Star Trek: Seven Deadly Sins

by Margaret Clark (Editor)

  “Very well. I shall support the son of Targ with my hand scanner,” Jurva said with a salute to her QaS DevwI’.

  “See that you do. And remember, Jurva, we are here to improve the efficiency of the mine. Try not to kill everyone who annoys you.”

  Jurva bared her teeth with amusement at her supervisor’s teasing. “I will try my best, sir.”

  She beamed from the Voh’tahk to the transporter station for Site wej, where she was greeted by three guards—one QuchHa’, the others HemQuch— all armed with painstiks.

  “I am Bekk Jurva, daughter of Pit’ton, and I have been assigned to aid Section Chief Targ.”

  One of the HemQuch said, “I am Gonn, this is Goroth.” He shook his head, then indicated the QuchHa’. “Oh, and, er, that’s Korya. We’ll take you to the section chief now, but—”

  To Jurva’s shock, Gonn hesitated. It was not an action a Klingon warrior performed readily, and she had assumed Sorkav’s security people to be warriors. She wondered if she should have revised that estimate.

  Gonn finally continued: “Please, call him ’Section Chief.’ He doesn’t like being called by his name.”

  “I can hardly blame him,” Jurva said honestly. “Take me to him.”

  “Of course.”

  As Jurva followed the three guards, Goroth spoke for the first time. “Is that a disruptor?”

  Her hand instinctively moving to her sidearm, Jurva said, “Of course. All Defense Force personnel are issued disruptors.”

  Korya muttered, “Defense Force personnel are lucky.”

  Gonn shot Korya an annoyed look, then said, “We’re only armed with painstiks. A few of the supervisors got disruptors once this whole malvaq bortaS idiocy began, but they don’t even work all the time.”

  They walked down several corridors that were carved out of the asteroid’s rock and filled with atmosphere before reaching an enclosure that looked out onto space. Jurva saw four large shuttlecraft that were obviously used to transport the miners.

  At the entryway was a table and a large force-field generator, currently off.

  “I am Bekk Jurva,” she said to the section chief, a short, broadshouldered HemQuch with a slight gut and short hair that was starting to show gray. His beard was untrimmed and he wore a giant nose ring—both typical for the shack dwellers of Kingral.

  “I am your section chief, woman.”

  “No, actually, you aren’t,” Jurva said quickly. “I report to QaS DevwI’ Morglar, and he reports to Captain Kang. I am here to aid you, not be subject to your command. And you will address me as Bekk or by my name.”

  Targ looked at his subordinates. “Do you hear that, boys? The QuchHa’ bitch wants us to treat her with respect!” He laughed, as did Gonn and Goroth. Korya, she noted, stayed silent.

  Only Morglar’s final words to her kept Jurva from killing the section chief right there. Instead she simply stared at him.

  When his laughter had finally died down, Targ said, “All right, then, be’H, this is where you will be stationed. When the miners’ shift ends, they come to this shuttlebay to be taken back to Site wa’.”

  Jurva tensed, but said nothing. The term be’H was a normal Kingral diminutive of be’Hom, which meant girl. The Kingral dialect tended to meld the sharp sound at the end of her rank with the more guttural consonant at the center of be’Hom, so it was possible that that was simply the way Targ pronounced bekk.

  Or he was deliberately insulting her. Again, taking heed of Morglar’s instructions, she let it pass.

  “Each person who wishes to pass through must be scanned. Any contraband is confiscated. Once they are cleared, they are permitted to walk through the force field, which is made semipermeable by a control that I hold.”

  For a brief instant, Jurva considered ordering Targ to give her that control, but decided not to push things.

  At least not yet.

  Instead, she asked, “What constitutes contraband?”

  “Anything that is not standard mining equipment. Writing implements used to spread the malvaq bortaS graffiti. Instruments used to sabotage shuttlecraft. That sort of thing.”

  Jurva shook her head and folded her arms across her chest. “What is the point of this?”

  Targ frowned, an action that made his nose ring abut his upper lip. “What do you mean?”

  “The miners know that you scan them when they enter the shuttlebay, yes?”

  “Of course.”

  “Then what is the point of it? This does not provide security for the mine, it simply provides the illusion of it. It would make far more sense to make the scans discreet and secret. Let the conspirators think themselves safe from scans.”

  “Look,” the section chief said, “I just follow Sorkav’s orders.”

  “Then Sorkav is an even bigger fool than I have been told.”

  Targ laughed at that, and then so did Gonn and Goroth. “You will receive no argument regarding Sorkav’s intelligence form any of us, be’H, of that you may be sure.”

  A loud siren pierced the air and caused Jurva to put her hands to her ears. Korya did likewise.

  Again, Targ laughed. “Typical QuchHa’, having to protect their weak Earther ears. That is the end of the shift. Time to begin work.”

  Gonn and Goroth took up positions near the far end of the entryway, and no doubt would patrol up and down the line that would soon form.

  Korya walked up to Jurva. “I said the same thing,” he said in a small voice. Korya was quite short, only coming up to Jurva’s shoulder, and he looked like a child with a ghIntaq spear when he held his painstik. “I told the section chief that this wouldn’t create proper security, but he told me to be quiet.”

  “I’m not surprised.”

  Jurva ran her hand scanner over every Klingon—mostly QuchHa’, with the occasional HemQuch—who came through the checkpoint. She found only one item that she would classify as contraband: a qutluch, the weapon of a hired assassin. The miner was unconvincing in his claims that it had been in his family for generations.

  Targ, however, was less fussy on the subject.

  “Are you aware,” the section chief informed one worker, “that gold can be used to disrupt engine systems on our shuttlecraft?”

  “That bone necklace,” he told another, “could easily be used as a weapon.”

  “Did you really think,” he told a third, “that you would be allowed to carry a bladed weapon?”

  Not wishing to disrupt the mining operations any further, Jurva waited until the final shuttle had taken off before she reached under the table and pulled out the container that was filled with the confiscated items. She pulled out the medallion he had taken off the first worker. “Tell me, Section Chief, what is the method by which one can use an incredibly valuable gold medallion encrusted with gemstones to disrupt engine systems?”

  Looking as if someone had fed him dead food, Targ said, “Our shuttle’s engines are—”

  “Your shuttle’s engines, Section Chief, are standard Type wa’maH Hut. They cannot be in any way harmed by the introduction of gold—or gemstones, for that matter—into their systems.”

  “Are you accusing me—”

  But Jurva refused to let him speak, instead taking out the bone necklace. “How, precisely, is this bone necklace to be used as a weapon, Section Chief?”

  “Those bones have sharp edges that—”

  Jurva reached out and grabbed Goroth’s wrist and yanked him toward her. She would have grabbed Targ, but he was on the other side of the table and too far away. In turn, she applied several of the edges of the bones to Goroth’s finger, hard. None of them even broke skin.

  “Sharp edges,” Jurva said after her demonstration, “that can do no harm whatsoever. Oh, and before you mention the possibility of using it as a garrote . . .” Jurva wrapped the necklace around her own neck and tightened it, causing the thin rope to break in two. “But, of course, these are maS bird bones. Very rare, very valuable—but not very dangerous.”


  “Enough! I will not stand here and be—”

  “Embarrassed? I haven’t even gotten to the ’bladed weapon,’ which is simply a rusty old d’k tahg with no emblems. He couldn’t pick his teeth with it.”

  She stepped around the table, staring right at Targ, who couldn’t hold her gaze, the coward.

  “You are pathetic, Section Chief, and not even worthy to be named for an animal.”

  Now Targ sputtered. “How dare you! I will not stand here and be insulted by some filthy QuchHa’ who thinks that wearing a child’s uniform gives her leave to insult—”

  Again, Jurva did not let him finish speaking, choosing instead to slap his face with the back of her hand. “I challenge you, Targ, son of Targ. You are unworthy to continue in your position as section chief.”

  For several seconds, Targ just stared at her.

  Then he threw his head back and laughed so hard his nose ring shook. “This isn’t your oh-so-precious Defense Force, QuchHa’. Your pathetic challenge carries no weight here!”

  He turned his back on her to face Korya. “Where does this stupid be’H get the idea that she can challenge me?”

  Jurva snarled and unholstered her disruptor, pointing it at his back. “Turn and face me, petaQ!”

  Targ turned around. “There’s no need for that, be’H,” he said, suddenly sounding much more subdued while staring at the beam end of a disruptor.

  “You’re right.” Jurva lowered the disruptor and grabbed the qutluch that they’d confiscated—the only legitimate seizure they’d made. “Duels should be fought with blades.”

  “Yes, well, pity I don’t have one.” Then he lunged forward with his painstik.

  Jurva dodged the lunge with the greatest ease, slashing behind her. The blade of the qutluch tasted blood from the section chief’s side.

  Before he could regain his footing, Jurva was able to grab his nose ring and yank his head downward into a knee kick that shattered his jaw.

  Then she plunged the qutluch into his heart.

  “This is outrageous! I want this woman put to death!”

  Sorkav was waving his arms as if he had gone mad. Kobyk wasn’t entirely sure that his brother hadn’t.

  They were standing in his office. Kobyk sat behind his desk, with a warnog clutched in his hands and Sorkav gesticulating wildly at his side. Facing them were Captain Kang and a QaS DevwI’ named Morglar, along with the subject of their discussion, Bekk Jurva, a female subordinate of Morglar’s who stood respectfully behind her superiors.

  At least, she stood there until Sorkav’s outburst. At that, the bekk stepped forward. “My challenge was proper! That yIntagh was—”

  Morglar turned to face Jurva. “Be silent, Bekk!”

  Jurva lowered her head. “Yes, sir.”

  Kang glowered at Kobyk, which led the supervisor to clutch his warnog mug even more tightly. “What is the basis of your brother’s absurd desire to take the life of one of my warriors?”

  Kobyk tried to form an answer, but Sorkav snorted before he could. “Warrior? Pfah!”

  Giving his brother a sidelong glance, Kobyk snarled, “Sorkav, be silent!”

  Pointing at Jurva, Sorkav cried, “She killed a Klingon! That cannot go unanswered!”

  Morglar said, “She challenged a fellow Klingon.”

  “There was no basis for a challenge. This isn’t a Defense Force base, it’s a mine—”

  Kang interrupted. “Which is currently under the purview of the Defense Force. Jurva’s challenge was legitimate. Any attempt to take action against her by anyone other than the victim’s family will not be tolerated.”

  “How do you know the challenge was legitimate?” Sorkav asked angrily. “Were you there?”

  Morglar said, “Jurva gave me her word. That is all that is required.”

  “You believe her word over that of a Klingon?”

  “Enough!” Kobyk cried, having grown weary of this idiocy. He had remained silent in the hopes that Sorkav would be sensible. A lifetime of experience with his brother had indicated otherwise, and he should have known better. “Captain Kang may not have been there, but security feeds recorded the entire incident.” Kobyk turned the small monitor on his desk toward Sorkav, which showed the bekk backhanding Section Chief Targ. “I have already reviewed the incident. The bekk’s challenge was legitimate, and the section chief’s death was earned in battle. The matter is closed.”

  “Good.” Kang said that word in a low, dangerous tone that drove Kobyk to gulp down large quantities of warnog.

  Morglar turned to Jurva. “Return to your duties, Bekk.”

  “Yes, sir,” Jurva said smartly, gave Sorkav a rather venomous look, then turned on her heel to leave.

  Kang continued to glare at Kobyk. “My time will not be wasted in this manner again.”

  With that, he left, Morglar behind him.

  As soon as the door slid shut behind the QaS DevwI’, Sorkav exploded. “How could you side with that against your own brother?”

  “Easily.” Kobyk slugged down the rest of his warnog before continuing. “Primarily because they were right and you were wrong.”

  “How dare you! Is this what it has come to? You accept the word of QuchHa’ over me?”

  “No,” Kobyk said with as much patience as he could muster, “I accept the evidence of my own eyes and the word of warriors in the Defense Force.” Before Sorkav could start another rant, Kobyk rose to his feet and pointed to the door. “Get out of my office, brother. My time will not be wasted, either!”

  Sorkav snarled and stomped out of the office.

  Kobyk walked to the sideboard, which was situated against one wall, under the Do’Ming mek’leth. He poured himself some more warnog and wondered how long it would be before someone from one of the three ships challenged Sorkav.

  If that day came, Kobyk would be cheering for Sorkav’s opponent to achieve victory.

  5

  Korax

  Korax had never had much use for engineers. They were whining, tiresome creatures who always had technical excuses for not following orders. During that incident on K-7—that cursed place—Korax had picked the fight with the Enterprise crew mainly because their chief engineer was present.

  That engineer had retaliated by beaming hundreds of tribbles into the Gr’oth engine room. Korax had vowed that he would avenge himself on the Earther Montgomery Scott for that outrage.

  So when Korax came into Koloth’s cabin for his orders, he was disheartened when his captain said, “Your task, Commander, will be to supervise Lieutenant Paibok’s work on repairing the mine’s atmospheric dome.”

  Ever the good soldier, Korax said only, “As you command.”

  Koloth smiled. “I know how you feel, Korax. Personally, I find engineers to be as tiresome as you do. Your task is of greater import than observing Paibok’s minions. The rabble may attempt sabotage of the repairs. You’re to be on guard for them.”

  Where Koloth’s smile was his usual insincere one, Korax’s was wide and genuine. “It will be my pleasure, sir.”

  “Oh, and Korax? Do try to leave at least one of them alive for questioning. This mission will go far more smoothly with proper intelligence, not just Supervisor Kobyk’s conjectures.”

  Korax nodded his head in acknowledgment and proceeded to the transporter bay.

  Unfortunately, there was very little evidence of saboteurs and quite a bit of annoying engineers making excuses. To make matters worse, it wasn’t even Paibok, but rather the mine engineers who were causing the problems.

  Mostly, Korax was able to ignore it, but when a shouting match arose between Paibok and the mine’s head engineer, a QuchHa’ named Kly’bn, he found it necessary to intervene.

  “What is going on here?” he asked in a voice that cut through the argument.

  Both men spoke at once in an incoherent babble.

  “Be quiet!” When they both became quiet, Korax looked at his subordinate. “Chief Engineer Paibok—report!”

  “Th
is petaQ refuses to implement my repair schedule!”

  Kly’bn bared his teeth. “That is because your repair schedule is idiotic! We have a four-shift rotation—”

  “Which makes poor use of the personnel available to you!”

  “I only have twelve people!”