Written by Kaziarl
Wednesday, 07 October 2009 00:26
The young boy walked into his home, bloody, bruised, one arm hanging broken at his side. At one point this would have been painful, but the boy didn’t care anymore. He didn’t care that he was an outsider among the people that had raised him, that even though his ‘father’ and ‘mother’ had taken him in after his own parents had been killed; even they looked at him with shame and contempt. It was another fight he had simply lost, another reason he would never be equal to anyone here.
He made his way through the home and to his room, where he retrieved a medical kit he had taken from the medical complex some time after the third or fourth fight. I couldn’t even guess how many he had been in since then, and after each one he would simply come home and use the med-kit to tend the wounds. The arm would be a little trickier, but even there he had become fairly resourceful at making splints out of everyday items.
Once he was done, he began to study for a while. It seemed learning about the people who looked down at him with such scorn was about the only thing he could do right. He studied the history, the stories, the great battles and miserable defeats. There had to be something he could learn from all of it, as even their greatest hero said the key to victory is to know your opponent. After a while he was pulled away from the books by a pounding on the door.
“It is time for the evening meal boy,” came the gruff voice of his father.
“Yes father,” he replied as he made his way back to the eating hall. His mother had set out the usual assortment of food, gagh, bIreQtagh, tIqnagh lemDu', and ro'qegh'Iwchab. It seemed to be the only thing of this world he could get used to.
“What happened to your arm?” his father questioned as he examined the splint.
“Another fight father,” the boy replied as he sat down and started grabbing food with his good arm. “The slime covered son of K’miT felt it necessary to break it today.”
“Well, at least you’ve learned to talk like one of us,” said the father as he grabbed the tlgnagh lemDu’. “You reach the age of ascension in four years Kaziarl, you will have to find a way to overcome your… difficulties.”
Kaziarl sighed as he looked at the plate of food in front of him, pondering what he was about to do. “And what difficulties would you be talking about father?”
“You’re human of course,” he replied. “You’re smaller, and weaker than the other children because of it.”
The boy let out a low growl as he grabbed the edge of the table, pushing against it as hard as he could with one arm and knocking it over. He stood there, scowling at his father who appeared surprised that this boy had actually managed to do it.
“You think me weak? Then why don’t you just cast me out?” he bellowed from behind clenched teeth. “Am I a shame to you? Do I endanger your honor old man?”
His father’s hand moved so quickly, he didn’t even see it as it struck him in the head. All he felt was a throbbing pain as his vision went black and he fell limp to the floor.
As Kaziarl slept following the strike from his father, he saw familiar images. Things his conscious mind had hid from him; a human defense mechanism he was told; but they were things that he saw all too clearly when he closed his eyes. He remembered the ships when they came to his home, remembered how they blocked out the sun as they spewed a fire that burned the air itself. Everyone around him ran in terror and tried to hide from death itself even as his parents, his human parents, tried to protect them. Once the ships stopped burning the sky, the soldiers came. They killed everyone in their sights, men, women, and children. What passed as the security force on the colony did their best to fight them off as the officials sent out a distress signal, and although they were able to hold their own for some time even they were no match.
Then it happened, right before his eyes as his mother tried to shield him. One of the attackers had come after them, and even though his father knew there was no chance, he went after the man with a piece of twisted metal; driving it into the attacker’s chest even as he died. His mother, screaming in painful rage, rushed another. A moment later, she too fell limp to the ground. The boy, only four years old, stayed hidden for some time, only coming out once the ships left the sky. He approached his mother, her body cold and stiff by now, and tried to wake her. He looked over at one of the attackers, and while he didn’t understand yet what hate or rage was, he felt very angry. Something welled up within him, burned at his insides. The boy pushed up from his mother’s body, grabbing a piece of rubble as he ran towards the attacker. He didn’t even notice more transporter beams as he started smashing the attackers head and splattering green blood everywhere, ignored the strong hands that grabbed his shoulders and pulled him away as he screamed like a wild animal. He managed to escape the grasp of whomever it was that had grabbed him, lunging back at the attacker’s body. The hands grabbed him again, tighter this time, pulling him away from the body again.
“Stop it boy,” a gruff voice commanded. “It’s over. G’tak to qeylIs betleH, jol ylchu!”
The burning rubble and dead bodies vanished from view. For some time after that, Kaziarl remembered very little about his life. As the years drew on, the only thing he recalled about his heritage was that he was human. All else were fragmented, and disjointed images, save for the dreams of the attack.
Kaziarl awoke several hours later, his head throbbing where his father hit him. The dream was already beginning to fade away, and he supposed he was thankful for that much. As he sat up he noticed his splint was gone and the bone was healed. Father must have called the physician, he thought as he stood up. The arm was still sore, and Kaziarl figured it would be for a couple more days, but at least it wasn’t broken anymore.
He quietly made his way back down to the Soj Suqqa’ pa’, to see if he could find a few scraps of food. He moved quietly, not making a single sound as he moved around a corner. After grabbing a plate of food, he turned to make his way back to his room, only to be faced by the towering figure of his father.
“I have to give you credit,” the old warrior said quietly. “You move as silently as a mIl’oD stalking it’s prey.”
Kaziarl stood there, watching his father and expecting another blow. He did not flinch; knowing that would bring the blow sooner, but instead fixed an icy stare into the man’s eyes.
“Well, eat,” his father commanded as he moved over to the table. “A warrior needs to keep his strength up.”
“I am no warrior,” replied Kaziarl as he sat across from his father. “I’m just a human.”
“Yes, I suppose there is no changing who you are,” the old man said thoughtfully. “But let me tell you something Kaziarl, brute strength does not make you a warrior.”
“What else is there?” he asked skeptically. “I lose every fight the other children start, because I’m just a human.”
“You’re right,” replied the father, not hiding his opinions. “But look at the cha'bIp, it uses its speed and agility to evade its stronger predators.”
“So… If I learned to be more like the cha'bIp, then I might stand a chance?” he muttered thoughtfully.
“You stand a chance if you don’t give up Kaziarl, that is one of the things I have tried to teach you,” the old man explained as he leaned forward. “Yes, I have been hard on you. Harder then I may have been on a Klingon child, but it is because I know you will have a harder time then a Klingon child. You will face hatred, discrimination, spite. You will have to be able to face it all, and like the cha'bIp, you will have to learn to use what gifts you do have to your advantage.”
“Yes father, I think I understand.”
“Good, now… take your food and return to your room. You have DuSaQ in the morning.”
Kaziarl picked up the plate of food and slowly climbed the stairs. Somehow, after what his father said, Kaziarl wasn’t entirely sure it was contempt that he was used to seeing in the man’s eyes.
Last Updated on Thursday, 08 October 2009 11:18
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