by Dayton Ward
“What could I do? We are only QuchHa’. It would be our word against that of a Klingon.”
“We are all of us Klingons, Section Chief.”
“Are we?” Torad looked away from Kor. “When I look at my reflection, I see the weak face of a lesser species.”
“If your heart is Klingon,” Kor said quietly, “then physical appearance matters not.”
Torad turned back to face Kor. “No? Then can Earthers be Kling-ons? Can Romulans? Vulcans?”
Kor rose to his feet. At once, Torad was ashamed. He had raised his voice to a captain in the Defense Force. Even QuchHa’ didn’t deserve that as long as they wore the uniform.
“I apologize, sir,” he said quickly. “I did not mean—”
“Be quiet! I no longer wish to hear your mewling, Section Chief. Sorkav’s false judgment prevented Krov from receiving justice, and when Malvak tried to mete out that justice, as is proper, Sorkav rewarded him with a coward’s death. Believe me, your role in this will not be forgotten by me—or by my comrades.”
With that, Kor turned and left the mess hall.
Torad finished eating alone, as he always did.
9
malvaq bortaS
It was when Kor left the mess hall that he and his bodyguard were ambushed.
Kor’s bodyguard, Nyor, had originally been chosen for his considerable size. However, size and skill were not attributes that necessarily came together, as Kor discovered in short order when five masked Klingons were able to take him down.
A sixth held a disruptor on Kor. It was, he noticed, a loSmaH Soch—long since discontinued by the Defense Force, and the same type that was used on Koloth’s first officer.
“Do not move,” the sixth one said. Like the others, he was masked.
Kor simply smiled. “You’ve got courage, I’ll grant you that—subduing a soldier, holding a weapon on a Defense Force captain. No honor, of course, but one takes what one can get, I suppose.”
“Be silent.”
Kor then felt a hypospray on his neck, probably applied by one of the other five.
As he lost consciousness, he realized that he now knew at least one of the drugs that had been taken from the dispensary.
His dreams were filled with battle, of his defeats turned into victories, of meeting Starfleet’s Captain Kirk in armed combat on the streets of Organia, of wiping the sneer off the face of the man at Ty’Gokor, of returning to the Delta Triangle and conquering it, of planting the Klingon flag on the ravaged world of Mestiko, and of a hypospray being applied to his neck.
That last actually happened, and the dreams of glory and honor and victory faded, to be replaced by the faces of a dozen or so Klingons—all QuchHa’—who now, at least, were showing their faces.
They were in a cave that probably serviced one of the dilithium mines. Based on the scarring patterns on the rock and the lack of equipment, Kor supposed that this was a vein that had been tapped out, with the miners having moved on to a new location.
“You must be the malvaq bortaS,” Kor said.
“And you must be Kor, son of Rynar,” said one, who had the same voice as the one who had held the disruptor on Kor.
Noting that there were no weapons being held on him now, Kor said, “You do realize that nothing is currently stopping me from killing all of you.”
“I don’t doubt it,” said the man who was apparently the leader. “But we are deep underground in an abandoned mine. The site on this asteroid was discontinued a turn ago. There’s no one here but us. The only reason there is still life support is because Supervisor Kobyk does not wish to incur the expense of dismantling it. In any case, Captain, there is nowhere for you to go once you do kill us.”
“Perhaps.” Kor had an entire starship at his disposal, and two more as reinforcements. He was hardly without resources to survive.
“I am Nargov.”
“You lead this dishonorable rabble?”
Several of the others bristled at that. Nargov said, “Honor is a coin we cannot afford, Captain.”
“Ridiculous,” Kor said dismissively. “Sneak attacks—sabotage—doing battle without showing your face—these are not the actions of Klingons!”
“We are not treated as Klingons,” Nargov said, “so why should we act like them? When we are looked upon, it is as inferiors.”
Kor shook his head. This attitude was hardly unique to these malcontents. Many in his own crew had abandoned Kahless’s ways, for the very reasons Nargov had given. He recalled an incident on Organia when that bloodworm Kirk had threatened one of his lieutenants with death, and the coward had actually given in, unwilling to die for an empire that considered him less than what he was. On the one hand, Kor could understand how a QuchHa’ could come to such a state. On the other hand, Kor didn’t hesitate to execute the lieutenant when the mission was over.
Finally, he spoke. “I know now why you take arms against your commanders. I know about the feud between Krov and Gahlar that led to Krov’s death, and eventually that of Gahlar and Malvak.” He looked at each member of malvaq bortaS in turn. “But when faced with an injustice of this kind, you should have acted like Klingons and challenged your superiors!”
Nargov gave Kor an incredulous look. “Do you truly believe that would be allowed? Oh, we tried to issue challenges, but our attempts were met with howls of laughter by our section chiefs.” Nargov moved closer to Kor. “That is why we brought you here, Captain. To tell you the truth, after hearing the lies of Kobyk and Sorkav.”
“You have done so, though you have told me little I did not already know.” Kor folded his arms over his sash of office. “What happens next?”
10
Sorkav
Sorkav was giving Kobyk an inventory of the drugs stolen from the dispensary when two of the QuchHa’ captains—he wasn’t sure which two they were, as all the weak-heads looked alike to him—barged in without even announcing themselves.
“How dare you?” Sorkav said. “We are in the middle of—”
“Be quiet, Sorkav,” Kobyk said. “What do you want, Captains?”
Sorkav whirled and practically spit on his brother. More and more, since these petaQpu’ had arrived, his brother had been acting strange, and now he was deferring to them and telling him to be quiet?
The taller captain with the deep voice said, “Kor is missing.”
“According to his first officer,” the shorter one with the oily tone added, “he was last seen on his way interrogate a section chief on Site wej.”
It was typical of the weak-heads to get lost in such a manner, but Sorkav said only, “I will have one of my men on that site conduct an investigation that will—”
“We have seen the results of your investigations, Sorkav,” the tall one said.
“Besides,” said the other one with an insincere smile, “it isn’t necessary. My first officer has already conducted an investigation.”
Angrily, Sorkav advanced on the captains. “You had no right!”
“Actually,” the oily one said, “we have every right, according to General Korrd. Or do you question his orders as well?”
Sorkav’s response was interrupted by the sound of the tall one’s communicator. “Klothos to Kang.”
Activating the communicator, the tall one said, “This is Kang.”
“Sir, we have found the captain. He is on the asteroid designated wejmaH wa’. Records have it as the former location of Site loS.”
Kobyk sputtered his warnog. “What is he doing there? That asteroid was tapped out a year ago.”
“We will arrive at the asteroid in three minutes.”
“Very good, Commander. Beam Kor aboard and bring him directly to Supervisor Kobyk’s office. Out.”
Putting his hands on his hips, Sorkav said, “There is only one reason why anyone would be on Site loS. That must be where malvaq bortaS is hiding.”
Kobyk slugged down some of his omnipresent warnog. “Captains, it will take an hour for the Klothos to arr
ive here from Site loS.”
Kang nodded. “We will make our reports to General Korrd in the meantime.”
The shorter one wore that damned smile again. “Where, among other things, we can report that it never occurred to the mine’s chief of security to look at an abandoned mining site when he was trying to find the malvaq bortaS.”
With that, they left.
Whirling on his brother, Sorkav asked, “How much longer must we put up with these fools?”
Kobyk stared witheringly at his brother. “Until they are done cleaning up your mess, Sorkav. Now finish your report.”
Smoldering, Sorkav did so. Then he returned to his cabin. He was obviously going to have to have a word with Colonel Kamarag. Kobyk was forgetting his filial duties . . .
By the time the Klothos arrived at Site wa’, Kor had formulated a very simple plan. It was one that he shared with Kang and Koloth over subspace while his ship was en route, and which he put into a hastily written report to General Korrd.
He waited for Kang and Koloth to signal him that they were in Kobyk’s office, along with the supervisor and his brother, and then Kor ordered his transporter chief to energize, while nodding to the man next to him.
A haze of red, and then both he and Norgav materialized in Kobyk’s office.
Pointing at Norgav, Sorkav asked, “Who is that?”
Norgav bared his teeth at Sorkav. “Just another QuchHa’, Sorkav.”
“He is here,” Kor said, “on behalf of malvaq bortaS.”
Sorkav laughed. “Excellent! You have brought their ringleader here for me to kill!”
Koloth stepped forward. “Hardly.”
Kang did likewise. “It is past time that their side of the story was heard.”
“They have no side!” Sorkav cried. “They are merely a collection of weak-headed miners who—”
“Enough!” Kor unsheathed his d’k tahg. “Sorkav, son of Goryq, I find you to have failed in your duties as chief of security of this mine.” With the hand that wasn’t holding the weapon, Kor backhanded Sorkav across the face.
“Are you insane?” Sorkav asked. “You don’t have the authority to challenge me!”
“Oh yes, he very much does,” Koloth said.
“That authority,” Kang added, “comes from General Korrd.”
Kang then activated his communicator. At that signal, four Kling-ons beamed down from the Voh’tahk. Kor noted that Bekk Jurva was at the forefront, her disruptor aimed right at Sorkav.
“If you do not accept this challenge,” Kang continued, “then you will be shot down like the targ you are.”
Kor tilted his head and smiled. “Well? Will you follow the tenets of Kahless that a warrior who does not face a challenge deserves to die without honor?”
Snarling, Sorkav walked over to the wall behind him and took down the mek’leth that hung over the sideboard that contained Kobyk’s alcohol stash. “I would rather fight than listen to the words of the great one come from the mouth of the likes of you.”
Koloth, with uncharacteristic admiration in his voice, asked, “Is that a Do’Ming?”
It was Kobyk who answered. “Yes. It was forged for our family by the swordmaster himself.”
Kor nodded. “A worthy weapon in the hands of an unworthy opponent.”
The quarters were close, especially with eight spectators, though that was mitigated by the use of a short sword and a dagger.
Sorkav lunged, and Kor skipped backward. His d’k tahg was strong, but he didn’t want to risk the mek’leth striking it unless absolutely necessary. There were less than a dozen known Do’Mings still in existence, but all of them were still powerful blades that had lost none of their strength over the past two millennia.
Reluctantly, Kor gave Sorkav credit. He held the mek’leth properly, kept his strokes short and swift. Many times, Kor had faced opponents who swung their short swords in longer arcs, as if it were a bat’leth.
At first, Kor and Sorkav feinted and dodged, taking each other’s measure. Kor had hoped that Sorkav was as poor a fighter as he was a security chief, but considering that his previous career was in the Imperial Guard, he knew it was a forlorn hope.
Sorkav slashed down with the mek’leth toward Kor’s head, forcing Kor to block with the d’k tahg. Kor caught the mek’leth in between the main blade and the secondary blade of his own dagger. To his relief, it didn’t break.
With that temporary impasse, Kor kicked Sorkav in the chest, which sent him stumbling backward, a look of surprise on his face.
“Typical QuchHa’,” Sorkav said. “We fight with blades, not feet!”
Grinning, Kor said, “Actually, ’Klingons fight with their minds and their hearts—weapons are secondary.’”
As Kor had expected, quoting Kahless again angered Sorkav. With a scream, he ran toward Kor, his mek’leth raised.
Kor ducked, head-butting Sorkav in the belly, wrapping his arms around Sorkav’s waist, and standing upright, lifting the security chief into the air. Letting out a mighty roar, Kor then threw Sorkav behind him.
Turning around, Kor saw that Sorkav lay dazed on the floor, having dropped the mek’leth. Around him, Kor heard his name being chanted by Kang, Koloth, Jurva, and the rest of Kang’s crew.
And Kobyk as well. That surprised Kor, but also lent wings to his feet as he leapt to Sorkav and plunged his d’k tahg right in between two of the ridges in his crest.
Blood spurted magnificently out of the wound as Kor thrust the blade into Sorkav’s feeble brain.
All those in the room cheered Kor’s victory. Yanking out his d’k tahg, which caused more of Sorkav’s blood to spurt over the office and onto Kor’s uniform, he raised his weapon in the air and let out a cry of victory.
Kor then turned to face Kobyk. “You cheered my victory. That speaks well of you.”
It was Kang who replied. “And your victory cannot be questioned by the House of Kamarag.”
“Indeed.” Kobyk raised his warnog to Kor. “To a new security chief—and, with luck, a new day for this mine.”
“Remember,” Kor said, “that if your heart is Klingon, then it matters not whether or not you look as Kahless did. And if your heart isn’t Klingon, then it doesn’t matter if you do. Being treated as less than Klingon is no excuse to act less than Klingon.”
Koloth put a hand on Kor’s bloodstained shoulder. “Well said, my friend.”
“Bekk Jurva!” Kang called.
The woman stepped forward. “Sir!”
“You will serve as temporary security chief for this mine until Supervisor Kobyk’s replacement—who will be approved by all three of us—arrives.”
Jurva smiled. “It will be my pleasure, sir.”
To Jurva, Kobyk said, “You will have free rein, Bekk—on that you have my word.”
“I have always made it a point,” Kang said, “to trust the word of a Klingon.”
Kobyk bowed his head.
Then Kang moved to stand before Kor, next to Koloth, putting the three of them in a circle. “Well done, Kor—let us return to the Voh’tahk. I will have Galarch prepare a feast to celebrate your victory!”
Kor smiled. “I’m sure the meal will be glorious.”
Lust
Freedom Angst
Britta Burdett Dennison
Historian’s Note
This story takes place in an alternate time line—commonly called the Mirror Universe—in 2369 (ACE). The events are concurrent with the Cardassian Union’s surrendering the space station, now known as Deep Space 9, to the provisional Bajoran government (“Emissary” DS9).
This one is for Danelle
There was silence in the cockpit of the little Alliance shuttle as it hurtled toward its preprogrammed coordinates, outside the Trivas star system from where it had originated. The silence was not an easy one. Although Benjamin Sisko and his wife Jennifer had been married for almost twelve years, a time when many married couples would be finishing each other’s sentences, Benjamin and Jennifer f
elt as though there was nothing they could say to one another that might not be considered an invitation to argue. For the better part of an hour, they had chosen to say nothing at all, though both were wrestling with dozens of questions about their destination.
Sisko wanted to enjoy the long journey—he had never traveled outside the Trivas system before. He had never even been in a shuttle that had the capacity to go this kind of distance. But he was troubled. He was curious to know what Jennifer was thinking about all of this, but not curious enough to be the first to break the willful silence. He considered his questions while surreptitiously glancing at his wife’s profile. Her face bore no expression, except for the slight set of her chin, a subtle stiffness to her lower lip that nobody but her husband would have recognized as a product of dismay.
He wondered why the Intendant of Terok Nor, a space station in the nearby Bajoran system, had summoned Jennifer. He wondered what Jennifer’s father was going to have to say about it. He wondered what it would be like for himself and his wife, two Terrans walking around on the Alliance side of an ore-processing station. Both Benjamin and Jennifer were well-dressed, more like members of the Alliance than Terrans, but they were Terrans nonetheless. Their clothing would offer them little protection if either of them were to accidentally upset someone, and the trouble was, the Siskos were far more proud than any Terrans had a right to be, with Sisko’s pride being a sight more volatile than his wife’s.
The station was just coming into view. Sisko had seen a Cardassian orbital station before—Empok Nor, the station in the Trivas system, was identical to this one. Sisko had passed it many times, but he had never been inside of it. Even from a distance, Sisko had always thought it an ugly thing. It looked like a hunk of the Cardassian machinery that had overrun the Terran colonies in the age following the Alliance conquest.
As they drew closer to Terok Nor, its shape was easier to define; the crooked, arching spires hunched around a flattened base. Sisko was given the impression of a hand—a cruel, bony hand with metallic fingers, closing over an already beleaguered world, as if it meant to crush it entirely. The image was troubling, to say the least.
