I.K.S. Gorkon Book Three

by Keith R. A. DeCandido

  “Only those who choose the path of dishonor!” Kagak’s eyes were now darting back and forth among the three of them. “I would never betray honorable warriors! And I had to be sure.”

  “Sure of what?” Trant asked, though he knew the answer.

  “That you were the same creatures of honor that I now know our captain to be.”

  “We are.” Wol put a hand on Kagak’s shoulder. “If you’re very very lucky, Kagak—you’ll live long enough to find out for sure.”

  “And if we’re very lucky,” G’joth added, “you won’t.”

  Trant sighed. G’joth had said the same thing to Trant and Maris during the San-Tarah campaign. For someone who once fancied himself a writer, G’joth, you have very little by way of original material.

  “We shall see in due course.” Wol walked over to the barrel, noticed it was all but empty, then looked at her squad. “And we shall do so together. But more than anything else, G’joth—Trant—Kagak—” She smiled. “And Goran, if he were awake—as long as I am here, I will always lead you to victory.”

  “Of that, Leader, I have no doubt,” Trant said.

  “You know,” G’joth said, finally holstering his d’k tahg, “you’ve been with this squad seven weeks, and this is the first we’ve heard of any of this, either, Trant.”

  Trant grinned. “It would seem I’m a slow learner.”

  Wol returned the grin. “Learn faster next time. You and this infant have very large boots to fill.” She checked the chronometer on the wall. “It’s late. We have a drill in the morning. C’mon, G’joth, let’s get the big man up.”

  As Wol and G’joth moved to rouse Goran, Trant walked over to Kagak. “You were wise to confide in us, boy.”

  “I know I was. And I will be on your side.”

  That’s truer than you know, Trant thought. Right now, his primary duty as one of the I.I. agents on this ship was to make sure this potential mutiny never happened. Klag was one of the most important captains in the fleet right now. Ever since the end of the war, and the unsuccessful coup by Morjod, Martok had been attempting to bring the empire back to the honorable path, to the true way of honor as codified by Kahless. By his actions—in general, since he took command of the Gorkon nine months earlier, and in particular at San-Tarah—Klag had proven himself to be an important piece on Martok’s game board.

  Trant would make sure that nothing happened to jeopardize that.

  Klag spoke as soon as the door to his office rumbled shut behind him. “Has Dr. B’Oraq given you reason to think that I have weakened in any way, Commander?”

  Toq had been standing on the guest side of the desk, studying something on the viewer. At Klag’s entrance, he stood up straight. “Of course not, sir,” he said quickly, sounding appalled at the very idea.

  As well he should be. “Then explain why there is a need for me to be guarded by three warriors. Did I not slay a dozen Jem’Hadar on Marcan V? Did I not defeat General Talak within the circle on San-Tarah?”

  “Yes, sir, you did, but—you are not guarded by three warriors. The guard who stood outside this door when you entered was mine.”

  Klag had played enough games. He sat down in the chair behind his desk. “Explain.”

  Succinctly, the young first officer told Klag of a report he’d gotten from Lieutenant Lokor regarding possible disaffection among the transfers from the Kreltek.

  Klag considered Toq’s words. In truth, he’d had few dealings with such issues. He had been fortunate early in his career to serve with honorable captains. Then he came aboard the Pagh. While there were many thoughts of mutiny under Captain Kargan, none dared put those thoughts to action for fear of reprisal. Kargan was kinsman to Councillor K’Tal and General Talak both, and no one dared challenge a scion of the House of K’Tal unless they wished to number the hours remaning in their own lives on the fingers of a single hand.

  Since his own elevation to the captaincy, he had received no inkling of any consideration of removing him from the command chair. That meant either that no one wished to do so, or that Lokor had done his job well in containing such wishes.

  “Very well,” Klag finally said. “Keep me apprised. Is Lokor not concerned that he is tipping his hand?”

  “He says he has done so on purpose, that he wishes any possible conspirators to be fully aware that he is on to them.”

  “You believe this to be a wise strategy?”

  Toq replied without hesitation. “Yes, sir, I do. At worst, it drives the conspirators further into hiding, which keeps them from acting on their desires. At best, it drives them to act quickly—perhaps too quickly.”

  Klag nodded. In fact, he agreed with Lokor’s decision, for the very reasons Toq gave, but he wished to make sure that Toq himself understood Lokor’s thinking.

  “Plus,” the first officer added, “Lokor has earned a reputation. Knowing that he is aware of them may frighten the conspirators.”

  Chuckling, Klag said, “Indeed. I assume you did not cut my bat’leth drill short to inform me of this.”

  “No, sir, that could have waited until you were finished.” Toq turned the viewer back around so that Klag could see the screen. “Lieutenant K’Nir reported that a long-range scan detected heavy warp activity near Kavrot wej’vatlh wa’maH vagh. That system is also the last known destination of the Kravokh—eight weeks ago.”

  Klag frowned. “There’s been no report from Captain Wirrk since they destroyed that ship?”

  “No, sir.”

  Shaking his head, Klag cast his mind back to Ty’Gokor and his and Wirrk’s wager. I’ve won it now, my friend—I only hope that you are still alive to revel in my victory.

  Klag stood up quickly. “How far are we from wej’vatlh wa’maH vagh, Commander?”

  Again, Toq spoke without hesitating. “Five days at warp eight-point-five.”

  “Good.” He walked around to the other side of the desk to face Toq directly. “Is General Goluk still at Nayyvrrra?”

  “According to the most recent reports, yes, sir, though they should be leaving within a day or so. A governor has already—”

  Uninterested in the minutiae of the conquering of Nayyvrrra, Klag held up a hand and interrupted. “We must speak with the general immediately.”

  “I’ve had Ensign Kal prepare a report—”

  “No.” Klag shook his head. “Not a report—we must speak directly to him. Have Kal open a channel to the general’s flagship.”

  Toq nodded and headed for the exit. “Yes, sir.”

  Klag considered the report. Wirrk was not one to go silent for so long without reason. True, warriors need not check with their superiors at every step of a battle like children learning klin zha for the first time, but eight weeks was more than enough time. If the Kravokh was in a battle that had taken that long, they were in need of assistance, warrior’s pride be damned—and if they had lost a battle, then they needed to be avenged.

  Moving to sit back at his desk, he called up the last report from the Kravokh two months earlier. He remembered when Toq’s predecessor Commander Kornan brought it to him: “The Kravokh defeated an alien ship that appears to be part of a small confederation. They’re investigating further to see if they are worthy of being conquered.”

  According to the report Wirrk’s operations officer filed, the vessel they encountered penetrated the Kravokh’s cloak and then took out the cloaking device—as well as several other systems—with one shot. Which was, he noted, the same number of shots Wirrk needed to destroy them entirely.

  At the time of the transmission, they had translated enough of the enemy’s communications to know that they called themselves the Elabrej Hegemony.

  Then he called up the readings that Ensign Kal was taking even now on long-range sensors.

  Toq’s voice sounded over the room’s speakers. “Captain, I have General Goluk.”

  Klag switched the viewer to the gray-maned visage of Goluk, son of Ruuv. Goluk was a respected general, winner of several b
attles against foes ranging from the Cardassians to the Romulans to the Federation—during the year that the empire withdrew from the Khitomer Accords—to the Jem’Hadar and the Breen. Not only had he always been victorious, but he was never in any danger of being defeated. His battle plans were legendary. For many years, he had been prevented from advancing because he did not approve of Gowron when the latter served as chancellor, and Gowron had little tolerance for those who did not approve of him. It was not until Martok ascended to the chancellorship that the gruff old veteran was given his long-overdue promotion to general.

  In addition, Goluk was, like Klag, a member of the Order of the Bat’leth. Perhaps the greatest statement of approval of Klag’s actions at San-Tarah that Martok could have made was replacing Talak with a member of the order.

  “General.”

  “Captain. Speak.” Goluk also was not one for wasting words.

  Klag reported what his people had found. “In addition, sir, our own long-range sensor readings have been refined over the past twenty minutes or so. The energy output of the warp activity is similar to that of the ship the Kravokh destroyed.” He smiled. “Of course, it’s also similar to Breen, Vulcan, Ferengi, and Andorian propulsion systems.”

  “What is your opinion, Captain?”

  The smile remained on Klag’s face. Goluk’s question was as much a test for Klag as the captain’s earlier question to Toq was a test for the first officer. “I believe that the Kravokh traveled to this Elabrej Hegemony and found far more than one vessel. I believe that they may well have been destroyed, which is why we have not heard from them in eight weeks. And I believe that this warp activity is an aggressive buildup of forces to defend against more Klingon ships coming to their space.”

  “I concur.” The general paused a moment. “Chancellor Martok is on his way to Bajor—they’re joining the Federation, apparently, and he’s an invited guest.”

  Klag frowned. “I thought Bajor joined the Federation during the war.”

  “Apparently not. In any event, I will need to contact him, but the distance will delay matters. However, Captain, as you are closest to the Elabrej, I want you to set course there immediately. What is your travel time?”

  “Five days at top speed.”

  “Very well. Proceed to this Elabrej Hegemony, Captain. I will be alerting the other Chancellor ships to stand by until I can speak to Martok.”

  “What will your recommendation to the chancellor be, General?”

  Goluk seemed surprised at Klag’s impertinence, but Klag did not regret it. He wished to know his commanding officer’s mind, and this was the only way to do it.

  “I will suggest that all ten remaining ships in the Kavrot Sector be diverted to Elabrej. Unfortunately, thanks to the events at San-Tarah, those are the only ships that will be able to respond to this initial aggression. Further reinforcements will take weeks to arrive.”

  Klag ignored the rebuke. He had no regrets about their actions at San-Tarah, and the fact that it left the Defense Force comparatively weak in this sector for the time being was something he could ill afford to be concerned with when a matter of honor was at stake.

  “After I have spoken to Martok, I will contact you again. Screen off.”

  Goluk’s face faded from the screen. Klag activated the intercom. “Commander Toq, report to the captain.”

  Seconds later, Toq entered the office. “Yes, sir?”

  As soon as the door closed behind him, Klag asked, “Can I assume that a course for Kavrot wej’vatlh wa’maH vagh has already been set?”

  Toq smiled. “You may indeed, sir.”

  “Excellent. Proceed out of the system at full impulse on that course, and execute at warp eight-point-five when we’ve cleared the system.”

  “Immediately, sir. What are our orders?”

  “Just that for now—but expect those orders to be amended fairly quickly. Have operations on both shifts continue intensive scans of that system. I want to know everything there is to know about the home of this new foe of ours.”

  “Yes, sir.” With that, Toq left at a quick pace, eager to carry out the captain’s orders.

  Klag rose from his chair with ease. Although it would soon be time for him to sleep, the captain found that he was more energized than he had been since they left San-Tarah. I may as well take advantage.

  He activated his intercom. “Klag to B’Oraq.”

  “B’Oraq.” The doctor’s voice sounded sleepy.

  “Report to the holodeck immediately, Doctor. We have a drill to finish.”

  Now sounding wide awake, B’Oraq said, “Right away, sir.”

  Trant climbed gingerly into his bunk, pain shooting through his lower back.

  The Gorkon’s centralmost deck was a maze of corridors, lined with sets of five bunks inset into the bulkheads, stacked from deck to ceiling. Generally, the leader slept in the lowest of the bunks, which were two meters in length, one meter in width, and half a meter in height. However, Goran’s girth made it necessary for him to take the bottommost bunk, as it was reinforced by the deck, leaving Wol to take the second one. Trant had been placed in the middle bunk, beneath G’joth and Kagak.

  At first, Trant had been grateful for the placement, as it put him one bunk removed from Maris, who had what was now Kagak’s bunk. Maris tended to mutter in his sleep. Unfortunately, G’joth snored, loudly. G’joth had denied this when confronted with it the first morning after Trant’s assignment to the fifteenth, and he had continued denying it for seven weeks (and counting).

  G’joth was already asleep and snoring by the time Trant got to his bunk, since Trant and Kagak had been given big-man duty. All attempts at rousing Goran had proven futile, so, as the newest recruits to the squad, Trant and Kagak had the unenviable task of hauling Goran’s massive form out of the mess hall and to the turbolift, and thence to the bunks. It took the better part of an hour, partly because Kagak kept almost passing out himself, partly because of the difficulty in getting the big man into the turbolift without any parts protruding. By the time they finally crammed Goran in, Trant was quite ready to simply cut off any parts that didn’t fit.

  The work was sped up considerably when they decided not to bother trying to lift him, but rather dragged him by his feet. Eventually, they were able to roll him into his bunk, with only one arm hanging out of the confines of Goran’s two meters.

  All Klingon soldiers were expected to keep their entire lives in the two-meter space of the bunks. In Trant’s case, he kept everything in a satchel that had a hidden compartment. Until recently, he never bothered with the compartment, as none of the specialized equipment was generally recognizable to the average soldier, and few would go through a warrior’s personal items in any case.

  Maris, however, proved to be both smarter and more dishonorable than expected. He had gone through Trant’s things, recognized the I.I. transmitter for what it was, and used it to betray the Gorkon. Since then, Trant made a point of using the compartment, and also of checking its contents every chance he got.

  After settling into his bunk, he reached through the various innocuous personal items and touched the bottom of the satchel. It recognized his DNA; a flap opened to allow him ingress.

  To his surprise, one of the items in the compartment was flashing.

  Taking a quick glance outside to make sure no one was around—he saw nothing, and heard only G’joth’s snoring—he removed the item.

  This is not good. The item in question was a receiver to be used only by I.I. agents in case of a dire emergency. Field agents were all equipped with subcutaneous transmitters that could send a tight-beam subspace transmission to receivers like this one. The transmissions were directed, but the agent was unable to control that direction, so—particularly in an area as far from the boundaries of the empire as the Kavrot Sector—there was no guarantee that the transmission would be received.

  Trant removed a small earpiece from the receiver and placed it in his right ear. Then he touched the fla
shing light, which stopped blinking.

  Naturally, the message was in code. The first words were a number, indicating which code it would be.

  The agent’s report that followed chilled Trant. Worse, after the report, a computerized voice indicated that this was the fortieth attempt by the agent to send the report, but the first to be received by an I.I. agent.

  This is not good at all. I need to see Klag immediately.

  It was, however, not that simple. As a mere bekk, proper procedure was for him to go to his squad leader, then to his QaS DevwI’, then the chief of security, then the first officer, then, at last, the captain.

  Trant could not afford to waste time with so many steps.

  Leader Morr’s bat’leth came careening toward Klag’s head from his left. In order to parry the blow, he would need to bring his own bat’leth up from his right side to block it—which meant all the power from the parry had to come from his right arm.

  That power had not always been there. Many times in the past six weeks, Morr had sparred with Klag, and every time the captain had to parry from his right, it was weak and ineffectual.

  Tonight, however, Klag was, for whatever reason, feeling good. Perhaps it was the call to battle, however vague it was at present. Perhaps it was the good feeling he had about Toq. His first second-in-command was Drex, the son of Martok, and whose own honor was a shadow of his father’s; Klag had him transferred as quickly as he was able. After that was Tereth, an excellent officer who was killed saving the life of a worthless toDSaH named Vralk at Narendra III; she deserved so much more. Finally, Kornan, neither as talented as Tereth nor as worthless as Drex, died saving the ship in the San-Tarah campaign.

  Through all that, Toq had served with distinction as second officer, and, despite his youth, Klag felt it was finally time for him to take on the mantle of first officer. So far, Klag was happy with what he saw.

  And when he successfully parried Morr’s strike with a resounding clash of metal against metal, he was happy with that, as well.