“Then the matter is settled.” Worf stood up.
“Not quite,” Mr. Houseman added quickly. “If anything like this happens again, I’ll have no choice but to expel Alexander from this school.”
“Understood. Good day, Mr. Houseman.” Worf deftly dismissed the principal and motioned Alexander out the door.
Even through his daze of despair, Alexander heard Mr. Houseman sigh with relief as they left his office.
When Worf pointed him toward the nearest exit, Alexander stopped. “I have to put my data bar in my locker. We’re not allowed to take them out of the building.”
“Very well.”
As Alexander led the way through the deserted corridors, his anxiety increased. His father’s unemotional calm was worse than the flustered displays of annoyance he had exhibited on the Enterprise. Worf had been completely out of his element when he first accepted the responsibility of fatherhood. In his confused and frightened innocence, Alexander had been able to reduce the noble Klingon to a state of sputtering, bewildered frustration when not even the High Council’s decree of discommendation two years before had caused a ripple in Worf’s veneer of proud poise. He knew because Counselor Deanna Troi had found his unusual effect on his father both fascinating and amusing.
Alexander wasn’t fascinated or amused now. Worf’s apparent unconcern was making him more nervous and upset than the furious lectures ever had. Why wasn’t his father fuming with anger? The boy choked back a gasp of alarm. Maybe Worf didn’t care enough about him anymore to be devastated and disappointed by his misbehavior!
“Here it is.” Alexander paused in front of the locker, and froze, his worry about his father’s feelings suspended for a moment.
Suzanne Milton was walking briskly toward them with her own data bar clutched in her hand. As she passed, she raised her chin and tossed her long hair over her shoulder. The deliberate snub hit Alexander like a bucket of ice water.
Worf frowned. “Is this how everyone treats you?”
“Mostly.” Sighing, Alexander keyed in his lock code. Since it didn’t seem possible to make his situation worse, he decided to confess all. “But Suzanne has a real reason. She was being nice and I snarled at her.”
Stunned, Worf blinked, then leaned closer. “Snarled at her?”
“I didn’t mean to insult her. It just happened. I still can’t believe it.” Shaking his head, Alexander pulled the data bar out of his pocket. He was prepared to accept whatever punishment his father had in store for him when they got home, but he wasn’t prepared for what he saw when he looked back around. Worf was headed down the hall toward Suzanne.
Aghast, Alexander sagged against his locker and watched helplessly. If the girl’s view of the hall hadn’t been blocked by her open locker door, she probably would have run screaming in terror. However, Worf took her by surprise with a smile. She’s probably too shocked to scream, Alexander thought miserably, wondering and yet not really wanting to know what his father was up to.
When Worf finished speaking, Suzanne nodded, then dashed to the side exit.
Closing the locker door, Alexander confronted his father when he returned. “Why did Suzanne run out of the building? What did you say to her!”
“She was excused early because she has a rehearsal for a dance recital,” Worf said.
“Oh.”
“And I explained that when a Klingon boy snarls at a girl, it is a compliment, an expression of—affection.”
“What?” Alexander’s mouth fell open. He couldn’t deny that he liked Suzanne and wanted to be friends. But even if that happened, which didn’t seem likely now, it was foolish to think a friendship could ever develop into something more when they got older. “But she’s a girl! I mean, she’s pretty and smart and—human.”
“She seemed pleased.”
“She did?” Alexander frowned uncertainly. He wasn’t sure which was more confounding: Suzanne’s attitude toward a complimentary Klingon snarl or his father’s efforts to rectify the unintended misunderstanding.
Worf urged him toward the door. “Human females are unpredictable, almost without exception. And many of them are not as fragile as they look.”
Human females aren’t the only ones who are unpredictable, Alexander thought. His father was doing a pretty good job of throwing him completely off-guard, too.
CHAPTER 7
Late the next afternoon, Alexander watched the seconds flash by on the detention hall clock, but he wasn’t watching the time. He was lost in puzzled thought. After returning home the day before, Worf’s attitude of unruffled acceptance had not wavered. He had neither dictated a punishment nor said another word about the library incident. Even his grandmother had seemed perplexed.
Alexander was pretty sure the startling change in his father’s attitude was not because he didn’t care. If that were the case, Worf wouldn’t have tried to correct the problem with Suzanne. It was also safe to assume that the Starfleet officer with the Klingon soul would not accept a dishonorable act in patient, unaffected silence.
Which, Alexander finally had to conclude, could only mean that somehow Worf knew he had not pushed over the bookcase, that his honor-bound promise not to break anything in a fit of temper was intact.
Alexander smiled as the significance of that sank in. Worf’s belief, based solely on faith without supporting evidence, was a demonstration of the absolute trust he had always hoped to earn, but never honestly thought he could.
The only question that remained was why his father hadn’t challenged Ms. Marconi’s and Mr. Houseman’s assumption that he was guilty, especially since Worf obviously thought he was innocent.
“That’s all for today. You’re free to go.”
Alexander shook himself out of his reverie as Mr. Cunningham dismissed him, the only student in the classroom. He didn’t care. Discovering how much his father trusted him was worth spending a whole semester in detention. However, it was only five days.
One down and four to go.
He didn’t even mind having to stay late at school tomorrow on the Batlh Jaj, Alexander realized as he grabbed his PADD and ran for the door.
“Walk!” Mr. Cunningham smiled as Alexander skidded to a halt. “Please, Mr. Rozhenko.”
“Yes, sir.” Grinning, Alexander made a show of walking as fast as he could without breaking into a jog until he burst through the doors to the outside. Leaping into the air, he laughed aloud. For the first time in a long time, he had actually had a good day.
Jeremy, Bernard and Kim had left him alone. Since they hadn’t been hauled into the principal’s office, they must have figured out that he hadn’t accused them. Maybe that had made them reevaluate their unfair attitudes and tactics. More likely, they were just afraid he’d change his mind and tell if they continued to torment him. Either way, their absence had made it much easier for him to control the persistent rage. The twinges of annoyance he had felt during the day had quickly been suppressed.
On the other hand, he had avoided Suzanne. In spite of his father’s impression, he wasn’t at all sure her reaction to his unwitting display of Klingon affection had been positive. Maybe she had run out of the building because the very idea made her sick to her stomach. If so, he didn’t want that terrible truth confirmed. It was enough to know that she knew he had not deliberately been rude.
Yep, Alexander thought happily. All things considered, it had been an extremely good day.
And it wasn’t over yet.
Anxious to get home, Alexander walked toward the soccer field to take the shortcut through the woods on the far side. As part of their Day of Honor celebration tomorrow evening, he and his father were going to stage an Honor Combat for his grandparents. When one Klingon challenged the honor of another, they fought the Suv’batlh to decide whose honor would be preserved. It was similar to the medieval practice of trial by combat between knights in that a warrior’s character and courage were thought to determine victory as much as his skill. Wielding bat’leths and wearing
full Klingon armor, he and his father would battle it out in the backyard, hopefully to the delighted horror of the elderly Rozhenkos. Although Worf wouldn’t admit it, he had never quite outgrown his own mischievous delight in trying to shake his adopted parents’ unruffled acceptance of his “brutal” Klingon nature.
Eager to practice with his bat’leth, the traditional curved sword of honor, Alexander started to run. He didn’t want to waste what was left of the warm, sunny afternoon. Halfway across the playing field, he realized he had made a gross tactical error.
Jeremy Sullivan darted from the edge of the forest onto the field in front of him. Bernard Umbaya and Kim Ho jumped out from behind the goals and raced toward him from the base lines.
Alexander’s near-perfect day turned as sour as a bunch of rotting Argelian grapes.
The boys were launching an attack even though he had protected them from the principal, detention and himself.
His initial dismay was instantly dragged under a rising tide of outrage. Even he had his limits, and it wouldn’t take much to push him over the edge of reason into a ferocious, fighting madness.
Keeping a tight rein on the aggressive impulses, Alexander stood his ground as the boys slowed and stopped about five feet away.
“So what’s the deal, Klingon?” Jeremy asked, regarding him warily.
“No deal,” Alexander said shortly. He was only guessing that Jeremy was referring to his silence, but asking a question, even for clarification, would imply that he was uncertain and intimidated. He was neither.
“You don’t expect us to believe you’re going to take the blame for smashing that bookcase without trying to get back at us, are you?” Kim’s eyes narrowed in a dark scowl.
“Believe what you want,” Alexander countered.
“Don’t play dumb with us, Alexander,” Bernard snapped. “No self-respecting Klingon would let us off the hook.”
“That’s right. Don’t you Klingons have this thing about defending your ho-nor.”
Bernard put a ridiculing emphasis on the word that made Alexander bristle. Still, he held his temper even as the tension in his muscles mounted and the impatient fury sparked. “You don’t know anything about honor, Bernard.”
“Maybe you don’t, either.” Jeremy took a daring step forward. “Maybe you didn’t snitch because you knew we’d do something about it.”
“I had reasons you don’t understand.” Gritting his teeth, Alexander fought the terrible, burning desire to rip the smug, challenging sneer off Jeremy’s face.
“Because you’re a coward!” Kim’s chest heaved. “My uncle was killed by a bunch of no-good, rotten, Klingon cowards!” The angry boy charged.
Alexander staggered backward with the momentum as the smaller boy’s body smashed into him. The power of unleashed Klingon adrenaline surged through him. Staying on his feet, he grabbed Kim’s arm and easily freed himself from the boy’s tackling grasp. Every cell in his Klingon body screamed for blood, urging him to yank the frail arm out of its socket. He tossed Kim aside instead.
Landing on his back with a thud and a whooshing grunt as the impact forced the air from his lungs, Kim lay without moving.
Time came to a screeching halt for Alexander. He stared at Kim, stricken as he recalled the soccer player who had died because Worf had been careless with his superior strength. That image was one hundred percent more effective than trying to cage an imaginary lion and the heat of Alexander’s anger turned cold with dread.
Get up!
Moaning softly, Kim struggled into a sitting position and drew a long, deep breath.
Relieved and focused on the stunned boy, Alexander didn’t see Jeremy and Bernard lunge at him until the last second. His reflexes engaged before the attack registered in his mind. Jumping back and to the side, he deflected the force of Jeremy’s fist against his jaw and eluded Bernard’s clumsy grasp.
The Klingon rage exploded from the depths of every gene, demanding its innate right to fight. Alexander mentally shoved the urge back as efficiently as he evaded Jeremy’s second attempt to smash his face. He ducked the punch, then whipped around, freeing his leg from the arms Bernard wrapped around it.
Howling in frustration, Bernard rose into a crouch with his fists raised before him. Jeremy circled, trying to flank him.
Getting a second wind, Kim stood up and advanced with Jeremy and Bernard.
Sweat glistened on Alexander’s brow from the dual exertion of controlling the rage within and fending off the boys’ assault without seriously hurting anyone. Realistically, he knew he couldn’t keep the fury blocked indefinitely. And even though it was three against one, if the Klingon fury got out, the fury would win.
But the price of his assured victory would be too high.
Retreat was not a maneuver any Klingon considered except as a last resort. And even though a fleeing Bird-of-Prey survived to fight again, many Klingon commanders preferred to die. For Alexander, retreat was the only option. He could bear being branded a coward. He could not bear inflicting a crippling injury or causing a death.
Hoping the implied threat would keep his attackers at bay, Alexander raised his hands in a defensive Mok’bara position and slowly moved back.
“Come on!” Jeremy screamed. “Fight! Fight!”
“Chicken!” Bernard ran forward, swinging wildly.
Kim didn’t say anything. He just charged.
Still moving backward toward the school, Alexander deftly warded off the blows. He instantly recognized an opportunity to flip Bernard, but didn’t take it. He had not been practicing the offensive aspects of the art long enough to guarantee precision control. One wrong move and Bernard could snap his neck.
Coming in from behind, Jeremy slammed himself into the back of Alexander’s knees. Unprepared, Alexander went down. All three boys fell on him with fists flying.
While Jeremy, Bernard and Kim battered muscle and bruised bone, the denied rage stormed a Klingon-human mind that would not and did not surrender.
A fist clobbered him in the eye and another blow split his lip. The salty taste of his own blood amplified the rage, but Alexander did not fight back.
The pounding stopped suddenly as new voices mingled with the boys’ shouted curses and insults.
“Stop this!” A man demanded. “Stop this now!”
“Enough, Bernard!” An authoritative female snapped.
“Kim! Alexander!”
Breathing hard, Alexander watched as Mr. Cunningham pulled Jeremy away. Ms. Marconi stepped between him and Bernard, saving him from one last punch. Kim backed off on his own.
“You know,” Mr. Cunningham said crossly as Alexander struggled to his feet. “I was really looking forward to getting home, but thanks to the four of you, we’ll all be spending the rest of this beautiful day with Mr. Houseman.”
“And I don’t think he’s going to be too happy about being stuck here, either.” Standing with her hands on her hips, Ms. Marconi glared at all four boys.
“He started it!” Bernard pointed to Alexander. Jeremy and Kim, looking suitably ashamed, nodded in agreement.
The librarian’s incensed gaze shifted to fix on Alexander’s dirt-streaked face. “How could you? Especially after Mr. Houseman gave you another chance.”
“I did not start it.” Alexander said, wondering if the slight narrowing of Ms. Marconi’s eyes indicated disgust or uncertainty.
“Everything was fine when you left detention, Alexander.” Either disregarding or not hearing Alexander’s denial, the science teacher threw up his hands in exasperation. “What could these three possibly have done that was worth starting a fight and getting thrown out of school?”
I was ambushed, Alexander thought. He would have said so if he thought anyone would listen. He seriously doubted anyone would. Sighing he fell into step beside Jeremy as Mr. Cunningham marched them back to the building and the principal’s office.
“Gotcha, Klingon,” Jeremy whispered. “You’re out of here.”
Alex
ander didn’t give the gloating boy the satisfaction of a response. The disgrace of being expelled would pass someday, but if he couldn’t convince his father he had not started the fight, the breach of faith between them might never be healed.
Who would Worf believe?
A rebellious son who had challenged his ideals and brought him more trouble than joy over the years?
Or everyone else?
CHAPTER 8
Sitting on the hard bench in the school office, Alexander stared at the three boys perched on chairs across from him. With an expression of inscrutable indifference frozen on his face, he did not blink, twitch, or in any way react to their whispered discussion. The cut on his lip stung and his blossoming black eye throbbed. He ignored those irritations, too.
Behind the counter, Mrs. Miyashi watched all of them like a hawk, ready to sound the alarm at the first hint of trouble. Mr. Houseman was still in his office. Jeremy’s father and Bernard and Kim’s mothers had already arrived and were waiting in the conference room with Mr. Cunningham and Ms. Marconi. Alexander didn’t know when his father would show. Worf had gone to Starfleet Headquarters to attend a research and development briefing about new security technologies. Alexander was sure he would not leave before the presentation was finished.
A buzzer sounded on Mrs. Miyashi’s desk. Rising, she headed for the principal’s office and paused at the door to glance at her charges. “Nobody moves. Do I make myself clear?”
The human boys nodded.
“Yes.” Alexander answered without moving anything except his mouth. The instant Mrs. Miyashi closed the door behind her, the boys fastened their intent, triumphant eyes on him.
“Defeat is as bitter as they say, isn’t it, Alexander?”
Jeremy smiled.
“And victory is sweet.” Bernard nodded emphatically. “We’ll probably get a month of detention, but you know? It’s worth it to get rid of you.”
Star Trek: Deep Space Nine: Young Adult Books #11: Day of Honor 5: Honor Bound Page 5