Day of Honor 01_ Ancient Blood - Diane Carey [18]
“But I was not raised Klingon. My foster parents did their best to keep me close to my natural culture, but I’ve found many discrepancies in the actual practice of… being Klingon. Alexander has not really been raised Klingon, either, though I have tried. I would like him to at least be familiar with the rites of passage.”
The captain leaned back again. “That doesn’t really answer my question, but what is your request?”
Worf hesitated, and shuddered down a plaguing doubt. Was this a mistake? Was he overstepping his privileges as much as he thought?
Could it be that having Ross Grant on board had made him assume his other crewmates, even his captain, could be put upon as friends at any moment of inconvenience?
Blood flushed hot in his cheeks and behind his eyes.
“Perhaps this was ill-considered,” he struggled. “If you will excuse me—”
“No, I will not excuse you,” Picard objected. “State your request.”
Curse me for a weakling. He knows me too well.
Knowing he was caught, Worf knotted his fists, battled with himself—and lost. All right, there was no way out.
He drew a breath.
“Since you know more about Klingon culture than most others aboard, since you have been so associated with the structure of Klingon government and know something of our history, I …”
“Yes?”
“I would like …”
Picard offered a reserved smile, and Worf nearly melted with embarrassment.
The captain pocketed the smile. “You’d like me to usher Alexander through the Day of Honor.”
Feeling a wince cross his spine, Worf managed to smother his inner storm long enough to grind out, “Yes, sir.”
Jean-Luc Picard pushed to his feet. Striding before the panorama of open space as it showed through the tall viewports behind his desk, he gazed out for a moment, looking in the direction of Sindikash. The planet shone on the star horizon as only a shimmering dot. Even its sun was barely visible from this far away, obscured by several nebulae and a belt of asteroid pebbles.
“You’re quite right about me, Mr. Worf,” he said many seconds later. “I am uneasy around children. They seem as alien a life-form to me as any I’ve met. A child’s first Day of Honor celebration is akin to a bar mitzvah or some other such rite of passage. It’s really your place as the boy’s father to give him the proper exercise, to make sure he’s truly a changed person when it’s over.”
Feeling the muscles in his legs tighten, Worf worked past the pressure of his choice. “I know that, sir. I would prefer to be here with him, but not at the cost of honest government for Sindikash. If these atrocities are being carried out by Klingons, I have a primary responsibility. I made a commitment, and I must follow it through.”
“Yes, you must. Mr. Worf, this is one of those times when we realize how clumsy a situation we’ve made for ourselves by having families aboard starships. It divides the attention of personnel who need very much to concentrate. It also seems to enhance our awareness of our own mortality, and the cost if we risk our lives. We must risk our lives. It’s endemic to our duty here.”
“And I will, sir,” Worf croaked, “willingly.”
The captain nodded, seeming to understand the layers of the situation.
“And I’ll do all I can for Alexander,” he promised. “But keep in mind that you’re quite right—I’m not the best person to handle a child’s pivotal moments. Yes, I have a few intimacies with Klingon culture, but I’m not sure it’ll help as much as you hope.”
Worf’s whole life had been a series of choices, each chased by doubt. Both he and his captain were uneasy now, and things had not begun that way. “Do your best with your mission, Mr. Worf,” the captain finished, “and be assured, I shall do my best with mine.”
“Alexander, this is entirely unacceptable!”
“But you said I could pick!”
“I assumed you would pick Klingon history! Not human history!”
“You said I could pick from any historical period in my ancestry. And I’m one-quarter human!”
“But the American Revolutionary War?”
“That’s when my ancestor was alive! You said I had to pick one of my own ancestors.