It would be a lie to say that Worf was surprised when he found signs that some members of his security forces were disappointed that the giant was allowed to come back on the ship and receive medical care rather than simply dissolving him with phasers in the cold void of space. It would also be a lie to say that he entirely disagreed with their sentiments.

By all accounts "Veteran Battle-Brother Paulo Octavian" was an irascible, xenophobic, hateful and angry creature that - given a reasonable opportunity - was going to try and kill every living member of the Enterprise's crew. This was no longer a matter of suspicion; it was verifiable fact.

Nor was it a matter of debate that the 'Giant' was an entirely capable warrior. Worf doubted that he would have been able to similarly fight his way through the Enterprise after being partially lobotomized.

Ortega meant the Enterprise ill and made little secret of it. Given the man's apparent impression that he'd been kidnapped, his violent reaction would have been understandable even if one didn't factor in the accidental lobotomy that had been performed upon him. Based on the initial reports from Dr Crusher, it genuinely appeared that the so called "Giant" wouldn't have been able to regulate the feelings of anger and fear in his own brain.

That provided context. That allowed for understanding. Forgiveness, however, was another matter entirely. Four people were dead. Four of Worf's people were dead because he'd lacked sufficient foresight to protect them.

There was no dishonor in failure if one took all reasonable steps to avoid it, but there was no less shame for having failed one's people so utterly. These people were not dead because of their own failures, they were dead because Worf hadn't anticipated every outcome. They were dead because Worf hadn't taken precautions that he might have done.

Worf could have installed better shielding on the door of the Holodeck. Worf could have issued more powerful weapons to the guards in the hall. Worf could have taken so many steps that he regretted not having taken.

Punishing himself would only do so much good though. Worf's failure was born of ignorance, and everyone in the galaxy was ignorant to the 'Giant's' strengths and weaknesses save for the Octavian himself.

It wouldn't help him sleep better but it was no less true for that.

None of them had been people who he'd known particularly well. They were petty officers, new recruits who'd enlisted only days before finding themselves on the Enterprise – fresh out of bootcamp on Vulcan. He wasn't sure if it made things better or worse that their names had only graced his desk for their intake paperwork and casualty reports.He

He wasn't sure if it made him a bad person that he was grateful not to have known them well enough to mourn their passing.

If they were Klingons, he would simply have been proud of them for going to Sto'vo'kor.

They were not Kingons. They were two Vulcans, a Catian, and a Grazerite. And while he had an at least superficial understanding of the Vulcan concept of the hereafter, he was wholly unsure if their deaths in battle would secure a place in the afterlife for the Catian and the Grazerite.

He would need to meditate on that later. Hopefully Khaless would guide them to a place of the deserving. They had died in battle helping a Klingon, it would seem rude that the men and women of Sto'vo'kor wouldn't shepherd them to where they needed to be. If they were otherwise doomed to the oblivion of their own people, hopefully they'd at least have the chance to join his own people.

Sto'vo'kor was for Klingons. But he was confident that his prayers could make it clear that these men and women had died as Klingons.

For now, however, he had a more pressing concern. The three Petty Officers in his office had been reported by their peers for seditious and potentially mutinous discussions they'd been having in their berthing, they'd been discreet but one can only be so discreet in a berthing built for fifty people. Privacy was at a premium on a starship and, consequently, only the senior NCO's and Officers who merited allocation of private quarters could actually afford it.

Worf crossed his arms as he placed down a data-pad onto the smooth glassy surface of the conference table. Steepling his fingers as he glared witheringly at each of them in turn. None of the enlisted Starfleet personnel in his office were strangers to it. One of the unfortunate realities of being a division officer was that 90% of one's time delivering corrective actions was spend with less than 10% of one's staff. Worf had written many, many reports outlining corrective actions and remediation training for all three individuals in his office.

Petty Officer Third Class Amelia Spruce, a Human woman with an unfortunate tendency of speaking first and bothering to learn what she had been talking about weeks later, was the most surprising of the bunch. Other than a general lack of knowledge to back up her entirely undeserved self-confidence, she was generally a go-getter in his division.

Petty Officer Third Class Kirvosha Vex was significantly less of a surprise to him. The Trill man was basically allergic to both discipline and duty, finding any possible opportunity to follow his orders so exhaustingly to the letter that it was difficult to reprimand him for his weaponized incompetence.

The Third man in the room, a Vulcan, was not a common visitor to his office but Petty Officer Second Class Nar'raal was gifted with a mind whose keen intellect was matched only by his inability to plan more than several moments ahead. He had a near prescient ability to make choices that, while logical in the moment, were catastrophic in aggregate.

The two, more junior, enlisted immediately avoided his gaze and confirmed his suspicions. Consequently he focused his withering glaze upon Nar'raal.

The Vulcan man flinched slightly, but did not look away. Worf stayed there in silence, keeping uninterrupted eye contact with the Vulcan until the man's discomfort got the better of him and he spoke first. "You wanted to speak to us, sir?"

"I did not want to speak with any of you today." Worf replied acerbically, "Want plays no part in this. Duty is what requires my presence. Discipline is what requires yours. I will give you one chance – only one – admit to and forego this foolishness."

"Logic dictates that – " Began the Vulcan man before he cut off abruptly as Worf slammed his fist atop the table.

"Logic? Do not speak to me of Logic when you have forgone honor." Worf snarled, standing up and towering over his subordinate from across the table. "You were planning to assassinate a man on my ship. You were planning to slay a man in his sick-bed."

"He deserves it." Spoke Spruce, her voice quavering but resolute. "I saw what he did – watched what he is. He's a monster."

"You have been forced to witness death," Worf agreed. "I do not dismiss your feelings, nor do I lack empathy for your desires. But there is no Honor in this."

"Honor? Honor!" Vex the Trill spat out the word as though it were something vile. "To hell with Klingon honor and to hell with Starfleet pride. People died today because Picard and his pet Officers valued solving a novelty over the safety and lives of our crew."

"Every reasonable step for safety was taken." Worf insisted, though he was not sure if his voice betrayed his own lack of confidence in the truth of that statement.

"You brought a several million-year-old rumor back to life out of a sarcophagus full of cyborg skulls," The Trill Vex rolled his eyes in incredulity, the up and back motion giving the brief illusion that his corneas were about to join his facial spots. "Maybe, just possibly, when we're dealing with something that has managed to outlive most star systems, we can consider taking the supposedly unreasonable steps for safety."

"The Giant has committed crimes against the people of the Federation. He has declared war upon us. Logic dictates that a lethal threat should be neutralized." Nar'raal agreed with the Trill.

"I am giving the three of you a direct order. This is not your place to choose." Worf shook his head. "You will forgo this dishonorable madness."

"You're damn right I will." Vex nodded and yanked off the Starfleet insignia from his uniform, smashed it on the table. "I resign. I want off this ship ASAP."

"That is your right." Worf nodded, picking up a data slate and handing it to the man. "You will need to submit your request in writing, but I will ensure that it is approved."

Worf turned to the other two, "Do either of you want to resign?"

"No." Replied the suddenly mousy voice of Spruce, she seemed horrified at the prospect of leaving Starfleet and equally horrified that Worf had made no effort to retain Vex.

"My departure from Starfleet would not be Logical." Nar'raal's voice was slower than normal, doubt evident in the man's demeanor.

"There will be no formal charges against either of you, but I am confining both of you to quarters." Worf took back Vex's formal resignation letter and nodded. "I will ensure this is processed; I expect authorization for departure within the hour. You may collect your belongings."

"Whatever," Vex grunted, heading out of the room and storming past Deanna Troi as she entered the room. He blew past her as she attemped, and failed, to greet him.

Worf eyed the man's retreating back as the doors closed. Vex was taking this even more poorly than Worf had anticipated. He'd have to look into why.

"Is it time for me, yet, LT Worf?" The half-betazed woman inquired politely.

"Indeed." Agreed Worf, addressing both of his subordinates in turn. "I was sincere when I said that I empathize with your feelings. Both of you are to take time to speak with councilor Troi to help you manage the grief you are feeling. It is not weakness to ask for clarity and it is not illogical to come to terms with loss."

"I am entirely sound of mind." Nar'raal insisted, seemingly insulted by the suggestion of therapy. "My logic is sound."

"That well may be." Agreed Deanna, "I am not here to judge your logic, only to help you understand your grief."

"I am… not entirely in agreement with the framework into which you are attempting to place my mental state." Nar'raal arched his brow. "I dispute your logic."

"I am not the one who will be trying to convince you of a new framework for reason. I have arranged for several professionals to come from Vulcan and Earth to help with differing belief systems and coping strategies if you don't want me specifically," Deanna interposed. "What happened on the Enterprise is a tragedy, what we choose to do with what comes of it doesn't have to be. The 'Giant' is currently confined – there is no harm in pausing to consider before making a mistake."

"This is agreeable." Conceded Nar'raal. "But I will be filing a formal complaint with Starfleet that the Giant has not been held accountable for his actions in an expeditious manner."

"As long as you have the common sense to let Starfleet be the ones to make that decision." Worf growled, crossing his arms and towering over the Vulcan. "You are dismissed."

Spruce and Nar'raal left Worf's office, both of them apparently eager to depart before Worf though of something that merited a more serious reprimand. Deanna waited for the doors to shut before intoning, "They're both planning to do something, foolish. You realize that?"

"Obviously." Worf scoffed, "It would be lunacy to assume otherwise. I will appoint additional security forces to ensure they stay in their quarters."

"I'm frankly less worried about the ones who were overt in their frustration." Deanna smiled sadly. "One doesn't need to be an empath to detect the sour mood towards the Giant felt by the crew."

"He was going to kill children." Worf's rage boiled across every syllable. "I would mistrust their judgement if they weren't planning something foolish."

"We're going to have a real problem if we can't find common ground with the Giant." Deanna agreed.

"Blood has been spilled and no recompence has been offered – no contrition, no apology." Worf shook his head. "I fear that we will soon be facing more anger and violence against our… discovery."

Worf just barely caught himself before characterizing Paulo as a "prisoner" a distinction that Captain Picard had been resolute in insisting did not apply to the Giant. What else he might be, however, had not been appropriately decided.

"I'm afraid he might make that choice for us before we're granted the opportunity to correct it." Deanna let out a long-suffering sigh. "I was in his mind for only moments, but it was a fortress. It was bellicose on a level you can barely imagine."

"If are trying to assuage my fears, you are doing a poor job of it." Worf replied, arching his brow in curiosity. "You are not normally one to give up so soon, Counselor Troi."

Deanna laughed, "Oh, no. I haven't given up just yet. I just know my own limits when it comes to connecting with a patient. Different patients have different needs. When it comes to a warrior culture like that of Paulo, I'm lamentably ill equipped."

"I am entirely confident that the Giant will see me as an enemy." Worf replied acerbically. "And even if he didn't, I am no diplomat."

In truth, Worf would happily have tossed the giant out the airlock and been done with the entire affair.

"Good. He wouldn't trust diplomacy as anything other than a lie." Deanna shrugged. "If I can't offer him friendship, perhaps he'll trust an honorable foe."

Worf blinked, "Am I to understand that you want me to treat this man as an enemy to his face?"

"He's looking for an enemy, it seems much easier to mitigate his unnecessary fears if we provide him with a clear context for them." Deanna smiled.

"I have concerns with the logic of this." Worf replied, in an odd moment of empathy of Nar'raal's previous confusion.

"I'm not going to force the matter, but I would appreciate if you tried." Deanna smiled. "If only as a favor to me."

"Very well… for you." Worf relented. "But for the record, I think this idea is doomed to failure."

"Nothing is gained by not trying, Worf." Deanna beamed back at him. "Who knows, you might even surprise yourself."

Worf grunted and picked a Bat'leth off the wall of his office. "Perhaps."

"I don't think that will be more effective than a phaser, Worf." Deanna blinked as he picked the bladed weapon off the wall.

"Only if I wanted to kill him." Worf agreed. "But you've given me an entirely different battle."