Kim just stared back.
Remembering how devastated he had been when his mother died, Alexander sympathized. But unlike Kim, who had targeted the entire Klingon race because he did not know the face or the fate of his uncle’s killer, he knew a certain, painful peace. Duras would never kill again. His father had risked his Starfleet career to claim the right of revenge under Klingon law and had killed the murdering traitor. Kim had no such comfort and Alexander sincerely wished there was some way he could diffuse the emotional time bomb the boy was carrying around.
“We won our war against you, Alexander.” Jeremy leaned forward to drive his point home. “And Starfleet will win against the Klingon Empire, too.”
“But,” Worf’s deep voice boomed from the doorway. “It would be more beneficial for all concerned if our differences could be settled peacefully.”
As though operating as a single unit, all three boys gasped. Eyes widened and jaws fell open as Lieutenant Commander Worf, wearing his red and black Starfleet uniform and a silver Klingon sash, stepped into the room.
“You really are a Starfleet officer!” Jeremy stated the obvious in a hushed rasp. “How can that be?”
“I graduated from Starfleet Academy.” Worf spoke without a hint of humor and dismissed the stunned boy by simply looking away.
Alexander tried not to smile. It was a struggle easily won when he saw the hard gleam in his father’s gaze when their eyes met.
Mrs. Miyashi’s hand clamped to her chest as she left Mr. Houseman’s office and spotted the towering Klingon standing by the counter. “We’ve been waiting for you to arrive, Mr. Worf. If you’ll just have a seat in the conference room with the other parents—”
“You and they will have to wait a while longer,” Worf said bluntly. He was not asking permission.
“Oh, uh … really?” Mrs. Miyashi swallowed hard.
“I will discuss this matter with my son first. In private.”
Alexander’s heart lurched.
Jeremy and Bernard couldn’t stop staring.
Kim frowned.
Stricken mute, Mrs. Miyashi pointed to the door leading into the guidance counselor’s office.
With a curt nod, Worf turned toward the indicated door. “Come with me, Alexander.”
Breathing in deeply, but keeping his own impassive expression fixed, Alexander stood up and followed his father. He did not acknowledge the four pairs of eyes that followed him.
“Sit down.” Motioning toward one of two chairs by an uncluttered desk, Worf closed the office door.
Alexander sat, bracing himself for the worst as Worf sank into the other chair.
“Have you been falsely accused again, Alexander?”
Alexander had expected his father to be direct, but he had not anticipated the question asked. He answered in stammering awe. “Uh … yes.”
“I see.” Worf lapsed into thoughtful silence a moment before continuing. “Did these same boys push over the bookcase in the library yesterday?”
Alexander could only nod, astounded yet again by his father’s blind belief that he had kept his given word. The questions Worf asked did not challenge his honesty, but merely sought additional information.
“Why did you not say so when we were in Mr. Houseman’s office?”
Shrugging, Alexander explained. “Everyone was so sure I did it, I didn’t think anyone would believe me.”
Worf frowned. “That is not sufficient reason to take the blame and accept punishment for something you did not do.”
“No.” Alexander paused, but he didn’t even consider trying to hide the truth. “I thought that if I told, Jeremy and Bernard and Kim would try to get back at me. I wasn’t afraid of a fight,” he added quickly. “I just wasn’t sure I’d be able to … control myself if I got into one.”
“You did not want to risk hurting or … killing anyone.”
Alexander shook his head. “No.”
“But they attacked you anyway.”
“Yeah. They wanted to get me before I got them, except I wasn’t even thinking about getting revenge.”
Nodding, Worf gently touched the dried blood on Alexander’s lip, then glanced at the closed door. “They do not appear to have any broken bones, bruises or black eyes.”
“I could have torn them apart with my bare hands!”
Alexander’s eyes flashed with Klingon fire, then he exhaled in self-disgust. “But I didn’t fight back. I am a rotten Klingon just like Kim said. Just not for the reasons he thinks.”
“I was not aware that you wanted to be Klingon.”
Worf blinked, unable to hide his surprise.
“I don’t. Not exactly.” Alexander shifted position and averted his gaze. “I want to be like you.”
Worf just stared at him.
Misinterpreting the long silence that followed, Alexander tried to cover the admission he had not intended to voice. “I wanted to make you proud, not ashamed.”
“Ashamed?” Worf started. “I am not ashamed of you and you are not a … rotten Klingon. Your ability to control your temper under such trying circumstances is impressive. And there is no dishonor in not fighting back when the decision is made in the interest of a greater good.”
“There isn’t?” Alexander looked up with a puzzled frown.
“No. After leaving K’Ehleyr by killing Duras, I made a decision not to challenge the High Council to clear our family’s name for the good of the Empire.”
“But Duras’s father betrayed Khitomer to the Romulans, not Mogh!”
Worf sighed. “That is true, but the entire High Council had supported the lie and shared the dishonor that went with it. To expose them would have thrown the Empire into chaos.”
Alexander raised an eyebrow. “But that happened anyway.”
“Yes.” Worf sighed. “When the Duras family challenged Gowron’s right to lead the High Council, the result was civil war. My silence only delayed the inevitable.”
“Yeah.” Alexander nodded. “Now I wish I had defended myself about the bookcase, too. But it’s too late now.”
Worf sat back with a frown. “My decision bought Gowron valuable time. Taking the blame for the bookcase to avoid a potentially dangerous confrontation was a wise decision as well.”
“Except it didn’t work!” The heat of anger warmed Alexander’s blood, but the heat quickly dissipated in the cold of bitter despair. “There was still a fight and everyone thinks I started it. Just like everyone thinks I dumped that bookcase. Even if I told the truth, no one would believe me now.”
“Truth does not stay buried forever,” Worf said. “The Duras lie was exposed and our honor was restored by Gowron when he emerged victorious in the civil war.”
“Yeah, but then Gowron kicked us out of the Empire again.”
“Yes.” Worf’s jaw flexed with tension. “He wanted me to join him when the Empire broke the alliance with the Federation. I chose to remain in Starfleet. He did not understand that being truly Klingon, my oath of allegiance to the Federation was just as binding as if I had sworn to be loyal to him.”
Alexander couldn’t help but notice the fleeting sadness that clouded his father’s eyes. Gowron had robbed them of their place on the High Council, their lands and their titles and evicted them from the Klingon Empire. Worf had even lost his brother, whose memories had been erased and replaced with a new identity to save him. Not only did Kurn no longer remember Worf as his brother, he despised and reviled him.
Now, Alexander realized with a profound sadness he had not felt before, all they had left of their Klingon heritage was each other and their honor—which Worf had never compromised.
“However, that is beside the point,” Worf continued. “Gowron had to set aside my discommendation because his honor would not allow him to ignore the truth about Mogh’s loyalty to the Empire at Khitomer. And I believe that someday he will pay highly for dismissing my oath to the Federation as irrelevant. Honor does prevail.”
“When you’re dealin
g with Klingons,” Alexander pointed out. “My word doesn’t mean anything here because these people don’t understand the importance of a Klingon’s oath. None of what’s happened is my fault, but I’m going to be expelled anyway.”
Worf bristled. “I will not allow them to expel you for something you did not do.”
Alexander appreciated that, but his father’s perspective had been distorted by his years in Starfleet. Because Starfleet incorporated so many different races and species, tolerance and understanding of alien cultures was imperative. With the exception of himself and an occasional exchange student from another world, the school’s teachers and students had never had to take critical cultural differences into consideration.
“I don’t think you can stop them,” Alexander said honestly. “It’s my word against the word of three humans who lie.”
Worf’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “By lying, those boys have challenged your honor. Consequently, they may also have provided us with the means to solve both your problems.”
“Both problems?”
“This school’s lack of knowledge about Klingon culture and the false accusation. There is a way, but you must trust me without question.”
How? Alexander wondered, his mind racing with a dozen more questions. He did not ask them.
“You have my word,” Alexander said solemnly.
CHAPTER 9
As Alexander took his place back on the bench, Worf looked at all four boys in turn, then addressed Mrs. Miyashi. “They will remain here until called. I must speak to their teachers and parents alone.”
“Uh, well. If it’s all right with Mr. Houseman, I suppose—”
“If what’s all right?” Mr. Houseman frowned as he stepped out of his office.
“I will explain in the conference room, Mr. Houseman.” Without giving the principal a chance to reply or argue, Worf opened the conference room door and strode inside. He stopped at the near end of the long table. All five humans seated around it reacted to his entrance with varying degrees of alarm and curiosity.
Mr. Houseman followed, remaining calm and collected as he walked past Worf and sat down at the head of the table. “Please, Mr. Worf. Have a seat.”
“Thank you. I will stand.”
“You’re not on trial here, Mr. Worf,” the principal assured him kindly.
“No, but Alexander is and I am convinced he has been falsely accused—for the second time in two days.” Worf had never understood the human tendency to “beat around the bush” and chose to get directly to the point. It was more efficient and gave him an immediate insight into the attitudes of the other people in the room.
He noted that the two women and one man seated to his left took exception to his statement. The dark-skinned woman frowned, but with consideration for his blunt declaration. The guarded stares of the woman of Asian descent and the man transformed into hostile glares. They were, he surmised, the other boys’ parents. The pretty, blond woman on his right looked startled, then deeply troubled, suggesting she might agree. The man to her right appeared to be thoughtfully reserving judgment.
Mr. Houseman quickly introduced everyone. Nods were exchanged instead of handshakes, providing Worf with more helpful information. Mrs. Umbaya, the librarian and the science teacher greeted him with tight, hesitant smiles, indicating they were willing to listen. Mr. Sullivan and Mrs. Ho would be difficult to convince.
“The matter of the library bookcase is closed, Mr. Worf,” Mr. Houseman said evenly. “We’re here today because Alexander, Jeremy, Bernard and Kim were caught fighting on school property.”
“Today’s fight is a direct result of Alexander’s silence concerning the bookcase.” Worf also kept his voice even. “He did not defend himself yesterday because he mistakenly thought that taking the blame would prevent a confrontation. He did not start the fight.”
“Are you saying that our kids did?” Mr. Sullivan demanded hotly.
“But why would they?” Mrs. Umbaya asked, genuinely puzzled.
Mrs. Ho shifted uncomfortably, but didn’t speak.
Worf was not unsympathetic to their distress. He had not forgotten how embarrassed he had been when Ms. Kyle, Alexander’s first teacher on the Enterprise, had informed him of his son’s disturbing behavior in class. However, although he was determined to clear Alexander, he was more concerned with correcting the circumstances that had prompted the incidents than he was with seeing the other boys punished.
“As concerned and responsible parents, the question we must address is not who did what, but why—as Mrs. Umbaya asked a moment ago.”
Mrs. Umbaya nodded, pleased with Worf’s recognition.
“We are all aware that Klingons are savagely aggressive,” Mr. Sullivan huffed. “Obviously, Mr. Worf’s son must have done something to antagonize the others.”
“Obviously?” Ms. Marconi glared at Jeremy’s father. “Are all people of Irish descent alcoholics and terrorists?”
“Of course not!” Mr. Sullivan snapped, then blinked. A flush of humiliation crept up his neck as he cleared his throat. “Although, a few hundred years ago there were a lot of people who thought so. My deepest apologies for my prejudicial remark, Lieutenant Commander.”
Worf accepted with a gracious nod.
“Prejudice.” Mr. Cunningham sighed. “Humans have lived together without caring about our differences for so long, I didn’t recognize the ugly beast when it was staring me in the face. Prejudice is the problem, isn’t it, Mr. Worf?”
“I believe so.” Worf scanned the troubled faces before him, noting that everyone but Mrs. Ho now seemed open to discussion. “In spite of the long alliance between the Federation and the Empire, Earth knows very little about our culture and values. Ignorance breeds misunderstanding.”
“That doesn’t change the fact that your son went berserk in the library yesterday!” An anger completely out of proportion to the circumstances twisted Mrs. Ho’s face and flared in her eyes. “That was no misunderstanding. Kim told me that Ms. Marconi caught Alexander red-handed.”
“Actually—” The librarian sheepishly glanced at Mr. Houseman and then at Worf. “I didn’t see Alexander push the case. His sleeve was caught between the bookcase and the table and he was the only one there when I arrived. But…”
“Yes?” Worf prodded.
Ms. Marconi sighed deeply. “Jeremy, Bernard and Kim were in the library at the time, too.”
Mr. Houseman started. “And you think it’s possible they did it?”
Ms. Marconi shrugged. “Possible, yes. But I can’t prove it. Not unless they confess.”
“The same is true of the fight today,” Mr. Cunningham added. “Bernard said Alexander started it and the other two agreed, but we don’t know that for a fact.”
Appalled, Mrs. Umbaya gasped. “I can’t believe Bernard would lie or do any of these terrible things just because Alexander is a Klingon.”
“Kim would.” Tears flowed freely down Mrs. Ho’s cheeks. “My brother was killed by Klingons.”
No one spoke for several seconds.
“I hate to admit it,” Mr. Sullivan said softly, breaking the anguished silence, “but Jeremy could be guilty, too. He’s been set on a Starfleet career since he was six years old. According to him, Bernard and Kim share his dream. Perhaps, in their youthful enthusiasm, they’ve forgotten that the primary function of Starfleet is exploration. The dispute with the Empire has put an unusual emphasis on combat.”
“And Alexander is the face of the enemy.” Exhaling, Mrs. Umbaya lowered her gaze.
“I’m at a loss how to proceed,” the principal admitted, running his hand through his hair. “Without proof or confessions, we may never know what really happened in the library. However, I’m no longer convinced Alexander is guilty. Even so, they were all caught fighting on school grounds. I don’t see any option but to punish all of them.”
“I have a better idea.” When everyone turned to regard him attentively, Worf plunged ahead. “The boys are the on
ly ones who know the truth. It cannot be forced out of them, but must be offered willingly, as a matter of honor. Honor is not a concept unique to Klingons. It has been valued as a measure of an individual human’s worth throughout your history. It is absolutely essential in Starfleet officers.”
“Go on, Mr. Worf,” Mr. Sullivan urged with a smile.
Alexander stood with Jeremy, Bernard and Kim at the edge of the table. The adults sitting around it watched them with expressions so grim and foreboding, he wondered if his father had been giving them lessons. He aimed his own gaze straight ahead, but he was aware of Worf standing off to the side. His father’s narrowed, piercing stare and proud stance were unmistakeable signs that he had shifted into pure Klingon-mode.
“Alexander!” Worf barked sharply.
Jeremy, Bernard and Kim flinched.
“Yes, sir.” Swallowing hard, Alexander tried to bear in mind that his father had a plan. No matter what happened, he had to trust him—blindly and without question.
“Did you knock over the bookcase in the library?”
“No, sir. I did not.”
“Do you know who did?”
“Yes.”
Arms crossed over his massive chest, Worf strode forward and stopped before him. “Name them.”
Alexander felt Jeremy tense beside him and hesitated. He wasn’t sure what response his father expected. An honest and honorable one, he realized. “No.”
Worf paused, tightening the tension with his silence. “That is your right. However, Bernard Umbaya has accused you of starting the fight on the soccer field.”
Bernard sucked in his breath with a soft cry of alarm.
Mrs. Umbaya’s hand quickly covered her mouth, but Alexander couldn’t tell if she was hiding a smile or a gasp of horror.
Worf’s attention remained riveted on him. “Did you?”
“No, sir.”
Still speaking to Alexander, but moving so he faced Bernard, Worf spoke in a low, threatening tone. “Then he has insulted your honor.”
“Yes.”
Star Trek: Deep Space Nine: Young Adult Books #11: Day of Honor 5: Honor Bound Page 6