The Brave and the Bold Book Two

by Keith R. A. DeCandido

  B’Oraq laughed. “The captain might’ve preferred that—without anesthetic, of course. But no, the ancient nature of the procedure notwithstanding, it was done with proper modern technique—and in the Gorkon’ s state-of-the-art medical ward, not some chamber of horrors on the Homeworld. I’m hoping that each new class of ship that the Defense Force constructs will improve on my designs.”

  Snorting, McCoy said, “So what the hell you need me for?”

  “Because hope isn’t always enough. You are a revered figure in Federation medicine.”

  “Yeah, but my history with Klingon medicine isn’t exactly what you’d call stellar. My most famous operation was when I failed to save the life of the chancellor that your ship’s named after.”

  B’Oraq sighed. “Perhaps, but that was hardly your fault, and I think people know the true political motivations behind your subsequent imprisonment.”

  “Don’t remind me,” McCoy said, taking another sip of his bourbon and not even seeming to notice this time. “Took me months to stop shivering after they rescued us from Rura Penthe.” The ice planet where the empire sent their worst criminals had a deserved reputation as a hellhole. Worse, he and Captain James Kirk had been sent to Rura Penthe not due to any crime they had committed, but as part of an elaborate frameup designed to prevent a Klingon-Federation alliance.

  “Still,” B’Oraq said, “I’ve seen the footage of your attempts to revive Chancellor Gorkon after he was shot. I can assure you that your efforts were more successful than any contemporary Klingon doctor’s would have been. In fact, your efforts then were probably more than most Empire physicians would have done now, eighty years later.”

  After draining his mug, McCoy said, “Maybe. In any case, B’Oraq, I hope you succeed. And I’m—well, honored to be part of your efforts.”

  “The honor is mine, Doctor.” She frowned. “Doctor?”

  The human seemed to fall into a daze for a moment, then blinked twice. “Just gettin’ old, B’Oraq. I think I’d better see just how good that QongDaq is on my sacroiliac.”

  Wincing at his pronunciation, B’Oraq said, “I think it would be best if you just called it a bed, Doctor.”

  “Put a feather mattress and some cushions on it, and I’ll call it a bed. Not befo—”

  He seemed to fall into a daze again.

  “Doctor?” Now B’Oraq got up from the QongDaq and went over to McCoy. “Are you all right?”

  McCoy made a grunting noise, but said nothing. Then he got up, went over to his luggage, and started going through it.

  “Dr. McCoy, what is wrong? Can I help you with something?” He hadn’t mentioned any specific illnesses or other difficulties that he might need aid for. Then again, that didn’t preclude the possibility that he had them. Physicians, after all, were notoriously awful patients, and he doubted that the elderly human would trust a Klingon doctor—even B’Oraq—with any kind of detailed information about any condition he might be suffering from.

  Still, this sudden total silence from him as he rummaged through his bags was bizarre—and out of character.

  She walked up to him and put a hand on his shoulder. “Doctor, are you—”

  Before she could complete the sentence, McCoy whirled around with a speed she never would have expected from even a Klingon of his age, much less a human, and injected her arm with a hypospray. “What are you—?”

  The depressant took hold in her bloodstream almost instantly. She tried to activate the communicator on her wrist, but her arms felt like dead weight. Her vision clouded over, and she managed to somehow ask “Why?” before unconsciousness overtook her.

  Chapter Eleven

  “SIR, WE ARE RECEIVING A PRIORITY CALL from General Talak,” Lieutenant Toq said from the operations console on the bridge of the I.K.S. Gorkon.

  Finally, Captain Klag thought.

  “He wishes the communication to be private,” Toq added.

  Klag couldn’t imagine why that was necessary, but he was hardly about to question a general. Not even this one. “I will take it in my office.”

  Then he had to get up.

  Not, on the face of it, a difficult chore, but one that had presented more of a challenge these last few months.

  It was a simple maneuver, one that Klag had performed without a conscious thought for most of his life: brace himself on the arms of the chair with his hands and push upward into a standing position. Then came Marcan V and the crash of the I.K.S. Pagh that had severed his right arm at the shoulder. He’d spent several months getting used to doing things with just the one arm—and eventually coming to the conclusion that he was a lesser warrior with only one good limb.

  Then M’Raq, Klag’s father, died.

  It had taken him just a few weeks to adjust to having only one arm after Marcan V, but it had been months since Dr. B’Oraq had grafted M’Raq’s right arm onto Klag’s shoulder, and still he was not accustomed to the new limb. For one thing, M’Raq was built differently from his son: shorter, squatter, and with a right arm that was three centimeters shorter than Klag’s left.

  So now getting up from a chair became a major production. His left elbow bent more than his right elbow in order to brace himself. And no matter how many times he got up, he always listed to the right when he rose upward. Of course, he was conscious of this, tried to avoid it, failed, and listed even more to the right when he did so.

  All this was magnified tenfold when he was on the bridge. He was the commander of a ship full of warriors. He had not had a say in his command crew when he was given the Gorkon, and they left much to be desired—at first. But over the months he had been their leader, they had turned into a crew that Klag would match against any in the Defense Force.

  They deserved better than a captain who got out of his chair like an old woman.

  Sure enough, he pushed himself upward and listed to the right. He did not, at least, stumble. Taking advantage of this, he quickened his gait toward the door to his office, keeping most of his dignity intact.

  I will conquer this, he thought with anger. He had considered simply remaining standing when on the bridge, but that would be akin to admitting defeat. He had not admitted defeat when facing a Jem’Hadar squadron without benefit of a right arm on Marcan V; he was damned if he was going to do it now for so simple a thing as getting up from his chair.

  “Commander Tereth, you have the bridge,” he said.

  The crew said nothing, of course. One of the bekk s at the sciences station to Klag’s extreme left had snickered the first time he’d been on duty when Klag rose from his chair. Klag had not seen the bekk since.

  He had Tereth to thank for that.

  There were many reasons the Gorkon crew had come together over the past few months, but Klag gave Tereth most of the credit. With the welcome departure of Drex—the son of Chancellor Martok, and who had inherited none of his father’s honor—from the first officer’s post, and with his second officer, Toq, still too new to the position to be considered for promotion, Command sent Tereth, daughter of Rokis, to be his new second-in-command.

  Klag entered his office and sat in the chair behind his desk—a much less onerous task, since the ship’s artificial gravity was on his side and he could simply fall into the seat without the use of his uncooperative limbs.

  Putting it out of his mind, he activated the small viewscreen on his desk. The face of General Talak appeared on it. Klag controlled his reaction. Talak was of the House of K’Tal, the same House that produced Captain Kargan—may he suffer in Gre’thor for all eternity, Klag thought—the captain’s hated former commanding officer. The general had the same crest as Kargan, and the same perpetual scowl, though not nearly so fat a face.

  “Captain Klag. Your request to search for your private craft has been granted—after a fashion.”

  Klag frowned. That was unusually vague. “What do you mean?”

  “The disappearance of your craft would normally not be worth taking you off your current assignment, b
ut it is part of a larger problem.”

  “It is not the loss of my craft that concerns me, General, but the loss of my chief physician, not to mention a Federation dignitary.” Klag did not mention the fact that their current assignment was hardly a priority. Kinshayan pirates had been raiding the border for centuries, and Defense Force ships had been putting them down for just as long. It mattered little whether the Gorkon or some other ship performed this duty.

  “Ah yes,” Talak said with a snort, “your ‘surgeon.’The one who put that—that thing on your right shoulder.”

  Talak paused, perhaps hoping Klag would rise to the bait, but there was nothing to be gained by antagonizing the general, and quite a bit to lose.

  Realizing that his gambit was fruitless, Talak went on. “As I said, there is more to this. For one, that Federation dignitary.”

  Klag smiled. “I imagine Ambassador Worf has expressed his concerns with the disappearance of a Starfleet admiral?” Klag would have expected no less from Worf. The Gorkon had escorted the Federation ambassador to his first mission, on the planet taD, and the ambassador had earned Klag’s respect during that mission—a coin Klag did not part with easily.

  To Klag’s surprise, Talak said, “No, he hasn’t—because he has disappeared as well. He was on his way to that summit meeting on Khitomer along with Ambassador Spock. Their runabout has also disappeared—at approximately the same time as your shuttle, from what we can tell.”

  Klag leaned back in his chair and rubbed his bearded chin with his left hand. Spock was a legend, of course, for his pivotal roles in both the Organian Peace Treaty and the Khitomer Accords, though the rumors about the Vulcan’s undercover work on Romulus led Klag to think the old ambassador had lost his sanity.

  “There is more,” Talak said. “A Bajoran colonel named Kira Nerys and a Starfleet captain named Robert DeSoto have also disappeared—as have a trio of artifacts from the human homeworld. These are powerful devices from the Zalkat Union—and Ambassador Spock, Colonel Kira, Admiral McCoy, and Captain DeSoto all have had interaction with these artifacts.”

  Though he’d heard of the Zalkat Union, he knew nothing of the artifacts Talak spoke of. “What are my orders?”

  “It has been decided,” and Talak’s phrasing made it sound as if the decision was made over the general’s head and against the general’s better judgment, which pleased Klag no end, “to cooperate with the Federation on this matter. Therefore you are to rendezvous with a Starfleet ship and begin an investigation. The High Council will not lament the loss of a tedious lecture on pointless medical procedures, but it says little for the Empire if we cannot guarantee the safety of three dignitaries of an allied power within our borders. This entire business has also thrown the Khitomer conference into disarray.”

  “I’m surprised the Romulans haven’t insisted on sending a ship of their own.”

  “The Romulans are just as happy to be rid of the Vulcan and your friend Worf,” Talak snapped. “They have no interest in pursuing this.”

  Klag thought it interesting that Talak referred to Worf—a member of the House of Martok, after all—in such a way. Martok was a very popular chancellor. To go against him at this stage was tantamount to suicide, and disparaging Worf publicly was an invitation to incur the chancellor’s wrath.

  “The coordinates of the rendezvous and all the details about these missing artifacts are being transferred to you now. Command out.”

  Talak’s face faded from the screen. Klag leaned forward and activated the intercom. “Bridge.”

  “Tereth.”

  “Commander, we should be receiving information on our new assignment, as well as coordinates for a rendezvous with Starfleet.”

  “Coming in now, sir.” A pause. “We’re to meet with the Enterprise at Terra Galan in three hours.”

  Klag blinked. He had expected the rendezvous to be somewhere closer. Terra Galan was a useless lump of rock, with no real significance beyond its proximity to the Federation/Klingon border. Neither government had even bothered to claim it. In any event, the Gorkon would barely make it at maximum warp. “Best speed to Terra Galan, then, Commander.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Out.”

  He closed the connection, then once again leaned back. The Enterprise, he thought happily. It will be good to see Riker again. Over a decade earlier, Klag had served with Riker on the Pagh, as second officer to the human’s first officer as part of an exchange program. They had formed a bond during the human’s brief tour, and Klag considered Riker a true comrade-in-arms. Perhaps at last we will get to die together.

  Klag read over the records that had been sent. The Malkus Artifacts were impressive devices. They had been found within Federation and Bajoran borders, as well as in the Demilitarized Zone between the Federation and Cardassia.

  The assignment of the Enterprise made a certain amount of sense. They were still the cream of Starfleet’s crop, and Riker’s previous post to the Enterprise was under DeSoto on the Hood. Plus, of course, both ambassadors and Admiral McCoy had served on previous ships called Enterprise.

  Klag did not know DeSoto, but he had met Kira Nerys at her command on Deep Space 9—and both of them were heroes of the Dominion War. Klag particularly remembered the Hood’ s heroic efforts at Chin’toka. Both of them had been alone when they disappeared, the captain never returning to the Hood from a vacation on Earth, the colonel never returning to her station from a meeting on Bajor.

  And then there was B’Oraq, his revolutionary physician. The woman who had convinced him to restore his two-limbed status, and also allowed him to try to regain his father’s lost honor.

  Klag, son of M’Raq, vowed that he would do whatever it took to find them.

  When the Gorkon’ s beams deposited him, Captain Klag, and Commander Tereth in the transporter room of the U.S.S. Enterprise, NCC-1701-E, it was only the second time that Toq had ever set foot on a Starfleet vessel. And ironically, the last one was also called Enterprise.

  Toq was born on Carraya on a secret prison planet run by a Romulan and populated by the survivors of the Khitomer massacre and assorted Romulan guards. The two species managed to live in peace for two decades, some even having children—Toq was one such. It was not until the arrival of Worf, son of Mogh—then a Starfleet lieutenant—that Toq and the other children even knew what being a Klingon truly meant.

  The prison planet was, as far as Toq knew, still there. He, Worf, and the others had sworn to keep Carraya’s secret, which Toq was happy to do. He was eager to forget the place ever existed. He had been content on Carraya, but he had thrived once he came to live in the Empire. The House of Lorgh had taken him in—Lorgh himself had even made R’uustai with Toq, bonding the young man to the House. With the onset of the Dominion War, Toq had joined the Defense Force, and his position as a member of Lorgh’s House enabled him to study to be an officer.

  He had risen quickly in a short time, culminating in becoming second officer on the Gorkon after he slew Lieutenant Kegren when the latter’s incompetence endangered the ship.

  Until now, though, even with the war, he hadn’t set foot on a Federation starship since that day Worf brought him on board the previous Enterprise.

  That occasion had been Toq’s first encounter with humans, and he hadn’t been impressed. Humans seemed—unfinished, somehow. As if the designers of their bodies couldn’t be bothered to give them any actual distinguishing features. Round tiny ears, smooth foreheads, uninteresting hair, skinny bodies—and they all looked the same.

  Now three of them sat around a table, and the only way Toq could tell them apart was that one of them had no hair. That had to be the famed Jean-Luc Picard. The other two were the captain’s old friend Riker and the android Data, but Toq wasn’t sure which was which. Supposedly the android was the paler one, but they were all so pale it was not really possible to distinguish.

  Picard stood. “Captain Klag, it’s good to see you again—I’m sorry it isn’t under more pleasant cir
cumstances.”

  “Such circumstances are difficult to come by, Captain,” Klag said.

  Gravely, Picard said, “Indeed.” He indicated one of the other humans with his hand. “Of course, you know Commander Riker, and this is my second officer, Commander Data.”

  Good, Toq thought with relief. Data is the one with the yellow collar.

  “Commander Tereth, my first, and Lieutenant Toq, my second,” Klag said.

  Picard nodded to Tereth. “Commander.” Then he turned to Toq. “It’s good to see you again, Lieutenant. I’m glad to see you’re doing well.”

  “Thank you, Captain.” Toq was surprised that Picard remembered him. It had been many years, and Toq had been but a beardless youth then.

  As everyone took their seats, Klag asked, “Is there any new information you have?” Klag sat at the opposite end from Picard, with Tereth on his right and Toq on his left. That put Klag in an equivalent position at the table to Picard, which was only fitting.

  The android replied. “Starfleet Command has conducted an investigation of both the Rector Institute and the Hood shuttlecraft’s last known position. The evidence points to Captain DeSoto being responsible for the removal of the Malkus Artifacts from the institute.”

  Tereth bared her teeth. “So the captain has gone rogue.”

  “No,” Riker said with conviction. “Captain DeSoto’s one of the most stable people I’ve ever known. He’d never do something like this willingly.”

  “You served with DeSoto, didn’t you, Commander?” Tereth asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Over a decade and a half ago? And have you seen him since the war?”

  “What’s your point, Commander?” Riker asked, folding his arms.

  “My point,” Tereth said, leaning forward, “is that humans are particularly susceptible to mental trauma following war. It is one of your species’ unfortunate weaknesses. It is quite possible that he went mad.”

  Picard spoke before Riker could say anything. “The Dominion War was hardly the captain’s first military engagement, Commander Tereth. And I don’t see what is to be gained by assassinating the man’s character. We’re here to determine what happened, not why.”