"Take care, sir," O'Brien told him. "And don't let them kid you too much about your wedding, all right?"

The Klingon didn't respond to O'Brien's reference about his recent nuptials. However, he fully expected that the chief was right. No doubt, some of his former comrades would find something humorous in his marriage to Jadzia Dax.

Others would simply congratulate Worf on the event. Captain Picard would be one of the latter, he expected. After all, the captain was a man who showed others the proper respect.

"Energize," said the Klingon.

There was no sensation to signal the fact that his atoms were being scanned, reorganized, and shot across the void. There was only the always-strange recognition that he was suddenly somewhere else-in this case, one of the Enterprise's several transporter rooms.

The operator was a slender woman with short red hair. As Worf had gathered from hearing her voice, he didn't know her.

That came as no surprise to him. What the Klingon did find unusual was the absence of his friends and colleagues. Except for the transporter operator, he was all alone in the room.

"Welcome aboard, sir," the woman said cordially.

"Thank you," said Worf. He couldn't help frowning. "I had ... expected there would be someone here to meet me. Other than yourself, I mean."

The transporter operator just looked at him. Obviously, she didn't know what to say to that.

"Never mind," the Klingon told her. "It is not important."

Clearly, he thought, the captain and his command staff were engaged in some urgent and unexpected business-though Worf had difficulty imagining what that business might be. Stepping down from the platform, he crossed the room and headed for the exit.

He was almost there when the doors slid aside and revealed Captain Picard. The man looked distracted-so much so, he almost walked into Worf before he realized his former tactical officer was there.

"Mr. Worf!" the captain exclaimed.

The Klingon suppressed a smile. "I am pleased to see you, sir."

"You look well," said Picard.

"As do you, sir." He eyed the captain more closely. "Has something pressing come up? Something of which I should be aware?"

Picard looked at him. "I ... don't believe so," he responded finally. "Why do you ask?"

Worf sighed. "No reason."

True, he had expected a bit more of a reception. However, he had hardly seen the captain over the course of the last few years. The same was true of the Klingon's other former comrades-Deanna, Data, Geordi, Dr. Crusher, and Commander Riker.

Times change, he told himself. People change. They make other friendships and move on.

"Well," said Picard, "why don't we repair to the observation lounge? We can discuss the diplomatic conference. No doubt, you already have some ideas as to how you would like to approach it."

Worf nodded, reminded of the reason for his visit. With the efforts of the Klingon Empire so vital to Federation security these days, Starfleet Command had decided to hold a strategy meeting with a number of high-ranking Klingon military leaders.

As the Starfleet officer most familiar with Klingon customs, Worf was asked to attend a planning session at Starbase 42. After all, the last thing Command wanted to do was offend or alienate its guests-and who knew the potential pitfalls better than a warrior of the House of Martok?

On the other hand, with the Jem'Hadar a constant threat, Captain Sisko hadn't wanted the Defiant gone too long from Deep s.p.a.ce Nine. Hence, the rendezvous with another starship.

The Enterprise was selected for the job because her captain had served as the Klingons' Arbiter of Succession years earlier. As that had given Picard some standing in the Empire, his input was valued as well.

"Indeed," said Worf, "I do have some ideas."

"Excellent," the captain replied.

Then he led the way out of the transporter room. The Klingon followed, feeling as if he had just conversed with a stranger. It was not a particularly good feeling.

Catching up with Picard, he cleared his throat. "You know," he said, "I have taken a wife."

The captain glanced at him. "Yes, I've heard. That lovely young woman Captain Sisko depends on so much. She's a Trill, as I recall."

Worf nodded. "That is correct."

"What was her name?"

"Jadzia. Jadzia Dax."

"Of course. Congratulations," Picard said.

The Klingon did his best to conceal his disappointment. He had expected a bit more from the man he had designated his cha'DIch-his ceremonial defender-when he was accused of treason on his people's homeworld several years earlier.

"Thank you," Worf answered hollowly.

Suddenly, something occurred to him. Perhaps it was the captain who was disappointed in him. Hadn't the Klingon held his wedding without inviting anyone from the Enterprise? And, if he were in Picard's place, wouldn't he have taken offense at that?

"I would have invited you to the wedding," Worf began to explain, "but Alexander was shipping out in a matter of days. There was no-"

The captain smiled at him. "There is no need to make excuses, Commander. I understand completely."

His tone said he was telling the truth. He really did understand. And as far as the Klingon could tell, it didn't matter much to Picard that he had missed the wedding.

They entered a nearby turbolift and instructed it to take them to the bridge. During their pa.s.sage through the ship, the captain didn't say anything and neither did the Klingon. They simply faced forward and waited to reach their destination.

When the lift doors opened, Picard emerged first. Crossing the bridge, he headed for the observation lounge.

Worf was right behind him. However, he took a moment to scan the bridge and its personnel. His heart sank a little further as he realized there was no one there that he recognized. No one at all.

The doors to the observation lounge slid open and the captain made his way inside. The Klingon shook his head. True, this Enterprise was not the one on which he had served for so many years. But he had hoped to feel at least a little bit at home here.

He had hoped to find some sense of family.

With that thought echoing in his head, Worf entered the lounge, head down-and was jolted by a loud and raucous sound. He had already a.s.sumed a Mok'bara stance and bared his teeth before he realized what it was... .

A cacophony of voices shouting a single word: "Surprise!"

Looking around, the Klingon saw all the friends he had looked forward to seeing again-Riker and Crusher, Geordi and Data, Deanna and Guinan. And they were all grinning at him-even Data, who had acquired an emotion chip shortly before the destruction of the previous Enterprise.

But it was Captain Picard who was grinning the widest.

"Sorry to startle you," said Deanna.

"A Klingon does not startle," Worf insisted.

Taking a gla.s.s of amber-colored liquid from the eight drinks a.s.sembled on the table, the captain raised it and offered a toast. "To Commander Worf, our friend and comrade now and forever."

"And to Commander Dax," Riker amended slyly, raising a gla.s.s of his own.

Deanna added her gla.s.s to the others. "May they bring honor and gladness to the House of Martok."

"May their hearts always beat together," said the doctor.

"And may their love for one another never lose its edge," Guinan remarked.

She gestured to the one gla.s.s remaining on the table. It contained a darker, thicker liquid than the others.

"Have a drink," the bartender told Worf. "It's on the house."

The Klingon smiled, his heart swelling with grat.i.tude and affection. "Perhaps I will," he said. He picked up the gla.s.s and raised it as the others had done. "On behalf of Jadzia and the House of Martok, I offer my thanks."

"Well said," Riker noted.

Data addressed the captain. "Your performance must have been quite convincing, sir. Commander Worf seemed genuinely surprised."

"I didn't think I'd be able to pull it off," Picard admitted. "As you know, Mr. Data, I love acting, but I'm afraid it's not my forte."

"On the contrary," said Deanna, "you were flawless, sir."

"A regular one-man show," Geordi added.

The Klingon grunted. "I wish Chief O'Brien could see this. He warned me that you would all taunt me."

"Taunt you?" Data echoed. "About what?"

"My marriage," said Worf.

The android looked confused. "I fail to see what purpose that would serve. As I understand it, marriage is a happy event. One in which two people agree to share the experience of their lives-"

"For better or worse," Geordi chimed in.

"Richer or poorer," Crusher said matter-of-factly.

"In sickness or in health," the engineer added.

"Wrong culture," Riker pointed out.

Geordi and the doctor looked at each other.

"He's right," said Crusher.

Geordi shrugged.

The first officer put his hand on Worf's shoulder. "Just one bit of advice," he said. "Don't forget your anniversary, Commander. I understand the little woman swings a mean bat'leth."

"Though, from what I've heard, not half as mean as your mother-in-law's," Geordi added.

The Klingon looked at Riker, then at the engineer, and scowled. "Perhaps Chief O'Brien had a point after all."

Worf had to maintain the pretense that their gibes annoyed him. A warrior could act no other way. But, truth be told, he found himself basking in the warmth of their company-ridicule or no ridicule.

Suddenly, a voice cut into their conversation. "Lieutenant Sovar to Captain Picard. I have a subs.p.a.ce message for you, sir. It's from Admiral Kashiwada on Starbase 88."

The Klingon turned to the captain. In fact, they all did. Picard frowned back at them.

"Stay here," he said. "I will attend to the admiral's communication. If I need any of you, I will let you know."

"Are you certain, sir?" asked Worf.

The captain nodded congenially. "Quite certain, Commander."

And with that, he left them.

Chapter Three.

AS PICARD EMERGED from the observation lounge, he pulled down the front of his uniform top and advanced to his captain's chair. Unfortunately, a commanding officer's duties took priority over family reunions.

"Put the admiral on screen," he told Ensign Suttles.

A moment later, the image of a flowing starfield was replaced with a familiar visage-that of Admiral Yoshi Kashiwada. Thirty-odd years earlier, the admiral had served as the captain's tactics instructor back at the Academy.

Kashiwada smiled, deepening the wrinkles around his eyes. "Good to see you, Jean-Luc. I trust you're well?" The admiral was of the old school, where nothing was so urgent it superceded the need for good manners.

"Quite well, thank you," Picard replied. "How are you, sir?"

Kashiwada shrugged. "As you can see, I survive."

"And will for another hundred years, no doubt. But I suspect you called about a more immediate concern."

The admiral nodded. "In fact, I have. I find myself playing host to a most unusual group of guests, whose method of arrival is no less strange to me than they are. What's more, they claim to know you."

Picard leaned back in his seat. "Their names?"

Kashiwada frowned ever so slightly. "They insisted you would know them more readily by their aliases." He peered at a monitor alongside him. "Storm. Wolverine. Banshee. Arch-"