Dorvan III, May 2340

"Hey! Watch it!" Jimmy cursed under his breath as the older boy jostled him, shoving him out of the way in an effort to secure possession of the ball. It was a grownup word, one that at ten years old he wasn't supposed to know, let alone use. Luckily his grandmother wasn't here to chastise him, and he quickly suppressed the pang of guilt. His parents weren't here either – and this time, the pang was not guilt, but anger and resentment. They'd dumped him here with his grandmother on this backwater colony world for the summer while they went off on some stupid mission that didn't allow kids. He didn't let himself consider that his anger might actually be worry for them. Why couldn't he have gone with them? What were they doing that was so dangerous that children were banned? Were they safe and would they come back for him?

It wasn't that he hated this place. He really didn't, primitive as it seemed after life on a starship. He'd thought he would miss the technology and the modern conveniences, but there was something about the wild, open spaces and the warmth of a real sun on his face that called to his restless spirit. Yes, he'd quickly decided, he liked it here, for a summer at least, although definitely not permanently. The idea of spending the rest of his life growing crops and mucking out animals, worthy as it was, did not appeal at all, not when the stars beckoned. He already knew he wanted to join Starfleet one day and become a captain like his hero and namesake James T. Kirk.

The older boy jostled him again, harder this time and he went down, rolling in the way his martial arts teacher back on the starship had taught him so he wouldn't hurt himself when he landed. Coming up again, he found that the football had rolled to his feet, and he gave it a good, hard kick, only to stop in consternation after it went straight over a nearby fence. That was the Klingon's garden. The old man would go nuts if the ball had damaged any of his precious plants. All the children stilled, not quite sure what to do, but ready to run if he came out shouting, or worse, waving his bat'leth.

The older boy gave Jimmy a belligerent look. "You kicked it; you can go and get it."

Hearing the laughter, and the sound of children, the old Klingon tending his garden looked up, just in time to watch as a ball came sailing over the wicker fence and landed in the middle of his prized vegetable patch. G'dayt irresponsible kids, the old man thought irritably as he picked up the black and white faux leather sphere, and for someone who had never played football, gave it a surprisingly strong kick that sent it flying through the air to its owners before they had a chance to come whinging that they wanted it back. Muttering to himself about modern children and their easy, privileged lives and all the while knowing he was being unfair, he got back to work. The vegetables would not weed themselves.

Still, he thought, digging the hoe into the hard ground and decapitating a weed with a little more viciousness than was strictly necessary, it had all been very different when he'd been a boy. There was little to no room for softness in the life of a Klingon child, especially one from the lower classes, and playing ball games had no purpose that he could see.

Any further musings about the past or the benefits of Terran team sports were cut short by the eerie wailing sound of the colony alarm going off. It was a sound that he had never expected to hear other than in scheduled drills – and since the last such drill had been completed only that morning, he had no choice but to assume that something had gone seriously wrong.

Dropping his hoe, K'vin turned, hurrying into the house, where he picked up his bat'leth and disruptor. The weapons were old, nearly as old as he was, but they were still in good working condition. He might be a farmer now, living out the remainder of his life on this agricultural colony world, but he had been a Klingon warrior once and if the colony was in trouble, he would defend it with his life.

Caressing the weapons almost lovingly and straightening his spine with a pride that was unconscious as he remembered the glory of long past battles, the old Klingon headed towards the community centre to find out what was wrong. His home was on the outskirts of the settlement, looking out onto the fields, but walking at a fast pace that was almost but not quite a run, he covered the ground quickly.

Getting closer to the heart of the village K'vin could see people running everywhere – men, women, children, running around like Terran ants when a stick was poked into the nest. As he watched, a middle-aged Terran woman came out of a nearby house and hurried in his direction, frantically calling out a name that he assumed belonged to her spouse or perhaps a child. Needing answers, K'vin stepped forward and intercepted her, grabbing hold of her arm to stop her from passing by. "What's going on?" he demanded. "What is happening?"

"Pirates!" she gasped. "We're being raided. Please… I need to find my grandson! Have you seen him? He was playing football with his friends."

"They were over that way." The Klingon pointed back the way he had come and with a quick nod of thanks, she pulled away from him and disappeared into the maze of streets.

The old man sighed. Why in the name of Kahless was no-one taking charge? This disorderly panic would help no one. Surely some of these humans had at least a little military training. Obviously not, he thought in disgust. So much for a quiet retirement! Removing his disruptor from its holster, he fired it into the air. As the people nearby stopped for a moment in surprise, K'vin began to shout orders, pulling the colonists together and organising them. He had no authority, but they were too frightened to object.

It was unlikely, the old Klingon thought with some concern, that they would stand any chance against the pirates. Dorvan III as his people called it – the humans had their own name for the planet – was a simple agricultural world with little technology. Located on the borders of Federation space, it had been left alone until now, simply because it had nothing that anybody wanted.

The colony was old, born in the days of enmity between the Federation and the Klingons. Early scans had shown promise of dilithium, the rare and immensely valuable element that powered starships, allowing faster than light travel. It was a resource that neither side could afford to ignore, and so, both sides laid claim to it. Only the intervention of the Organians – khest'n interfering, omnipotent glow-worms, K'vin thought irrelevantly, who did they think they were, dictating to Klingons! – had prevented bloodshed, and under the terms dictated to the would-be colonists, the planet would go to the side who could develop it with the most success.

Of course, the dilithium had turned out to be a false promise. Too badly contaminated and in nowhere near the hoped-for quantities, it was useless for its intended purpose. Dorvan III was worthless, and so, the mining consortiums had abandoned the planet. To everyone's surprise, the Klingon and human farmers had refused to leave their homes, choosing instead to work together. The mines might be dead, but the soil was rich, the crops grew well, and despite its obscurity, the colony prospered.

It was the planet's very obscurity that had made it such an ideal target for the pirates. Even so, the fighting was fierce, as under K'vin's orders, the colonists armed themselves with every weapon they could find. Every minute they could hold out was another minute for the children to get to a safe hiding place. But pitchforks, kitchen knives and the occasional hand phaser were useless against the kinds of weapons the invaders were carrying and there was no chance of victory, only of delaying defeat.

They came out of nowhere. One minute all was calm and there was nothing, then the air flickered and they were there. It was not a transporter beam, K'Vin thought, or at least not the conventional type used by the Romulans and his own people. The shimmering effect made him think of a bird-of-prey decloaking. It was as though, he realised with horror, these enemy pirates had their own individual cloaking devices.

Vaguely humanoid, the invaders were hairless, with grey, reptilian scales and rows of toothlike spines along their jawlines. They were no species that K'vin had ever seen before. In this part of the quadrant, pirates were usually Terran, Klingon… and he spat at that thought… or even Nausicaan – g'dayt ugly and honourless scum that they were. He spat again. These were something different. They were behaving more like soldiers, and he was not completely convinced that their aim was piracy.

Lying on the ground, well out of sight in the long grass and the scrubby, spiny bushes that littered the hillside above the settlement, Jimmy could only watch in terrified horror as the invaders swept into the village.

Despite the safe return of their ball, the boys had unanimously decided to abandon their game of football and find somewhere else to play, making their way into the countryside in search of adventure.

He was completely alone now, the other boys having scattered when the alarms had sounded. The oldest of the boys, the one who had not so long ago been acting like a bully, had done his best to take charge, ordering the younger kids to stay put while he went across country to the next settlement to raise the alarm and get help. There was a cave a little further up the hill, he'd reminded them, which would be a safe place for them to hide.

Some of the boys had done as they were told, racing for the safety of the cave. A few, too scared, or maybe worried about their families, had chosen to run home. A couple more had made their way further into the wild countryside.

Not liking the idea of being trapped in a cave, Jimmy had decided to stay where he was, out in the open. He lay still, listening to the shouts and screams as the pirates – although with their grey, scaled skin, he thought they looked more like monsters – began to round up the survivors and separate out those who were worth taking from those who for one reason or another, were no use to them. There didn't seem to be many people and he did not know if the remainder had escaped or were dead.

His grandmother was in the village, and she would be putting herself in danger, looking for him instead of hiding. He needed to find her and make sure she was safe. He'd learned self defence and his father had taught him how to fire a phaser, even if it had only been shooting at coloured lights on the holodeck. If he could find a weapon, he could fight. Slowly and cautiously, he began to slither down the hillside towards the settlement.

Slowly and painfully, K'vin dragged himself to his feet. The enemy soldiers had struck him down, leaving him lying in a pool of his own blood. They had made a mistake there, he thought grimly; he was a warrior. He would not lie here and wait for death, but go forward and meet it face to face, and those pirates he did not manage to kill here today, he would kill later in the Black Fleet, a thousand times, laughing.

Picking up his bat'leth, he became aware of a sound behind him, and he spun round, weapon lifted high, ready to kill, only to find a young boy standing there with what looked like a kitchen knife in his hand. K'vin recognised him as one of the children who had been playing with the football.

"Khest!" He muttered a rude word, belatedly hoping that the boy would not understand it and then deciding that under the circumstances, it really didn't matter. "What's your name, boy? What are you doing here?"

"I'm Jimmy, sir," the boy said, looking round him warily. "I was looking for my grandma, but…" His face clouded over. "… but I think they killed her."

The Klingon sighed. "You can't stay here on your own. Come with me." His mind was racing. He needed to find a safe place to leave the boy. The youngster might be armed but even a Klingon child could not go up against these monsters.

Screams erupted, far too close for his liking. "On second thoughts…" He shoved the boy into the nearest garden. "Stay where you are and wait for me. Keep your head down and don't let them see you." Not waiting to see if the boy obeyed, he turned and ran towards the source of the screaming. It sounded very close, but old and already injured, K'Vin could not run as fast or as easily as he could in his youth, and it seemed to take a very long time to get there.

Rounding the corner into the main street, K'Vin barely avoided tripping over a loose cobblestone that shouldn't have been there but had probably, if the scorch marks were any indication, been displaced by disruptor fire. There was debris everywhere and he would have to watch his footing. Stopping to catch his breath, the old man caught the smell of smoke and hear the crackle of flames. Across the street, a building that looked like it had once been a grocery shop had caught fire and was starting to burn.

A pair of the invaders were fighting… tormenting, rather… an older Terran male. Two terrified little girls, maybe four or five years old, cowered behind him. K'Vin was infuriated at the sight. Honourable battle was one thing, but this was nothing more than a slaughter. Injured and unarmed, the human was helpless against them, and they were playing with him like a Grishnar cat with its prey.

There was one last cry, abruptly silenced as the human fell forward onto his murder's weapon. The enemy alien let out a growling laugh and gave his victim a shove, freeing his body from the blade and sending it crashing to the ground.

The old Klingon shifted his grip on his weapon, preparing to fight. He was too late to help the man, but he could avenge him and save the two children he'd had been trying to protect. With a loud battle cry, he ran at the invaders, swinging his bat'leth. Too busy with their victim to have noticed him, and perhaps too complacent given the poor level of resistance they had encountered, he caught them by surprise. The first one was quickly despatched, and he turned his attention to the second. This one seemed a little older and had more prominent facial spines than his now dead compatriot. He was also more skilled and put up a worthy fight, adding significantly to K'vin's injuries before finally succumbing to his bat'leth.

Giving the body of his enemy a contemptuous kick, K'vin turned away, swearing as he realised that the two children were not quite where he had left them. The boy was with them, and was slowly and stealthily drawing them away, back towards his hiding place.

"You! JiH-mI!" K'Vin pronounced the child's name as best he could. He was not pleased; these children were his responsibility, and he could not protect them if they would not obey his orders. "Why are you here? This is not where I told you to wait."

The boy looked down at his feet. "I'm sorry, sir," he said contritely. "I wanted to help."

Slowly, K'Vin nodded his acceptance of that. A Klingon child would have done no less, and he should not underestimate this boy because he was human. "Very well," he conceded. "You have a warrior's heart, young one. Still, you must learn to obey orders."

Had their circumstances not been so dire, the boy might have preened a little. A warrior's heart! From a Klingon, that was a real compliment. Watching the old man fight those terrifying, reptilian aliens had been both awesome and terrifying. The way he had moved, spinning the bat'leth with such speed and grace. The way the light of the sun and the flickering flames had reflected along the length of the blade. The clash of weapons, metal against metal, and the sound of laboured breathing. The two combatants had seemed well matched, but the Klingon was old and already injured, and for a long, horrible moment, he seemed to be losing.

Holding onto the two little girls and carefully drawing them away from the fighting, Jimmy paused, holding his breath and sending up a brief but fervent prayer for victory. It was hopeless, he thought with despair, and then, just as he thought the pirate had won, the Klingon lunged forward, his bat'leth burying itself in the heart of his enemy. There was a spray of blood, a strangled cry, and then a thud as the Klingon freed his blade and the pirate fell dead at his feet.

That was absolutely awesome, the boy thought again. If he survived this, he was going to learn to fight just like that.

He looked around, trying to decide on the best course of action and his eye fell on a small outbuilding, a garage or storeroom of some sort. It was set back slightly from the house or shop which it had served, and was made of solid brick, so it would not burn. More importantly, judging by the detritus that lay scattered around its entrance, it had already been searched by the pirates. There was no reason for them to return to it, and it might, he thought, make a good hiding place for the children. It would have to do as there was nothing better that he could see.

"You will hide in there," the old man said decisively.

Moving as quickly as his old, injured body would allow, he ushered the children towards the old outhouse. Thankfully the two girls were too frightened to disobey and a few moments later, he had them all safely ensconced in their hiding place.

"Swear to me, JiH-mI," the warrior demanded, "that this time you stay where you are told. It will be your responsibility to protect the younger ones. Do you understand?"

"I understand, sir…" the boy said soberly, biting back his resentment. He wanted to fight, not be left babysitting a couple of little girls, even if he was too young and to do so would be the most stupid idea ever.

"I know what you're thinking," the old man said harshly. "You want to fight, don't you, boy?".

Jimmy nodded vigorously. "Yes, sir. Except… What if they come back? I haven't got anything to fight with."

If they came back, the children would die, the old man thought grimly, but he did not say so. Instead, he drew his d'k tahg and handed it to the boy. The weapon was old and nothing special, but he'd kept it in good condition, clean and sharp. He regretted its loss, but this would be his last fight and he would not need it again. His sons would not miss it; they had lives and weapons of their own and he had not heard from them since he'd come to this backwater farming world.

"There… you have a weapon. Look after it and it will serve you well." Ignoring the boy's stunned thanks, he added, "But you must still obey my orders. Someone has to survive to tell the Federation what happened here today and that someone is you. Tell them that the enemy are trained soldiers. That they have personal cloaks and…"

Jimmy listened attentively to everything the old Klingon told him, committing it to memory. "I will remember, sir," he promised, "and I will do as you say."

Satisfied that he had done all he could to protect them, the Klingon turned away, cautiously opening the door of the outhouse an inch or two and peering out to check that it was safe. It was not that he feared the enemy, but there was no point in drawing attention to the children's hiding place. No one was in sight, and he opened the door wider and started to step out.

"Sir…" Jimmy called him back. "What is your name?"

"K'Vin," the Klingon told him. "I was Sergeant K'Vin, Gunnery officer of the IKS Maht-H'a."

"Ka-vin," Jimmy repeated carefully. It wasn't quite right but it was close enough and the Klingon did not correct him. "I'll tell them about you as well. I won't forget you."

K'Vin nodded. "Tell them I died well. Qapla', young warrior."

Jimmy knew what that meant. Like most kids onboard the starship, he'd avidly watched the episodes of 'Klontar' that had been broadcast to the Federation. A Klingon children's show featuring a warrior who had all sorts of adventures, aimed at teaching its audience about good behaviour and honour, it had become a big hit with the children of the Federation. "Qapla'," he responded, and doing his best to imitate Klontar, he stretched out his arm and brought his fist to his chest in the Klingon salute.

Returning the salute with a pride he had not felt in many years, the old warrior shut them in and hurried away. The last thing he needed was to be seen near the outhouse and give away the location of the children. He was not a moment too soon. From the increasing background noise, the pirates were coming back this way.