Howard looked back as the guard thudded against the wall. Eyes widening in fear, he stumbled over his own feet and sprawled on the tiled floor.
The cry of victory rising in Alexander’s throat as he lunged toward the boy was abruptly silenced. A hand with a grip like iron clamped around his arm, stopping him dead in his tracks. He fought against the hold, but this time he could not break free.
“Alexander.”
The calm, commanding sound of his father’s voice broke through the fury. Pulse racing, Alexander blinked and tried to still his rapid breathing. Through a slowly clearing fog he saw Howard’s parents help him up and draw him into the comfort of their arms. Then his grandmother’s arms were around him, holding him close as she murmured soothing sounds into his ear. He buried his face against her chest and began to shake.
If he had caught Howard, he might have killed him.
A strong, but gentle hand gripped his shoulder. Alexander looked up, expecting his father to be furious, but there was no anger in the warm brown eyes that gazed down on him. Worf’s face softened with relief and worry and a tight-lipped smile of reassurance.
Stunned, Alexander did not immediately realize that the deep, unfamiliar voice he heard next was addressing him.
“You’re under arrest.”
CHAPTER 2
It’ll be all right, Alexander,” Helena whispered. “You’ll see.”
Alexander nodded and managed a wan smile to please his grandmother, but he was sure nothing would ever be all right again. He sat on one side of the Terminal Security Office with the Rozhenkos. Howard Chupek and his mother sat on the other side. Mr. Chupek and Worf stood stiffly before the chief of security’s desk.
Like two Starfleet Academy cadets on report, Alexander thought glumly. Any chance there had been of closing the emotional gap between himself and his father was gone now. Worf would never forgive him for this embarrassment. Just as the sins of the father brought dishonor to the child in Klingon society, the sins of the child dishonored the father.
“I see no reason why this unfortunate situation can not be settled rationally.” Worf’s deep base voice resounded through the small room even though he spoke with calm reserve.
“Rationally?” Mr. Chupek blustered. “That Klingon spitfire of yours would have ripped Howard apart if you hadn’t stopped him, Mr. Worf.”
Howard glanced at Alexander with a triumphant smirk. The smug smile disappeared when Alexander countered with a menacing stare.
“My son was defending his grandfather,” Worf argued quietly. “I do not condone Alexander’s methods, Mr. Chupek. However, we would not be here now if your son had not insulted and pushed my father to begin with.”
Security Chief Clausen flicked an anxious gaze between the two fathers. He seemed concerned that they might pick up the fight where the boys had left off.
“Your father?” The man frowned uncertainly.
“That is correct.” Shifting his attention back to Chief Clausen, Worf used Mr. Chupek’s confused silence to press the advantage. “My son is going through a phase that is difficult for a young Klingon under ordinary circumstances.”
What does he mean by “phase”? Alexander shifted uncomfortably, losing all interest in Howard. He didn’t think of himself as a Klingon. The idea that he might not be able to stop acting like one was very disturbing.
“And your point, Lieutenant Commander Worf?” Chief Clausen prodded cautiously.
“Present hostilities between the Federation and the Empire are compounding the…” Worf hesitated, groping for an acceptable word “…problem. Howard Chupek’s insulting actions are a perfect example of why this is so.”
“My son may have exercised poor judgment,” Mr. Chupek said hotly, “but an insult hardly justifies your son’s violent behavior!”
Alexander tensed and clenched his teeth. His grandmother’s hand closed over his wrist, an alarming reminder that the rage could escape if he let down his guard for even an instant.
“The boy was provoked.” A glint of warning flared in Worf’s eyes, but he remained in total control.
“Mr. Chupek,” Chief Clausen said sternly. “I would prefer to resolve this incident without causing irreparable harm to either boy. I’d appreciate it if you’d allow Mr. Worf to finish without further interruption.”
Mr. Chupek nodded, but his cheeks flamed red.
“Thank you, Chief Clausen,” Worf said. “I have come to Earth for the sole purpose of helping Alexander adjust to certain changes in his life. If you will release him into my custody, I give you my word as a Starfleet officer that he will cause no further trouble.”
“Not if I have anything to say about it!” Mr. Chupek bellowed. Placing his hands on the desk, he glared at the security chief. “I’m pressing charges against that alien delinquent for assault with intent to do bodily harm! You can’t just release him on this—this Klingon’s word!”
Alexander inhaled sharply, expecting his father to lash out at the human who dared question his given word. It wasn’t because he was a Starfleet officer, either. It was a matter of Klingon honor.
A Klingon’s word is his bond. Without it he is nothing.
Worf would rather die than break an oath. Alexander didn’t understand why his father clung so fervently to this as well as other rigid Klingon traditions, but he did. In Klingon society, Mr. Chupek’s reckless accusation—that Worf would not do as he promised—would have triggered an attack that might have cost the imprudent man his life. But the only evidence of his father’s intense indignation was a squaring of the shoulders and a narrowed, penetrating stare.
Chief Clausen was not easily intimidated, either.
“You are quite wrong in that regard, Mr. Chupek.” Rising, the security man’s scowl faded as he turned to Worf. “Since no one was injured, no property was damaged and both boys were instrumental in causing the incident, I’ll let Alexander go with a warning this time. Take your son home, Mr. Worf.”
Mr. Chupek sputtered, too angry to speak.
Sergey nodded in approval.
Helena squeezed Alexander’s arm and smiled. “See? I told you it would work out.”
Alexander just stared in disbelief. The security chief’s leniency surprised him almost as much as his father’s defense and request on his behalf. He had been positive that Worf would insist he take responsibility for his outrageous conduct and pay whatever penalty the law required.
Then again, Alexander thought, as Worf executed a stiff bow and turned away from Chief Clausen to face him. Maybe he preferred to make me pay in some horrible Klingon ritual that was for worse than anything Federation law would demand. He had seen that frustrated frown on his father’s face too often when they had lived together on the Enterprise.
Worf gestured toward the door and waited for the Rozhenkos and Alexander to go first.
Getting to his feet, Alexander gladly turned his back on his father to leave. Worf’s dark, unblinking eyes were as cold as the ridged Klingon face was impassive. The troubles he had blindly plunged into when he had rushed to his grandfather’s defense were far from over. They were just beginning.
Flanked by his grandparents and with his father watching every move from behind, Alexander felt like a condemned prisoner being marched through the terminal. No one spoke, which only added to his anxiety. By the time they had picked up his father’s duffel bag and arrived at the local shuttle stand, his nerves were dangerously on edge. Slipping into the front seat of the vehicle, he sat in brooding silence while his father programmed the Rozhenkos’ residential coordinates into the automated navigation system.
Helena leaned forward as the shuttle lifted off the ground. “I’m making your favorite dinner tonight, Worf.”
Worf glanced back. “Rokeg blood pie?”
“What else?” Sergey shuddered with disgust. “I still haven’t acquired a taste for it. Never will, either.”
“I’m making a pot roast, too, Sergey,” Helena said, patting her husband’s knee. �
�You can tell your stomach to relax.”
Laughing, Worf settled back to watch the green hills and valleys of the Russian landscape skim by below.
The family small talk and ensuing quiet strained Alexander’s nerves even further. His grandparents were chattering about Klingon glop for dinner as though his father had just dropped by for a casual visit instead of coming halfway across the galaxy to deal with him. His life was falling apart and everyone was acting like nothing was wrong.
As the shuttle began its descent over Mirnee Doleena, Alexander squirmed in his seat. Staring down at the small town where he lived and went to school stoked the fires. Mirnee Doleena translated as Peaceful Valley and the community had been exactly that when he had come to live with his grandparents on Earth again. But the town was not a welcoming, tranquil haven anymore. Between the Federation’s renewed conflict with the Klingon Empire and his own uncontrollable temper, the local population had reason to despise him. Consequently, he had to cope with the vicious prejudice of strangers he met on the street as well as intolerant classmates who had once been his friends.
Alexander didn’t blame them, but it was impossible to ignore the unfair and painful torment. He didn’t have anything to do with the troubles between the Federation and the Empire and he had chosen to embrace his humanity in spite of his predominantly Klingon heritage. The rages were as much his enemy as anyone’s.
Except for him, there was nowhere to run to escape them.
Like now.
He could feel his temper racing toward critical mass. He had to get away from his father and grandparents long enough to calm down—or until the rage ran its course.
Struggling to contain the anger, Alexander slammed his hand against the door latch when the shuttle touched down on the drive leading up to the Rozhenkos’ modest house. As the door whooshed open, he sprang out and started to run toward the tall trees bordering the front lawn.
“Alexander!”
Worf yelled as Alexander leaped over his grandmother’s carefully tended bed of brilliantly colored rosebushes. He reacted instinctively to his father’s sharp command and whirled as he landed.
“Alexander, wait.” Rushing around the front of the shuttle, Worf paused, then slowly advanced.
“It’s all right, Alexander,” Sergey pleaded as he stepped down from the rear compartment. “We’re not angry with you.”
But Alexander was angry and the rage deafened him to the concerned words. Feeling cornered and pushed to the limit, he gave in to the overwhelming fury.
A fury that was getting more violent and powerful with each outburst.
A fury that had to have an outlet.
Alexander attacked the only thing within reach. Screeching, he pulled Helena’s prized hybrid rosebush out of the ground by the roots and tore it apart. Delicate yellow petals and green leaves rained on the grass around him. Sharp thorns dug into his skin, drawing blood. He did not even notice the pain until he tightened his grip on the main stern. A large thorn drove into his palm, piercing the enraged daze as effectively as it had pierced his tender flesh. His mind cleared in an agonizing instant.
Alexander stared at the demolished remains of the rosebush in shock. Limp roots dangled from the trunk he still held in his hand. Looking up, he saw his grandparents and his father staring back.
Worf’s jaw flexed.
Sergey’s gentle eyes filled with stunned pain.
Helena’s hand covered her mouth and her face was ghostly pale. The glorious Butter Beauty Rose she had cultivated, pruned and raised with such pride and loving care was dead.
And he had killed it.
Dropping the thorned trunk, Alexander ran. This time, his father’s booming voice could not call him back.
CHAPTER 3
Although the Rozhenkos’ house was within walking distance of the small town, it was nestled on the edge of an expansive forest. Alexander sped across the lawn and darted into the cover of the thick woods. His worst fear had been realized. Destroying his grandmother’s favorite rosebush was almost as bad as attacking Helena herself.
Avoiding the deer trails he and his grandfather used on their morning and evening strolls, Alexander drove deeper into the forest. The sound of Worf and Sergey’s calling voices became muffled by the dense foliage, then faded completely into the quiet of the wilderness. Ashamed and confused, he kept running. Not because he was afraid of being yelled at or punished. He simply couldn’t face the hurt and disappointment in his grandmother’s eyes or his father’s Klingon judgment.
Dry leaves crackled under Alexander’s pounding feet. Brambles and broken branches scratched his skin and ripped his jumpsuit as he crashed through overgrown tangles of brush. Jumping from one moss-covered rock to another to cross a wide stream, he slipped and fell. Snarling with frustration as he scrambled to his feet, he plunged through the rushing water and clawed his way up the far bank. Mud and leaves clung to his wet hands, clothes and hair, but he ignored the discomfort. The thunder of water cascading over rocks in the woods upstream called to the savage essence of his Klingon blood, and he ran toward it.
Heart thudding against his ribs and breathless, Alexander finally stopped when his sleeve snagged on a young tree. Freeing himself, he sank to his knees a short distance from the high, roaring waterfall and focused on the spindly tree that was struggling to survive in the dim light. The canopy of leaves crowning its towering parent blocked the sun. His rage and energy spent, Alexander was suddenly consumed by a sorrowful empathy with the frail sapling.
Sighing with despair, Alexander sat and dropped his head into his folded arms. When he sensed his father moving through the forest and heard him call, he did not look up or try to flee.
“Alexander.” Worf strode through the trees to stand before him. “We must talk.”
“Just go away and leave me alone.”
Worf stood his ground. “You are not to blame for what happened today. I am.”
Alexander looked up sharply. “No, you’re not! I’m the one who chased Howard Chupek through the terminal and tore up Grandma’s rosebush!”
Nodding, Worf eased his bulk down onto a nearby log. “Do you know why?”
“Yeah! Because I’m a Klingon and Klingons are always mad and want to fight all the time!” Tears stung Alexander’s eyes.
“That is not true,” Worf said. “A race that was always mad and fought all the time wouldn’t survive.”
“What’s happening to me isn’t funny!” In the past, his father’s attempt at humor would have both surprised and amused Alexander. Now, it was a dangerous annoyance that poked and prodded the anger.
“I was not trying to be funny,” Worf said calmly. “Even the Klingon Empire needs farmers and craftsmen. If everyone fought constantly, nothing would get done. We would still be prowling the forests with wooden spears.”
“So Klingon farmers don’t get mad?” Alexander asked sarcastically.
“I did not say that.” Worf paused to eye Alexander with thoughtful concern. “We are a highly aggressive race. It is in our blood, the core of what we are—of who you are. But it is not the end of the world. Every problem has a solution and this one is no different.”
“Oh, yeah! How would you know?” Jumping to his feet, Alexander glared at his father. Worf was talking to him with the calm understanding he had always wanted when they were together on the Enterprise. Why was he suddenly so furious with him? Bewildered and frustrated, Alexander started to pace.
“I know because I am a Klingon, too.”
Alexander kept walking, too intent on fighting his mounting agitation to respond.
“Your body is going through some intense physical changes because you are growing up,” Worf explained. “And those changes are causing these violent outbursts.”
“So that’s what you meant by ‘phase’ in Chief Clausen’s office.”
“Yes.” Worf’s face clouded slightly, as though he had momentarily drifted off to another place. “Every young Klingon experiences diffic
ulty controlling the impulses that make them great warriors.”
“So I’m stuck with being like this?” This was something he had suspected since the violent tantrums had begun a few weeks ago, but having his father confirm the awful truth out loud was a shock anyway. There was one thing he had always been sure of, something he had told his father when they had first started getting to know each other. He didn’t want to be a warrior!
The emotional impact unlocked still more of Alexander’s innate Klingon traits. His blood burned hotter, enhancing his senses. Every leaf and twig came into sharp focus and every nuance of sound rang crystal clear in his ears. The tang of decaying leaves and pungent fungi teased his nose, making him keenly aware of every subtle scent rising on the still air.
Worf started slightly. “You are stuck with your Klingon genes—”
His father’s voice blended with the forest sounds, unheard as Alexander’s attention was drawn to an enticing aroma.
Warm muscle and fur.
Prey.
A rabbit crouched in the thicket to the left, still except for the twitching nose and the quiet heaving of its life’s breath.
“—But that does not mean you can not conquer the impulses they generate.”
The scent of fear was irresistible. With every muscle tensed and primed, Alexander savored the anticipation coursing through his hunter veins for a moment before he sprang. With a quickness and agility he did not know he had, he snatched the cowering rabbit from the brush. His own chest heaving with exhilaration, he clutched the fear-frozen animal by the throat and whirled to face his father.
“Your skills are excellent, Alexander. If we were on a ritual hunt, I would be very proud of your prowess.” Rising slowly, Worf stepped forward. “Are you hungry?”
The blunt question disrupted Alexander’s feeling of triumph but did not dampen the instinct to hunt and kill. His pulse raced and his hand tightened around the prey’s fragile neck. It would be so easy to squeeze the life out of the dangling body, but his mind rebelled against causing a senseless death.
Star Trek: Deep Space Nine: Young Adult Books #11: Day of Honor 5: Honor Bound Page 2
