The year is 2410. The Klingon Empire is at peace, and Worf—now an Elder Statesman and high-ranking diplomat—has finally found a challenge worthy of his warrior spirit: retirement.
"Today," Worf mutters, staring out at the turquoise horizon, "is a good day to relax."
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." 2. Future Worf and the Margarita of the South P...
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.
The bartender doesn't flinch. He reaches for a bottle of silver liquid and a fresh, bright lime. "Salt or no salt, big guy?" The year is 2410
"Computer," Worf rumbles, his voice like grinding tectonic plates. "Locate the nearest source of... agave ."
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
"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."