Star Trek: Metamorphosis
Westfall/Star Trek TNG Crossover Fanfiction #2
Scene 11
As Qul’tuq set down the last of the bushels of fruits, she stood up and leaned backward to stretch. She was not anticipating the amount of labor she would be involved in, but this only continued the theme of expecting the unexpected on the planet Najhom.
“This should be an ample amount of naH,” Bellami said as she lifted the bushel to position it closer to the others. “Thank you for your help, Qul’tuq.”
“Yes, thank you,” Mara eyed the green-eyed Klingon as she and the other women came to the square. Despite the words being complementary, the delivery still held a hint of contempt.
Bellami, however, remained near Qul’tuq somewhat nervously. “After dinner, would you be able to tell me more about the Rite of Passage? I am very curious.”
“Do not trouble yourself, Bellami,” Mara shot back before Qul’tuq could answer. “That is not something we follow here.”
“But, why not?” Another Klingon stepped forward. “As warriors, would we not want to prove our strength in such a ceremony?”
Mara attemped to busy herself with the baskets of food. “And only do it once? When you’re young and lithe and untainted by the world?”
“Many Klingons choose to repeat the ceremony as they age,” Qul’tuq recalled, “in fact, Worf recently completed a second rite to honor ten years since his first.”
“And that matters little here,” the leading Klingon sneered through her teeth as she leaned toward Qul’tuq. “I would appreciate you stop chiding us with this nonsense.”
Qul’tuq bristled. “You were the one who asked me what Klingon life was like outside your village.”
“And I now regret this decision; are you pleased with my confession?” Mara jeered.
The emissary wavered on her feet, choosing to remain silent than further provoke her.
Mara huffed and turned back to their harvest just as Est’er used an iron pole to poke the fire. Embers rose as the wood shifted and fell among the flames. “You still have not told us how you came to have such a name,” she spoke plainly.
Recalling Worf giving her the name, she shook through her brief pause. “It is... what my father called me.”
“Are you named after a family member?”
“Perhaps they saw how small you were and gave you a more powerful name?”
“I do not know,” she answered simply when Est’er and another female scooted curiously closer. “I have been told from my youth that I have a fiery streak...”
Mara seemed particularly amused, though her sardonic smirk let Qul’tuq know she doubted her words.
A strange sound began to come to Qul’tuq’s ears, and the other women turned their heads to the town gate.
“Our men return,” Bellami held up her chin.
Qul’tuq stretched her neck to better look around the taller women in front of her.
The small band of men could be seen emerging from the woods across the wide, scrubby field. They were singing and chanting as they came, their song growing louder as they approached. Two beasts were tied to poles that rested upon their shoulders, while others held wrapped leather bags of smaller catches.
“They appear successful,” Mara’s narrow eyes were as narrow as her smile.
“Look at their kills! We will feast well tonight,” another woman spoke.
”A feast to honor our visitors,” Bellami looked at Qul’tuq.
”And a feast to honor our men,” Mara added, ”for providing another meal.”
“Qoy qeylIs puqloD!” The men’s song raised into the air. “YoHbogh matlhbogh je SuvwI'!”
She picked out Worf among the pack, smiling when she saw his joyful expression as he raised his voice with the others.
“NI'be' yInmaj 'ach wovqu'!”
The women began to run out to meet them, growling and baring their teeth at one another.
Not to be left out, Qul’tuq ran after them. When she approached Worf, he dropped the leather bag he was holding, spilling two slain rabbit-like creatures onto the ground. The pride of his catch was well evident as his eyes met hers.
Beside them, Bellami had grasped her mate by the shoulders. They snarled through their teeth before she gently spoke, “I am grateful for your safe return.”
Qul’tuq turned back to Worf and did the same. Her clawed fingers gripped the leather of his shirt, and her lips snarled as she gnashed her teeth.
Worf was both amused and impressed as he growled back at her.
“Mara!” Yamtek stepped out from the others when his mate remained at the edge of the stone-paved street. “We have slain two targ and four gha’cher!” He could hardly contain his excitement as two women passed with one of the two targ on their shoulders. “Worf is a skilled hunter; we could not have caught so many without him!”
“I see,” she spoke calmly, her pointed brows making it difficult to tell if she was angry or simply unimpressed. Her black eyes scanned the group, watching Worf take Qul’tuq aside while the others continued to sort through their catches.
“I trust all has gone well?” Worf asked Qul’tuq softly.
She nodded. “All is well. Despite a lengthy ’quiz’ on my knowledge of all things Klingon, no one suspects anything–I think because their customs in general are much different, so they don't know otherwise. But Mara,” she paused to glance behind at the Klingon woman speaking to her husband, “no matter what I do or say… she really doesn’t seem to like me. It’s as if she purposely refuses to trust me or anything I say. It’s... frustrating.”
“Out of them both,” Worf’s eyes, too, had drifted to the ruling pair, “she will be the hardest to convince.”
“At least it seems you’ve made a good impression with Yamtek.”
“Yes,” he said simply. “Yamtek is open to discussion and conversation, but even he admitted Mara is more stubborn. And without Mara’s approval, even if Yamtek agrees... our task may be more difficult than we anticipated.”
“It is very important for the ruling pair to agree,” she spoke aloud, only to drop their conversation as Yamtek approached with a leather sack.
“Care for a snack?” He set down the bag, which immediately began moving.
Qul’tuq watched in silent shock as the leather flaps were opened to reveal a flurry of movement and squishing sounds.
“We call them leng,” Yamtek lifted one of the wriggling creatures with his fingers.
“Here!”
Qul’tuq flinched as she caught the leng in her hands like a ball. When she inspected it, the tiny flipper-like appendages on its small thorax were all but dwarfed by its large, bloated abdomen. In fact, it was difficult to tell it was a type of insect due to the fact it was mostly a round, squishy mass. She glanced back at Yamtek just as he bit down on the round, squishy mass of another creature.
Everyone else around her was following suit, and she looked back at the leng in her hand. It was still alive, still flapping its flippers, and still bloated and squishy. Its soft pink coloring reminded her of a peach, which led her to a memory of eating peaches in her grandmother’s garden. She tried to remain in the memory as she bit into the ’peach’ in her hand.
Juices dribbled down her chin as she chewed through the spongy texture in her mouth. It was surprisingly sweet after the initial earthy toughness of the leng’s skin, but it was still a jarring experience. She opened her eyes–not realized she had squinted them shut–just as Worf turned to look at her.
She swallowed. “Very good,” she spoke, albeit warily, as she lifted what remained of the leng in her hand.
Worf leaned closer and asked under his breath, “Would you like me to finish yours?”
“Please,” Qul’tuq’s green eyes pleaded.
Worf’s lips tugged as if attempting a smile, and he discreetly popped the rest of the snack into his mouth.”
“They are good, are they not? Would you like another?” Yamtek lifted a fresh one from the basket, missing the two’s exchange.
“I would,” Worf stepped between them when Qul’tuq’s expression soured.
“Do not spoil your supper,” Mara called. “We are just about to get the first targ on the fire. Oh, and Qul’tuq,” her head dipped down as her eyes narrowed in, “the women would appreciate your help, if you can manage to separate from your mate long enough to be useful.”
Worf could feel the heat rippling from Gemini’s body as Mara sauntered away. “Easy,” he whispered through his teeth. “Klingon cannot summon fire.”
“I know,” her eyes pierced daggers into Mara’s back, “but this one might if she keeps this up.” She blew air through her nose and briskly walked after her.
Scene Notes
- The men are singing the Klingon Warrior song, roughly translated "Hear! Sons of Kahless." "The blood of battle washes clean." "Our lives burn short and bright."
- I made up leng but I think the other things were actual Klingon food items/animals.