Star Trek: ALL - Seven Deadly Sins

by Dayton Ward

  The hardest part for Koloth was deciding what to eat first.

  His mouth filled with jInjoq bread that he’d dipped in the grapok sauce, Kor asked, “What has Sorkav done to earn your ire, Kang?”

  After Kang—between mouthfuls of gagh and racht—told of Bekk Jurva’s challenge and Sorkav’s reaction, Koloth shook his head in disgust. “Absurd. Absolutely absurd.”

  “What do you expect?” Mara said bitterly.

  “I expect them to behave as Klingons,” Kor said. “This entire situation is incomprehensible. We are all Klingons, are we not?”

  “Are we?” Mara asked.

  Kang sneered through his blood pie. “Yours, Kor, is a typical high-born attitude.”

  “And why not?” Kor asked while ripping some meat off one of the klongat leg bones. “I am noble-born—as is everyone seated at this table. Otherwise, we would not be officers—and certainly not captains.” With a glance at Mara, he held up his mug of bloodwine and added with a smile, “Or science officers.”

  “Yes,” Kang said, “but we are not treated as nobility.”

  “Kobyk and Sorkav certainly don’t treat us so,” Koloth added. Then he poured himself some of the soup and slurped up some. “I must say, Kang, that Galarch has outdone himself.” Though the compliment was legitimate, he was mainly hoping to steer the conversation away from duty.

  No such luck. Kang was determined. “We will never be considered true warriors, true Klingons, as long as we look like this.” Kang indicated his own forehead with his right hand.

  Kor looked sour. “As long as we fight the Empire’s battles, we are warriors.”

  “Soldiers, perhaps,” Kang said, “but warriors? Hardly.”

  Slamming his hand on the table, which caused the soup to splash onto it, Kor said, “I am the equal of any shipmaster in the fleet! Those under my command fight and die for the Empire regardless of their cranial topography!”

  “No doubt,” Kang said, his solemn, deep tones in contrast to Kor’s louder ones. “But where are they sent?”

  Kor gnawed on his klongat leg. “What do you mean?”

  “During the conflict with the Federation a turn ago, your mission was to secure a planet of pacifists, was it not?”

  “Organia was a critical position!”

  Having despaired of a change of subject, Koloth decided to bolster his friend’s argument. “Yes, but how difficult was it to subdue? Were it not for Kirk—may he suffer all the torments of Gre’thor—you would have faced no resistance whatsoever.”

  Kang scowled and gulped bloodwine. “The perfect task for mere QuchHa’.”

  “Meanwhile,” Koloth continued, “the ridge-heads were given the plum battle assignments while we were left to secure insignificant planets or less well traveled portions of the border. Had the Organians not stopped the conflict, the important battles would all have been claimed by HemQuch.” Since they were on the subject, he went on. “One of the saboteurs called Korax ’urwI’.”

  Kor’s eyes widened as he swallowed a handful of racht. “I assume this Korax killed him for his effrontery?”

  “Yes, and I rather wish he hadn’t. Oh, of course, he had to respond, but the other two were killed in the conflict, and I wanted at least one to interrogate.”

  Shaking his head, Kor said, “Whether or not we are considered warriors, we are still soldiers of the Empire. We are doing our duty. How does that make us traitors?”

  “Because,” Mara said, “the QuchHa’ on this mine feel oppressed—and we have sided with their oppressors.”

  “We haven’t ’sided’ with anyone,” Kor said dolefully, dipping more bread into the grapok sauce. “My own first officer, Kohlar, has attempted to interrogate the miners, but no one will give him an answer. If they were not loyal subjects of the Empire, I would use the mind-sifter on them.”

  Koloth chuckled bitterly through his casserole. Klingon law clearly stated that, while the mind-sifter could be used freely on any aliens, it could be used on Klingons only if they had been bound by law as criminals. “Sorkav would no doubt allow us to question any QuchHa’ that way.”

  “But not HemQuch,” Mara said while wiping soup from her lip. “Never HemQuch. After all, Sorkav wanted to have Jurva killed because she had the effrontery to challenge a HemQuch, never mind that he was her inferior and that the challenge was legitimate, and that she won it.”

  “It’s obvious,” Koloth said, “that Sorkav is incompetent. Every single incident on this mine can be traced to his failure to do his duty as head of security. While I was speaking with Kobyk, he received a report that someone had raided the dispensary and injured the nurse on duty. The question must be asked: Why is Sorkav still alive?”

  “That is a fine question, my friend,” Kang said. “I will ask Kobyk tomorrow myself.”

  Then the door slid open again, revealing dessert, and, to Koloth’s great relief, all talk of duty ceased.

  7

  Kang

  As soon as he walked into Supervisor Kobyk’s office, Kang spoke without preamble. “Why is Sorkav still alive?”

  Kobyk—clutching his warnog for dear life, as usual; Kang thought his liver must have been constructed from rodinium—stared at Kang as if he were a glob fly he wished to swat. “What?”

  “The question is a simple one, Supervisor. Why is your chief of security still alive?”

  “Because he’s good at his job and therefore hasn’t been killed.”

  Kang almost laughed in Kobyk’s face, but this was hardly a laughing matter. “There are many ways that Sorkav may be described. ’Good at his job’ could never be one of them.”

  “Captain, you do not understand.”

  Folding his arms across his chest, Kang said, “No, I do not. That is why I posed the question, Supervisor. Make me understand.”

  Kobyk opened his mouth as if to speak, then stopped. Then, he started again. “These incidents have been solely due to the QuchHa’ getting the notion that they are treated more poorly than the HemQuch.”

  Kang had to admit to being impressed that Kobyk said those words with a straight face. “A notion no doubt bolstered by a QuchHa’ having his throat slit and the death being ruled an accident, while a HemQuch dying in the same manner led to the death of a QuchHa’.”

  “My brother does not discriminate.” Then Kobyk smiled. “He treats all the miners like the scum that they are. These are laborers, Captain, not high-born Klingons like you and I. They must be ruled with a heavy gauntlet.”

  “We are all ruled by a heavy gauntlet, Supervisor. Yet somehow your mine has difficulties that no others do.”

  Kobyk slugged down the remainder of his warnog, slammed the mug onto his desk, and said, “He is my brother! Of course he’s an incompetent toDSaH, but he is family.”

  Shaking his head, Kang said, “All the more reason to put him out of your misery.”

  “Oh, my misery will only begin there. Do you honestly believe, Captain, that I hired that fool willingly? And do you know what agonies I will face from our family if I am the one to condemn him to death? Believe me, the House of Kamarag is not to be trifled with.”

  Kang had no sympathy for Kobyk’s plight, but he did understand it. He knew of the supervisor’s House, and knew that, if he’d been forced to keep Sorkav safe, he could not condemn him to death—no matter how wretched at his duty he was.

  Kobyk continued. “Believe me, Captain, no one will be happier if you and your fellow captains contrive a way to have a d’k tahg plunged into Sorkav’s chest. But that order cannot come from me.”

  Even as Kang considered his response, a security alarm rang out through the speakers in the office.

  The two masked men attacked Jurva while she was on her way to the transporter room.

  She was just coming off her shift and was eager to return to the Voh’tahk, where she could get edible food. Her mid-shift meal had been taken in the mine’s mess hall, and Jurva would sooner eat human food than that bland, tasteless garbage again. />
  Her journey took her on a lengthy corridor that was carved out of the asteroid rock, similar to the one she’d taken to the checkpoint on her first day, when she killed that section chief. But here, the lights were dimmer, some flickering, and odd shadows were being cast upon the walls.

  No doubt, the two attackers had expected those shadows to hide them, but Jurva saw them—and their masks—the moment she entered. She simply waited for them to make their move before acknowledging their presence.

  One leapt out at her with an embarrassingly clumsy and obvious lunge. With the greatest of ease, Jurva used a mok’bara throw, using her attacker’s momentum to toss him into the opposite wall.

  The other one came at her with a blade—a qutluch that looked a lot like the one she’d killed Targ with. She had placed it back in the box after wiping Targ’s blood from it, and it should have been sent to the storage bay on the main asteroid.

  Jurva’s surprise at the weapon had no impact on her reflexes. She deflected the knife strike by blocking her foe’s forearm with her own. With her other hand, she punched him in the belly, causing him to lose his breath. Then she grabbed his forearm and brought it down so that the blade of the qutluch impaled his left groin muscle.

  The weakling actually screamed in pain at that.

  Jurva kicked him in the ribs, sending him stumbling to the floor against the wall, then turned to face the first one, who once again leapt at her.

  The second leap was no more successful than the first, and Jurva again tossed him into the wall.

  Now that she had a moment to take in the tableau, Jurva realized that, masks notwithstanding, she knew who these two were: Goroth and Gonn, Targ’s subordinates. Jurva would have been touched by their loyalty had they been in any way skilled in seeking revenge for their section chief’s death.

  Gonn was the one she’d stabbed, and he was bleeding on the floor and not moving. Goroth, however, recovered quickly from being thrown into the wall a second time, and unsheathed his painstik.

  “You will die today, petaQ,.”

  Grinning, Jurva said, “Only if I burst a blood vessel from laughing at your pathetic fighting skills.”

  Goroth lunged with the painstik. Jurva deflected it easily, then grabbed it and yanked it forward, causing Goroth to stumble right into her elbow, which collided with his left eye.

  As Goroth stumbled about, dazed, Jurva grabbed his head from both sides and twisted, breaking his neck.

  She let Goroth’s corpse drop to the floor and turned to look at Gonn, now in a large pool of blood. Without medical attention, he would be dead soon.

  Jurva found herself unable to be concerned.

  She tore off both masks to confirm that she was right. Then she signaled a security alert.

  Within a few minutes of the security alert, Sorkav reported to Kobyk’s office. After sparing a venomous glance at Kang, Sorkav said, “Two of my people have been killed. The perpetrator is being brought here now.”

  Moments later, Kobyk had refilled his mug of warnog and the door to the office slid open to reveal two of Sorkav’s guards, who were holding their painstiks on Jurva.

  Kang tensed. “What is this?”

  “This woman,” one of the guards said, “was standing over the bodies.”

  “Yes,” Jurva said angrily, “because I was waiting for you two to show up so I could give a report.”

  Sorkav started to speak, but Kang interrupted. “Then do so, Bekk.”

  “Yes, sir.” Jurva sounded relieved to be responding to an order from someone actually in her chain of command. “Two of the security guards ambushed me while wearing masks. One was armed with a qutluch that had been confiscated from one of the miners, the other with a standard-issue painstik.”

  “And you killed them?” Sorkav said.

  “I defended myself, yes,” Jurva replied with a snarl at Sorkav. “And then I activated the security alert myself.”

  Sorkav walked closer to her. Jurva tensed, but did not move—which was well, as the guards’ painstiks were brushing her uniform. “And yet you seem completely unharmed.”

  Jurva shrugged. “There were only two of them.”

  Kang smiled at that. Morglar had always said that Jurva was the finest warrior under his command, and Kang knew that Morglar did not issue such praise lightly.

  From behind his desk, Kobyk was manipulating his computer station with the hand that wasn’t clutching his warnog. “Unfortunately, the sensors in that corridor are down—more sabotage from the malvaq bortaS.”

  “So,” Sorkav said, “we only have your word that this ambush happened as you describe.”

  “She is a warrior under my command!” Kang barked. “Her word is more than enough evidence!”

  Sorkav walked up to Kang and stared up into the captain’s face. Kang somehow resisted the urge to spit on him.

  “It is no kind of evidence at all, Captain. The only true evidence is two of my guards are dead and your bekk is responsible.”

  “Enough!” Kobyk said. “Sorkav, she was the one who sounded the security alert, and she waited for your guards to arrive. I see no reason not to believe her story. She is free to go.”

  Kang looked upon Kobyk with surprise. He had, at this point, despaired of any of those who worked in this mine having any conception of honor and duty. Then he looked at Jurva. “Return to your duties, Bekk.”

  Jurva batted aside the painstiks with annoyance, saluted Kang, and said, “Yes, sir!”

  Then she looked at Sorkav, turned her back on him, and left.

  Sorkav looked up at Kang again. “This is not over.”

  “Yes,” Kang said, “it is.” Then he left the office as well.

  8

  Torad

  Torad sat in the mess hall, alone as usual. He preferred it that way, honestly. He was raised alone by his father on Donatu V after his mother was killed during the battle with the Federation that occurred there two and a half decades ago. Since Father was always working at the factory, and often worked double shifts because they needed the money, Torad was generally left on his own.

  The idea of being around a lot of people was always strange to Torad, so he tended to stay quiet and not annoy anyone. That seemed to work well for him, and led eventually to his job here at the mine.

  A shadow fell over him. “May I join you?”

  Torad’s expression of a desire to be left alone died on his lips as he looked up and saw that the man standing on the other side of the table was wearing a Defense Force uniform and the sash of a shipmaster.

  Practically leaping to his feet, Torad said, “Of course, sir! It would be an honor.”

  Torad’s father hadn’t spent much time with his son, but one of the lessons he did beat into the boy was to always respect the Defense Force even if they were QuchHa’—as this one was.

  “Please be seated.” The officer spoke in a pleasant tone with a polite smile. “I am Kor, son of Rynar, captain of the Klothos.”

  “It is an honor to share my meal with you, sir. I am Section Chief Torad, son of Keldraq.”

  Kor’s smile widened. “I merely wish the pleasure of your company, Section Chief.” He gave the bok-rat liver on Torad’s tray a disdainful look. “I’ve—I’ve already eaten today.”

  “How may I be of service, Captain?”

  “My first officer was tasked with questioning the miners regarding the malvaq bortaS movement.”

  Torad nodded. He recalled Commander Kohlar, but Torad had been unable to tell him anything useful.

  “Kohlar told me that he thought you knew more than you told him.”

  Shaking his head quickly, Torad said, “That is not so, sir. I answered every question the commander posed to me.”

  “Perhaps. But he thought you knew more.”

  “I cannot imagine what,” Torad said honestly. “I serve as a section chief—”

  “The only QuchHa’ among the section chiefs, according to the personnel records,” Kor said. “Why is that, I wonder?”<
br />
  Shrugging, Torad said, “I have been fortunate enough to gain the attention of my superiors.”

  “You misunderstand, my friend—I do not wonder how you became a section chief, but rather how you are the only QuchHa’.”

  That struck Torad as an odd question. “Why would you wonder that? Such jobs are usually reserved for Klingons.”

  “Yes, that is why we see no jeghpu’wI’ in such positions, but . . .” Kor’s words trailed off, and he folded his hands in front of him on the table. “Tell me, did you know the two victims—Malvak and Gahlar?”

  “Yes.” Torad chewed some liver before continuing. “Neither was in my section, but they were part of the same site, and we sometimes spoke on the shuttle or during meals.”

  “Really? During meals, you say? Yet, here you are, sitting alone—not with other section chiefs, not with other QuchHa’.”

  Defensively, Torad said, “I prefer it that way.”

  “Yet you spoke to both Gahlar and Malvak during meals?”

  “Well, not Gahlar, no. Not really Malvak, except for that one time.”

  One of Kor’s bushy eyebrows rose. “Oh?”

  “It was shortly before Gahlar’s death. Malvak came to me and asked if I would help him.”

  “With what?”

  Torad hesitated. “He believed that Gahlar killed his friend Krov.”

  “What?” Kor’s hands unfolded, and his eyes widened.

  Now Torad was confused. He had thought this was common knowledge. Quickly, he explained what Malvak had told him about Gahlar’s feud with Krov, and how Sorkav had not investigated Krov’s death, and how Malvak then took matters into his own hands.

  Kor was sneering at Torad now. “Which he did after you refused to help him!”