I.K.S. Gorkon Book Three

by Keith R. A. DeCandido

  The difficulty had always been in finding a way to do it that wouldn’t drain the conveyance’s power completely. When they overcame that difficulty, it was a great breakthrough for the Elabrej Hegemony. It allowed the military to effectively keep the peace among the Four Worlds—and, if the project of which Ellis was a part was successful, beyond.

  Never had anyone in the hegemony seen a weapon as powerful as the batteries, though Ellis knew that they were working on something more powerful back home.

  Whatever it was that the alien conveyance fired at them now was several orders of magnitude more powerful than the batteries.

  The lights again dimmed, but this time they did not come back up. The flight sphere shook madly, thrown about in several directions at once. Then it started tumbling end over end.

  That can’t possibly happen, unless—

  “We’re coming apart!” Pitral cried. “The tubes have been fractured! We’re—”

  Ellis’s strata-kin’s words were lost to the sound of wrenching metal that screeched through the flight sphere, followed by the explosive pop of the atmosphere being blown into space.

  They hide their ships from visibility—their weapons can shatter litrarin —and I thought to show them that we were strong?

  As the conveyance exploded, Shipmaster Vor Ellis’s penultimate thought was that it wasn’t as good a day as she thought it had been.

  Her last was a prayer to Doane that her disgrace would not damage the Vor strata too badly.

  “The alien ship has been destroyed.”

  Captain Wirrk of the I.K.S. Kravokh clenched his fist with approval at his first officer’s words. Somehow, these creatures with their ship made up of interconnected ball bearings managed to penetrate a Klingon cloaking device. Then they had the temerity to fire on them.

  “Are there any survivors?” he asked his first officer.

  Commander Komor turned toward operations. “Report to the captain.”

  The operations officer, Ensign B’Etloj—a woman young enough to be Wirrk’s granddaughter—said, “Reading no life signs. Each of the balls that made up the ship had hull breaches, sir, and they do not appear to have any decent method of sealing those breaches.”

  Wirrk grinned. “Hardly surprising. What damage have we taken?”

  “Cloaking device is offline. Shields have been reduced to twenty percent.”

  Looking at Komor, Wirrk said, “An impressive weapon.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Sir,” B’Etloj added, “there is something else. The ship was transmitting a directed signal up until it was destroyed.”

  This pleased Wirrk. “Good. Pilot, track the transmission and plot a course on its vector. I want to see where these creatures came from. Operations, send the transmissions to security—I want a full translation by the time I drink my raktajino tomorrow morning.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Wirrk rose from his chair and walked toward his office, gesturing for Komor to come with him. “Not the most glorious addition to our record of battle,” he said as Komor also rose and walked with him.

  The commander shook his head. “But still a victory.”

  “I suppose so. It would seem I’ve lost half my bet.”

  Frowning, Komor asked, “Sir?”

  “Back on Ty’Gokor, when Chancellor Martok gave us this oh-so-glorious assignment to explore the Kavrot Sector, Captain Klag and I made a wager.” Wirrk smiled at the memory, now nine weeks in the past, of standing in the amphitheater on Ty’Gokor, and the disappointment that, rather than fighting the Romulans, the Chancellor-class vessels, the cream of the Klingon Defense Force, were instead being sent to map stars. Wirrk had been convinced that no battle would come of it, but Klag, the captain of the Gorkon, thought otherwise.

  “What,” Komor asked, “was the wager?”

  “Klag bet a case of ’98 bloodwine from the K’reetka vintner that both our vessels would see combat in the Kavrot Sector.”

  Nodding appreciatively, Komor said, “A fine vintage.”

  “Yes, but I’d rather have the combat than the bloodwine.”

  “Sir, I have a report,” came a voice from behind him. The door to Wirrk’s office had just parted. Both captain and first officer turned to see that the pilot was facing them.

  Komor nodded, and the pilot continued: “The range of the transmission is approximately fifty light-years—after that, the signal would degrade. There is only one star within that distance on that vector. We have already designated that system Kavrot wej’vatlh wa’maH vagh.

  Turning toward B’Etloj, Komor said, “Report.”

  “We are too far for a long-range scan. It was scanned when we designated it five weeks ago, and determined only that it had four planets. From our present position it is three days away at warp eight. At our current schedule, we would proceed toward it in seven weeks.”

  Wirrk looked at Komor. “That schedule has been shortened to one hour.”

  Nodding, Komor walked back to his chair, located to the right of the command chair at the front of the bridge. “Operations, continue scan of the alien ship for the next hour, then prepare a full report on what you find. Pilot, set course for system Kavrot wej’vatlh wa’maH vagh. Execute at warp eight one hour from now.”

  “Also,” Wirrk added, “prepare a message to General Talak. Include our record of battle and our course change.”

  Then he continued into his office. He saw no reason to be on the bridge while they ran scans of a dead ship. That was what he had a first officer for.

  Soon enough, we’ll trace these craven petaQpu’ to their nest. True, they did not last long in a fight, but they did penetrate the cloak—and their weapon was quite powerful. Perhaps they have other technologies that will be useful to us after we conquer them.

  Wirrk ordered a raktajino from the replicator and sat at his desk. Today was a good day.

  Chapter One

  The salty taste of gagh blood filled Toq’s tongue as he bit down on the serpent worm that wriggled in his mouth.

  It was the first thing he had enjoyed all day.

  “What I find most irritating about Kallo is—”

  Rodek snarled, the grapok sauce that he had put on his trigak flying out in all directions. “Not again. You have done nothing but complain about Kallo since she first came on board!”

  They sat at the “secondary bridge,” the table in the I.K.S. Gorkon’s large mess hall that was usually occupied by members of the bridge crew. At the moment, Toq and Rodek, the ship’s first and second officers, respectively, were the only ones at the table.

  Toq swallowed the gagh. “She drives me mad! Every morning, when the shift begins, she has some suggestion for improving operations, or improving the warp engines, or improving the style of making reports, or—”

  “I know what she does, Toq,” Rodek said. “I stand right next to her on the bridge, just as you did when you were operations.”

  Shaking his head, Toq said, “Yes, but I did not pester Drex or Tereth or Kornan with such minutiae every waking moment.”

  Leskit, the primary-shift pilot, walked over to the table, carrying a plate of racht, taknar gizzards, and some trigak of his own. Before sitting, he looked at Rodek. “Is he still carrying on about Kallo?”

  In a deep, dangerous voice, Rodek said, “Yes.”

  Shaking his head, causing the Cardassian neckbones he wore around his neck to rattle, the old pilot sat down. “I was hoping I’d get here late enough that he’d have moved on.”

  “I fear he will never move on from this topic.”

  “It is just that—” Toq hesitated. “She vexes me!”

  “Women do that, Commander,” Leskit said. “It’s their function in the universe, to vex men. My suggestion to you is that you either ignore her or bed her.”

  “I can’t ignore her—she is the operations officer.”

  “That just leaves the other option, then. Rodek, give me that grapok sauce.”

  As Rodek gave the co
ntainer with the condiment to the pilot, Toq said, “The other problem is that her suggestions—” Again Toq hesitated.

  “What of them?” Leskit asked, biting down on his gizzards.

  Toq shook his head. He hated to admit this out loud. “They’re good.”

  “So they’re good,” Rodek said. “As first officer, isn’t it your responsibility to make use of good suggestions from your inferiors?”

  Toq hesitated a third time, which was three more times than he was comfortable with doing so.

  Leskit let loose with one of his papery laughs. “I believe, Rodek, that we begin to see the root of the problem.”

  This confused Toq. “What do you mean, Leskit?”

  Rodek added, “I do not understand, either.”

  Grinning, Leskit said, “She isn’t your inferior, is she? What is vexing you, Toq—oh, sorry, Commander Toq—is that she is better at the job than you were.”

  Snatching three serpent worms from his bowl, Toq said, “That is absurd.”

  “Is it?”

  “She is just a child!”

  Leskit laughed. “She is a child? Toq, I have a son who’s only slightly less mature than you, much less Ensign Kallo.”

  Toq chewed on his gagh. Perhaps the old razorbeast is right, he thought. Toq had been serving on the Gorkon since its shakedown cruise nine months earlier, serving first as a bridge officer. He successfully challenged the second officer, an old imbecile named Kegren, and took his post after killing him. After Commander Kornan—the Gorkon’s third first officer since its launch—died in battle at San-Tarah, Captain Klag promoted Toq to first officer. Klag had told him that his excellent service to the ship more than made up for his youth.

  But I am not that young—and I have earned the respect of my peers. Seeing Leskit’s snickering face, he amended the thought slightly. Still, I have earned my place on this ship. And Kallo has earned hers. So why does she vex me so?

  Before Toq could pursue the thought further, a tall figure approached the secondary bridge. Wearing a version of the Defense Force uniform that left his arms bare, the lieutenant stopped when standing between Leskit and Rodek and folded those arms, which were massive, over his equally massive chest. This was Lokor, the Gorkon’s chief of security. He stood taller than average, with a fierce mien and long intricately braided hair that extended to the small of his back.

  “Commander,” he said to Toq, “I would speak with you.”

  “Join us, Lieutenant.” Toq was curious. Lokor never ate in the mess hall. There were those who said he was an agent of Imperial Intelligence, but Toq suspected that Lokor himself started those rumors. But he was also the eyes and ears of the Gorkon, and he was the one person besides the captain to whom Toq would never deny an audience. As the lieutenant sat between the pilot and the gunner, Toq said, “Speak.”

  “I want to assign bodyguards to all the senior officers, and double the captain’s guard.”

  This was not a conversation Toq expected to be having in the mess hall. “Why tell us this here in the open?”

  Leskit made a small noise. “Because with all the noise in here, it’s impossible to eavesdrop.”

  “Don’t be naïve,” Lokor snapped. “This is the most difficult room on the entire ship to secure. No, I came in here because I never do, and because I want it to be known that I wish to increase security.”

  “You haven’t answered my question, Lieutenant,” Toq said. “Why?”

  “Because if there is a danger to the hierarchy on this ship, I want them to know that I’m aware of them.”

  Rodek swallowed the last of his trigak. “You think there is a threat?”

  “Yes. For the first time since we launched, I feel that there are those on this vessel who do not wish to serve with Captain Klag.”

  “It isn’t the first time,” Rodek said. “There was Vralk.”

  Toq remembered a conversation he had with Rodek at this very table months earlier, shortly after Vralk—a pilot who served while Leskit was off on the Rotarran—made noises about threatening the captain’s position.

  Lokor barked a laugh. “Vralk was not a threat, he was an insect that I took great pleasure in crushing.”

  “Wasn’t he your kinsman?” Rodek asked.

  “That is why it was a pleasure.” Lokor smiled, a frightening sight. “I’d had to put up with his mewling for far longer than the rest of you.” The smile dropped. “But this is not a pusillanimous little petaQ with delusions. This is an organized campaign, being led by people who transferred from the Kreltek—along with some whose loyalties were strained at San-Tarah.”

  Toq nodded. Klag had put the Gorkon in the position of fighting fellow Klingons at San-Tarah. Most of the crew was behind him, but there were bound to be those who disagreed. One of them, a bekk named Grint, had spoken out against the captain’s actions on the bridge. But he died in battle. Still, there may be others.

  Lokor went on: “There were many on the Kreltek who sided with General Talak. They wish to avenge themselves for the general’s death at the captain’s hands.”

  Indignantly, Toq said, “Martok himself declared the captain’s actions to be honorable.”

  “Fine, Commander.” Lokor turned a pitiless gaze on Toq, to the point that the young first officer had to avert his eyes from the security chief’s. “When one of the troops aims his d’k tahg at your heart, you should be sure to tell him that, and I’m sure it will stay his blade.”

  Now Toq turned and looked right into Lokor’s eyes. “If you wish to go on without a d’k tahg aimed at your heart, Lieutenant, you will never speak like that to me again, am I understood?”

  This time it was Lokor who looked away. “You are, Commander.”

  “Good.” Toq grabbed the last two serpent worms from his gagh bowl. “I will have to bring your concerns to the captain, but I will recommend he accept them.”

  Lokor nodded. “And all of you be on your guard, especially with anyone who transferred from the Kreltek. Also, be wary of Kurak.”

  At that, Leskit laughed, splurting his bloodwine. “Are you mad?”

  “No,” Lokor said, “are you?”

  “Quite possibly, but I also know Kurak. The idea of her being involved in a conspiracy against the captain is idiotic.”

  “She is a malcontent,” Lokor said, “and she has a particular loathing for Klag—and for me.”

  “No, she doesn’t.”

  “Leskit—” Toq started, not wanting to see the pilot and the security chief get into a pointless fight over this. Any other time, he would welcome the diversion, but if Lokor was trying to make a strong show of force among the senior officers, having two of them start a duel would not aid in that cause.

  However, the pilot insisted on speaking. “Trust me, Lokor, you do not need to waste your time worrying about Kurak. Our esteemed chief engineer will never, under any circumstance, participate in any kind of conspiracy against the captain.”

  “And you’re sure of this because you share a bed?”

  Toq wasn’t surprised by Lokor’s knowledge. Leskit and Kurak’s liaisons were not secret, though some didn’t believe it, despite the fact that, on one of the Gorkon’s first missions, Leskit and Kurak both reported nearly naked for duty during a battle.

  Leskit didn’t answer Lokor’s question immediately. He took a long sip of bloodwine, then chewed on his taknar gizzards. Finally, he spoke. “I’m sure of this because I’ve come to know her very well—in part, yes, because we share a bed. And what I know is that her hatred isn’t so simple as to be for the captain or for you or for me or for any one person. What she hates, my friends, is the Klingon Defense Force. She would not try to overthrow Klag because it doesn’t do anything to help her. What she wants is to get out of the Defense Force.”

  “Which she cannot do until her nephew Gevnar is old enough to enroll,” Lokor said.

  Toq blinked. “She has a nephew?”

  Rodek stared at Toq. “Is there a reason why she should not have one?�
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  Shrugging, Toq said, “I simply cannot imagine Kurak having a family. It is too—ordinary.”

  Baring his teeth, Leskit said, “There’s nothing ordinary about that woman, believe me.” The pilot then looked at the security chief. “Don’t worry about Kurak, Lokor. She is quite incapable of caring enough to involve herself in a mutiny.”

  “Perhaps.” Lokor leaned back. “But there are many who do.”

  “Lokor,” Rodek said, “the troops from the Kreltek—they were used to fill holes in the squads, correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “A pity—they are able to sow the seeds of their discontent in a variety of squads. It would have been better to put them together in squads of their own. That makes it easier to slice them out.” Rodek smiled. “Something similar happened on the Hegh’ta. We took care of it very efficiently.”

  Toq regarded Rodek for a moment, then looked at Lokor. “Is there any reason why we cannot do that? Rearrange the squads?”

  Leskit said, “Then they’ll know you suspect them.”

  “I already told you,” Lokor snapped, “I want them to know. It might provoke them into tipping their hand sooner if they are indeed plotting against the captain. Rushing their timetable will lead to their being sloppy.”

  “You hope,” Leskit said.

  “If this were an exact science, old man, there would be no such worries on any ship.”

  “Enough!” Toq said. “Lieutenant, talk with the QaS DevwI’ about reorganizing the troops. Which of them do you trust most?”

  “Vok,” Lokor said, “but I’m hardly going to put these toDSaHpu’ in First Company.”

  “What of the lesser companies, then?”

  Lokor considered. “Grotek. We have served at several posts together. He commands Twelfth Company.”