Hacker Chronicles 2/HACKER2.BIN/499.SSN-9301.C6

Text File | 1993-03-28 | 34KB | 621 lines

                       My Son, The Klingon

                                                (c) Tracey R Rich
                                                        July 1988

     The six-member away team from the U.S.S. Valiant gazed upon
the remains of the Klingon outpost with disgust.  If the Romulans
had merely wished to destroy the outpost, they could have done so
easily and cleanly with their ship's phasers.  Instead, they had
chosen to add insult to the injury, pelting the outpost with photon
torpedoes, which left the crumbled structures and mangled bodies
as a visible warning to those with the audacity to defend their
borders against Romulan expansion.
     Lt. Madison "Sonny" Duncan, the Valiant's security chief, led
three other security officers and two med-techs in an investigation
of the rubble.  The entire group was nervous.  This was the first
time a Federation starship had entered Klingon territory without
advance notice.  But when the Klingon outpost at the border of the
Federation, Klingon and Romulan Empires had sent out a distress
call, the Valiant had been obligated to respond.
     The Valiant had arrived too late to prevent the outpost's
destruction.  The captain had organized a rescue mission to save
the few Klingons who had survived the attack.  All but one died
from their injuries before they could be extricated from the
rubble.  The rescue team's efforts reached a fevered pitch as they
searched for the last survivor.
     "Lt. Duncan!" Ensign Saxena called.  Sonny ran over to him.
"I think I've found the survivor!" the young ensign said eagerly.
He pointed into a pile of rubble and showed the tricorder readings
to the security chief.
     Sonny confirmed the readings.  Something under there was
alive.  Within the pile of rubble, Sonny could see what appeared
to be a female Klingon warrior in uniform.  A huge slab of
plasticrete pinned her from the shoulder blades up.
     Sonny thumbed his communicator to activate its translator
capabilities.  "Hello?" he called into the pile of rubble, "Can
you hear me?  I'm Lt. Madison Duncan of the U.S.S. Valiant.  We're
here to help you."  There was no response.
     "Help me get this off her." he ordered the ensign.  They took
opposite ends of the slab and rolled it off the Klingon woman.
When they turned their attention back to her, they discovered that
they were too late.  Her head had been smashed open by the falling
plasticrete.  Ensign Saxena's eyes widened with horror and his
usually dark skin turned a sickly green.  He turned away from the
gory spectacle and vomited.
     Lt. Duncan, more experienced and thus more accustomed to the
gruesome side of death, merely swallowed heavily and took a deep
breath.  "She can't be the source of the life reading." he noted.
He gently rolled the corpse.
     Underneath the woman, still held protectively in her arms,
was a small Klingon boy.  He looked about six years old, the same
age as Sonny's child.  The boy was covered with blood, though it
was impossible to tell how much of the blood was his own.  His
breath was ragged and irregular, but he was unquestionably alive.
     Sonny thumbed his communicator.  "Garcia, I've found a
survivor in need of immediate medical attention.  Get over here."
     "Don't waste the healer's time." said a deep, raspy voice
behind him.
     Sonny whirled and saw a Klingon warrior in battle gear.
Apparently, a Klingon vessel had belatedly responded to the
outpost's distress call.  The Klingon was no taller than Sonny,
about 195 cm., but he was brawny while Sonny was lean and sinewy.
Sonny froze.  He had never been face to face with a live Klingon
warrior before.  Age old fears not stilled by a mere two-year
alliance welled up in him.
     But Sonny recovered quickly.  "We can save him." Sonny
explained.
     "Save him for what?" the Klingon replied.
     Sonny briefly wondered if his translator were functioning
properly.  He tried to explain.  "The child is still alive.  But
he'll die without treatment."
     "Isn't it better to die here and now, after battle with the
enemy, than to die later of starvation and neglect?" the Klingon
countered.
     "I don't understand."
     "His parents are dead." the Klingon replied with exasperation,
as if he were explaining something very obvious to someone very
stupid, "And there's no tribal obligation--he looks too young for
inclusion."
     "I'm sure someone can take care of him."
     The Klingon hesitated.  "There are many things I don't know
about humans." he admitted, "Perhaps it is your custom to take
strangers into your families, but it is not ours."
     Sonny gaped.  "Are you telling me that if we save this boy,
you'll leave him to die?"
     "That's very likely."
     "That's barbaric."
     The Klingon snapped, "That is the Klingon way.  You know
nothing about it.  You are in no position to judge."
     At that moment, Garcia arrived.  He stopped suddenly when he
saw the Klingon warrior.  "Who's he?" Garcia asked, thoroughly
taken aback.
     "I'm Lt. Cmdr. Kevar of the Imperial Starship Melkhama.  We
came in response to this outpost's distress call.  My men were
searching for survivors, but there are none."
     "There is one." Sonny snapped defiantly.  "Garcia, tend to
the child."  Garcia obeyed.
     Kevar shook his head disapprovingly.  "You deprive him of his
chance to join his parents in the world that follows.  His parents
would want it that way."
     Sonny faltered briefly.  Then he looked over at what was left
of the boy's mother.  She had shielded the boy's body with her own,
given her life so that her child might live.  "No." Sonny said with
quiet certainty, "She would want us to heal him."
     "And what will happen after you heal him?"
     "We have orphanages, foster homes, people who will care for
him."
     "And they will take in a Klingon?" Kevar replied with
sarcastic skepticism.
     "They'll take anyone we bring them."
     "But if they don't?"
     "Then I'll take him home myself if I have to." Sonny snarled.
The two men glared at each other in silence for a few moments.
     "He needs more help than I can give him here." Garcia said
softly, breaking the silence.  "Should I take him back to the
Valiant?"
     "Yes." Sonny replied.
     "No." Kevar insisted, "That child is a Klingon national.  You
may not remove him without my permission."
     "Dammit Kevar, I won't let you condemn that child to death!"
Sonny snapped.
     Kevar looked at the child.  "You said that you would take him
if no one else would.  Did you mean that?"  Sonny felt his stomach
sink.  "Swear to me, Earther.  Swear that you will care for that
child if no one else will, and I'll let you save him."
     Sonny's blood ran cold.  "I swear." he replied weakly.
     "Take him." Kevar ordered Garcia.
     Garcia contacted the Valiant.  A moment later, Garcia and the
child vanished in a shimmer of blue light.
     When Garcia was gone, Kevar said in an amiable tone, "What's
your name, Earther?"
     Sonny was slightly surprised by the sudden change in attitude.
"Lt. Madison Duncan." he introduced himself, "I'm the Security
Chief of the U.S.S. Valiant."
     Kevar nodded.  "I like you, Lt. Duncan.  You have courage and
strength of character."  He smiled a slight, Klingon smile.
"You'll need that if you're going to raise a Klingon child.  I wish
you the best of luck."  He headed for what was left of the door,
then stopped.  "I hope you Earthers take honor as seriously as we
Klingons do." Kevar noted, "Because if you fail to abide by your
word, and thereby increase a Klingon's suffering, you bring
dishonor on our entire race, and we'll hunt you down and kill you."
With that, Kevar left to collect his men.  Sonny was shaking with
reaction.

*                   *                   *                   *

     Later that day, Sonny visited the sickbay to check up on the
Klingon child.  Garcia was not there, but C.M.O. Mary Lou Eckels
was tending to the child.
     "Hiya, Sonny!" she said cheerfully.
     "How is he?"
     "Not bad for someone who was operated on from a textbook."
she remarked, "You know, I've never worked on a Klingon before.
When I was in med school, we were cutting Klingons up, not putting
them together."
     Sonny laughed.  "You're not that old, Doc.  My grandfather
was an ensign when the Organian Peace Treaty was signed."
     "True.  Still, I never thought I'd work on one.  And the
physiology is completely unfamiliar.  We're lucky that Klingon--
what's his name, Kevar?--downloaded us some basic Klingon medical
texts."
     They were silent for a few moments.  "What do you think family
services will do about him?" Sonny asked finally.
     "I won't bullshit you, Sonny.  I don't think anyone's going
to adopt, or even foster him.  Cross-race adoption is rare.  Add
to that the fact that not many people trust Klingons, and it's not
a pretty picture."
     "It's better than dying."
     Dr. Eckels agreed readily.  "He'll be fed, clothed, educated,
get all the essentials.  I'm sure he'll be fine."
     Sonny felt guilty.  He was taking a small boy away from his
people to live among aliens.  He comforted himself by remembering
that it was only temporary.  When the boy was old enough to take
care of himself, he could return to his people.
     Sonny looked down at the boy, thinking of his own son.  Would
I want Jeff to be raised by Klingons if that were the only way to
survive, Sonny wondered.  He tried to imagine the kind of person
Jeff would be after 10 years with Kevar.  It was not an entirely
satisfactory mental image, but it was better than death.  Sonny
would be thankful to Kevar for raising his child.  Then again,
Sonny wasn't a Klingon.
     The boy looked so small and innocent and helpless.  "Do you
mind if I stay here for a while?" Sonny asked the doctor.
     "Mind?  I'd appreciate it!  I'd like to take a break.  I've
been monitoring him for six hours!"
     Sonny panicked.  "Doc, I don't know anything about medicine.
I--"
     "All you have to do is keep an eye on the board.  If the
readings change suddenly or it looks like he's in pain or waking
up, flash me."
     Sonny was still uneasy, but he agreed.  He sat down in a chair
and watched, noticing again how very alien the boy was.  Sonny
remembered that his son, Jeff, had been asking for a brother
lately.  This Klingon was more than he had bargained for!  Of
course, Jeff would never actually meet the boy; family services
would take him.
     They'd better take him, Sonny thought, Shandra will be furious
if I bring home a Klingon for her to raise.  Besides, what do we
know about raising Klingons?  Family services is much better suited
to the task.
     Sonny was roused from his mental musings by a noise from the
bed.  It sounded like growling, but Sonny noticed that the noise
seemed to have a pattern.  Apparently, the boy was talking in his
sleep.  Sonny was debating whether to call the doctor when the
noises became more urgent.
     Sonny thumbed the communicator.  "Lt. Duncan to C.M.O.
Eckels." he said.  The doctor acknowledged.  Sonny explained the
situation, then added "I think it's only a nightmare.  But you'd
better get up here, just in case."
     "On my way."
     Sonny then thumbed the communicator to activate the
translator, but before the noises could sort themselves into words,
the boy howled and snapped awake.  He seemed disturbed by the
unfamiliar surroundings.  When he saw Sonny, his eyes widened.
     "Who are you?" the boy growled suspiciously.
     "I'm Lt. Madison Duncan, chief of security on the U.S.S.
Valiant.  But you can call me Sonny.  Who are you?"
     The boy hesitated.  "I'm Worf." he said finally.  He
scrutinized Sonny carefully.  "You're an Earther."  It was almost
a question.
     Sonny smiled.  "Not exactly, but that's close enough."  The
boy frowned in confusion.  Sonny explained, "I'm not from Earth;
I'm from Gault.  But I think what you mean by 'Earther' is 'human,'
which I am."
     Worf nodded judiciously.  "Am I your prisoner, Earther?" he
asked.  It was a simple question, asked without fear.
     Sonny tried not to laugh.  "No.  We're here to help you."
     "Earthers don't help Klingons.  Earthers are our enemies.
I've seen it in the holos."
     This time, Sonny could not suppress his amusement.  "A long
time ago we were enemies.  But now we're friends."
     Worf was considering that when Dr. Eckels walked brusquely
into the room.  "Ah, I see our little patient is awake." she noted,
pleased.
     "What did she say?" the boy growled suspiciously.
     "Doc, turn on your translator." Sonny recommended.
     The doctor did so and asked, "How do you feel?"
     The boy considered.  "There is much pain here."  He indicated
the middle of his rib cage.
     "Yes, you broke a few ribs, among other things." she replied.
She pulled out a hand scanner and checked the area.  Then she
whistled appreciation.  "You're not kidding 'there is much pain'!
Do you want me to block it or put you back to sleep?"
     The doctor meant it as an either-or choice, but Worf chose
neither.  "Warriors must learn to face pain." he explained
seriously.
     The doctor sighed.  "Have it your way.  If you change your
mind, just let me know."  She looked at the board.
     "How is he?" Sonny asked.
     The doctor shrugged.  "I'll have to check it against the
records."  The doctor left to analyze her readings.
     "Where is Maka?" the boy asked.
     "Who's that, one of your parents?"
     Worf seemed to find that amusing.  "No, he's my targ."  At
Sonny's blank look, the boy drew a picture in the air and gave a
brief description.
     "A pet?" Sonny asked.  Worf nodded.  Sonny remembered seeing
a few furry, horned, pig-like animals in the debris, but none had
been alive.  "I think he's dead." Sonny said softly, "You're the
only one we found alive."
     "Me and my parents." the boy corrected.
     "No.  Only you."
     Worf looked stunned.  "Then why are you keeping me alive?"
     Sonny hadn't expected that particular reaction.  "We humans
don't leave orphans to die.  We have orphanages that will take care
of you until you're old enough to take care of yourself, or find
a family to take care of you."
     Worf was disgusted by the idea.  Why would these humans want
to keep an orphan alive, he wondered.  It was very suspicious.
     Dr. Eckels returned.  She was smiling.  "He's responding very
well, I think.  But for now, he needs a lot of rest."
     But Worf knew better than to sleep in the presence of the
human monsters.

*                   *                   *                   *

     Two days later, Worf lay on his bed half asleep, picking at
the Starfleet insignia/communicator at his chest.  The humans had
ordered him to wear it.  It turned those strange, squeaky noises
humans made into the proper harsh and rumbling sounds of
Klingonese.  Still, he resented having to wear the device.  It was
a human symbol, and a Klingon warrior should not wear a human
symbol.  But they had no translators which were not in the shape
of the human symbol.  The humans had made it abundantly clear that
if Worf didn't wear a translator, everyone who came into contact
with him would have to turn on theirs.  Therefore, he was required
to wear the translator.  But he wasn't required to like it.
     The light rustling sound of someone moving in the room brought
the little warrior to full consciousness.  He growled at the
intruder as he felt the hair at the back of his neck rise to the
challenge.
     The intruder made a strange noise in response.  "It's only
me, Worf." the intruder said.
     Worf recognized the voice of the person others called "Doc."
A female healer, he remembered.  At least, he assumed she was
female.  She looked like a female, but one could never be certain
with these strange looking humans.  The human monsters had animal-
like, flat, smooth skulls with hair extending fully to the brow,
crescent shaped eyebrows and concave nose bridges.  How could he
be certain they didn't differ in other ways?
     Worf rolled over to face the healer, carefully ignoring the
fire in his lower ribs.  The healer turned her head left and right
several times in a gesture Worf did not recognize.  "You should
sleep flat on your back and try not to roll around if you want
those ribs to heal properly." she said.
     Worf could not understand her tone.  Was this meant to be a
command?  A suggestion?  A request?  And if it was a command, did
honor require him to follow the commands of the Earthers?  A
perplexing dilemma for a child not yet old enough for inclusion.
He wanted to seek advice from his mother, his father or his
teacher, but they were all dead.  There were no Klingons here to
tell him a warrior's duty.
     For lack of any better response, Worf simply said, "I
understand."
     The healer began to scan Worf with her devices.  He watched
her carefully.  He did not trust her.  She always spoke to Worf in
a strange, high-pitched tone of voice that set his teeth on edge.
She didn't use that tone with other people.  And she had a strange
smell about her, something sickly sweet and artificial.  It was
obviously meant to cover her own smell, and how could you trust
someone who hid her smell?
     "I'm still reading a lot of pain in those ribs.  Are you sure
you don't want me to give you something?"
     That was another reason Worf did not trust the healer.  She
kept trying to drug him, to dull his senses.  What would she do to
him when she had him in her power?  "No drugs." he insisted.
     She made a strange gesture with her shoulders and said, "Have
it your way.  Let me know if you change your mind."
     The human called Sonny entered the room.  "I see Worf's
awake." Sonny remarked, "That's good."
     The healer approached Sonny.  "He's awake because he refuses
to sleep." the healer replied in an undertone, "That's bad."
     "He hasn't slept at all?"
     "The board hasn't picked up anything below beta waves--light
meditation--since he regained consciousness two days ago.  And he
wakes up as soon as anyone walks in the room.  You think you can
talk some sense into him?"
     "If he doesn't want to sleep, there's no point in forcing him.
He has enough problems as it is."  Sonny replied.  The healer
continued to stare at him.  "All right, I'll see what I can do."
     Sonny walked to Worf's bed.  If there were any trustworthy
humans, Worf thought, then Sonny was one of them.  Sonny seemed to
be a man of honor.  He even moved like a warrior, proud and
controlled, always ready to defend himself if need be.  The other
humans moved like easy prey.  Worf remembered that Sonny was chief
of security.  It was a proper position for a warrior among these
docile humans.
     "Doc tells me you haven't been getting any sleep." Sonny
remarked to Worf as he took a seat next to the bed.
     "I have rested." Worf replied.
     "Doc says you need sleep, not just rest." Sonny countered,
"And I think she knows more about medicine than you do."
     "Yes, sir."
     "Is there a reason why you won't go to sleep?"  Worf didn't
answer immediately.  "There is, isn't there?"
     "Yes, sir." Worf admitted.
     "Tell me why." Sonny ordered.
     Worf wanted to comply with the order, but did not want to
reveal his distrust.  A rumbling sound began deep in the boy's
throat, the instinctive Klingon reaction to an approach-avoidance
conflict.
     "Don't you growl at me." Sonny snapped.
     "I'm not growling, sir." Worf tried to say through the
rumbling in his throat.
     "Well, whatever you're doing, stop it."
     Worf remembered what his teacher had said: instinct is good,
but discipline is better.  Discipline must triumph over instinct.
Somehow, Worf managed to control the rumbling.
     "That's better." Sonny said, "Now, why won't you go to sleep?"
     Worf glanced around the room furtively.  The healer was gone.
"I don't trust the healer." he confided softly.
     "Oh, fer cryin' out--Worf, if she wanted to hurt you, she
could have done that when we first brought you aboard.  You were
unconscious for more than six hours."
     Worf considered that.  "True." he conceded.  "But I still
don't trust her."
     Sonny wondered, what would impress a Klingon?  "Worf, when
Dr. Eckels became a healer, she took an oath to help sick people
and never to hurt them.  She wouldn't violate that oath."
     But Worf remembered hearing that humans weren't as serious
about oaths as Klingons were.  Humans had to swear by their gods,
as if honor weren't sufficient motivation for keeping one's word.
     Sonny was caught at an impasse.  "Do you trust me?" he asked.
     After a brief pause, Worf replied, "Somewhat."
     "If I stay and promise not to let Doc touch you, will you
sleep?"
     Worf debated.  Could he trust Sonny that far?  Sonny was
correct, the healer had not harmed him when she had the
opportunity.  And Sonny seemed to be an honorable man.  "What if
you have to leave?"
     "I'll wake you." Sonny replied.
     That would have to suffice.  "I'll sleep."
     After 48 hours with no sleep, Worf was out cold almost
immediately.  Dr. Eckels returned to the room.  "Good work, Sonny."
she remarked softly, "I'll just give him a sedative so--"
     "No." Sonny interrupted.
     "What?"
     "He doesn't trust you, Doc.  That's why he wouldn't sleep.
I promised to guard him while he sleeps."
     "Sonny, he'll never know--"
     "I don't give a damn what he knows.  It looks like I'm the
only person he trusts, and I'm not going to betray him."
     Sonny sat in the sickbay for five hours before Worf woke up.
He killed time reading everything he could find about Klingons.
There wasn't much information available, and much of what he found
was pure conjecture by Federation xenopsychologists.  He felt as
if he already knew more than they did.
     Over the next week, Sonny visited Worf in the sickbay every
day.  He explained why the doctor wore the strange scent (perfume,
a human custom) and why she spoke so strangely when she spoke to
Worf (some people use that tone with small children).  Worf began
to trust the doctor to a limited extent, and began to sleep
regularly.
     When Worf's ribs healed, Sonny began to take Worf down to the
gymnasium to work off some of that incredible Klingon energy.
Sonny taught Worf many of the games that human children played, so
that Worf would fit in at the orphanage.  And Worf taught Sonny a
few Klingon games, so Sonny would have new games to play with his
own son.
     On the eleventh day after the destruction of the Klingon
outpost, the Valiant arrived at Starbase 4, where Worf was to be
turned over to family services.  Captain Kristin Cassady, commander
of the Valiant, sent Sonny to deliver Worf to family services.  Her
choice was purely practical: Sonny and Dr. Eckels were the only
people on the ship who would willingly come near the boy.
     Sonny and Worf walked solemnly through the corridors of
Starbase 4, Worf dutifully following Sonny one pace behind on the
right.  They reached the office of Matti Nystrom, director of
family services for the quadrant, and entered.  Worf had to exert
a great effort not to show his distaste.  Nystrom was all the
things Worf hated in humans: soft and weak and pale and thin.
Sonny introduced himself and Worf to Nystrom.
     "This is the child you want us to take?" the director said
dubiously.
     "Yes." Sonny replied.
     "But . . . he's a Klingon." Nystrom pointed out in a
confidential whisper, as if that fact weren't completely obvious.
     Worf recognized the disapproval in Nystrom's voice.  He drew
himself up haughtily (or at least as haughtily as any six-year-old
could manage).  "Yes, sir.  I am Klingon." Worf agreed, all but
daring the director to find fault with that fact.
     Nystrom sighed heavily and shook his head.  "This presents a
difficulty." he commented.
     "What kind of difficulty?" Sonny asked, knowing he didn't want
to hear the answer.
     Nystrom drummed his fingers on his desk nervously.  "About 12
years ago, a group of Romulan children were found in Federation
territory, apparently abandoned.  We at family services took them
in and placed them in an orphanage.  Well!  These children were
completely incorrigible!  They eventually took over the home and
held the other children hostage!  It caused permanent emotional and
psychological damage to all the children involved.  Since then, we
at family services have had a . . . gentleman's agreement not to
take in orphans from hostile races."
     The insignia/communicator Worf wore translated "hostile" into
a Klingonese word which also meant "enemy," which was, in fact,
what Nystrom meant.  Worf looked at Sonny quizzically.  "Hostile
races?" he asked, "I thought you said we were allies."
     Sonny wasn't sure how to answer that.  "We haven't been allies
very long." he tried.
     Worf understood, and he was disgusted by the implication.
"You think I'm like the Romulans?"  He spat.  "The Romulans have
no honor.  They said they were our allies, but--"  Suddenly, a
unpleasant idea occurred to Worf.  It was a idea he had been trying
not to think about for several days.  Now he had no choice but to
confront it.  "You said you were our allies.  How do I know you
weren't lying too?"
     As soon as Worf admitted to himself that he was in the
presence of potential enemies, instinct took over.  He could not
honorably initiate a conflict with declared allies.  His only
alternative was preventative defense.  Before Sonny realized what
had happened, Worf bolted out the door and down the corridor.  By
the time Sonny reached the door, Worf had disappeared into the
crowd.
     Sonny turned in the doorway and glared at Nystrom.  "I hope
you're satisfied." Sonny snarled.  He stormed off into the
corridor.

     Worf sneaked through the halls until he found a dark corner
in a disused cul-de-sac.  He hid himself there.  It was a good
hiding place; the humans walked by without noticing him.  He had
time to think.
     What would he do now?  His parents were dead, he was not old
enough to take care of himself, nor old enough to incur tribal
obligations, and he was light years away from the Empire.  This
was the humans' fault.  They should have let him die with his
parents.  He could be sharing the world that follows with them.
     How would he survive without family or tribe?  He started to
form a plan.  He could hide in his corner and steal food from the
synthesizers.  Maybe he could even find some weapons and take over
the starbase.  He could capture it for the glory of the Empire!
That would prove he was a man and they would have to admit him to
a tribe, even though he was a little young.
     Worf was so lost in his imaginings, he almost didn't hear
Sonny approach.  It hadn't taken Sonny long to find Worf.  Sonny
had simply instructed his tricorder to search for the only Klingon
reading on the starbase.  Convincing Worf to trust Sonny would be
a much more difficult matter.
     Sonny almost didn't see Worf, even though the tricorder
insisted that the boy was hiding there in the darkness.  Sonny sat
down next to Worf.
     "Do you want to talk?" Sonny asked.
     "No."
     "Worf, sometimes you have to trust people."
     "Why?"
     Sonny sighed.  "Because you can't survive on your own.
Everyone needs help sometimes.  The trick is knowing who to trust."
     Worf was silent.
     "You can trust me." Sonny noted.
     Worf wanted to trust Sonny.  Sonny was right; he needed to
trust someone, and Sonny was the most worthy of all the humans he
had met.  "How can I be certain?"
     "Rely on your instincts." Sonny suggested, "Do you like me?"
     After a long pause, Worf nodded affirmatively.
     "Do you want to trust me?"
     A shorter pause, then a nod.
     "Can you think of any reason not to trust me?"
     A very long pause, then he shook his head negatively.
     "Well then, I think you should trust me." Sonny suggested.
     Worf nodded judiciously.
     "How would you like to come home with me?  To Gault." Sonny
invited.  Worf looked up, questioning.  "You see, I promised a
Klingon warrior that if family services didn't take you, I'd raise
you myself.  And I always keep my promises."  Worf considered that.
"Now, do you want to come home with me?"
     Worf nodded vigorously.
     Sonny silently prayed that Shandra would understand.

*                   *                   *                   *

     It took a lot of arguing to get Captain Cassady to agree to
an immediate leave.  She finally gave in when Sonny explained that
the sooner he got his leave, the sooner "that Klingon" would be off
the ship.  She even allowed Worf to keep the Starfleet-issue
translator Worf was using.  The ship's navigator made a few
inquiries and arranged the quickest possible trip to Gault.  Still,
it took two weeks to get to the distant farming colony.
     When they arrived at Sonny's homestead, Sonny's wife Shandra
and their son Jeffrey were waiting for them.  Fortunately, Worf
still had trouble interpreting human facial expressions and vocal
tones, so he didn't notice how displeased Shandra was.
     "Hello Madison, Worf." she hissed through clenched teeth.
Her tone was so cold, it sent a chill through Sonny's bones.
Oddly, Worf seemed comforted by the tone.
     Jeff did not share his mother's displeasure.  He ran up to
his father and threw his arms around Sonny's neck, hugging him
soundly.  Sonny picked Jeff up, amazed at how big the boy was
getting.  They shared a few brief words of reunion.
     Finally, Shandra interrupted.  "Jeff, why don't you take Worf
out back and play while your father and I talk." she suggested.
     Jeff nodded eagerly.  A new playmate!  As he led Worf out the
back door, he noticed the Starfleet insignia on the Klingon's
chest.  "Wow!  Where'd you get that?" he asked.
     "Sonny makes me wear it so I can--" Worf began to explain.
Sonny and Shandra could not hear any further conversation because
the door closed behind the boys.
     Shandra shook her head disapprovingly.  "You've been
sheltering strays all your life.  I suppose I should have
anticipated something like this."
     "There was no other way.  Everyone else wanted to leave him
to die."
     "Madison, he's a Klingon."
     "He's a little boy.  He's very afraid and very alone, even if
he doesn't show it the way we do."
     "Madison . . ."
     "He's really a very good boy.  A little hyperactive, but very
well disciplined.  He'll do whatever you tell him, as long as you
make it an order.  Jeff's not that cooperative."
     Shandra ran her fingers through her hair in frustration.
"Madison, I don't know anything about Klingons.  How am I supposed
to take care of him?"
     "The same way you would take care of any other child."
     But Shandra was a veteranarian who had lived her entire life
on a farm.  She was well aware of the practical problems of taking
care of a being of another species.  "What do I feed him?"  Her
tone was challenging.
     "He can eat almost anything we can." Sonny countered, "Though
he doesn't particularly like the taste.  He also needs a little
more protein than we do."
     "What if he gets sick?"
     "You're a vet; be creative!"  Shandra glared at him.  "Basic
first aid is the same for any species, and the Klingons gave us
some more specific information about Klingon illnesses.  Besides,
as far as I can tell, Klingons are very sturdy.  They don't need
much medical attention."
     Shandra had to concede that Sonny had considered all of the
angles.  But she was not ready to give in.  "What about Jeff?"
     "What about him?"
     "Is it fair to him?  To divert some of our love and attention
to an outsider?"
     "You said yourself, he's been wanting a brother."
     Shandra laughed.  "You were an only child, Madison, so you
wouldn't understand.  Take it from me, the second of four children:
everyone wants siblings, until they get them."
     Sonny began to waver.  He didn't want to deprive his own son.
But there were two inescapable facts: "Shandra, he's got nowhere
else to go.  And I gave my word."
     Silence reigned for a long moment.  "All right." Shandra said
finally, "I'll take care of him.  But only if Jeff likes him.  As
soon as he starts causing problems with Jeff, Worf leaves.  Is that
clear?"
     Sonny pulled Shandra into his arms gratefully.  "Thank you.
You won't regret it."
     "Don't thank me yet." Shandra warned, "We still don't know
how Jeff feels about it."
     Sonny and Shandra walked through the house hand in hand.
Through the window in the back door, they could see Jeff and Worf
playing a game on the porch.  They were throwing stones up in the
air, trying to make the stones land within a circle.  Sonny
recognized it as a Klingon game Worf had taught him.
     The door slid open.  Jeff looked up at his parents eagerly.
"Mommy, can Worf stay for dinner?" Jeff asked with six-year-old
innocence and enthusiasm.
     Shandra smiled and put her arm around Sonny lovingly.  "Worf
can stay as long as you want him to." she replied.
     Worf growled something to Jeff in Klingonese.  Jeff replied,
"She said you can stay!"
     Sonny noticed that Jeff, rather than Worf, was wearing the
translator.  He shook his head and chuckled.  This won't be easy,
he realized, but at least it will never be dull.