"In the Mists of Khitomer"
by Liz

Paramount owns Star Trek, but I've created this version of the characters 
portrayed. This story was written for fun, not for profit.
Thanks to Lay McDaniel for her many excellent suggestions.

                                    ***

   In the dark evening mists of Khitomer's capital, a shadow appeared in one of 
the residential streets. Quickly donning a thick, Klingon-style cloak to guard 
against the chill, the young human shut the door behind him and began making his 
way through the narrow corridors between buildings.
   He hummed to himself the strains of an Argentinian folk tune his father had 
been playing just moments before as he slipped out, behind his parents' backs.  
Their ignorance was bliss, he thought as he crossed the first major street.
   Within five minutes, he'd reached the center of town.  Unlike the mostly 
deserted residential areas, here the night was alive. Peering from under the 
hood of his cloak, the young man saw that most of the other pedestrians were 
Klingon.  So much the better, to be one of the few humans courageous enough to 
brave the Khitomer nightlife.  All the same, he checked that his knife was there 
at his belt.
   "Hey, Arturo!" called a voice, heavily accented with the dark, guttural 
sounds of Klingon speech. "Come here."
   Arturo greeted his friend in Klingon. "How goes the night, Rokath?"
   Rokath and the other young Klingon bared their teeth in smiles. "The night is 
young, but we can smell the bloodwine already. Come, we are going to a different 
bar tonight."
   "Why? What's wrong with Karg's?"
   "Too many humans go there now," spat the other Klingon.  He then remembered 
to whom he was speaking.  "No offense.  We think of you as Klingon, too."
   Arturo chose to shrug it off. "It's alright, Boral, I know you're just afraid 
the humans would fight too well for you.  But don't worry, I'll keep an eye out 
for your safety."
   Rokath's bark of laughter diffused the tension. "Come on, weaklings, let us 
go.  We are all warriors tonight, yes?"

                                    ***

  Almost since the day his family had arrived on Khitomer two years before as 
part of the Federation diplomatic corps, 18-year-old Arturo Torres had been 
immersing himself deeper and deeper in Klingon society. It wasn't just another 
teenage obsession; it was a means of rebellion.
  Deep down, he almost longed for the day that his family might learn of his 
frequent late nights of drinking, or the scars he bore on his chest and arms 
from barroom fights, or the knife he wore under his clothes for protection 
almost wherever he went. Arturo was even aware of his own desire to be caught, 
and that only made him push harder at his own limits - to drink more when he'd 
already had enough, to arm-wrestle Klingons twice his size...
  He'd even convinced himself that he loved it.
  But tonight, as he and his two companions entered the bar for the first time, 
he began to think twice. This place was even darker and seedier than Karg's. 
Watching the shouting, brawling Klingons who had already packed the place to its 
capacity, he was glad for the cloak that hid his smooth forehead from view.
  "Come on," Boral growled, pounding his human friend on the back in 
encouragement.
  Well, if it was trouble he wanted, this was the right place for it.  Arturo 
followed Rokath and Boral deeper into the bar.
  Rokath ordered drinks for them, but as Arturo reached for his bloodwine, the 
bartender held it back.
  "Humans are not welcome in this place, boy," he snarled.
  "He's with us," said Boral, as if to make up for his earlier insult.
  "It is not honorable to take the weak where they will be so easily beaten."
  "You haven't seen this one use his knife. Pray you don't have to!" It was 
hollow boasting, but maybe it was enough to let them stay here.
  The bartender hesitated, but finally relented. "He is your responsibility, 
then. Don't cause any problems."
  Taking his bloodwine, Arturo wondered what qualified as "problems" if the 
brawling, shouting and fighting Klingons around him did not.
  Then he saw her.  A Klingon woman, close to his own age, he reckoned, was 
sitting at a table near the back, with two other females.  The three were fairly 
quiet compared to the rest of the room, but when the first woman began laughing, 
Arturo felt his heart skip a beat.
  Amazing.


  Rokath gently shoved him forward.  "Come on, petaQ," he said playfully. "Don't 
get us in trouble yet."
  Arturo tore his eyes away from the woman and followed his friends to a table 
in one corner, opposite from hers.  He purposely stationed himself where he 
could watch her.
  Rokath and Boral started off at their usual toasts, and soon a second round 
was ordered. When those drinks arrived, another Klingon youth came up to their 
table.  Arturo had never seen him before.
  "Gorta! Qap'laH!" shouted Boral in greeting.  "This is Arturo. He is drinking 
with us for tonight."
  Arturo stood to meet the newcomer eye-to-eye, briefly wondering why he was 
always introduced as a temporary friend.  Gorta studied him.
  "Boral, I did not think you were so weak as that."
  "What do you mean?!"
  "Drinking with a human? Is there no one else here to raise a cup with you?"
  Arturo knew he'd better step in for himself now. "No one but you, Gorta.  
Scrawny as you are, I can't believe you've lasted this long."
  Gorta did not appear to appreciate the joke. "What did you say to me?" He 
pulled his knife from his belt enough to let the dim light reflect off the 
blade.
  Arturo saw, but he knew Gorta was only bluffing. To sit and drink with a human 
without appearing offended first would make any newcomer look weak.
  "I said maybe you should go drink somewhere else if you're afraid you can't 
best me."
  Gorta suddenly smiled; Arturo had judged him right.  "You are a foolish human, 
Arturo, but I think I like you anyway.  What are we drinking to?" he demanded, 
taking a seat.
  Rokath answered. "Boral and I, we drink to the glory of the Empire. But Arturo 
here is drinking to the health of those women over there, it seems."
  Arturo flashed him a glare; he hadn't realized he had been so obvious.
  Rokath laughed. "Come, you act like you would pursue her.  Sit down and stop 
making us all look like stupid boys."
  Gorta agreed.  "We need to start that drinking contest you mentioned, human."
  Arturo had to laugh at that. "I think I already have a head start."


  After a few hours, Arturo was very, very drunk.  He was only half-listening to 
the conversation around him - if conversation was what it could be called. The 
shouting and brawling was too much to focus on.
  The Klingon woman was still there with her friends, that much he could see.  
He couldn't keep from looking over, and by now she must have noticed.  Maybe it 
was his imagination only, but he could have sworn he even saw her smile at him, 
her teeth glinting aggressively in the smoky light.
  Still, he was sober enough to keep himself quiet.  A human and a Klingon?  
Unheard of.  The Federation and the Empire might be at peace due to the work of 
diplomats like Ambassador Torres and High Consulate Worf, but their relations 
were still strained.
  All the same... Arturo could look, couldn't he?
  Gorta, too, had been drinking a lot.  He had noticed Arturo's obsession with 
the woman, and thought it was funny.
  "A human man and a Klingon woman?" he guffawed. "That is like a young boy and 
a warrior woman. She would devour you in a minute."
  "What's wrong with that? Hell, the looks of that one," he slurred, "I wouldn't 
mind.  Anyway, what happened to being friends?"
  "Friends? Ha! I will show you how to be 'comrades' with a woman, human." Gorta 
stood up, and once he'd gained his balance, he began heading towards the women.
  Arturo reached out and grabbed his arm. "Sit down, you idiot!"
  Gorta slapped his arm away, and with the other hand punched Arturo across the 
jaw.
  Arturo reeled, almost falling to the floor.  His temper flared, but what could 
he do?  A punch to the face was nothing, and returning the blow would be an 
insult that might earn him more trouble than a bleeding lip.  He looked up at 
Gorta steadily, saying nothing.
  Gorta laughed, but the laughter had turned ugly.  "That is what you get for 
putting a hand on me, human."
  Arturo and his two Klingon friends watched Gorta approach the three women.  
The bar was too loud for them to hear what was said, but it was clear that the 
women did not desire Gorta's company.
  Arturo laughed, ready to throw the idiot's rejection in his face.  But Gorta 
did not leave.  Instead, he put a hand on the shoulder of the woman Arturo had 
been eyeing - a hand that drifted downwards.
  She shoved Gorta away with her elbow when he got a little too close to the 
neckline of her dress.  No, he didn't like that at all; he grabbed the woman by 
the face and jerked her head toward him.  The other two women pulled their 
knives and prepared to strike.
  That's it, Arturo said to himself.  What is Klingon honor if not standing up 
for another?
  Had he been sober, Arturo might never have budged.  But as it was, he was 
already halfway across the room, ignoring Rokath and Boral's warnings, before 
any doubt entered his mind.  By then he'd pulled his own knife and it was too 
late.
  "Gorta," he shouted over the din, "I think your fight is with me." He shoved 
back his hood to see better.  When he did that, the sudden silence in the room 
seemed to roll over him like a gust of hot wind.
  Gorta let go of the woman, whose hand had already gone to her own blade.  He 
stepped forward into a space that had been cleared.  "Are you challenging me, 
human?"
  Arturo looked to either side of him, and saw an eager, bloodthirsty audience.  
His heart was pounding in his ears.  He nearly backed down, humiliation or no, 
but the woman was looking at him.  She seemed not grateful, but interested.  
Curious.
  "My name is Arturo Torres, not 'human,'" he said to Gorta.  "And yes - I am 
challenging you."
  A slow, greedy smile spread across Gorta's face, and before Arturo knew it, 
the fight had begun.  They were neither of them sober enough to make the knife 
fight one of those almost-graceful dances that two warriors might engage in when 
they were sober.  Instead, they punched, kicked, bit and scratched at each other 
like animals.
  Arturo yelled when Gorta's blade made contact with the skin on his chest, 
cutting him deep below one collarbone.  But out of adrenaline-driven anger, he 
recovered quickly and plunged the knife into Gorta's chest.
  If the bar had become quiet before, then it was more than silent now as fifty 
or so Klingons stared at him as he held the dying Gorta, sinking with him to the 
floor.
  "Mi Dios," he thought.  "My God, this can't be happening." He had fought 
before, he had wounded, but he had never killed.  The violet blood pooling on 
the floor might as well be the scarlet stuff flowing through his own veins.
  Gorta let out one last surprised gasp and then died.  Arturo knew that 
Klingons would scream over their dead, to awaken those in Sto-Vo-Kor to a new 
soul's arrival.  But he would remember howling out of horror and not any warrior 
pride as Gorta became a corpse in his arms.
  When he was done, whispers and mutters took the place of silence.  The crowd 
began to feel that the death of one of their own at the hands of a human was an 
insult to all their honor. Still, none of them moved.
  Arturo took his knife and put it back into its sheath, not knowing what else 
to do.  Then he remembered the reason for the fight.  He took Gorta's knife from 
the pool of mingling blood on the floor.  He approached the woman, and still 
breathing heavily, he offered the knife to her with a shudder.  Perhaps if she 
took it, she might... legitimize the murder. Save his skin.
  "I would give this to you," he said in Klingon.
  Completely undisturbed, she cocked her head at him, considering.  Arturo's 
breath caught somewhere in his throat as their eyes met.


  Miral was acutely aware that the entire establishment has turned to see what 
she might do.  Her honor was at stake.  Saved from one humiliation by a human - 
a second embarrassment she might never live down.  And when her father learned 
of this... She could end up like that petaQ now dead on the ground.
  It might even be worth it to make her father so angry.
  An idea occurred to her.  She'd seen the human staring at her; why not have a 
little fun and give them all something to talk about?  With a mischievous smile, 
Miral walked up to the human, swinging her hips with each step, and sized him 
up.  He held the knife out to her expectantly, the blood-covered blade resting 
in his palm.
  He was drunk and reeling a little on his feet, but she could still read in his 
face a poorly hidden desperation for her to take the knife and save his life.  
Human or not, he had dark, handsome eyes.
  She pretended to hesitate, then noticed the gash on his chest. A few trails of 
blood were running slowly down his arm, where the sleeve had been cut away.
  With one finger, she took a swipe of blood from his wound, enjoying his gasp 
of pain. She then licked that finger, and savored the taste of his blood.
  She smiled fiercely, languishing in the spectacle she had made.  Her show 
over, Miral took the knife from the young man's outstretched hand, deliberately 
slicing his palm in the process, and turned on her heel to leave. She knew 
without looking that her friends would follow, along with every pair of eyes in 
the room.
  Her friends waited until they were a block away before demanding to know what 
she had been thinking.
  Miral hesitated, looking over her shoulder.  She could see two Klingons 
hustling the human out of the bar, and forcing him to hurry away through the 
dark streets.
  "Do not concern yourselves," she snapped at her friends.  "In the end, I am 
the one who will pay for what happened tonight."

                                    ***

  The first thing Arturo knew when he woke up the next morning was a horrible 
jolt of pain in one side as he tried to turn in his sleep.  The raspy cry out of 
his throat didn't even sound like his own voice, but it had him awake in no 
time.
  He decided he must be in hell. Human or Klingon, it made no difference-this 
was agony.  He had cracked a few ribs and earned several bruises last night, as 
well as a horrid hangover.  The worst of it was, he remembered enough to know he 
was lucky to have escaped at all with his life.
  He needed some water, badly.  Reminding himself that he had survived hangovers 
even worse than this one, Arturo forced himself to his feet so he could reach 
the bathroom.  He retched over the toilet for a good minute, but not much came 
up.
  Splashing water over himself, he looked into the mirror.  Arturo grimaced.  
This was not a handsome face.  His right eye was dark and puffy, the bruise 
covering more than a few centimeters of his face.  A split lip, and his side 
felt like it was on fire, especially after the retching.  A gash below his neck 
showed through his ripped clothing, the blood dried and caked around the wound.  
How in hell had he ever gotten himself home last night?
  He stumbled into the kitchen and replicated himself a glass of juice to 
restore a few electrolytes.  His mother was there, with her back turned.
  "Buenos dias," she said, not even turning around. "You're up early."
  He grunted and was about to go back to bed when his father came into the room.  
The elder Torres started to say something cheerful but he stopped short, seeing 
Arturo's face.
  "Arturo?" he said, astonished.
  Arturo was a little too numb and too nauseous to answer.
  His mother finally turned around.  "Mi Dios!  What happened?!"
  The chime to the front door of the house sounded.  Arturo checked the clock: 
0700 hours.  "Mierda," he thought, having a good feeling that he was about to 
get in even deeper trouble.
  His father went to answer the door.  Arturo cringed when he heard the visitor 
speak.
  "Ambassador Torres," said the towering Klingon at the door.  "I am Commander 
Rak'Hal of the Klingon Defense Force.  I am here to take your son Arturo into 
custody for the murder of Gorta, son of Jared."
  "There must be some mistake.  My son was at home last night."
  The Klingon cocked his head to one side in bored confusion.  "Ambassador, one 
look at the boy is enough to tell me that he did not spend the night in your 
house." Rak'Hal conveniently walked past the ambassador, followed by a guard, 
and they took Arturo by the wrists to secure him.  Arturo nearly passed out from 
the pain of movement.
  "This is absolutely ridiculous," Ambassador Torres protested.  "I am an 
official representative of the United Federation of Planets, and I have full 
diplomatic immunity, Commander.  I demand that you release my son at once.  We 
will fix this... misunderstanding, I assure you."
  "With all due respect, Ambassador," the Klingon said, every word sarcastic, 
"you may have diplomatic immunity.  But your son does not."
  "This is a violation of the treaty!"
  Rak'Hal handed him a padd.  "We have obtained a legal warrant. There is no 
violation."
  "Where are you taking him?!" cried Arturo's mother as they began dragging him 
outside to the waiting transport.
  "The justice center is across from the Federation Embassy.  Good day, 
Ambassador."


  Two hours later, Miral stormed through the streets.  She was furious... at the 
situation, at her predicament, but mostly at her father.  He would not be 
pleased when she returned, if his parting words had been any indication.  An 
"unworthy" daughter, who brought dishonor to their family.  Miral did what she 
pleased; was going to that bar last night enough to bring her family dishonor?  
She didn't think so. Besides, the murder had not been her fault.  But Klingons 
gossiped like rodents, and her father believed what he heard.
  Miral berated herself for even being here.  What would this accomplish, 
besides angering her family further?  Well, perhaps that was enough.  But who 
cared if a human went to jail?  This one might seem more honorable than most, 
but he was not Klingon.  How much could he really matter?
  Miral's guilty sense of responsibility tugged at her honor, though, enough to 
bring her out this morning, the knife in one hand, to go and rescue the human 
from his own stupidity. She must make a formidable sight to all the human 
diplomats, she thought, marching down the main road, knife in one fist.  Let 
them look!
  She strode into the justice center and walked to the nearest station.  
Slamming the knife down on the counter, she glared at the Klingon officer 
standing there. "There has been a misunderstanding."
  He merely raised an eyebrow.
  She continued.  "You are holding a young human male here for the murder of 
Gorta, son of Jared.  I wish to contradict the charges."
  After a leisurely moment of consideration, the Klingon officer punched a 
command into the communications system.  "Commander Rak'Hal to the main 
entrance," he said, then turned back to Miral.  "You're young to be meddling 
with justice.  Who is your family?"
  "I am Miral, daughter of Key'taH."
  "Never heard of him."
  "It is my mother's name," Miral said. There was a growing movement in the 
Empire for women to take their mother's name.  The security man did not seem 
impressed with her forward thinking, but he did not say any more.
  The commander finally appeared. He looked Miral up and down.  "You require my 
presence?"
  She took a deep breath, trying to compose herself.  "I was present at the 
murder of Gorta last night. I have brought evidence of the human's innocence."
  "Oh?  Tell me what happened."
  Miral recited the story, trying to be as honest as possible. Well, why 
shouldn't she be?  She was right, after all.
  When she finished, Rak'Hal nodded.  "And how do we know your story is right, 
and that the owner of the establishment has lied?"
  Miral knew nothing about that, and said as much.  "The human gave me the dead 
man's knife," she said, pointing to the now-sheathed blade.  "He challenged 
Gorta and won.  See for yourself, there is blood from both of them on the blade.  
The fight did not break any Klingon law."
  "There was a legitimate challenge?"
  "Yes!" she said, exasperated.
  Rak'Hal turned and barked a few orders to the other officer.  "We will attempt 
to confirm your story.  Wait here."


  Not far away, Arturo was sitting in a holding cell, trying to avoid eye 
contact with his two Klingon cellmates. He'd already thrown up his meager 
breakfast in the waste disposal unit, probably from anxiety and the pain of 
landing on his injured ribs when the security forces had thrown him in.  At 
least the vomit had kept the other two criminals at bay.
  The other two criminals.  Despite two years on Khitomer, Arturo had no idea 
how the Klingon justice system worked, but he hoped it might take circumstantial 
evidence into account before sentencing him.  Or maybe his father would get him 
out.  Otherwise, Arturo might as well begin bonding with his not-so-cheerful 
cellmates.
  "Arturo Torres," said the gravely voice of the commander who had brought him 
in.
  Arturo practically snapped to attention, sending stars before his eyes yet 
again.  "Yes, sir."
  "You will come with me now."
  Arturo wondered what lay in store for him as the force field was lowered to 
allow him to exit.  He did his best not to limp as he followed Rak'Hal down the 
hall, his wrists in handcuffs.  You've been trying to act like a Klingon, he 
thought, so now's the time. At least go to your punishment proudly.
  To his surprise, he was led to the outer rooms of the detention center where 
Rak'Hal removed the cuffs from his wrists and directed an officer to return his 
belongings.
  "You are free to go," said Rak'Hal.
  Arturo didn't hesitate.  But as his things were being collected, he couldn't 
keep from asking, "Why are you releasing me?"
  "Do you wish to return to your cell?"
  "No! Sir."
  "New evidence was presented.  It seems that you are innocent.  Do not cause 
any more trouble; we will not be so quick to release you next time.  Is that 
understood?"
  "Yes, sir."
  "Report to the health facilities immediately.  A physician knows you are 
coming."
  Arturo realized how grateful he was for the apparent efficiency of the Klingon 
justice system.  Taking his things, he walked out of the justice center as 
quickly as his sore body would move.
  And nearly ran into the woman from last night.  He gaped for a moment, 
confused by the bright sunlight.  "You had them release me?" he asked stupidly.
  She nodded.  "It was wise to give me the dead man's knife, human."
  Well, at least he'd done one thing right. "What is your name?"
  "Does it concern you?"
  Arturo was in no shape to use any of his typical charm.  "I'd like to know."
  She hesitated.  "I am Miral.  Daughter of Key'TaH."
  "Arturo Torres."
  She nodded.  "My debt has been repaid."  With nothing else to say, she walked 
away.  Arturo wanted to shout after her, to tell her to wait for him, but he 
held his tongue.
  Not bad for a first date.

                                    ***

   It was noon before Arturo could walk back to his house from the clinic, where 
a Klingon physician had made him wait an hour at least before seeing him.  When 
he did, the man didn't do much, citing Arturo's "unfamiliar anatomy" as if it 
were his fault for having human DNA.  As a result, Arturo's bones and major cuts 
had all been healed, but the surface injuries - the ones that looked the worst - 
still showed.  At least he wasn't limping anymore.
   He hoped that his parents would not be home when he arrived, but he had used 
up all his debatable luck this morning.  His father was pacing back and forth 
when he came through the door as his mother sat by the window, wringing her 
hands.  She leapt up to embrace him as he entered.
   "Oh, Arturo!  Thank goodness, we were so worried about you!"  His father 
echoed the sentiments.
   Arturo nodded, not meeting their eyes.  "They've dropped the charges."
His father shook his head.  "I told them it was all a mistake, that they had the 
wrong person, but it took forever for them to listen to me.  You should be 
grateful I have some authority on this planet."
   Mrs. Torres shooed her husband away with one hand as she inspected Arturo's 
face. "They wouldn't tell us what happened at all, the only thing they would say 
was that a man was killed last night, and that you were responsible.  Did you 
see it happen?"
   Arturo was confused by her question, until he realized that his parents still 
did not think that he had actually done it.  He nodded.  "I saw enough."
   "Where were you last night?" the Ambassador said, trying to be stern.
   Arturo sighed. "Does it matter?  I shouldn't have been there."
   "It does matter, and we want to know," his mother pitched in.
   "Can we not talk about it right now?"  Exhausted, Arturo went to sit down.  
This had not been a good morning.
   His parents were still staring at him, as if they hadn't laid eyes on him in 
years.  Well, in a way they hadn't.  Arturo suddenly realized how little he 
wanted to be in this house.
   "I need to get out of here," he mumbled.  "Tomorrow I'll go look for work."
   "Well, naturally, we have been hoping you'd come to this decision, Arturo.  
I'll even help you find work, but now is not the time to be thinking of 
leaving," his father said.  "We need to know what you've been doing that this 
has happened."
   "It's a little late to be asking me that now, isn't it?"
   "Son, do you understand that it was my intervention that allowed you to leave 
that jail at all?"
   "You had nothing to do with it," Arturo snapped, ignoring the stress on his 
ribs as he stood up.  "A woman from the bar told them the truth, she came and 
told them that I was innocent.  It doesn't matter who was involved or where I 
was.  At least someone's done right by me, which is more than I can say for 
you."
   "Arturo, you don't know what you're talking about," said his mother.
   "I know what matters in this household, and it isn't me."
   "That's it," pronounced his father.  "I will contact your uncle in Buenos 
Aires tomorrow.  We're sending you back to Earth, away from the Klingons."
   "You can't tell me what to do or where to go!  I'm a man now, I've been alive 
for eighteen years.  You can't start being my parents now!"
   "Arturo, if you're so certain that you are a man, then why don't you start 
acting like it?  You refuse to join Starfleet.  You refuse to go to university.  
You refuse to find a job.  You wouldn't even go to all your classes when you 
were in school."
   "Why didn't you tell me this earlier?  Maybe if you had, I might have acted 
differently."  He glared at them both.  "If you want me to leave this planet, 
then I'm going now and not coming back.  Ever.  It's your choice."
   "Arturo," said his father in one last effort at a command, "you may not leave 
this house!"
   "The hell I won't," he said.  Turning on his heel, he went to his room, 
shoved only a few things into a bag, threw it over his shoulder and left 
forever.

                                    ***

   Six hours later, Arturo reeled as another door was slammed in his face.  He 
hadn't expected Boral to let him stay the night, but he had had hopes for 
Rokath.  Well, he'd been wrong.  Their "friendship" had been shallower than he'd 
thought.
   The problem was, he was homeless tonight unless he could find someone who'd 
take him in.  The earliest affordable transport off Khitomer was in two days, to 
Kessick IV, where the nearest Federation shipyards were.  If nothing else, he 
could find a ship captain there who'd give him work, if only for a little while. 
But what to do till then?
   It was getting dark, and the mists were beginning to descend on the city 
again, and with them the evening chill.  Well, he supposed he'd better find some 
street corner to sleep on, and hope the patrols didn't find him, or he would be 
back in the jail where he'd started the day.
   Out of the corner of his eye, he could see shadows skulking through the 
streets. Normally that exhilarated him. Not tonight, though.
   An idea struck him.  It was absolutely foolish, and it might get him in even 
more trouble, but what did he really have to lose?  He walked a few minutes to 
the nearest public directory and looked up Miral, daughter of Key'TaH.
   He frowned; the only Miral to come up on the computer display was listed as 
the daughter of "Holgath."  What did that mean?
   Well, the address that was given was not far... he might as well see if that 
was she and try his luck.  "Great way to start a relationship, Torres," he 
muttered under his breath as he started off to find the Klingon woman for whom 
he'd already sacrificed everything.


   It was lucky for Arturo that Miral happened to catch sight of him through a 
second floor window as he approached her family's home.  She dashed down to 
chase him away before anyone else might see him there.
   The door opened just as Arturo was about to push the signal, and he jumped 
back in surprise.  Before he could say anything, she grabbed him by the remains 
of his shirt and jerked him inside.
   "What do you think you're doing here, human?" she hissed in his face.
   "I've been kicked out," he said, a tense eye on either end of the hallway.  
"I'm on the streets tonight unless I can stay somewhere."
   "What?!"
   "My family kicked me out."  Not exactly true, but the real story was too 
long.
   "Do you know what would happen to me if anyone sees you here?"
   "Yes. No one else will let me stay, they're all afraid getting caught with a 
human."
   "Klingons are afraid of nothing."
   "Well, I am. I'm afraid of getting arrested by the patrols if I have to sleep 
in the streets."
   "I have already paid my debt to you!"
   "I'm not cashing in on any debt, senorita. And besides, you never owed me 
anything."  She appeared to hesitate, and he jumped at his chance.  "Please.  I 
mean no dishonor. It would be for one night, and then you'll never look at me 
again."
   A small, frustrated growl came from her throat as she wavered.  "Very well.  
One night, and if you get caught I will kill you myself."
   He didn't have time to argue the terms of their agreement, for she was 
already hustling him up a series of dark stairs and into what looked like a 
bedroom.
   Eyeing the sparse decorations and single bed, he said, "I can sleep in 
another room, it's no trouble..."
   "You would be discovered."
   Not knowing what else to do, he set down his bag as she shut the door behind 
them.  "Thank you."
   "You are a fool to come here, human."
   "Yeah, I know.  My name is Arturo Torres, by the way. Not human."
   "You do not like me to call you human?"
   "Whatever you prefer, Klingon."
   She narrowed her eyes.  "Do you require food?"
   "I haven't eaten all day."  Not seeing any chairs, he sat himself down 
gingerly on the floor in one corner, wincing at the pain of his remaining 
injuries.
   "You look no better than you did this morning."
   "Thanks.  The doctor didn't know much about human anatomy, or so he said, so 
I didn't get royal treatment at the clinic."
   "I will get food."  He watched her as she disappeared around the corner, 
enjoying the view despite the circumstances.  She reemerged with a plate of... 
something Klingon.  At least it wasn't living, he thought as he shoved a bite 
into his mouth with one hand.
   Miral disappeared again, and he had already finished the meal when she came 
back with a dermal regenerator.
   "You've been generous already, senorita, you really don't have to..."
   "I am the one who must look at you," she cut him off.  "And my name is Miral. 
Not 'sen-your-heat-uh.'"
   "If you insist... Miral."
   "I do.  Now sit on the bed so I do not need to kneel."
   Arturo had a nasty joke already on the tip of his tongue, but he kept quiet 
and watched her fiddle with the instrument.
   "You're not going to fry me with that thing, are you?"
   "Wait," she told him.  "I must reconfigure the dermal regenerator."
   "Yeah, do that.  Or else I'll end up with a few patches of Klingon skin on my 
bones," he said, then laughed.  "Maybe that would be good for me - a layer of 
good, thick skin to keep the blood in one place next time."
   "I do not think that having Klingon skin helped Gorta son of Jared last 
night."
   "Don't remind me."
   She took his jaw in her hand to begin healing the abrasions to his face.  
"You must look your battles in the eye, Arturo Torres."
   "I guess I'm learning that the hard way."
   "What do you mean?" She tried to ignore the tension in his jaw as she worked 
on his black eye.
   "I mean, I've been acting stupidly. I'm like a child playing with fire. If I 
get burned now, it's my own fault."  He sighed.  "It took getting thrown in jail 
to realize it's time to grow up."
   "You are a man now.  If you are indeed an honorable warrior, you will act 
accordingly."
   "Me, an honorable warrior?  That's a joke."
   "I did not come to the justice center this morning to help a criminal or a 
fool."  She turned off the regenerator.  "I came because you killed the man who 
dishonored me."
   Arturo shook his head.  "You are much wiser than I am, Miral.  I know little 
of honor."
   "Remove your shirt."
   His face flushed.  "What?"
   "Do you want me to heal your wounds or not?"
   Arturo tried to hide his reaction as he removed what was left of his shirt.  
True, Miral was a very good-looking woman, but he was afraid of what would 
happen if he made the wrong move.  This was different from his "friendships" 
with Rokath and Boral.  This was like trying to kiss a woman with teeth of metal 
spikes.
   For her part, Miral did not appear disturbed in the least, although that was 
only on the surface.  She was taking a great deal of pleasure watching him 
remove his clothes.  She hoped she didn't look as guilty as she felt.
   "This is where your heart is?" she said, feeling for his pulse beneath her 
palm.  "If the cut had been deeper," she mused, "the knife would have come close 
to the organ."
   "I guess I do have a little luck left.  Maybe you should leave the wound 
there."
   "Why?  Humans do not like scars, yes?"
   "I don't guess we mind the ones that have a meaning.  Let this one stay.  
That way, years from now I can tell my grandchildren about the night I almost 
lost my heart over a beautiful Klingon woman."
   She narrowed her eyes. "In a meaningless, foolish challenge."
   "Maybe it wasn't so meaningless. I'm still alive, aren't I?"
   "Turn around, I must see your ribs."  She pushed him gently so that he was 
lying on his stomach.
   Miral was surprised at her reaction to this Arturo.  How could she be so 
aroused?  Underneath his tanned skin, he was a little flabby thanks to all his 
drinking, and besides, he was human - weak, to her mind.  But still, she began 
to feel the urge to breathe in the scent of his flesh, to taste his blood again.  
It would be so easy, with him here on her bed...
   Miral traced a finger down the length of his spine.  "So smooth... Your flesh 
is strange to me, Arturo Torres."  She allowed her hand to linger at his waist.
   He drew in a ragged breath, burying his face in his hands.  She snickered 
quietly.  "You are in pain from that?"
   "No," he said quietly.  "Miral, I don't want to dishonor you.  But I think I 
should move to the floor now so I don't... do something we'd regret later."
   His words hushed her.  She moved her hand away from him.  "You don't treat me 
like a Klingon man would."
   He laughed ruefully. "There's a damn good reason for that.  All I'm doing now 
is trying to get off this planet without getting my throat cut. Or something 
worse.  I'm sorry if it offends you."
   "It does not."
   "That's good."  He hadn't moved from the bed.
   Nor had she.
   As quickly as it began, the moment passed. "You are right, human," she said 
scornfully.  "You should get your puny little piece of flesh away from my bed 
before I throw you to the floor myself.  And don't even think to come near me 
tonight."
   "Wouldn't dream of it." He grinned, climbing off the mattress and onto the 
cold, stone floor.

                                    ***

   In the morning, Arturo was woken by a nudge in his side.  He turned over, 
amazed how deeply he had slept on the hard stone floor.  Miral was standing over 
him with a frown on her face that showed even in the darkness.
   "What time is it?" he said, coughing.
   "You must leave now."
   "Good morning to you, too." He struggled to his feet.  "Can I at least use 
your bathroom first?"
   "You have only a few minutes before my father is awake."
   "I'll make it quick."  He went and took care of his needs, stumbling a little 
in the dark. He'd never been a morning person.
   A quiet curse came from the other room.  "What is it?" he called softly.
   "My father has set the alarm.  He never does this."  Arturo walked back into 
her room and saw her hunched over the small computer console.
   "It's okay, I'll bypass it."
   "You know how?"
   "You just show me the controls and give me a laser spanner. Your father won't 
notice a thing."
   "Be absolutely silent." She tossed his bag to him and led the way into the 
hallway where a blinking console was set in one wall.
   "Good thing I can read Klingon," he thought as she went to find the tools he 
needed.
   Arturo set to work.  He wasn't exactly sure how to disable the alarm, but if 
he ever needed his talent for engineering systems to come through for him, it 
was now.
   Miral watched him work.  "Where did you learn to do this?"
   He chuckled as he dug through the circuitry. "Just a knack, I guess. One 
time, when I was eleven, I took apart my parents' replicator. They weren't too 
happy."
   "Why did you do it then?"
   He shrugged.  "Wanted a little attention. You know kids."  There: it was one 
of two isolinear chips that would finish the job, and he had no idea which.  He 
muttered a two-word prayer and pulled the left one from the wall.
   Nothing happened.  That was good.
   "Are you finished?" she asked.
   "I think so."
   "Then get out." She hurried down the stairs and out the door with him, 
whispering along the way.  "I have sent my friend Anja a message.  She will meet 
you at the eastern exit from the main city and take you to her family's second 
house outside the capital.  You will be safe there until you can leave the 
planet."
   He breathed a sigh of relief once he was outside and turned back to where she 
stood in the door.  "You didn't have to do that for me, Miral."
   "I did not have to do anything for you."
   "I hope I see you again someday."
   "Go now."
   Arturo nodded. On an impulse, he took one of her hands in his and kissed the 
inside of her wrist, like he'd seen the Klingon actors do.  "Thank you," he 
called as he set off at a jog from her house.
   "QaplaH, Arturo," she said quietly as she watched him leave.


   Miral waited at the door for a full minute, breathing in the cool morning 
air.  She did not know why, but she could not believe that this was the last 
time she'd ever see Arturo Torres.
   She deliberately shook off the feeling as she turned to go back up the 
stairs.  She'd taken too many risks lately.  Miral might be angry at her father 
for a thousand different reasons, but she did not really wish dishonor for him.  
He was simply a widowed man who had spent so many years fighting for the Empire 
that he did not know how to raise his daughter.  Was that any reason for her to 
disobey everything he said?
   No.  She should forget the human now, and do her best to put this 
dishonorable ordeal behind her.  She would start by cleaning the mess he had 
left by the computer panel.
   Miral never had the chance.  Her father stood waiting at the top of the 
stairs, the laser spanner in his hand, and his eyes leaving her with no doubt 
that he knew everything that had happened.

                                    ***

   Anja met Arturo at the gates as planned, but with a hostility he had not 
expected.  He recognized her from the bar.  "You are a friend of Miral?"
   "I am.  You will follow me."
   As he hurried to keep up with the tall, fierce-looking young woman, he was 
grateful that Miral had thought to heal his remaining bruises, or he would not 
have been able to follow her harsh pace through the evaporating mists.  He 
wondered briefly why Miral had done so much for him, when his closer friends had 
refused to acknowledge him at all.  "Forget it, Torres," he told himself. "You 
have an imagination to go with your bad luck."
   Before long Anja had led him to a transport hub, still almost empty at this 
early hour.  "Take this," she said, handing him an isolinear chip, "and use it 
to unlock the door.  When you leave tomorrow, hide it in the targ skull that 
hangs over the front door."
   "No welcome mat?"
   She ignored him.  "Take the second underground transport and get off at the 
Pahk'ta stop. If you are found, I never saw you."
   "You won't accompany me?"
   She glared at him.  "Miral may be foolish enough to leave herself vulnerable 
to your advances, but I am not."
   Arturo had no idea what that meant.  "Thank you for your trouble," he said.  
With that, he hurried to the underground transport tunnels and hoped no one 
would recognize him.
   The ride was a quick one, taking him the ten kilometers from the city to his 
stop in under five minutes.  After that, finding the house with the skull above 
the door was not difficult, with only three buildings anywhere in sight to 
choose from.
   Once inside, he replicated a change of clothes and then a meal for himself. 
He'd barely eaten a thing yesterday, and Klingon or not, the food was immensely 
satisfying.  He had almost dozed off at the table where he'd eaten when the 
front door signal sounded.
   Arturo froze.  He knew this had been too good to be true. What had happened - 
had Anja turned around and betrayed him and Miral both?  Had someone seen him 
enter the house?  He kept still, hoping that whoever it was might simply go 
away.
   The signal buzzed again.
   Arturo went to the front door and looked through the monitor.  Miral stood 
before the door, her head hanging low.


   He opened the door immediately.  "What happened?" he asked, making way for 
her to come in.
   She wasted no time entering the house and shutting the door quickly after 
him.  "My father knew."
   "And coming here is supposed to make that better?"
   She slammed him up against one wall, her hand at his throat. "Now it is my 
turn to have nowhere else, human."
   He nodded his agreement, since he couldn't speak with her wrist shoved 
against his Adam's apple.  She let him go.
   He gasped for a moment, then straightened.  "What did he say to you?"
   "I am dishonored.  That is all you must know."
   "Because of me?"
   "Because I have been a fool to give you shelter."
   "But we didn't do anything!  You helped me, and I left."
   "That is not what my father believes."  She stormed into the living area and 
began beating the furniture to pieces.
   "Hey, wait! I don't want to get caught a second time.  Calm down!"
   She nearly punched him, but restrained herself.  "This does not concern you, 
human."
   "Yes, it does. You're in my hiding place."
   "I am dishonored, human.  You can not understand what that means."
   "Try me."
   "My father told me that I must leave or stay and bear a dishonor that is not 
mine."
   "And you left?"  One look confirmed the answer.  "Okay, fine.  But just give 
it a few days, let him calm down.  He'll listen to you then."
   "Humans may forgive.  Klingons do not."
   "You're saying that because you're still angry."
   "I have left forever, human.  You should understand that much."
   He realized the parallel to his own situation.  "Right. Point taken.  So what 
happens now?"
   "I will leave Khitomer."
   "You're sure you want to do that?"
   Miral shoved her face into his; he could smell her hot breath.  "I have no 
family. I have no money.  I am dishonored, and I have no future unless I build 
one myself."
   "You mean you've lost everything because of what your father thinks?" Her 
look was enough of an answer.
   Arturo began to realize the magnitude of her sacrifice.  "You've given up a 
lot for the sake of truth."
   "I have my dignity.  Honor will be regained."
   Arturo sat down in a chair that was still in one piece.  "Will you come with 
me, or go your own way?"
   Miral did not know how to answer.
   "You've followed me here," he said.  "So follow me to Kessick IV.  I have 
enough for your transport as well as mine."
   "You would have us travel together?  A Klingon and a human?"
   "Stranger things have happened."
   She answered after a long minute of thinking.  "I will travel with you, 
human.  We will leave this planet together."


   With the decision made, there was little else to do that day except sit and 
wait.  For once, though, doing nothing was the opposite of what Arturo wanted.  
He'd made his decision; now he wanted to follow through so he could stop 
wondering if he was doing the right thing.  Miral offered no counsel as she 
prepared in her own way.
   When evening set, he decided he needed to see the mists rolling in one last 
time, so he climbed to the roof.  Miral heard the noise and found her own way 
up.
   She was about to demand what he was doing, but when she saw him she stopped.  
Unaware, he stood with his back to her, the cool, wet wind blowing against his 
cheeks.  He hummed to himself quietly, staring as the clouds slowly enveloped 
the trees.  The light shone through the encroaching whiteness in hazy lines, 
leaving strange silhouettes on every surface.
   So this was the man with whom she'd be making her escape. A human.  A 
confused man, who seemed as though he wanted to do what was honorable, but did 
not know what honor really was.  She remembered the awkward moment in her 
bedroom the night before.
   In an eerie moment, Miral again felt her future inextricably bound to his.
   Well, wasn't she free now?  Her father could forbid her nothing today, 
tonight, or all the nights after.
   The freedom was painful and welcome at the same time as she studied Arturo, 
as he in turn watched the sun set.  This terrible freedom was leading her to 
consider the unthinkable.  It would make her dishonor real, would it not?  But 
still, she couldn't ignore the churning in her stomachs as she imagined what it 
might be like to do more than give him another kind of shelter for the night.
   Look how he stood, drinking in the view.  It would be so easy...
   She could always kill him later, she supposed as she once again let her 
impulses overrule her sense and climbed to where he stood.
   "Kahless has chosen a strange fate for me, Arturo Torres."
   "For both of us, it looks like."
   She balanced herself carefully at the roof's peak.  "Are you looking for 
something?"
   He glanced at her, a little confused.  "I don't think so. I just wanted to 
see the sunset."
   "So there is nothing else you... desire tonight?"
   He began to realize what she was getting at.  "Well, if you put it like 
that... Maybe."
   "And what would that be?"
   "You want me to spell it out for you?"
   "I believe it is time."  She reached up, turned his face to one side and 
closed her teeth on the flesh of his jaw line.
   Surprised barely began to describe what Arturo felt.  "What was that for?!" 
he snapped, holding a hand to his cheek.
   "Now I have tasted your blood a second time," she growled. "You shall be my 
par'machai tonight."
   "Your what?"
   "There is no discussion to be had, human.  I have chosen."
   "Miral, we've known each other for two days now.  What the hell are you 
thinking?"
   "Do you know how to make love?"
   "Yeah, I've heard of it.  Enough to know now isn't the time to..."
   "Now is the time. Or are you afraid to answer my challenge?"
   "I'm not afraid, I just..."
   "Then come with me.  Now."  She began breathing deeply, with little growls 
coming from deep in her chest.
   This was worse than a rock and a hard place.  Yes, he wanted Miral, but 
Klingons didn't joke around with sex.  He had his desire for her on one side, 
and his common sense on the other.
   But Arturo had given into his desires over common sense his whole life. Why 
should now be any different?
   Besides, he could always run away later, he thought as they made their way 
down.


   A while later, after the sky had turned completely dark, he and Miral sat 
before a holographic fire, tending to each other's wounds.
   "I'd have thought Klingons preferred the real thing with their fires," he 
mused, "not another photonic simulation."
   "Do you wish anyone to know of our presence here by leaving a real fire?"
   "No. Absolutely not."  He took the dermal regenerator and began running it 
over the scratches on her naked back.
   "That is not necessary," she said stiffly.
   "Hey, I'm the one who has to look at you," he joked.  "Not a bad view, 
though."
   Miral allowed herself to smile.  Perhaps his joking was not so bad after all.  
"You performed well tonight, Arturo Torres."  She snuck a hand back to rest it 
on his bare thigh.
   "Thanks.  I enjoyed it."
   "There will be more in the nights to come."
   "Is that a promise?"
   "I do not lie."
   "Then what are we waiting for?"
   They spent the rest of the night exploring their way through this new 
territory together.

                                    ***

   The following morning, they made their way to the city and boarded the 
shuttle separately so as not to attract attention.  Not until they were on board 
the transport vessel did they exchange words.  Arturo felt a little like a 
criminal escaping the law.
   "Come on," he said to Miral, "let's go to the observation deck.  I want to 
see the planet as we go to warp."
   "Why look behind you?"
   He shrugged. "To help me burn my bridges, I suppose. You coming?"
   She followed, telling herself she had nothing better to do.  She did, though. 
She was entertaining no romantic attitudes about leaving home; rather, she felt 
she had her eyes open as the mouth of her future gaped wide before her.
   On the observation deck, they stood silently as the ship pulled away at 
impulse power. The planet gradually shrank behind them, before disappearing in a 
wink when they shot to warp.
   "Do you think you'll ever go back?" Arturo asked, looking at the stars 
streaking by.
   "No.  My future is my own now.  There is no question."
   Arturo suddenly grinned a rakish smile, running a hand through his dark, 
shaggy hair.  "Good!  Then we shall be as a team, Miral. And no one will stand 
between us!"
   "You are very confident that I still wish to be with you."
   "Yes, I am.  Because if you didn't, I wouldn't still be standing here in one 
piece."
   "You are correct."
   "Thought as much. Come on! I got us quarters next to each other."
   "Why?"
   He rolled his eyes. "So if I have a nightmare, you can comfort me.  Don't 
worry, Miral, the voyage is only a week long.  You can be near me all you want 
when we get to Kessick IV."
   "Don't cross me, human.  And you may live to reach the planet."
   "It's something to look forward to.  Let's go." He took her hand gingerly and 
led the way down the darkened corridor.

                                    ***

   Barely a month later, word reached them on Kessick IV that tragedy had struck 
- Khitomer had been massacred.  When the news first arrived, rumor bore more 
weight than truth.  No one was sure who was responsible for the attack.  
Romulans, Cardassians, a strange new race they had never encountered... no one 
would confirm or deny anything.
   One thing was for certain: everyone they had ever known was dead. The only 
survivor was a Klingon child who had escaped death in the massacre when he was 
buried in the rubble with the corpses of his family.
   Miral was struck hardest.  Her family may have rejected her, but she was 
Klingon, and now her house was finished. When she died, what would happen?  She 
would wander at the gates of Sto-Vo-Kor forever, crying in vane for them to 
grant her entrance.
   Arturo watched as she sank further and further into depression, but he felt 
powerless to help her.  Like Miral, he mourned for the chance to make amends 
with his parents... a chance that would never come.  He'd been so angry when he 
left that he thought he would never regret his choice.  Now he felt adrift, like 
a space walker whose line had been cut.
   He began hearing the sound of his father's voice each time he closed his 
eyes.  He replayed the final argument with his parents time and time again, 
wondering if he really had been at fault.
   Only eighteen.  Living on his own for the first time, he felt how young he 
was every morning when he woke up to go work at the Kessick IV shipyard.  But 
when he came home each night, he felt forty years older.  Before, nights with 
Miral had helped him to remember the carefree feeling of the Khitomer nightlife.  
Broken bones from lovemaking, he didn't care.  Here he was, living with a 
beautiful Klingon woman, who actually (still) considered him her lover.  But the 
Khitomer massacre put an end to the honeymoon.
   Arturo was desperate; he wanted nothing more than to go to her for comfort in 
his grief, and she had turned her face from him.
   Then a solution occurred to him.  It was lunacy to even consider it, but 
maybe it would work. Just maybe.


   "What are you thinking, human?" Miral shouted.  "Are you stupid?!"
   Arturo looked at the remains of their evening meal as it soaked into the 
carpet.  Why was Miral always so angry?  He still had no idea how to handle her 
outrageous temper.  "Damn it, don't throw the plate at me, Miral.  Just sit down 
for one minute and listen to me!"
   "I refuse to listen to idiocy."
   "It's not idiocy if you'd just hear me out!"
   With visible effort, she composed herself.  "I am waiting."
   "Miral, it would give us back something of what we've lost.  I've been 
watching you mourn your family - yes, I know, Klingons do not mourn.  But you've 
been mourning.  And I understand!  My house is dead, too.  We're alone."  He 
approached her warily.  "Think.  Taking the Oath and having a child would 
rebuild your house and my family name.  There would be someone to proclaim your 
honor at the gates of Sto'Vo'Kor.  You would have someone else to carry your 
blood."
   "Arturo, I will not take the Oath with you.  And we cannot have a child!"
   "Tell me why."
   "We are not the same species."
   "They can help us with that.  There are doctors who specialize in inter-
species reproduction.  Besides, it's been done."
   "I do not believe you are suggesting this.  You know nothing of the meaning 
of the Oath."
   "Miral, I want you back."
   "What?"
   He had given up acting Klingon.  "I love you," he admitted.  "Maybe I haven't 
said it before, but I do.  I'll do whatever it takes to bring you back to the 
way you were.  I'm not saying it will be easy, but we can't live anymore like 
this.  Please.  You are a beautiful woman with a strong heart.  That is the kind 
of woman who took me in, and I want to see her again."
   "You think that taking the Oath, that having a child would make me young and 
stupid again?"
   "If it does, then I'll be a very happy man."
   It took all night before she finally agreed.


   And it took seven years for Arturo to realize exactly how naïve he had been.
   They had succeeded in producing a child - a daughter they named B'Elanna. 
Arturo found himself both infatuated with and shocked by her existence.  He 
tried to share his joy and confusion with Miral, but she did not seem to 
understand how he felt. Or if she did, she never let on.
   Yet his twisted idea had worked for a time; Miral had been strong throughout 
the pregnancy, working in the capital city until almost the last day.  She had 
looked forward to the future of her house.  And yet, there was still a vague 
sense of disappointment she carried with her that only grew stronger after 
B'Elanna was born.  As if she had been betrayed or lied to. As if she began to 
understand the burden she'd brought upon herself.
   At last, one night, the final straw fell upon Arturo's shoulders, and he 
snapped.
   He came home from the shipyards an hour later than he'd planned. Since being 
made a supervisor, he'd found himself staying later, working more hours... and 
it wasn't always because of the workload.  Coming home was no joy.
   Thankfully, the house was calm as he entered tonight.  B'Elanna was quiet for 
once, playing on the floor with the stuffed targ he'd given her.
   "Where's your mother?  Is she home yet?" he asked.
   B'Elanna shrugged her little shoulders.  She seemed so mature for six years 
old sometimes.
   "Have you eaten?  Come on, I'll get you something."
   She followed him in the kitchen.  By her silence, he could tell something was 
bothering her, but he just didn't have the energy to ask.  Not tonight.
   Arturo went to the incubator and found some gagh still twitching, so he 
shoveled some onto a plate for her before replicating a more human meal for 
himself.
   He heard a noise from the storage room.  Something being dropped.  Sighing, 
he went to go see what Miral was doing.
   In the last seven years, he'd become well acquainted with her strong desire 
for neatness and order - if only because it was so opposite his own manner.  But 
it was still a surprise to see her removing everything possible from the supply 
room.
   "A little early for spring cleaning, eh?" he said by way of greeting.
   She didn't reply, so Arturo walked in to see what was going on.  She had hung 
a couple ceremonial blades on one wall, and a mirror between them.  A couple 
candles were on the floor.
   "What's all this?"
   "I am making a room for meditation."
   "I can see that.  Any reason why?"
   "It is time to teach B'Elanna the ways of a true Klingon."
   He blinked.  "She's only six, Miral. Don't go overboard just yet."
   "She requires much to teach her the ways of honor.  I won't have her make the 
same mistakes I did."
   He smirked.  "You mean you don't want her to run off with a handsome young 
human, who will steal her heart and take her away from you?"
   He had meant it as a joke, but Miral nodded silently and left the room. 
Arturo felt his words hanging stale in the air.
   He felt like he'd swallowed a rock.  Her screaming at him, he could handle, 
because he could ignore it.  That cold, cruel honesty was like a razor, though, 
cutting open their relationship and revealing the rotten truth of what it had 
become.  Their daughter was caught in the middle.
   This wasn't the first time he'd felt this sting.  Miral had begun sleeping in 
the sitting room, leaving him frustrated for weeks at a time.  She'd take 
B'Elanna to ceremonies at the local Klingon monastery without telling him, when 
the girl obviously didn't want to go.  She hadn't spoken to him kindly in what 
felt like years.
   Arturo looked in the mirror that hung on the wall between two blades.  Barely 
twenty-five, and the dark circles under his eyes seemed permanent.  Where had 
the dreams of his youth disappeared to?  When did he let them go?
   He began to understand.  It was in the early days of Khitomer, when he quit 
obeying his own parents, when he fooled himself into believing he might find 
himself in Klingon society. Some humans might - but not him; he needed something 
else.
   With Klingons, there was always a certainty there, a self-assurance that he 
had envied since Khitomer.  That was it.  He just didn't have that ability to 
accept his place and how he'd gotten there.  He'd always tried to seek the next 
adventure, the next planet, the next ship, and that desire hadn't disappeared 
with fatherhood.
   With a twist in his belly he realized without a doubt that his future 
wouldn't allow him to stay here.
   He could do it, too.  Transports from Kessick were frequent and cheap, and 
there were more than enough destinations to hide his tracks.
   He was certain now. No, he wasn't leaving to hurt his family; he was leaving, 
he thought, to save them. They needed a man with a whole heart, or none at all.
   That night, he wrote a short message and sealed it in the computer.  By 
morning, he was gone forever.

                                    ***

Dear B'Elanna:

   Perhaps, someday, you will find this letter. I hope that you do.
   I'm leaving tonight.  Your mother won't know till morning.  I've been 
sneaking out since I was sixteen, so I know a few tricks... But this time, 
there's no coming back.
   I don't expect you to forgive me.  I know your mother never will.  What I am 
doing is not the Klingon way.  But I am the same as I've always been: weak, 
foolish... I've been searching for something my whole life, a love my own father 
or mother never showed me.  I thought that Klingon honor would take its place, 
but honor requires a suitable vessel.
   Your mother once offered me passion.  I hoped it would be enough.
   Perhaps someday, you will come to Earth, and I will be there, too.  I will be 
walking down the street, and I will see a beautiful woman, with those wonderful 
ridges lining her brow, and her eyes dark as mine... So if you see me staring, 
know that it was only a foolish old man who finally learned that to find one's 
dreams, one has to make them oneself.

      With all the love I never had,
      Arturo Torres


                                    ***

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