Starbase 24,

Early Spring, 2380

"You've got to be joking!" The social worker gave Admiral Mackenzie a disgusted look. "You can't seriously expect us to hand over a frightened, abused six-year-old to a… a Klingon?"

"I am sure you didn't intend that to sound racist," Mackenzie said with a frown. "Krang is an honourable man, and as well as being extremely good with children, he's like a brother to me. I can assure you, you won't find anyone more suitable, especially if, as you say, it's an emergency."

"I meant," the social worker said stiffly, stung by the accusation, "that Klingons have a very different culture and outlook on life. This particular child is vulnerable and needs a delicate touch."

The Admiral nodded, accepting that. "His wife is human, and they are both experienced parents. Two human children from her first marriage – they'll be leaving soon to go to Starfleet Academy; three half-Klingon children still at school; and a niece, full Klingon, that they've adopted. Really, you aren't going to find anyone more suitable at short notice."

She let out a heavy sigh. "Well, since you vouch for them so eloquently…"

"You'll need to meet him, of course," Mackenzie said. "I'll call him and get him to come over. Where is the boy now? Is he available? Might as well get all of the introductions over in one foul swoop."

"He's in the waiting room with my colleague." Phyllis had the strongest sense that she was being railroaded here, but really, what choice did she have? "Unfortunately, I wasn't exaggerating when I said it was urgent. I need to find him a place quickly."

Mackenzie was already activating his comm. "Krang, can you and Chrissie come over to my office? Now, please."

"I am in a meeting, James." The Klingon's voice was deep, with an accent that although not as strong as it had once been, was still very distinctive… and it sounded just a little bit annoyed. "Is it urgent?"

The admiral hesitated before answering. For the child in question, it was undoubtedly important, but much of what his Klingon brother did was life or death for those involved. Was it urgent enough to disturb him? "Yes," he decided. "I think it is."

"Very well, I am on my way." With that typical Klingon abruptness to which Mackenzie had long since become accustomed, he ended the call and the comm went dead.

Krang was as good as his word, and less than five minutes passed before the door to the Admiral's office slid open. Phyllis's eyes widened at the sight of the man who stood there. He was huge, well over six feet tall, and he looked absolutely terrifying in that black leather uniform with the weapons openly displayed on his belt. What was she thinking! There was no way this man would be suitable to look after a vulnerable child like Ethan.

"Reporting as ordered," he said, with a brief grin aimed at his brother, even as his eyes were scanning the room and taking in the presence of the two social workers and the child, half hidden behind them. "I have called Chrissie," he added, "and she is on her way. She was in the arboretum and will be here as soon as the mag-lev system allows."

Mackenzie hid a faint smile. Chrissie might be a civilian, but she was the wife of a senior intelligence officer. No doubt, having been told it was urgent, she would utilise the command codes that she wasn't supposed to have, and override the turbolift programming. It was a twenty-minute ride from the arboretum to the command levels, but if she took much longer than ten, he'd eat his non-existent hat. Still, he rather thought the meeting might have reached its inevitable conclusion by then… not that she would have any argument; there was no way Chrissie would ever turn away a child in need.

Obviously nervous but trying to hide it, the older of the two women stepped forward, holding out her hand to the Klingon. "You must be Krang. I'm Mrs Baldwin, Phyllis Baldwin, senior social worker and case supervisor at Frontera Child Protection Services."

He took the proffered hand and shook it, careful not to use too much force. "I am indeed Krang," he confirmed, offering none of the expected social niceties, such as 'pleased to meet you' before asking… although, she thought, it was more of a demand… what she wanted of him.

More and more convinced that this was a colossal mistake, she nevertheless found herself explaining the situation.

Krang studied her as she spoke, taking in her stature. Compared to his height, she was short, only just over five feet tall, and more than a little overweight. Black/grey hair, tightly fastened into rows of ornate braids which fell to her shoulders, framed a face with dark skin and large, expressive eyes that were currently broadcasting her disapproval of the situation in which she found herself. A few paces behind her, was another woman, this one younger and taller, with blonde hair pulled back into what Chrissie fancifully called a ponytail. They were both wearing very similar clothing, plain, almost severe navy suits, with identity badges pinned to their lapels. No doubt, he thought, it was some form of uniform, although the one called Phyllis had softened the effect with a flowery scarf draped loosely around her neck. He dismissed that as unimportant. What did matter was the information she was giving him, that this child, this six-year-old boy was in need of a temporary home.

Krang frowned. Six? The boy standing in front of him looked to be no more than about four or five at most. Malnutrition, he decided, taking in the slender body and hollow cheeks. Someone had starved this child, and he thought he could see bruises. Not just starved, beaten and abused. A low growl erupted unbidden from his throat, quickly suppressed as he did not wish to frighten the boy more than he already was – and from the look on the child's face, he rather thought he was scaring him.

Impulsively, he took a step forward and then dropped to one knee, bringing himself down to the child's eye level. "What's your name?"

The boy retreated slightly but could not resist peeping out from behind the skirts of his guardian. Taking in the heavy boots and black uniform, he raised his gaze higher until he could see a face – a face that was like nothing he had ever seen before. A neatly trimmed beard and moustache, black with hints of grey. Dark skin, although not as dark as the lady who was looking after him. Fierce eyes that were not quite human. And that forehead… a complicated pattern of ridges rising to the top of the head and disappearing into a mass of long, black hair.

The man had asked him a question, he remembered. Fear filled him and he couldn't quite bring himself to answer in case he said something wrong, because if he did, he would get hurt again. Still, he couldn't look away.

A skilled interrogator – and really, this wasn't so very different to what he had done for Imperial Intelligence, even if that fact would horrify these women even more than they already were – Krang was carefully studying the play of emotions on the child's face. The boy, he realised, was not quite ready to speak. Give information to get it, he decided. "My name is Krang, and I am a Klingon." Noting the flicker of interest in the hazel eyes, competing with the obvious rise in tension, he tried another question, an easier one this time, that could be answered with a gesture or a simple yes or no. "Am I scary?"

The boy regarded him solemnly and slowly nodded. "…es." The word was barely audible.

"Good!" Krang offered the youngster a fierce grin, knowing that he was scaring the social workers, but not caring. It was the boy that was important, not the adults. "That means your enemies will be scared of me as well. And they should be," he added, "because I will kill anyone who harms you."

In the periphery, he was aware of the social worker gasping with shock. She started forward, obviously intending to pull the child away, but Mackenzie reached out and restrained her. "Wait…" he heard his brother say softly, "Don't interfere."

Krang waited, still and patient as the child looked away, dropping his gaze to study his shoes as though they were the most interesting thing he had ever seen. Whatever answer he found in his feet, he looked up again, for the first time meeting the Klingon's eyes. "Ethan."

Recognising the giving of his name as a major breakthrough, Krang slowly, oh so slowly, held out a hand and waited. Equally slowly, the boy… Ethan… took a step forward, approaching Krang and placed his own small hand in the Klingon's much larger one.

It was about that time that Chrissie arrived. Coming through the door, about to announce herself and apologise for her lateness, she stopped, immediately sensing the importance of the moment playing out in front of her, even if she did not yet know what it was about. Had the Admiral been looking at the clock on his desk, he would have been amused to note that it was exactly nine and a half minutes since he had called Krang.

Aware of her arrival, as he was aware of everything that happened around him, Krang rose to his feet, never letting go of the little boy's hand. "Ethan, this is my wife, Chrissie," he told the child. "She makes the best cookies you could ever hope to taste. Chrissie…" he turned his attention to his mate. "This is Ethan, and he's coming home with us for a while."


Just a short story that came to me.

I still don't own Star Trek, by the way, and I am not making any money from this or any other of my Star Trek stories. I don't even own Starbase 24, although by now, i may have squatters' rights...

For the record, and for anyone who might not have read my stories before. Starbase 24 is located on the Federation/Klingon border, not far from Khitomer. I should add that i do not follow or acknowledge the StarTrek Online canon as i don't play computer games. The planet Frontera is my invention, named for obvious reasons because of its location on the border. SB24 orbits the planet.