Star Trek: ALL - Seven Deadly Sins

by Dayton Ward

  “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!”


  “This 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!”

  “No, you brainless toDSaH, you have thirty with my engineers, and they are more efficiently used on a three-shift rotation—”

  “Your engineers are not trained on my equipment! I’ll need to waste countless hours training them to—”

  “Enough!” Korax was about ready to rip his own beard off his chin. “If I wished to listen to the mewlings of old women, I’d have stayed home on Qu’Vat!” He fixed his gaze upon Kly’bn. “You will do as Lieutenant Paibok says, or I will kill you and have Supervisor Kobyk assign someone who will do as Lieutenant Paibok says.” Turning his gaze upon the chief engineer, he added, “And if I hear you two arguing again, I will kill you both!” He shook his head. “Now go do whatever it is you’re supposed to be doing!”

  Kly’bn snarled at Paibok. “I was going to repair the plasma manifolds, then replace the topaline injectors.”

  “And I told you,” Paibok said with a snarl of his own, “that I can do one of those tasks.”

  “Our plasma manifolds are very particular—”

  Paibok rolled his eyes. “They’re standard-issue ret manifolds—or, at least, they were standard issue during the Second Dynasty.” Looking at Korax, he added, “This mine is filled with ancient equipment. It’s a wonder any of it runs. However, I was trained on ret equipment as a child—that was all we had on Forcas III.”

  “You could have mentioned that,” Kly’bn said in a tone that was, in Korax’s opinion, unbecoming a Klingon.

  Korax said, “It isn’t your concern, Kly’bn. Your only concern is with how you follow Lieutenant Paibok’s orders.” He moved close enough to smell the raktajino on Kly’bn’s breath. “And mine.”

  “Of course,” Kly’bn said weakly. “I will repair the manifold. Lieutenant, if you’d be so kind as to take the topaline injector?”

  Paibok threw up his arms. “I just told you—”

  “Yes, Lieutenant, I know, but the manifold is near the top of the dome, and requires climbing up that very long ladder.” Kly’bn pointed at a nearby thin metal ladder that led up to the top of the dome. “I climb that ladder daily. I do not wish to risk you—”

  Now Paibok got in Kly’bn’s face. “I am not some broken-down old fool who needs to be coddled, Kly’bn—I am an officer in the Defense Force!”

  “Fine!” Kly’bn threw up his hands and walked away. “I will fix the injectors and you can break your neck!”

  Korax walked in the other direction. “I hate engineers,” he muttered, uncaring if Paibok heard him. It wasn’t as if the lieutenant hadn’t heard it before.

  As Korax went back to the desk where he had been reading over the latest dispatches from Command—Koloth expected him to go through them and report anything the captain might need to know—he heard the impact of boot on rung that indicated Paibok was climbing the ladder in question.

  Then he heard Paibok’s distant voice: “What are you doing up here?”

  Not liking the sound of that in the least, Korax ran back to the base of the ladder.

  Craning his neck up, he saw three Klingons—all QuchHa’—on a catwalk that was partway up the ladder. They were who Paibok was talking to.

  In answer to the engineer’s query, one of them lunged at him with what looked like a pipe. Paibok was able to deflect the blow, but he was in a poor position—the catwalk was at his waist, and he was reliant on the ladder’s rungs for support. His three foes had more freedom of movement.

  Without hesitation, Korax unholstered his disruptor. Koloth had only ordered him to take one prisoner, after all.

  His aim was true, and the one who had attacked Paibok was dead moments later, screaming from the fatal disruption of his nervous system. Korax grinned with glee at the kill.

  That gave Paibok time to leap onto the catwalk. He faced the other two—unfortunately, from a position that spoiled Korax’s shot. Much as he hated engineers, he wasn’t about to sacrifice one of his officers just to kill two rebellious petaQpu’.

  One of Paibok’s opponents leapt at him, and the two of them quickly fell to the catwalk floor, rolling around. The third opponent held back, his hand moving toward his hip.

  Korax fired at the third one, but missed.

  That was when the other one unholstered a disruptor pistol of his own.

  Ducking behind a console, Korax avoided being hit by the beam from the pistol, which appeared to be one of the old loSmaH Soch types. Considering that nobody on this mine was supposed to be issued disruptors of any kind, Korax wondered where this particular weapon came from.

  However, that question could be answered later. Peering out from the console, Korax saw that Paibok had his foe in a wrestling hold and was now throwing him over his shoulder.

  Normally such a move would have the opponent on the floor, but this was not a wrestling square, but a narrow catwalk. So Paibok’s throw took his opponent over the railing and crashing to the floor near Korax.

  Korax spared the man one glance—his neck appeared broken—and then fired back up at the catwalk.

  Distracted by his comrade’s plunge, he was an easy target for Korax, who hit him on his weapon arm. He dropped his pistol, and that left him open for Paibok to palm-heel his jaw.

  He collapsed like a sack of loSpev.

  Paibok hoisted the man over his shoulder, then climbed quickly down the ladder. Arriving at ground level, he dropped the groggy Klingon to the floor and looked at Korax, echoing the commander’s own thoughts. “I thought they weren’t issued any disruptors.”

  “They weren’t.” Korax knelt down and pointed his own disruptor under the man’s chin. “You will tell me who your co-conspirators are.”

  “I will … will say … say nothing to you … ’urwI’.”

  At that insult, Korax instinctively activated the disruptor, which cut through the flesh of the man’s chin and blew out the top of his head.

  6

  Koloth

  Koloth had been extremely grateful to receive the invitation from Mara on the Voh’tahk to dine with her and Kang that evening. After the day he had, he needed a good meal.

  He arrived on the Voh’tahk to find a bekk awaiting him. “I will take you to the captain’s cabin,” the soldier said, then turned and left, expecting Koloth to follow him, as was proper.

  It was only a short walk down the corridor until the bekk arrived at a door that had two bekks already guarding it. Koloth had left his own bodyguard on the Devisor as a courtesy to Kang. He hoped that Kang had posted these guards, and that Kor hadn’t been tasteless enough to bring his guard on board.

  Inside, he found Kang and his mate, Mara, as well as Kor already present.

  Mara smiled. “I was starting to think you were not going to come, son of Lasshar.”

  “As if I would turn down a meal from your chef,” Koloth said as he took the seat next to Kor, leaving both captains to face the couple.

  “Yes,” Kor said, raising a glass of breshtanti ale, “I’ve heard stories about the glorious meals served by Voh’tahk’s chef.”

  “They’re not at all true,” Mara said. “Galarch is far better,” she added with a smile.

  All three men laughed at that, and Kor drank his ale.

  Kang rose to his feet and approached a sideboard. “Now that we are all here, we may open the bloodwine!”

  “Excellent!” Koloth said. “Of course, if we were dining on the Devisor, the bloodwine would be needed to get us drunk enough to not notice the taste of the food—or, rather, the lack of same.”

  As he used his d’k tahg to slice off the cork of the bottle—which, Koloth noted, came from the Ozhpri vintners, one of the finest in the Empire—Kang said, “You once told me that you would sooner give up your good right arm
than give up your chef.”

  “I was not given the option. After the—the incident with the tribbles on the Gr’oth, he refused to report to the Devisor, instead choosing a lesser position at the Lukara Edifice on Qo’noS.” Koloth shuddered. “His replacement is a decent technician, certainly, but the preparation of food is an art.”

  “Then prepare,” Mara said as Kang poured bloodwine into her mug, “to dine on artwork.”

  “Indeed I shall, madam,” Koloth said with a bow of his head.

  Kang finished pouring the bloodwine, then raised his own mug. “To victory—to glory—to the Empire! Qapla’!”

  Koloth cried, “Qapla’!” as did Kor and Mara, and they slammed their mugs together, then drank heartily of the bloodwine.

  “A fine vintage,” Kor said, wiping the wine from his mustache with his sleeve.

  “Indeed,” Koloth said. “As usual.”

  “Tell us, Koloth,” Kang asked, “what delayed your arrival at the supper table?”

  Koloth sighed. He had hoped that dinner would provide a respite from the idiocy of the mine, but Kang was the senior here, so Koloth was duty-bound to answer. “My first officer and chief engineer encountered some of the malvaq bortaS rabble attempting to sabotage the same atmospheric dome that was damaged previously. There were three of them, and they had homemade explosives—and a disruptor.”

  “What?” Kor said. “I thought these mines weren’t issued dis-ruptors.”

  “They aren’t,” Koloth said tightly. “When Korax informed me of this, I questioned Supervisor Kobyk, who said he purchased several surplus loSmaH Soch disruptors for his security detail.”

  Kang shook his head. “And that yIntagh Sorkav allowed one to be stolen?”

  “At least one,” Koloth said. “Sorkav claimed it was the only one missing, but I’m loath to trust him.”

  “You are wise not to,” Kang said.

  Before he could elaborate, the door slid open to reveal three Klingons coming in with two trays each. One carried a massive skull stew and a plateful of both gagh and racht artfully arranged around a bowl of the finest-smelling grapok sauce Koloth had ever encountered. The second carried a bowl of jInjoq bread that smelled fresh out of the oven and magnificent, and a plate containing four massive klongat legs. The third had a rokeg blood pie that smelled to Koloth as if it had been spiced with something unfamiliar, and a large plate that, Koloth soon realized, was a casserole made from mixing pipius claw, heart of targ, and gladst, and a tureen filled with baghol soup made with durani lizard skins.