But no, she had to be stuck with a revolutionary. The bolmaq wanted to change the face of Klingon medicine, to improve the lot of warriors’ lives by healing them.
It was stupid. Did Lughor need radical medical procedures after Ngara wounded him? Of course not. He was a warrior consumed by passion, unconcerned with trivialities like injuries.
Gaj could not wait for this mission to Kavrot to be over. By then, her term would be up and she could go elsewhere. Anything to get away from the bolmaq and her insantiy.
The worst was when she had to help the bolmaq graft an arm onto the captain. It had been all Gaj could do to keep from emptying the contents of both her stomachs on the operating table. When Ngara cut off B’Entra’s arm in the opening fight in Burning Hearts, B’Entra did not go to some Federation-trained petaQ and have a new arm attached so she could exact her revenge. No, she plotted her revenge in much more clever ways, paving the way for the climactic duel between them on the mountains overlooking Lughor’s estate. To do otherwise would have no poetry.
But the bolmaq, Gaj had learned, had no poetry, either.
Gaj had allowed herself some hope a few months ago when the bolmaq had gone off with some human doctor in the captain’s personal transport and disappeared. When Commander Tereth gave her the news, it had been all she could do not to break into song. Those few days had been glorious. Aside from keeping some Bajoran woman they’d captured sedated, her tasks had been minimal. She had been able to get through Burning Hearts twice.
Unfortunately, the captain found the bolmaq on Narendra III, and it had been back to the nightmare.
Perhaps, she thought, I’ll be lucky and she’ll die on San-Tarah.
That happy scenario now lodged in her head, Gaj skipped ahead to her favorite part of the novel.
The smell of Lughor’s blood on her hands suffused Ngara’s senses; she longed to flick her tongue in his wound, greedily lapping the droplets from his skin. Hunger for her burned in his dark eyes. Pinning her arms above her head, Lughor slid his d’k tahg blade beneath the lacings of her leather corset, blade against breast. “I will have you!” he growled. And with a swift up-thrust—
“I will be released from this place—now!”
Gaj looked up in annoyance. Lieutenant Rodek was sitting up in his biobed. The nurse tried and failed to remember what the lieutenant had been brought in for. She supposed that she could look it up, but that required more effort than she was willing to go to.
Not that it mattered. She didn’t have the authority to release patients, nor did she particularly wish it. If she wanted responsibility, she would have become a doctor instead of a nurse.
“I can’t release you, Lieutenant. You’ll have to wait until Dr. B’Oraq—”
“That was not a request, Nurse. That was an order. You will fetch me my uniform.”
Gaj sighed, and put down her padd. Lughor and Ngara would have to wait. “Sir, I cannot release you without—”
“I am giving you an order, Nurse!” Rodek’s voice was raised so loud, Gaj swore the bulkheads shook. “I am captain of this vessel, and you will obey me without question!”
Without even realizing that she’d gotten up, Gaj found herself standing at the closet where patients’ uniforms were kept while they were interred in the bolmaq’s dungeon. She removed Rodek’s uniform and handed it to him.
Rodek took the armor from her so fast the edges scratched her hand. Gaj, however, did not cry out in pain, finding herself afraid of what Rodek would do to her if she did.
However, the gunner did nothing except glower at her with a pitiless stare, blink once, and then exit the medical bay without comment.
The nurse let out a breath she hadn’t even realized she’d been holding. Some patients are determined to leave no matter what.
As she applied a salve to her hand, she wondered at Rodek’s referring to himself as captain of the vessel. He’s just a lieutenant—the first-shift gunner. Why would he say to me that he’s the captain?
It was possible, of course, that it meant he was addled and not fit for duty, but Gaj found herself not caring all that much. That sort of thing was the bolmaq’s problem, not hers. She just wanted to get back to Burning Hearts—she was just getting to the good part….
“Get us out of here!”
Klag cursed even as he gave the order. He hated having to run, even if only for a moment, but an exploding warp core was not something he wished to be near. Ideally, the Gorkon’s shields would be sufficient defense against the matter-antimatter explosion, but the shields had been weakened in battle, and the structural-integrity field was still under repair.
Kornan said, “Course 287 mark 9, Leskit—execute!”
“I’m executing, I’m executing,” Leskit muttered, barely loud enough for Klag to hear. Klag also saw that the Kreltek was taking a similar course: away from San-Tarah, and also away from the Akua’s makeshift weapon.
A moment later, the warp core exploded in a fiery plume that was quickly consumed by the vacuum of space.
“Sensors down,” Toq said. “Clearing now.”
“Bring us back, Commander,” Klag said to Kornan.
“Yes, sir. Reverse course back to San-Tarah.”
Klag frowned as he stared at the viewer, which had a visual display that told him nothing, thanks to the effects of the subspace eddies. “Toq, position report on all ships.”
Toq read off from his console display. “Kreltek on parallel course with us, returning to the planet. K’mpec still drifting at fifty thousand qelI’qams from the planet. Jor, Nukmay, and Khich have engaged the Taj and the Gogam in orbit.” He looked up. “No sign of the Vidd or the Akua. Some of the subspace eddies have shifted position as well, sir.”
“Keep trying to locate the Vidd and the Akua, and map the changes in the eddies. Meantime, we will proceed to aid Captain Huss.” Three birds-of-prey, even with as talented a warrior as Huss in command and the benefit of disruptors, were no match for a battle cruiser and a strike ship.
Kornan came over from the gunner’s position and stood to Klag’s right. In a tone low enough so that only the captain could hear, the first officer said, “Sir, the K’mpec is adrift. We should finish them off as we did the Tagak.”
“No.”
“Sir—”
His voice a virtual hiss, Klag said, “Are you questioning my orders, Commander?”
“Of course not, sir, but—”
“I will not give the order to kill my own brother.” Klag took a breath. “If we are to meet face-to-face in battle, or if the K’mpec fires on us again, I will not hesitate to act, but I will not strike my own blood down unprovoked. Nor will I order others to do it for me.”
“As you say, sir.”
“Rodek?”
That last was Toq’s voice. Klag turned around to see that Rodek had in fact entered the bridge. He was in full uniform, with one of B’Oraq’s healing devices still on his head.
Klag rose from his chair, standing alongside Kornan as they both stared at the new arrival. “Lieutenant? B’Oraq told us that you would not be able to return to the bridge for several days.”
“I am fit for duty, sir. I would ask that I be allowed to take my station.”
The captain took all of a millisecond to mull. B’Oraq was on San-Tarah and in no position to counteract the order, and Morketh and Grint were both dead. He needed an experienced gunner at the controls. “Take your post, Lieutenant,” Klag said, turning back to the viewscreen.
“It is good to have you back,” Klag heard Toq say to the gunner. “We have put off our celebration for far too long.” Then, more loudly, Toq said, “Sir, I have located the Akua. It is in orbit—their shields are down!”
“How soon until we are in range?”
“Six minutes,” Leskit said.
“Transporter activity, sir,” Toq then said. He looked up. “General Talak is beaming more ground troops to San-Tarah!”
“Alert QaS DevwI’ Vok as soon as we are in range,” Ko
rnan said.
“Increase speed, Leskit,” Klag said, returning to his chair.
“Sir, the eddies—” Kornan started.
Klag smiled. “I trust Leskit to avoid them. The Akua is vulnerable—we must strike now and cut off the beast’s head so that the body may wither and die.”
“Now at full impulse,” Leskit said.
A minute later, Rodek said, “Akua now in weapons range.”
Kornan turned to his captain. “Your orders, sir?”
“Expedite that petaQ’s journey to Gre’thor, Commander.”
“Full disruptors on the Akua, Lieutenant,” Kornan said, “and fire.”
As Klag watched, the Gorkon’s disruptors shot forth onto what was left of the Akua. With its port wing destroyed, its running lights at half thanks to their lack of a warp core, the ship reminded Klag of a bird he’d seen once on a hunt he and Dorrek had gone on with their father. M’Raq had downed a targ. As they were moving to collect it, a low-flying ramjep bird swooped down and got in the way. Klag’s father swiped at the avian with his d’k tahg, cutting open its wing. Now, the Akua looked like that wounded ramjep trying desperately to stay aloft as it lurched through the air away from the hunters and the targ.
Moments later, the Akua exploded in a fiery conflagration.
Clenching the very same fist that had wounded the ramjep years ago, Klag smiled with satisfaction.
“Sir,” Toq said, “we’re receiving a report from Vok. The Akua beamed down a thousand troops—led by General Talak.”
Klag’s smile fell.
As long as Talak lives, honor will not win the day.
Chapter Ten
“Ch’drak to Wol.”
Wol activated her communicator. She stood in the small hut at the center of Val-Goral talking with Je-Ris, the head of this village’s ruling pack, about how to defend the city. They had just received word that more troops had beamed down from the Akua. This changed the balance considerably. The reinforcements sent from the Taj, which had a much smaller complement of troops than either the K’mpec or the Gorkon, served mainly to make up for the considerable casualties among the K’mpec’s original deployment. But the Akua was a ship of roughly the same size as both the Chancellor-class vessels, with a like complement of troops. Even with the added benefit of having the Children of San-Tarah on Captain Klag’s side, these new troops would make the campaign in general and holding Val-Goral in particular much more difficult.
“What do you want, Ch’drak?”
“Since you are remaining here, there is someone you should speak to immediately. A prisoner.”
Frowning, Wol said, “He is conscious?”
“Yes.”
A Klingon warrior who consciously allowed himself to be taken prisoner was an honorless coward. This meant that he was bound for Gre’thor when he did die. Of greater moment, however, was the fact that honorless cowards also made excellent interrogation subjects. “I will join you shortly.”
She concluded her business with Je-Ris, ordering her to deploy both Klingon and San-Tarah troops along the upper ridge to prevent anyone else from attacking the city the way Wol herself had. Then she proceeded toward the command post. As she stepped out of the hut, she inhaled the smells of battle: the blood of both Klingon and San-Tarah mixing freely with the scents of the dirt and the native flora and fauna—marred only by the chemical stink of G’joth’s grenades, and that was dissipating. She regretted that Krevor had not lived to see this glorious combat. It might have even been sufficient to satisfy the ever-contentious Davok. And even if it hadn’t, Wol found that she missed his complaints.
“B’Oraq to Wol.”
“What is it, Doctor?”
“Goran has arrived with your prisoner, but I’m afraid he didn’t make it. Your mek’leth did its job too well.”
Wol cursed.
The doctor continued. “Vok has asked me to tell you that he’s keeping Goran in the Prime Village—the fighting has gotten fierce, and he is needed here.”
“Of course,” Wol said. She had expected as much as soon as word of the general’s beaming down with more troops had come to her.
“I take it you wish me to dispose of the body.”
At that, Wol hesitated. Normally, there would be no question, but there were other issues. How to explain this to her? Will I even be able to?
Should I?
Then B’Oraq added, “After taking a blood and tissue sample, naturally.”
Cautiously, Wol asked, “Why would you wish to do that, Doctor?”
“Because I am neither blind nor stupid, Leader. You and the prisoner share a crest, which means you may share a bloodline. Since I know for a fact that your service record indicates that you have no known family, and since I am relatively sure that no prisoner would truly be worth having Goran haul him all the way here, I assume you wish me to perform a genetic test.”
Wol shook her head. Damn the woman for her efficiency. On the other hand, she doubted that any other Klingon doctor would understand her request, much less accede to it. “If you wish to take a sample before disposing of the bekk’s body, Doctor, that is certainly within your purview. If there is anything it can tell you about the soldier that you think might interest me, I would be grateful if you would share it.”
“Of course, Leader. And I promise discretion, as well. There is a Federation concept relating to the practice of medicine about confidentiality between doctor and patient. I have found it to be generally impractical in the Empire, but under these circumstances, I believe that particular aspect of my Starfleet Medical training will prove—beneficial to us both.”
“Thank you, Doctor. Out.”
Wol ended the communication, but her apprehension increased. Lokor had already indicated to Wol that he knew she was truly Eral, daughter of B’Etakk, last survivor of the now-disgraced House of Varnak. Or, at least, one of the last survivors. Now B’Oraq would probably know as well. Of course, she has access to my medical records, and could determine my bloodlines in an instant if she wished. Still, she would have no reason to make such an investigation of one of the thousands on board—until now.
B’Oraq was a revolutionary, attempting to bring improved medical practices to the Empire. Her job was made easier since Martok’s ascension to the chancellorship, as his regime favored such inclinations, but that did not change the fact that she was trying to bring about a radical change. Such people were dangerous ones to trust, because their cause tended to be the sole consideration in how they dealt with others. Wol had to be careful to ensure that her own secrets would not be conscripted for B’Oraq’s crusade—either as a weapon or a means to use Wol in some other way. The Leader also had to consider that B’Oraq had the support of Captain Klag, and any move against the doctor would put Wol in the most precarious of positions.
Damn you, Father, for reducing me to this.
She approached the command post and forced all thoughts of the House of Varnak to the back of her mind. Ch’drak stood before her, a tall, imposing figure with a comparatively weak crest and an unimpressive beard. Here’s another one I must be careful of. Ch’drak was the highest-ranking Leader among QaS DevwI’ Klaris’s squads, the second group of squads, with Wol as the last among Vok’s, the first group. There were some who would consider Ch’drak’s position to be more prestigious than Wol’s, but Wol could not count on Ch’drak not being among them. Her own shortsightedness had provided an opening for Ch’drak, and now she needed to be careful that he did not take the opportunity to sink his d’k tahg into it.
Next to Ch’drak stood two soldiers who were holding a third. A white-haired old warrior, he wore the emblem of the K’mpec on his chestplate and the rank of bekk on his biceps.
Ch’drak said, “This old razorbeast has chosen not to die in order to provide us with intelligence of a traitor in our midst.”
“You lie!” the old man said, spitting blood onto the ground. “I will be more than happy to die—after I have shared my information with
your pitiful selves. And I am not telling you of a traitor.”
Laughing, Ch’drak said, “That is what it sounded like you said before the Leader arrived. Do you now change your story to suit your needs? Are you a Ferengi?”
The old man’s laugh was just as derisive. “Your pitiful attempts to insult me are typical of such honorless petaQ that ally themselves with animals over true Klingons.” He cast an eye over to a group of San-Tarah who were speaking several meters away.
Wol stepped forward. The old man smelled of blood and day-old raktajino. “We ally ourselves with honor, Bekk.”
“You go right on thinking that, woman.”
She gave him a backhanded slap across the jaw, causing more blood to fly from his mouth. “I am Leader Wol of the fifteenth, Bekk. You will address me with respect.”
“None from your ship of fools deserves respect,” the prisoner said before spitting out a bloody tooth.
“Then why do you claim to provide us with intelligence?”
“Because I want you to know the depths of your stupidity before I go to Sto-Vo-Kor. What I told this yIntagh here,” he nodded his head toward Ch’drak, who, to his credit, did not react to the insult, “was that I had information about one who had provided intelligence to us. In fact, if you are Leader of the fifteenth, it is one within your very squad.”
Wol of course knew that there was a traitor, but for it to be one of her own distressed her. It can’t possibly be Goran, and I doubt it’s G’joth. That left Maris or Trant.
Her initial instinct was Trant—he was a malcontent, after all, and he had questioned this entire endeavor. But that was simply talk—it proved only that Trant was annoying, not a traitor.
Then she remembered Maris’s insistence that they not change their plan, his inability to see the patterns of the QoSbow wielders despite how blindingly obvious they were. That was not simply talk, those were actions, possibly ones designed to keep Wol from changing a battle plan. Why would he do that unless he had reason to want the plan to remain unaltered?
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