2. Future Worf And The Margarita Of The South P... < 500+ NEWEST >

Clad in a high-collared, linen-spun tactical tunic, Worf stands on the white sands of a remote island in the South Pacific. He is not here for conquest, but for the , a legendary concoction rumored to have been perfected by a renegade bartender who fled the Federation’s post-scarcity boredom for the lawless beauty of the "Old Earth" tropics.

"Today," Worf mutters, staring out at the turquoise horizon, "is a good day to relax." 2. Future Worf and the Margarita of the South P...

Worf pauses. He remembers the teachings of Kahless. "A warrior does not hide from the salt of the earth. I will take it with a heavy rim. And... the small umbrella. But make it . Like the blood of my enemies." Clad in a high-collared, linen-spun tactical tunic, Worf

He approaches a small shack built from driftwood and salvaged shuttlecraft panels. Behind the bar stands an old man with a salt-and-pepper beard. He remembers the teachings of Kahless

The bartender doesn't flinch. He reaches for a bottle of silver liquid and a fresh, bright lime. "Salt or no salt, big guy?"

As the first sip of the citrus-and-tequila blend hits his tongue, Worf’s eyes widen. The acidity is sharp, the spirit is bold, and the chill of the ice is a shock to his Klingon physiology. It is a good day to drink.

"I seek the Margarita," Worf says, his hand resting on the hilt of a ceremonial dritlh. "The one they call 'The Fire of the Reef.' I am told it requires a warrior's constitution."