It was the harsh and rapid hammering upon the front door of the Rozhenko household that jerked Worf out of his silent meditation in his darkened room. Remaining on his knees before the small image of Kahless the Unforgettable, the Klingon youth listened tensely as his ears picked up his parents - his adoptive parents - answering the door, and an angry voice barking "We want the Klingon freak you're harboring, Rozhenko. Hand him over now!" Worf recognized the voice as belonging to Vladimir, a close friend of the parents of...Mikel. The boy now dead because of him.
Then he heard his father, Sergie, speaking. "Please, Vladimir, I understand your pain, but we all know that Worf did not mean for what happened to poor Mikel." And Worf had not; it had only been youthful exuberance when, five days ago during a school soccer game, Worf's head had collided with that of Mikel as they both jumped for the ball. It had been to Worf's great sorrow that he heard the following day that the boy had died of his injuries. He had tried to speak to Mikel's parents after the funeral, but they refused to even look at him. The other children at school glared coldly at him as he passed them in the hallways and muttered among themselves. In truth, Worf had never been fully accepted by the human population of the Gault colony; there had always been that element of fear and mistrust directed toward him, but recent events had exacerbated it. Earlier this afternoon, he had found a piece of paper stuck to his school locker, depicting a crude drawing of a Klingon with a rope around his neck hanging from a tree.
"Stop defending that animal!" another voice shouted. "How many more innocents have to suffer before you finally see that monster for what it really is!" More voices muttered and snarled in agreement, drowning out Sergei and Helena's pleas for reason.
Vladimir again: "We will take the Klingon by force if we have to, Rozhenko. You would not want yourself or the rest of your family to get hurt now, eh?"
Worf growled low in his throat as he heard this. Now they threatened his family, and it was his duty to defend them from these petaQ'pu now gathered at their door this night! His eyes shot toward the batlh'etlh mounted on his bedroom wall, the one that had belonged to his father - his true father - and his father before him, going back generations, one of the few items of his heritage he had. He had almost grasped the blade when he froze, and considered what was happening. Because of his ignorance, a young boy was dead, and now the people who had given him a home and cared for him were paying the price for his mistake. Recklessly lashing out now would only bring further pain and dishonor. Perhaps it would be better to walk downstairs and allow himself to be taken...
Now Worf heard the raised voice of his brother. "You make me sick!" Nikolai was yelling. "First you threaten Worf, now my parents, and they're just trying to get you to see reason! I'm sorry for what happened but, if you won't listen to reason, maybe my fists can convince you!"
"Nikolai, enough!" Worf heard Helena cry, and he fought the urge to run downstairs and stand at Nikolai's side. A moment passed in tense silence, and then Vladimir grumbled that it was not over; they would be back soon. The angry voices moved off into the night. The door slammed shut and the sound of Helena sobbing drifted up to Worf, along with Nikolai saying he would kill them all if he had to, then harsh whispers between him and Sergei. Rage permeated the evening.
OOOOOOOO
Through the clear observation window of the transport ship, Worf watched the surface of Gault, his home for the last seven years, dwindle away amid the stars for what he knew in his heart was the last time. It was best for all of them, to leave; they had to move on. Things had gotten just too dangerous, and staying would only have made things worse in the long run. Though his face was passive, Worf's heart wept, knowing he had failed to fit in, and failed his human parents.
He saw Sergei reflected in the window, stood just behind him, his eyes sorrowful, but with no hint of blame. "Time to leave the past behind, Worf," Sergei said, "And set a course for the future."
"Qapla', father," Worf responded, not taking his gaze from the planet growing smaller and smaller. Soon the ship went to warp, and it was gone.
