Kurak said nothing. She gripped her right wrist so hard she thought all blood would cease flowing in her right arm, but she said nothing.
“Of course, you could petition the High Council for special dispensation to be made House Head. Then you would not be forced to remain in the Defense Force.” Moloj actually smiled when he said that. Kurak had never seen Moloj smile, and decided she didn’t like it much.
“I’m sure,” she said through gritted teeth, “that you know damn well that I would sooner dive naked into a vat of hungry taknar than be forced to become administrator of our House. You are welcome to perform that task until Gevnar’s Age of Ascension, Moloj, believe me.”
“Just so. Which means you must remain in the Defense Force. Your father made that quite clear before he went on to Sto-Vo-Kor. You will serve, or you will be discommendated.”
The next week, she was transferred to the Gorkon.
“Commander?”
Shaking her head, Kurak came back to the present. Lokor had long since left the engine room. She turned to see one of the idiots under her command trying to get her attention. “What?”
“The intermix chamber is fluctuating again.”
“Then fix it!” Kurak snapped. “I have work to do.” The engineer scampered off.
Kurak then went to one of the weapons consoles. She needed to find a way to get the disruptors to fire amid the subspace eddies.
She had already lost the one thing she enjoyed besides her work on this mission when Kornan and the rest of the petaQ on this mad vessel ruined her love of sailing. Now this.
Perhaps Lokor was bluffing; he was, after all, just a Defense Force lieutenant from a minor House. What could he possibly do to Gevnar, the eldest son of as strong a House as Palkar?
No, that one is not the kind who bluffs. The Defense Force may be littered with fools and imbeciles, but not liars and deceivers. Lokor would not make the threat if he did not intend to follow through on it, any more than Father would have hesitated to cast me out.
So she went to work on the disruptors.
On board the bridge of the Akua, General Talak sat at the edge of his command chair. “Scan the subspace eddies—find the other ships. We’ll pick away Klag’s support first, then take on his ship.”
“Aye, sir,” the operations officer said.
Talak looked at his status board. He could feel the roar of blood in his veins. Even though it was fellow Klingons he was taking on, it was still battle. This is what we were born for.
“We’ve detected the Slivin and the Vidd.”
Talak grinned. “Excellent!” He examined the status board, saw that two of the Karas-class ships were in position to attack those ships. “Send in the Vornar and the Kalpak.”
“The Gorkon is taking up a defensive posture within the eddies, sir.”
“Send Captain Huss after him. Have the K’mpec plot an orbital course and prepare to send down troops to secure the planet.” I won’t force a warrior to fire on his own brother unless I have to. “Are photon torpedoes still online?”
“Yes, sir.” The operations officer grinned. “The technique we obtained was quite successful.”
“Good. We have neutralized every advantage Klag thinks he has.” Klag was a fool to believe that every member of the Order would follow his lead. Martok’s pretty speeches notwithstanding, the Order was an all-night party and a medallion and not much else. Worse, the captain had been stupid enough to trust all those who answered his call, unable to even conceive of treachery, so blinded was he by his imagined honor.
The general stared at the viewscreen, which showed the two Karas-class ships heading toward the eddies. The disruptions in subspace were not visible to the naked eye as such—only their effect was. Talak could not see the planet that he knew was only a few thousand qelI’qams away. The viewscreen’s image translator defaulted to the visible spectrum. “Overlay the subspace eddies on the screen,” Talak said. “I want—”
Before he could specify what he wanted, he saw an explosion only a few qelI’qams off the bows of thetwo ships. Fire plumed outward in all directions, consuming most of the Vornar and a good portion of the Kalpak.
Talak was on his feet like a shot. “Report!”
The operations officer was scanning her console, trying to do that very thing. “Some kind of explosive device,” she said redundantly. “It must have been hidden in the eddies.”
“Why were we not warned of this?” Talak asked, knowing that there was no answer. Obviously Klag did not share all his intelligence with his fleet. It would seem I did not give him enough credit.
I will not make that mistake again.
“Sir, the Jor and the Nukmay are showing damage—they must have struck one of the eddies. The Gorkon is taking an evasive course.” The officer looked up and smiled. “Sir, it is taking them directly on course for the Gro’kan!”
That was one of the K’Vort-class ships, the other being the Tagak. “Good. Have the Tagak come about and hem them in. Have Huss regroup and seek out the other ships.”
“K’mpec reports ground troops beamed down successfully.”
Talak smiled. The Chancellor-class ships had fifteen hundred ground troops assigned, and the general had thousands more troops in reserve on the Akua if they could not hold it. Now Dorrek can show his brother how to truly conquer a world.
Another explosion caught his attention, this one damaging both the Tagak and the Gro’kan. “Another mine, sir. The Gorkon took damage as well, but the other ships’ shields are tattered.”
Enough of this. Talak sat back down in his chair. “Attack posture—we will destroy the Gorkon ourselves! Full impulse!”
The operations officer leaned forward. “Sir, we still do not know how many of these explosives there are—or where they are located, or how much damage they can—”
Before she could finish that thought, another explosion lit up the status board. “On screen!” Talak bellowed.
This time it wasn’t a mine—it was the Vornar exploding, taking the hulk of the Kalpak with it. Whatever that mine was, it was enough to cause the Vornar’s warp core to breach.
“Reverse course!”
That surprised the pilot. “Sir?”
Talak turned to the operations officer. “We will hold back for the time being. I want every resource on this ship geared toward finding those mines and neutralizing them.” Talak had not expected to lose two ships so quickly—in fact, given the numerical advantage, he had not expected to lose any ships at all. Aside from the Taj and the two Chancellor-class ships, and Talak’s own ship, of course, the Karas-class vessels were the most heavily armed in this engagement—they had a torpedo complement far in excess of the other like-sized ships—and they were also smaller and more maneuverable than the others. Losing two-thirds of them…
“Yes, sir,” the operations officer said, and started madly working her console.
Angrily, Talak watched as the Gorkon’s photon torpedoes started plowing through the hulls of both the Gro’kan and the Tagak. The latter two ships’ torpedo cannons had been damaged, leaving them vulnerable. That’s two more.
“The Slivin has engaged the K’mpec in orbit,” came a report from the pilot. The officer then laughed. “It is a good day for them to die, sir—the Slivin has been destroyed.”
Finally. “They will not be the last to fall. That, I swear.”
Chapter Six
Blood spurted in all directions as Ga-Tror sliced the head off the Klingon. Then he turned to face another. Ga-Tror’s fur was matted with the blood of his enemies; his tongue was hanging out the side of his mouth with the exertions of battle.
He thought this would be more fun.
Not that the joys of fighting more Klingons didn’t fill him with glee. Today’s fight made the Great Hunt seem like a chasing off of a minor predator from one’s hut. But the words of Leader Wol and QaS DevwI’ Vok from days earlier—which, in turn, mirrored words spoken by Te-Run on the eve of Me-Larr’s final fight
in the circle against Captain Klag—still preyed on his mind. When Te-Run had warned them of the dangers of aliens like the Klingon s coming to San-Tarah in the future, the Fight Leader had dismissed her words as the ramblings of an old woman. But Leader Wol and QaS DevwI’ Vok’s attempts to explain the universe outside their world did what Te-Run could not—show Ga-Tror how limited his perspective truly was.
Two of the enemy Klingons sliced at Ga-Tror with their small knives; he believed they were called daktag s. Ga-Tror almost laughed instead of defending the attack. However, it was the work of only a few moments to disarm both of them with his two-bladed sword. Then, with one downward slice, he was able to cut through one Klingon’s neck while kicking at the other. His toe claws were unable to penetrate the Klingon’s armor, but the blow staggered his foe long enough for Ga-Tror to remove his sword from one neck and impale the other’s chest with it.
He looked around. Ga-Tror was part of the group that defended the Prime Village against the two hundred troops the enemy Klingons had sent to take it. Captain Klag had sent only one hundred of his own troops for the main part of the village, but supplemented them with thirty Children of San-Tarah, led by Ga-Tror.
The Gorkon troops were holding their own, as were the Children of San-Tarah. At least, that was how it appeared. In all honesty, Ga-Tror had difficulty telling the different Klingons apart. They all wore the same uniforms, and—especially in the midst of a fight—they seemed a blend of undistinguished flat-faced, furless bipeds.
Ga-Tror stood right now in front of one of the residential huts; he wasn’t sure whose, and it didn’t matter. Le-Rak and Leader Wol were fighting off three other Klingons in front of the hut next to that. Ga-Tror ran to give aid. Just as a Klingon sword cut through Le-Rak’s right arm, Ga-Tror leapt and kicked another Klingon to the ground. Before the enemy could recover, Ga-Tror slammed his sword into the Klingon’s chest.
Sharp pain sliced into his side, and Ga-Tror whirled around, slashing with his claws. They struck the face of another Klingon, who had shoved his knife into Ga-Tror. The Klingon staggered backward, losing his grip on the knife. Ga-Tror ripped the knife from his side and threw it unerringly at the stumbling Klingon’s ridged forehead.
Without waiting to see if his foe fell, he turned back and removed his sword from the first, just as Leader Wol cut through the arm of one of her enemies. That arm held a weapon, and Ga-Tror came to Leader Wol’s aid by slicing off the head of the stunned Klingon.
Leader Wol nodded her head. Ga-Tror knew that this was an acknowledgment of some sort to the Klingons.
Le-Rak said, “We are winning the fight.”
Ga-Tror looked around. The corpses of many Klingons—and many Children of San-Tarah—lined the ground. He saw groups of as many as two or three combined Gorkon Klingons and Children of San-Tarah fighting single Klingons. Blood stained the dirt and grass. Many fine fighters ran with the dead now.
The Fight Leader ran toward the center of the Prime Village. Two members of the Ruling Pack, Ya-Mar and Tre-Sor, as well as Leader Avok of the Gorkon, were battling seven Klingons. Ya-Mar bled profusely from several wounds, but she continued to fight. Her sword sliced through the belly of one Klingon even as she fell forward. Tre-Sor defended against two of the Klingon curved weapons—bat-letts, they were called, or something like that—while Leader Avok was being overwhelmed by the other four.
Ga-Tror and Le-Rak attacked the ones harassing Leader Avok, making short work of them. Leader Avok himself impaled one Klingon even as the other sliced open his throat with a larger knife. Ga-Tror grabbed the latter by the hair, yanked her downward, and ripped out her throat with his claws.
They had been fighting for most of the day. Ga-Tror’s initial assessment of the Klingons was that they were dilettantes. They claimed to be “warriors,” but had only limited combat skills. Some were better than others, of course, but they were, overall, lacking.
Now he realized that he had misjudged them. The reason the initial attack from the Gorkon had failed was not because they were poor fighters, but because the Children of San-Tarah were better than expected. Had Captain Klag not agreed to the contests, he would have sent down more fighters.
The result would be the carnage they had now. Worse, really, for they would not have the aid they were receiving from Captain Klag’s troops.
He looked at Le-Rak. “Where is Leader Wol?”
“She rejoined her squadron.” He looked around. “I think we’ve won.”
“We’ve won nothing,” Ga-Tror said. “We have defended the Prime Village, but this day’s fight will not be over for some time.”
Te-Run ran up to where they stood. To Ga-Tror’s glee, she was as covered in Klingon gore as the rest of them. She may be old, but she still has plenty of fight in her.
“Bring those that are wounded to the Meeting Hut. Dr. B’Oraq has set up a healing center there.”
“A what?”
“She calls it a hospa-tal, whatever that means. There, she will be able to heal those that are wounded.”
Le-Rak’s mouth fell open. “She can make my arm whole?”
“Possibly.”
Ga-Tror had heard that the Klingons had great healing arts. He had even seen evidence of it in Lieutenant Toq, who had received wounds gained when hunting the san-chera that should have taken most of a season to recover from.
“You were right,” Ga-Tror said to Te-Run even as Le-Rak limped to the Meeting Hut.
“I am often right,” Te-Run said archly. “The fact that you do not acknowledge this is the main thing that holds you back, Ga-Tror.”
At that, Ga-Tror laughed. “Perhaps. But I refer specifically to your words to the Ruling Pack about the future of our people. Casting out the Klingons may doom us.”
“I wouldn’t worry,” Te-Run said. “Casting them out doesn’t seem to have worked very well. And we all may run with the dead before this is all over.”
Looking out at the number who already did so, Ga-Tror said grimly, “You may be right. Never have so many died in one fight before.”
“And the fight has only begun. But we fight for our world. If we all must die, then we will die. There are no alternatives.”
Ga-Tror looked down. “QaS DevwI’ Vok told me of a concept that I did not understand: surrender. There are those in the universe that will give up—that will concede without even giving a proper fight. I cannot imagine anything more disgusting.”
Te-Run laughed. “I, too, was introduced to this by Captain Klag. It is an option that only presents itself to those who are faced with a superior foe. Until the Klingons came, we never faced a superior foe. But it is still not an option. This is our world. It was chosen for us and we for it. They cannot take it from us, and they will not.”
The air then spoke. “Vok to Ga-Tror.”
Startled, Ga-Tror took a moment to recall that QaS DevwI’ Vok had given the Fight Leader one of their communications tools. “Yes?”
“The main road is secure.”
“As is the Prime Village. So far, we are victorious.”
“It won’t last. And several other villages have fallen or are falling. We may need to redistribute our own troops to try to take the villages back or better defend them.”
Ga-Tror’s vision swam. He remembered the wound in his side. “We will gather at the Meeting Hut and determine how this will be done.”
“Agreed. I’ll meet you there shortly.”
Though there was always fighting, this was the first war in Ga-Tror’s lifetime—and the first prolonged war in the history of the Children of San-Tarah, for their previous skirmishes all were short. The victories had always been decisive. He doubted that would be the case this time.
“Come,” he said to Te-Run, “let us see if Dr. B’Oraq can wield her Klingon magic on my wounds.”
Leaving Le-Rak and Ga-Tror to aid Avok and the two members of the Ruling Pack, Leader Wol ran off in search of the rest of the fifteenth. The search didn’t take long: all she had to do was s
eek out Goran’s immense form. Sure enough, the massive bekk was taking on several of the K’mpec’s ground troops at once, and not even getting scratched. He was also grinning so widely, Wol thought his face would crack open. Wol was grateful, as Goran’s loss of the strength contest had driven the soldier to a literally suicidal depression. G’joth and Wol had refused to perform the Mauk-to’Vor ritual on him, and had talked him out of finding another to kill him with honor. As she had hoped, a good dose of carnage cheered Goran right up.
Maris and Trant were being harried by four troops. Wol ran toward them, only to have the two facing Maris run off.
Wol looked around to see that a general retreat appeared to have been called—not surprising, as the K’mpec’s troops never had a serious chance in the Prime Village. The two fighting Trant, however, had apparently not gotten the call, or felt that killing Trant was more important. Wol had spent enough time with Trant to believe the latter quite likely.
One of Trant’s foes fell rather suddenly, and Trant stabbed the other in the neck just as Wol arrived. The first Klingon fell forward, a familiar-looking qutluch in his back.
G’joth approached. Wol smiled. “I was wondering what happened to Davok’s prized knife.”
“Well,” G’joth said with a grin as he yanked the assassin’s weapon out of the back of Trant’s enemy, “I could hardly let it go to waste.”
Trant shook his head. “This is wrong.”
“What is?” Wol asked.
Gesturing to the entire Prime Village. “All of this. Klingons should not be fighting Klingons.” Sweeping his gesture down to the two Children of San-Tarah who lay dead at his feet with d’k tahgs impaling their persons, Trant added, “Certainly not alongside outsiders. We should be united against our enemies, not squabbling with each other like brawlers in a tavern. We are above such things.”
“I don’t know what makes me more ill, Trant, your self-righteous posturing, or your stupidity.” G’joth’s voice was dripping with a contempt that the old toDSaH usually reserved for the late Davok. “Klingons always fight Klingons. Klingons have always fought Klingons. And Klingons always will fight Klingons. Sometimes it’s noble Houses in conflict or civil war. It was only a few months ago that Klingon fought Klingon during the coup attempt on Martok after the war. Before that, there was House Duras’s attempt to depose Gowron before he could ascend to the chancellorship.” G’joth laughed. “It’s what we do best.”
Honor Bound Page 8
