingon, and how much was human?
     "Kind of on hold,"  she answered, getting control of herself.  "I mean, I kept up with the physical and academic sides of my training, but holo-sims and text files are no substitute for a real live Klingon breathing down your neck."
     "I guess so,"  he shrugged, then looked around.  "Look, it's getting pretty late.  I mean if you still want to talk,..."
     "No, I'm OK."  Dru could tell it was time to go.  Whatever had opened up and poured out between them, was closed up again.  "I'll see you around, though."
     "Sure, you bet,"  he smiled shakily, patting and squeezing her arm.  "Maybe lunch or something?"
     "Sounds good.  Later, then."
     "Later."
     On the way back to her quarters, it occurred to Dru that the sun never rose on DS9.  Somehow, she'd have to find a way to get to sleep, because the night would last much longer than she ever could.

.........

     Bunking with her mother meant one significant truth; no room inspections by Worf.  In fact, Worf made no mention at all of resuming the old schedule.  He was up out before Dru and Eithne had even begun to stir.  Dax had been on duty for hours, and was just stopping by to check on things, when the women began puttering around and thinking about breakfast.
     "It's hard to get on station time,"  Dax commented.  "I always need a day or two of walking around like a zombie, before my body can sort it out."
     Dru took a fortifying sip of tea.  "I saw Jake, last night."
     "So dat's where you got to, in the middle of the night?"  Eithne scolded, then winked at Dax.  "I suppose I should be glad it's for a boy, and not summat worse."
     "Ma,"  she rolled her eyes, then looked back at Dax.  "He told me about Ziyal."
     "Oh,"  Dax's brow puckered with concern.  "Oh, Dru, I'm so sorry.  You two were friends.  I'd forgotten about-  I'm sorry we didn't tell you."
     "No, it's fine,"  Dru waved off Dax's concern and smiled weakly.  "Actually, it was better this way.  You know; coming from a friend."
     Dax nodded, about a dozen questions flashing across her face.  "I'm glad he could be there, for you."
     Dru saw the expectant way the women were watching her, and laughed quietly.  "Get those thoughts right out of your heads.  Jake and I, we're just friends.  He made it pretty clear that was all that could ever be to it."
     Eithne and Dax exchanged a meaningful glance.
     Dru caught the look, but knew there was nothing she could do about it.  "Great,"  she grumbled.  "And to think, it was my idea to have two mothers in one place."  Glancing at a timepiece on the wall, she gulped down her tea.  "Ma, look; it's nearly lunch time, and we're still dragging around!  If we want to see much of the Promenade, we'd better do it before first shift lets out, or we'll be fighting the crowds."
     "Ach, nay!  You go ahead,"  Eithne sat back and sipped her tea.  "I tink I'll be takin' da day off, now."
     "Just hang around here?  I thought you wanted a tour of the station?"
     "I'll be here for a bit, yet.  The station ain't goin' nowhere, now, is it?  Leave yer mother rest up a bit, then.  I'll be runnin' ya through yer paces, soon enough, then."
     Dru took her cup to the replicator, glancing back at her mother and stepmother.  "You're sure?"
     "I've said it, haven't I?  Or am I talkin' just ta hear me own voice?  Gerrout wit ya!"
     "OK, OK, you don't have to yell.  I'm going."  Dru paused at the door, taking another look.  "Have a nice day, then."
     "Ach, go on,"  Eithne growled, waving her off.  Once Dru left, she leaned back forward and cradled her cup in both hands.  "I suppose we're stupid, then,"  she chucked.  "Just friends."
     Dax smiled, but still seemed a little worried.  "They didn't part on bad terms, but it did seem pretty final."
     "We'll see.  Who is Jake, anyway?"
     "The son of the station commander."
     "Ah."  Eithne grinned at the prospects.  "But I'm confused.  Isn't the station commander Terran?"
     Dax picked up on what she meant, right away.  "Jake's not a typical Terran.  Following his parents around the galaxy's given him a pretty broad mind."  Going to the replicator, she got herself a Raktajino.  "He's a good boy."
     "But?"
     When the steaming mug materialized, Dax lifted it and took a sip.  "Jake's experience has enabled him to make friends with other races, but... that doesn't mean he's prepared to take it any further."
     Eithne remembered her one intimate encounter with a Klingon.  "Aye.  It can be intimidating.  All those teeth and claws, and all that growling,..."
     "Yeah,"  Dax sighed, grinning.
     Eithne gave her a double take, then laughed.
..........

     On the way to Quark's, Dru changed her mind and decided to go see Worf.  If Jake was waiting for her, then let him wait.  She didn't really bear him ill will, but she also wasn't about to scurry over there just on the chance that he'd meant today when he said maybe they could have lunch sometime.  She had her pride, right?  "Well," she whispered to herself and touched her hair, "I have some of it, anyway."  Straightening her clothes, she stepped off the turbo lift and headed to Worf's office.
     Not much had changed.  She still had to wade through busy people to the back of the office, before reaching Worf's desk.  The first time she'd done this, she was so full of self-righteous anger.  It covered her doubts and lack of confidence.  Some of those doubts were still there.  She still wondered if she measured up.  The difference was, at least she had to measure up to a living, breathing, being; not a ghost from long ago.  Once there, she put on an air of officialty.  "Sir,"  she began, getting his attention, "were you planning on taking the mid-day meal?"
     Worf looked up from his work, studying her for a moment.  She had come far, from the first time she'd come to this office.  Her clothing was clean and serviceable, her posture was much improved, and her eyes held a sense of pride in them.  Her hair left something to be desired, but he supposed perfection was more difficult to achieve for some, than for others.  "I was wondering if you were ever going to get out of bed, today."
     Dru remained expressionless.  "My mother and I are adjusting to station time.  Myself, I would have set an alarm and risen with you and Dax; but I did not wish to wake her."  It wasn't entirely true, but it wasn't entirely false, either.
     Worf nodded.  "Of course, I expect you to be "adjusted" to station time by tomorrow morning.  You will rise at 0500, and join me in holo-suite two for morning calisthenics.  I was going to schedule you for some remedial training and evaluation this evening, but in consideration for your mother, I will allow you to spend the time with her."
     "Yes, sir,"  she nodded.  "And lunch?"
     He looked back down at his PADD, then made a few entries.  "I am afraid I have no room in my schedule today.  We are expecting reports from General Martok any time now, and they may require immediate decisions and actions."  Looking back up, he set his PADD down.  "I am pleased to see you, though.  Thank you for stopping by."
     His words seemed a little strange, to Dru; a little too... considerate.  She decided that must be Dax's influence.  "Thank you for seeing me.  Till this evening, then."
     He nodded, and went back to work; looking up only after he knew she'd gone.  Alone, he allowed himself a sigh.  Just this morning, a new question had occurred to him.  What was he going to do with her?  If he proceeded with her training, Martok was bound to ask about her progress.  If he gave bad reports, that would reflect badly upon him.  If he gave good reports, Martok would see no reason Dru could not enlist.  After watching Alexander bumble through the start of his military career, Worf had no desire to view a repeat performance; or worse.  Alexander, at least, had his mother's sense of humor to get him through.  Dru,...  Shaking his head, Worf decided he didn't even want to think about it.

...........

     Jake had given up on Dru, and gotten something to eat.  Rationalizing, he decided Worf probably had her running drills, or in the holo-suite chopping off faux Cardassian's heads.  The thought of that reminded him of Ziyal, and he decided Dru wouldn't be slicing up Cardassians for a little while, yet.  Resting his cheek in his hand, he wondered if her reaction would have been so strong if she'd heard he hadn't survived.  Would she have cried?  Would she have gone into mourning over him?  Would she have become a recluse, vowing to never marry?  "Yeah, right," he scoffed at himself, and picked up the other half of his sandwich.
     "This seat taken?"  Dru startled Jake,  pulling out the opposite chair and waiting for him to respond.
     "No, sit down,"  he said around a mouthful, sitting up straighter.
     "I see you started without me,"  she sat down, setting a plate of food on the table.
     "Burger and fries?  Does Worf let you eat that stuff?"
     "Well,"  she smiled, "The burger's rare.  And I introduced General Martok to fries and catsup by calling them "tuber spears in blood-fruit sauce".  He took to 'em, right away."
     Jake laughed.  "And people say I have an imagination."
     Dru smiled back.  "It does require a fair amount of tap dancing, but I guess I asked for it, so I can't complain."
     "So it doesn't come naturally, huh?"  he asked, stealing a fry.
     Dru thought it over.  "Some of it, not at all.  But some things,..."  Searching for the right words, she gave up and shook her head.  "Some of it really feels right.  I don't know how else to describe it.  I mean, it's not like I have natural talent, or anything.  I just feel like it's where I'm supposed to be.  I feel... well, not comfortable with it, but..."  Reaching for the right phrase, she suddenly gave up and shook her head.  "I don't know what I mean."
     "When I was little,"  Jake began, leaning forward a little, "I would watch my dad play Baseball, watch Baseball, and talk about Baseball.  It's more than a hobby with him, it's almost a religion.  Now there's a lot of stuff my dad does, that I don't really want anything to do with; Starfleet, for instance.  I don't have any desire to put on a uniform, and I never really did.  But... the first time he put a bat in my hands..."  Smiling, Jake let himself remember the smell of grass, the warmth of the sun, and the feel of smooth wood in his hands.  "I was nervous and excited, and I wasn't any good at all, but I didn't care.  Just being there with him, sharing in it, was more than enough."
     "Yeah, but you were bonding with your father."
     "Maybe you are, too, in a way.  I still like Baseball, even if my dad's not there."
     She shook her head.  "I didn't grow up watching my father be a warrior."
     "But you always knew that about him.  Even if that's all you knew, you always knew what he was.  And now here you are, trying to learn how to become the same thing."  He shook his head.  "You have to expect to have feelings about that."
     Dru chewed thoughtfully on a bite of burger.  "Maybe,"  she conceded.  Suddenly, she set her food down and smiled.  "Geez, I really missed you."
     "Yeah?"  He returned her smile.
     "Yeah.  I guess you're just about the first person to really talk to me like a person; not a freak, or a relative, or a threat.  I'm glad I have you for a friend, Jake."
     "Oh,"  his smile slipped.  "Well, me, too."  Mentally, he began to recite a refrain of You Snooze, You Lose.  After all, he was the one who insisted they just be friends.  He only had himself to blame, if she stuck to that.  "You can't have too many friends, right?"
     "Right,"  she answered, picking up her burger again.

.........

     Sweating, sore, and tired, Dru paused to look back.
     "Do not look down!"  Worf admonished, but to no avail.
     They had been in the holo-suite since 0500, started with a fifteen minute warm-up, and had been climbing for the last twenty minutes.  Clinging to the side of a high craggy tor, Dru watched the simulated sun of Qo'noS ignite the mists of the valley below.  It was a redder sun, than the sun of Earth.  The streaks of fog spread like fresh blood upon the land, and the light gave the promise of coming warmth though the wind begged to differ.  Here and there, spires pierced the mists and pointed to the fading stars above.  "Is this a real place, or a composite?"  she asked.
     "qavan'a'," he said through his teeth, trying to remain patient, "we do not have all morning."
     "Would it be wrong for me to develop an appreciation for the land of my fathers?"  she asked, not taking her eyes off the view.
     "No; but would you not appreciate it better from the top?"
     Turning the other way, she looked down to see him clinging to the rock face with fingers and toes.  "Ah.  You're getting tired."
     "I am not getting tired.  I simply do not wish to acquire cramps from staying in one place too long."
     "I had heard that kind of thing happens, to older people."
     "I could have left you to sleep in, qavan'a'.  I believe your mother mentioned she wished to go shopping for clothes today?"
     Dru frowned.  "Good point,"  she said, and resumed her climb.  It only took them a few moments to reach the top.  Finding a place to sit, she looked back out at the valley.  The sun was growing more yellow, leeching the red hues from the air and burning away the mists.  Now, the buildings below the spires could be seen.  "Well?  Is this a real place?"
     "It is,"  he answered, simply.  Sitting beside her, he lifted a water bottle from his belt and took a long drink.
     "Well?"  She waited expectantly, for him to tell her the name of the place.
     "You should discover things for yourself, qavan'a'.  I can teach you how to fight, how to speak, and how to behave.  I can not teach you to love your heritage.  I can teach you how to act like a Klingon.  I can not teach you to be a Klingon."
     Dru nodded, taking a pull from her own water bottle.  "Fair enough.  Sure you're not just saying that, because you want me to stop bugging you?"
     "If I wanted to stop you from "bugging" me,"  Worf looked over the side of the cliff, "I could think of better ways to do it."
     "Nice,"  she followed his line of sight.  "So do we go back down the same way, or down the other side?"
     "Which would you prefer?"
     She wrinkled her nose.  "Already seen what's on this side.  Besides; if we go down the other side, we can watch the sun rise again."
     Worf came close to smiling.  "Very well, we conquer the other side, then; but remember, since the sun is not yet risen on that side, we will be climbing in shadows."
     "Big deal.  Since we're going down, it's all by feel anyway; right?"
     He nodded.  "You do have a frivolous side, qavan'a', but I am glad to see it is balanced by at least a little practicality.  A Warrior must always take notice of his surroundings, and make his decisions taking his situation into account.  You may make choices for frivolous reasons, but by no means lower your level of awareness."
     Standing, Dru paused.  "Uncle?  Would you say my father failed to satisfy that requirement, when choosing to be with my mother?"
     Worf sighed, not eager to tread this particular path.  "There are rules and laws meant to guide a warrior's conduct, but no one would presume to guide a heart.  At best, one can hope the demands of the heart will be unreasonable or irrational.  At worst,..."
     "At worst, you end up with someone like me."
     "No,"   he shook his head.  "Believe me, there are far worse results than an unexpected child.  There have been wars and grave dishonors committed in the name of love."
     "So, do you have any advice, when it comes to love?"
     "I am the very last person to council you on the subject of love."  Turning, he began to lower himself down the other side of the tor.
     "But you're happily married."
     "At this moment, yes.  But when you entrust your heart to someone who can bring you joy, remember they also have the power to bring you grief in equal portions."
     Dru could barely see him, moving down through the shadows and brush.  "Makes it sound like it's not worth it.  Love, that is."  Sliding on her belly, she felt with her toes for a foothold.
     "That, you must decide for yourself,"  he grunted.  "As if you would listen to anything I had to say on the matter, anyway."
     "Good point,"  she conceded, smiling to herself.
     "Now.  Less talking, more climbing.  Especially if you mean to reach the bottom in time to see the sun rise again."
     "Are you timing me?"
     "Just climb!"
     They reached the bottom, in time to watch top of the back-lit tor pierced by the sun's first rays.  And as the sun grew and became whole, the plains behind them stirred with life.  Hundreds of moths arose from the tall arid grasses, casting a cascade of shadows and flashing their wings in the new dawn.  In the distance, there seemed to be a granary and a farm house.  The smoke of cook fires left a dark smudge against the horizon, and the barest hint of shouting voices could be heard.  Simulated people, going about their simulated work.  Dru looked at her shortening shadow, beside Worf's.  "Klingons farm?"  she asked, quietly.
     "Someone must grow, harvest, and mill the grain to produce the flour for breads and such.  Where do you think the crusts come from, for Blood Pie?"
     "How can a Warrior be a farmer?"
     "A Warrior takes pride in what he does, and fights to defend what is his.  Farms, ships, Empires; it is all the same.  Besides; have you ever tested the strength of a farmer?  Bags of grain do not move themselves."
     Dru nodded, but she was looking toward the farm.  "So a Warrior isn't so much what you do, but what you are?"
     "This is what I have been telling you."
     Suddenly turning, she looked up at him.  "Am I a Warrior?"
     He waited, before responding.  "I believe you may be, but only you can answer for certain."
     "I've been fighting, all my life.  I thought that's what being a Warrior meant."  Looking back at the farm, she added "Now, I'm not so sure."
     Reaching out, he smacked her head just hard enough to make her yip.  "Come.  Warrior or not, there is such a thing as too much thinking and talking.  Let us see if you can reach that third hill, before I do."  Without waiting, he set off running.
     Laughing her protests, Dru ran to catch up.

............

     All through dinner,  Worf struggled with the problem of what to do with Dru.  Her doubts and questions, on one hand, seemed to indicate she was not ready to face life among Klingons.  However, hers were the same doubts and questions of anyone her age.  Even he had faced the same issues.  In some ways, he still did.  Her experience was so limited.  So far, she had only met Klingons with an interest in her acceptance.  How would she react to Klingons who did not care, or actively disliked her?  Alexander had faced the same problem, and found his own way.  He had been reluctant to allow his son to face that adversity, and had been wrong to stand in the way.  Was he committing the same wrong, here?  Were his misgivings valid, or was he being too protective?  After dinner, when Dru left to show Eithne the perils of Dabo, he voiced his concerns to his wife.
     "It's different, with girls,"  she said with a shrug, and continued clearing away dinner.
     "How is it different?"
     "You know the laws and the culture.  Females don't have the same opportunities and choices.  They have to be smarter.  Have to look at the big picture."
     He wanted to protest this disparagement, but knew it was all too true.  "So, what should I do?"
     Dax laughed.  "You want me to tell you what to do?"
     "Please."
     She thought it over for a moment.  "Be honest with her.  I know you've been filling her head with all the glories of being a Warrior, but you have to give her a bit of reality to go with that.  And you have to decide what you want to do."
     "I?"
     "She's the eldest daughter, right?  Traditionally married off to establish a blood tie with another family?"
     Worf shook his head.  "No arranged marriages,"  he stated adamantly.
     Dax smiled sweetly.  "Good for you."  Leaning in, she gave him a quick kiss.  "Now you just have to decide what she is going to do with her life."
     "Shouldn't she decide?"
     "Of course.  But it's up to you to decide what sort of options to present to her, and what directions to encourage her in."  She shrugged, taking the last stack of dishes to the replicator.  "She'll probably do whatever you say."
     "I doubt that, very much,"  he scoffed.
     "Oh, please!"  Dax protested, smiling.  "You two are a classic case!  She dotes on you, and you treat her like daddy's little princess."
     "I do no such thing!"
     "It's so obvious!  Not that I think it's a bad thing.  Actually, I think it's kind of cute."
     "You are imagining things,"  he stated gruffly, folding his arms.  "Dote on me?  She barely listens to a thing I say!"
     "Don't count on it.  Tell me; has she neglected her training as much as you thought she would?"
     Worf squirmed a little.  "No,"  he admitted.  "In fact, she seems somewhat improved."
     "Eithne told me she's been at it day and night.  Dru even tried to get Eithne to inspect her room daily."
     A small smile stole over Worf's face, then quickly disappeared.  "I would expect no less."
     "And she knew that.  Worf,"  Dax guided him to the sofa, and sat them down.  "A big part of what Dru is doing is about finding out who she is, and making a place for herself.  But at least a little of it, is about living up to your expectations.  You have to realize that, and understand what a responsibility that is.  When you speak to her, you have to know she could well be hearing things you hadn't meant her to.  Everything you do and say is absorbed and processed, and influences the way she thinks and acts.  You have to be sure to reinforce the things you want her to understand.  You can't say it's all up to her, because whether you mean to or not, you're already guiding her.  The only way to stop, would be to leave her alone altogether; and even then, you'd still provide some influence."
     Worf huffed with frustration.  "I do not know if I can provide her with the right guidance."
     "No one does,"  she gave a rueful smile, "but you better start thinking about it.  Once she reaches the Age of Ascension, Martok's going to expect her to take some direction in life.  And right now, that direction would probably be toward the military."
     "I know,"  he sighed.
     "How do you know she won't be good at it?"
     He gave her a side-glance.  "You are not making me feel better."
     Dax slapped Worf's knee, and stood up.  "Something tells me you're discussing this with the wrong female."
     "You are right, of course, but..."  he stood, following her.
     "But you don't feel comfortable talking to her about these things?"
     "Yes."
     "And you'd rather I do it?"
     "Yes!"
     She shrugged.  "OK."
     Stopping still, he eyed her suspiciously.  "You will speak to her for me?"
     "Sure."
     Worf knew his wife well enough to know that when she was being agreeable, and most especially when her eyes were wide and seemingly innocent, something was being hidden from him; and whatever it was, he wasn't going to like it.  Rather than try to drag it out of her, he just lifted his chin and said "Thank you for the offer, but perhaps I should accept this responsibility, myself."
     Dax smiled secretively.  "Whatever,"  she shrugged, and headed for the bedroom.
     Feeling like he'd just dodged unseen disaster, but was not completely out of trouble yet, Worf grumbled "Whatever," and followed his wife.

..........

     It wasn't so bad when Eithne had gotten the hang of Dabo and wanted to play one game after another.  It was boring, but not bad.  It wasn't even so bad when Chief O'Brian and Dr. Bashir came in, and Eithne broke into their darts game.  In fact, Dru thought it was nice to see her mother find a fellow countryman.  But when the pints of ale began to disappear faster than Klingons at a Tribble Farm, things began to go south fast.  The laughing and joking were bad enough; but when the singing began, Dru seriously began to explore escape routes.  Fortunately enough, Jake showed up just in time.  Once introductions were made, Eithne practically pushed Dru at him; winking and grinning like a shorted-out android.  Ducking bawdy admonishments in incomprehensible brogue, and dodging the opening bars of "Goodnight, Irene", they made their escape.
     "Will she find her way home alright?"  Jake asked, once they found a quiet corridor.
     "Not if she's lucky,"  Dru groused, then cleared her throat.  "I'm sure she'll be fine."
     "She's sure different from you."
     "Meaning...?"  Dru glared at him, hands on hips.
     "Relax,"  he laughed (a little weakly).  "I didn't mean anything by it.  She's just more of a partier, than you are."
     She took her hands off her hips, but still frowned.  "I know.  My mother is a pretty frivolous person."
     "You're starting to sound like Worf."
     "So?"
     "Dru, I didn't come looking for you so we could fight,-"
     "Then why?"  She held her frown for a few beats longer, then broke out into a grin.  "Sorry.  I shouldn't take it out on you.  OK, let's forget ma and start over."  Backing up, she leaned against the wall with her hands behind her back.  "How'd your dad take it, when you told him you didn't want to be in Starfleet?"
     Jake shook his head, taking a moment to shift gears.  "He was pretty upset, but he got over it.  Why; are you thinking of telling Worf you don't want to join the KDF?"
     "No, I think I pretty much have to join."  She shrugged, scuffing her toes against the carpet.  "I can't think of anything else to do with my life.  Thing is, I don't know if he wants me to.  In fact, I kind of get the idea he doesn't.  He keeps... de-emphasizing military life."
     "Maybe because you're a girl,-"  The sharp look he got, encouraged him to take a different direction.  "Or maybe he just doesn't think it'd be right for you.  I mean, he's got years of service under his belt.  If he said you shouldn't go for it, maybe you should listen to him."
     "He hasn't exactly said, one way or another."
     "Do you think it's the right way to go?"  He leaned against the wall beside her, watching her face.
     "Dunno,"  she admitted.  "I just know I can't keep living with my family.  I need to get out on my own, and do something."
     "How were things on Earth, this time?"  Jake shifted gears, in lieu of admitting he had no answers.
     Dru laughed quietly.  "Interesting.  Especially when folks found out my adopted grandfather's the famous General Martok.  I always thought I wanted to be treated with a little respect, but to see people do that kind of about face didn't feel good, at all.  If fact, it felt kind of slimy.   All I kept thinking was, it wouldn't take much to convince them to going back to throwing stones."
     "Some people are like that,"  he admitted.  "Terrans aren't the only ones."
     Dru shook her head.  "No honor."
     "Hey,"  Jake protested, "Klingons aren't exempt.  Back when the Changeling was posing as General Martok, he convinced the High Council to break all the treaties and had the entire Empire ready to kill off every member of the Federation.  And when the real Martok returned and the Dominion became a threat, the Empire switched directions in mid-stream without missing a beat.  Now the Empire is allied with the Federation, one hundred percent.  But what would it take to get them to switch back?"
     Again, Dru shook her head.  "So the moral of the story is, people are stupid.  Then what's the point?  Should I become a hermit?"
     Jake smiled.  "Where's the challenge in that?"
     "You have a point,"  she smiled back.  "Look, it's getting late."
     "Worf still getting you up at the crack of dawn?"
     "Jake, there's no dawn here," she dead-panned.
     "It's just an expression."
     "Anyway, yes.  I do have to get up early.  So I'll see you around?"
     His smile faded a bit.  "Yeah, sure.  See ya."
     She turned to go, avoiding an awkward moment, and headed back to Worf's quarters.  She wasn't surprised to find her mother still out, but she was surprised to see Worf still up.  "Is something wrong, Uncle?"
     Worf had been pretending to think things through, but really he'd been thinking about everything but his concerns for Dru.  "I have gone through the adoption process, so you can still call me Uncle?"  he mumbled, shaking his head.
     Wearing an oh-boy-here-it-comes look, Dru sat at the table, opposite him.  "What would you like me to call you?"
     "What I like, makes no difference.  You should refer to me as your father.  That is, if you can manage to speak the word without making it sound like a curse."
     Dru chewed her lip for a moment.  "Fine, Father."
     He brought his hand down on the table top, angrily.  "That is exactly what I mean!  I have done nothing but help you, and yet you repay me with disrespect and contempt."
     "I have respect for you!"
     "You say the words, but you do not mean them."  He shook his head.  "I do not blame you.  I doubt you even understand what it means to respect someone."
     Dru backed away from the table, but remained seated.  "What is this?"  she asked.  "Are you angry because I'm back so late?  Are you worried I'll be too tired for my training tomorrow? What have I done wrong?"
     "I am not angry with you, I am simply trying to be realistic.  You can not expect to become a Klingon Warrior overnight-"
     "I don't!" she slammed her fist against her thigh.  "I expect to work hard at it, for however long it takes!"
     "And how long will that be?"  he leaned forward, peering at her.  "How long must I play nurse to you, while you learn things most Klingon children mastered before they could lift a sword?  As your father, I will be happy to monitor your progress; but you should return to Earth with your mother, and plan to spend your life there."
     She was standing before she knew it.  She trembled with rage and frustration, but clenched her teeth and fists in an attempt to be still.  "Are you telling me to do this?"
     "Does it make a difference?  You will only do as you please, anyway."
     Two impulses fought for control.  Dru was angry beyond reason at what looked like betrayal, but she was also wounded to the core at this incomprehensible rejection.  A small part of her wanted to fall on her knees, weeping and begging forgiveness for whatever real or imagined transgression she'd committed.  Another larger part of her, though, would dearly love to pick up a knife and cut the imperious glower right off Worf's face.  Her voice of reason told her both ideas were really bad ones.  So she stood there, motionless, searching for a direction.  Finally, she decided she had to do something.  "You are wrong, to treat me this way,"  she said in a quiet, firm voice.
     "Are you questioning my authority?!"  He sprang to his feet.
     "No,"  she began to relax, "I am challenging it."
     She was on the floor before the words had faded from her tongue.  "You challenge me?!"  he roared, goading her.  Shoving his chair out of the way, he made a wide circle around the table and prepared for her attack.  "Come on, then.  Learn this last lesson:  Never issue a challenge, unless you mean to see it through!"  Twisting and stepping to the side, he avoided the attack he'd anticipated.  Bringing down his joined fists, he pounded the middle of her back and drove her to the floor.
     Dru rolled quickly, then got back on her feet.  She knew she really should assess the situation, but she also sensed she had to get in a few blows if she didn't want to remain totally on the defensive.  She started to lunge toward him, then spun right and brought her foot up.  The move had confused him, as she hoped.  The kick was a solid one, and even drew a grunt from Worf.  Needing to hold the initiative, she spun back the other way, drew close, and brought up her knee.
     Worf was waiting for the counter move, and threw his fist out just in time.  He didn't stop her knee from connecting and sending all the air out of his lungs, but he did manage to stun her long enough to turn her and get her in a grappling hold.
     Dru knew she could not waste time.  Before Worf had time to get solid footing, she pushed back hard, then tucked and lurched forward.  The momentum carried him over, but he held on tight.  All she succeeded in doing, was slamming the two of them onto the floor.  They struggled there for a while; he, greater in strength and experience, she in agility and speed.  Her smaller hands and wrists were hard for him to hold, and his huge bulk was impossible for her to escape.  Bringing her head forward, she drove it back.  There was a moment when she felt stunned, but not long enough to miss the loosening of his hold.  She elbowed and kicked her way free, avoiding hands and legs that tried to pin her.  Dragging herself free, she kept kicking to keep her legs free.  Once she got a little distance, she looked back.
     Worf's nose looked squashed, and his lower face was covered in blood.  He started to go after her, but then seemed to change his mind.
     Dru backed away, panting hard.  She glanced at the door, checking her exit.
     "Sit down,"  he said, his voice calm.
     Fearing a trick, but obedient through habit, she did as she was told.
     He wiped at the blood on his upper lip, then stood up.  It was obvious whatever injury she'd caused him, was only a very minor inconvenience.  Dru, on the other hand, looked a little more worse for the wear.  "Not bad,"  he ceded, "but perhaps not quite good enough."
     "I'm not going back to Earth,"  she growled.
     "Where, then?  You can not stay here.  Not forever, anyway."
     "Qo'noS, then."
     He laughed silently.  "You might last a day, on Qo'noS."
     She lifted her chin.  "Maybe it'll be a good day."
     He wiped the blood off his face with his shirt tail.  "Come here."
     Eyes full of mistrust, she did as she was told.
     He placed his hands on either side of her head, tilting her face up toward his.  "I am not happy with the idea of sending you to be killed."
     "I won't-"
     "Silence!"  He jolted her head a little, holding her perhaps a little more tightly than need be.  "Neither am I happy with the idea of you idling your time away in some soft, safe place, like an egg in a feather-lined basket.  You are Klingon."
     She smiled with the unspoken question clear in her eyes.
     "Yes,"  he affirmed, quietly.  "I, most of all, know human behavior.  qavan'a', you do have some human qualities,"  he smiled a little, "but mostly the good ones.  And these, you share in common with your Klingon brethren."  He tugged lightly at her hair.  "This, notwithstanding."
     She couldn't help it.  Her eyes filled, no matter what trick she tried.
     Almost gently, he said "It would be easier, if you forgave him.  After all, he could not take responsibility for that which he did not know existed."  Pulling her toward him, he added "Your anger towards my brother, your father, is the last thing you cling to from your old life.  You cannot hope to begin a new one, when it ties you to the old."
     Her arms went around his waist, and she lay her head against his broad chest.
     "I hated my father for leaving me,"  Worf explained, "even though he was killed and could not help it.  The bitterness I embraced, filled my heart so full, there was scarcely room for anything else."
     "But you were able to let go?"  she whispered, between sniffles.
     "Mostly,"  he said, comforting her.
     On the other side of the room, hidden in the shadows, Dax chose this time to sneak back to her bedroom.  Just as the door was closing behind her, she heard a single whispered word.
     "Father."

.....................

     "Has she done something to anger you?"  Martok asked Worf, no hint of humor in his voice.
     "Not at all,"  Worf answered.
     Martok shook his head in amazement.  "Then why, in the name of all the dead gods, would you ask to send her to live with my wife?"
     Worf scowled briefly, sensing he was being teased.  "I believe she would benefit from experiencing life among Klingons."
     Martok laughed.  "Worf, I understand your intentions, but perhaps you have not thought this through.  She would be safer, not to mention considerably less vexed, if you simply allowed her to be posted to a ship."
     Again, Worf scowled; this time uncomfortably.  "I do not think she is ready-"
     "A moot point,"  Martok cut him off.  "We are still under threat of war, Worf.  Where would you rather see her:  on a shielded ship full of weapons, or biding her time somewhere like a herd beast awaiting slaughter?  The Jem Haddar will not wait until she is "ready", I can guarantee."  Narrowing his one eye, he folded his arms across his chest and thought for a moment.  "Let her come aboard the Rotarin as an enlistee.  Most of the required training has been waved in consideration of the recent attrition rate, anyway.  And once she acquires a skill, she can return to Qo'noS to train for her commission."
     Worf heard about half of what the General said.  He thought about struggling to hold his tongue, while watching Alexander struggle to find his feet.  "I do not think I could go through-"
     "Pardon me,"  Martok's soft gravelly voice interrupted.  "I thought we were discussing  qavan'a's needs."
     Sufficiently chastised, Worf shut up.  After a moment, he nodded and gave in.  "Of course, you are the head of the family.  It will be as you have said."
     The old General regarded the taller Klingon for a bit, then nodded back.  "You will see.  She has spirit, that one.  She will fit in, in no time."  Slapping Worf's shoulder heartily, he began to walk down the corridor.
     "But what will her duties be?"  Worf asked, walking along.  "She has absolutely no training for duty on a Bird of Prey."
     "She can count, can't she?  I will put her in the arms room, where she will account for and maintain all small arms."  Martok smiled.  "Only a fool would irritate the person who might issue him a defective disruptor."
     Worf wondered if this was meant to make him feel better.

..............

     Sunrise on the Hupbogh Deb, the most inhospitable desert on Qo'noS.  Between skirting sink holes and spitting out wind-blown sand, Dru could not resist gazing at the spectacular view as she ran.  The first rays of dawn had changed the dull brown of the rocks and sand into delicate pinks, blues, purples, and greens.  It was a trick of the light filtered through the dust, but that made it no less spectacular.  She promised herself she'd someday travel to the real Hupbogh Deb, and not just to run through.  For now, though, in holo-suite 2, she had to concentrate on completing her run in the required time.
      Behind her, the portal appeared briefly and someone entered.  Whether her hearing was just that good, or she was developing some kind of special sense, Dru became aware of the new presence at once.  She pretended not to notice, but put her body on alert for an attack.  Spotting a sinkhole, she ran right for it.  At the last moment, even as she felt her feet begin to slip down through the sand, she veered off and spun around.
     Jake ran right into the sinkhole, stumbling down the gentle slope and instantly burying himself to his thighs.  "Um..."  He looked up at Dru hopefully.
     She let him suffer till the sand reached his waist, then ended the program.  "That was pretty dangerous, you know,"  Reaching over, she helped him to his feet.
     "Not really,"  he shrugged.  "It's just a holo-suite.  It's not like real quicksand."
     "That was a sinkhole, not quicksand.  And the only difference between that one and a real one, is here we can end the program.  While it was running, the program had no safeties on."
     Jake frowned.  "I don't think that's legal, here."
     Dru shrugged.  "What's the sense of having programmed dangers, if they're not dangerous?"
     "Look,"  he folded his arms, "I haven't exactly had a cushy life, here.  I mean, I've seen a few battles.  I've been in tight spots, with real dangers.  I  don't need to face programmed ones."
     "I do,"  she stated, simply.  "I've been in some fights, but nothing too life-threatening.  If I expect to be able to handle the real stuff, I'd better practice against it's equivalent."
     Realizing she'd never meant to demean him, Jake felt a little ashamed.  "So you spoke to Worf about leaving?"
     "Not exactly.  I started to, but it got a little derailed."  Walking toward the portal, she picked up a towel and wiped her face.
     "Well, you know,"  he came up behind her, acting as casual as he could, "you don't have to leave DS9."
     "No.  I don't want to live with Worf and Dax."
     "You wouldn't have to.  You could..."  shrugging, he seemed to search for an answer, "move in with me."
     "What?"  she laughed.
     "Nog's always on the Defiant, so there's an extra bed,"  Jake's eyes stayed wide and innocent.
     Dru shook her head.  "Jake, there are a lot of reasons why that wouldn't work."
     "Such as?"
     "Personal reasons."
     "Yours, or mine?"
     "Both."  Hanging the towel over her shoulder, she headed for the door.  "Look; I know you're just being a friend, and you have absolutely no interest in me other than that,-"
     "I wouldn't say that."
     Dru froze in her tracks.  The sentence had been spoken quickly enough and quietly enough that she might have misheard him, but she didn't think so.  Turning around, she studied his face.
     "I've gone through some changes,"  he explained.  "I... was wrong.  I should have at least tried, to-"
     "No."  Again, Dru was of two minds.  One side of her was hurt all over again, and the other side of her wanted to tear him to bits.  No side of her thought giving a relationship a whirl was a good idea.  Struggling to be calm, she took a few deep breaths.  "No, you don't get to just say "whoops, do over."  I like you, Jake, but you messed up."  Not wanting a confrontation, she turned back around and left.  Doubts followed her, but at least she was able to hold her head high.
     She was in the process of holding her head high, when she walked into Worf's quarters.  There, Martok, Worf, Dax, and Eithne seemed deep in discussion; but not so deep that they couldn't suddenly shut up and all turn to look at her.
     "Uh-oh,"  Dru pulled the towel off her shoulder and tried to look dignified.  "What'd I do now?"
     A slow, predatory smile spread across Martok's face.

...........

     It was quickly decided, and quickly done.  No time for long good-byes, as the Rotarin was due back out on patrol. qavan'a' (no longer using the name of Dru) was quickly sworn in and installed as chief armorer.  The name was far more illustrious than the position.  In fact, it seemed to qavan'a' that the only thing she was chief of, was keeping the dust off rows and rows of sidearms and rifles.  Still, a Warrior takes pride in all she does.  Having plenty of time, qavan'a' set up a detailed accountability and maintenance log, ensuring each weapon was completely serviceable, fully charged, and properly inventoried.  Like most armorers, the armory was also her quarters.  A replicator enabled her to take her meals there, and a hair-trigger alarm made it possible for her to sleep (unless some chuckle head came by and tapped the forcefield that sealed the door, which actually happened pretty frequently until the joke grew boring).  qavan'a' had only brief contact with the rest of the crew, which suited her at first.  After about a month, though, she would have welcomed any form of meaningful dialog; even a knock-down, drag-out fight.  She accessed her terminal constantly, hungry for any news at all.  She made excuses to delay those signing out or turning in their weapons, just to exchange a few words.  She even traded a few insults that she wasn't entirely sure were supposed to be good natured.  And, most amazing of all, she began to develop a taste for Klingon Opera.
     A few decks up, Martok glanced at the stardate.  Blood Pies took just so long to bake, the sun needed just so much time to rise, Blood Wine took just so long to distill, and willful young soldiers needed just so much time to fully understand what and where they were.  He glanced over at Worf, who had come off leave and slipped back into his position without any indication that he'd ever been gone.  Of course, he could relax, knowing his daughter was safely ensconced in the armory.  Worf's troubles were ahead of him.  But that was none of Martok's concern.  He first thought of his ship, then his crew, then individuals.  And somewhere in that chain of concern, was the feeling that qavan'a' must be very close to ready.  Her time was almost up.  The sun was nearly risen.

THE END