The More Things Change...
Captain Kieran Forester of the starship Potemkin cursed inwardly.
Somehow, the boy before them had not only gotten his hands on a phaser pistol, but had kept the weapon hidden from security. A resourceful one, then, as misguided as he might have been.
Said phaser was now leveled, not at the captain, but at his companion: a Klingon brigadier. In fact, the boy barely seemed to even register Kieran's presence; his wild-eyed gaze was focused solely on the Klingon.
I can drop him before he even realizes I've drawn. The thought came unbidden to Kieran's mind, and his fingers brushed lightly on the grip of his own phaser.
The Klingon next to him saw the movement, read Kieran's intent in his eyes. “Wait...” he rumbled.
He was speaking to Kieran, not the boy. The human turned his attention from the teenager just long enough to shoot a surprised glance of his own at the Klingon, but the brigadier ignored him.
“I take it I've wronged you?” The alien voice again rumbled in the corridor, still directed at the flustered-looking young man.
The boy was clearly nervous, Kieran saw. Indecision warred with hatred on his features, and the phaser shook slightly in his grip as a drop of sweat rolled down his cheek. But he remained silent, not answering the Klingon's challenge.
“Revenge is sweeter when your prey knows the reason for it.”
That, finally, provoked another response. “I don't want revenge!” The weapon jerked in the boy's hand as he shouted at the Klingon. Several flecks of spittle flew from his mouth to the floor, joined moments later by several more drops of sweat. Things obviously weren't going the way the youth had intended.
“Then what do you want?”
A momentary flash of surprise crossed the boy's face. Kieran suddenly realized that he didn't really have an answer to the question... but he seemed to want to try and make do anyway. “You're not welcome here. We can't let you stay here.” A convulsive shake of the head accompanied the boy's words.
“I will not be assigned here forever.”
“Not you!”
The boy's hand quivered again; his hands went white as they tightened around the grip of his phaser. Kieran tensed; his earlier thought once again burned white hot in his mind. Involuntarily, his hand once again twitched towards the phaser on his hip.
It remained in its holster, however... even when the boy took a moment to brush away the sweat that was now beginning to drip over his brows. Kieran pursed his lips, wondering if he'd just missed an opportunity.
“This peace, we know it's a trick. We know you're here to destroy us.” For the first time, Kieran himself shot a deadly glare in the boy's direction. Bloody foolish child.
“I'm here to help manage all the details left out of the Khitomer accords.” The Klingon actually managed a quiet laugh. “I have been on campaigns of conquest. I am not on one now.” He sounded... as honest as a Klingon possibly could while avowing non-violent intentions.
“It's a lie!” The youth was skeptical, but neither did his own words sound terribly convincing.
“If you truly believe that, act.” The Klingon's voice had taken on a sharp edge, and Kieran's heart leapt into his throat. If the boy did as he was bid, there could only be one of two outcomes: a dead Klingon brigadier or a phaser-stunned child. Neither outcome appealed to the captain.
The latter, however, was clearly the lesser of two evils, and Kieran began to fear he wouldn't have any other choice. His hand began to curl around his weapon...
… but then the teenager finally cracked. He threw down his weapon and ran down the corridor in the opposite direction from the pair.
Kieran reflexively took a step forward, as if to pursue, but was suddenly stopped by the Klingon's tree-trunk-like arm.
“No,” the Klingon replied to Kieran's unspoken question. “He's no longer a threat.”
Kieran let out a sigh, and the tension finally began to drain from his limbs. He regarded the other man curiously; he'd known this particular Klingon, unlike some of his fellows, was neither a dishonorable fool or needlessly cruel, but still... “Can't believe y' talked him down,” he said finally, his harsh Yorkshire accent contrasting with the Klingon's surprisingly smooth baritone.
“I didn't,” replied the brigadier with what could have been charitably called a smile. “He was uncertain on his own. A real assassin...”
“Right,” Kieran murmured. He'd seen the same signs, and come to the same conclusion. The Starfleet man sighed, and again looked down the corridor through which the boy had fled. “I really should go after 'im. He could cause more trouble.”
“That one? Doubtful.” The Klingon paused, thoughtful. “He's young yet. He doesn't truly hate.”
Forester had to strangle a derisive snort. “Thought Klingons might be more approving of hate,” he managed after a moment.
“We are.” The other man's nearly imperceptible smile suddenly turned to a wolfish grin. “But like love, it's best shared with a particular person, and of one's own volition.”
Something the Klingon said struck a chord in Kieran's mind. His expression turned momentarily distant, as if remembering something from long ago, and he frowned. “He did seem... indoctrinated.” Honest hatred, he could understand, even respect after a fashion. But that kind of manipulation didn't sit well with him. He'd been similarly manipulated, once. But never again, he'd vowed years ago.
The Klingon's voice shook him from his thoughts. "Most people who can't distinguish one individual from another are. The ones that aren't… prefer to share their bile with others." As he spoke, he took a step forward and reached down to pick up the phaser that the youth had so hastily discarded. With a swift movement, he removed the power pack from the handle and stuffed it into his belt.
A trophy, Kieran realized. It might not have been a battle in the strictest sense of the word, but considering the crisis had been defused with no bodies on the deck, Forester wouldn't begrudge the man a souvenir.
Kieran sighed once more. “Plenty of that kind around.” He'd nearly become one of them, all those years before.
“Never been a shortage of fools,” the Klingon agreed.
End
Topic: The More Things Change... (Read 2873 times)