I.K.S. Gorkon Book Three

by Keith R. A. DeCandido

  Another city coming over the horizon caught Leskit’s eye, and he put thoughts of Kurak on the receiving end of his meyvaQ to the back of his mind. The commerce sphere was the centerpiece of this city, based on Jeyri’s intelligence.

  Once, Leskit had the misfortune to visit Ferenginar. In the capital city of that dreary, humid world, the architectural centerpiece was the Tower of Commerce. There was little about the Ferengi that Leskit admired, but they did make impressive structures. Climbing toward the cloud-ridden skies of Ferenginar, the latinum-encrusted Tower of Commerce was a monument to capitalism.

  In contrast, the Elabrej’s equivalent structure was just a big sphere in the middle of a bunch of smaller spheres. No poetry to their architecture, either, Leskit thought. If we do conquer these people, we’ll have to teach them about artistry.

  Lojar then spoke in a shaky voice. “Lieutenant, there’s a ship approaching—it has what those aliens claimed were military markings.”

  Smiling, Leskit said, “Come now, Bekk, the Elabrej wouldn’t lie to the people they gave their conveyances to.”

  The bekk just sneered.

  “Ready weapons.” Leskit prepared for the onslaught of wind and sound that accompanied Lojar opening one of the portholes wide enough for the muzzle of his disruptor. His ears popped at the change in pressure, even as the sound of the howling wind filled his ears.

  A voice came over the speakers. “Unidentified conveyance, you are violating hegemony airspace. Prepare to—”

  Leskit was wholly uninterested in preparing for anything at the Elabrej’s behest. “Fire!”

  Lojar’s disruptor fire struck the military ship dead-on; a moment later, so did a similar beam from Klag’s conveyance. Leskit was grateful that the captain had the foresight to have backup in case the disruptor cannon didn’t work.

  The weapons did their jobs well. Smoke belched from two new holes in the Elabrej ship, and it started to tumble—if a spherical vessel could truly tumble—toward the ground.

  “Well done, Leskit. Now let us complete our task—let the Elabrej know that they faced warriors this day.”

  “Glad to, sir.” Leskit grinned as he angled the ship toward the commerce sphere.

  Today, he thought, is a good day to fly….

  Vor Brannik was not looking forward to this meeting of the oligarchy. The second oligarch knew that Vor Jorg would react badly to the news he was about to impart.

  It was bad enough that they had to move to the second sphere, the secret, secure sphere located on Twelfth Island in the Second Sea. Only two dozen people in the entire hegemony besides the seven oligarchs even knew that this place existed. At Brannik’s insistence, with the third through seventh oligarchs’ support, and over the strenuous objections of the first oligarch, the seven of them along with their aides (who comprised seven of the twenty-four others who knew about the second sphere) retreated here after the government sphere was secured following the combined alien/separatist attack. The risk to the oligarchs’ lives was too great, and the attack came frighteningly close to succeeding.

  Brannik entered the meeting sphere. All save Vor Markus were present in their hammocks already, and the sixth oligarch walked in a moment later, apologizing for her tardiness.

  “It’s all right,” Brannik said as he clambered into his hammock, “I just got here myself.” He held the report in his right midleg. “I’m afraid the news isn’t good. The commerce sphere, five different supply spheres for the military, Defensor Headquarters, and the home spheres of each and every one of us have been attacked.”

  “They found Defensor Headquarters?” Markus said agitatedly.

  “No,” Brannik said, “they attacked the old one. Vor Ralla is still safe at the new location on the Ninth Continent.” Just as the oligarchs had retreated to a secret location, the first defensor had done likewise with the military headquarters.

  “The aliens?” Jorg prompted.

  “Not exactly, First Oligarch.” Brannik spoke reluctantly. “By conveyances belonging to the separatists—but piloted by the aliens, yes.”

  “You mean to tell me that the aliens really are working with the seps?” Seventh Oligarch Yer Gosnot asked incredulously.

  “Looks like it, yes,” Brannik said. “And that’s not the only bad news.”

  “How could there be worse news?” Fourth Oligarch Vor Mitol’s forelegs were vibrating with anxiety. “The seps have never attacked us like this before.”

  “Their conveyances don’t even have weaponry,” Fifth Oligarch Yer Blos said. “How did they attack?”

  Brannik let out a puff of air. “Their conveyances do have windows. The aliens fired with hand weapons.”

  “Where did these aliens even come from, anyhow? Are they the same ones who attacked the government sphere yesterday?”

  “No.” Brannik waved his forelegs in annoyance. “We think these are the survivors of the conveyance that crashed on the Tenth Moon and they met up with the seps there. We’ve always considered the possibility that the seps have a base there.”

  Mitol said, “That’s not possible. No one can survive on the Tenth Moon.”

  “As rarely as I might ever say this, Mitol’s right,” Jorg said. “You’ve considered the possibility, Brannik, but the rest of us know better.”

  “Either way, it wasn’t the same ones.” Brannik tried to get the conversation back in the right direction. “And the reason why I know this is the next piece of bad news. There has been a second attack on the government sphere. The aliens came in through the old sea tube.”

  “The what? What are you talking about?” Third Oligarch Vor Anset asked.

  “By Doane’s limbs.” Now all of Mitol’s legs were vibrating with anxiety. “How did they find out about the sea tube?”

  “What is he talking about?” Anset asked again.

  Vor Jorg angrily said, “The sea tube, Anset, is an old access port to the sea. We used it hundreds of ungrets ago when seafaring conveyances were common.”

  “Why in the name of either Demiurge would we construct seafaring conveyances?” Markus asked.

  “Why doesn’t matter,” Brannik said before the conversation derailed further. “The point is, the tube is there, the aliens found out about it, and at last report were storming the government sphere. Dozens are dead, including Protector Yer Terris and Mal Donal, and the prisoners are probably free.”

  Jorg let out a puff of air. “We have to send reinforcements.”

  “From where?” Blos asked. “Brannik, I assume that all our planet-based units are dealing with the sep attacks.”

  Brannik waved his hindlegs in acknowledgment. “And we lost several of them to the aliens in their attacks.”

  Jorg was undeterred. “Fine, then get a unit or two down from space.”

  Waving his right foreleg, Brannik said, “We can’t do that, First Oligarch.”

  “Why not? There are, what, a hundred conveyances up there? Surely we can spare one or two to defend the government sphere.”

  Brannik was looking forward to this part even less. “We sent one hundred and forty-seven conveyances against the aliens.” He hesitated. “There are only thirty-nine left, and most of those are badly damaged.”

  “What about the alien forces?” Anset asked.

  “Of the fourteen alien conveyances, only six have been destroyed.”

  “How is this possible?” Mitol asked. “How is it possible that we could lose one hundred and eight conveyances to a group of brainless alien monsters?”

  “Because they’re neither brainless nor monsters,” Blos said in a tight voice. “I said nothing before because I knew you trusted Mal Donal, Brannik, but the man is obviously an imbecile. These aliens are not fools, they are not mindless slaves following the orders of another species. In fact, I’m starting to think they might be cleverer than we are.”

  “That’s absurd,” Mitol said. “First Oligarch, I see no reason to listen to the blatherings of this Yer. The biggest mistake we ever made was lett
ing non-Vor into the oligarchy.”

  Gosnot, the other Yer in the room, waved his midlegs in annoyance. “Wait an engret, Mitol—”

  Brannik waved his forelegs. “Enough, both of you, we—”

  But Blos was not done with Mitol. “They are cleverer, you legless fool, and you know how I know this? Because it was not until after we accused them of working with the seps that they started actually working with the seps. How do you think they learned of the sea tube? Or gained access to sep conveyances?”

  Nobody said anything in response. Brannik felt his legs shrivel as he realized the truth of the fifth oligarch’s words.

  Jorg’s own legs did not move. “She’s right, isn’t she?” he asked Brannik.

  “I think she might be, First Oligarch. Accusing them of collaborating may have hurt the seps in the public eye, but it helped the aliens learn of the seps’ existence. We gave them a resource to use against us that they could not have known about otherwise.”

  Mitol let out a puff of air. “They’re not a ‘resource,’ they’re a bunch of malcontents with a predilection for meaningless gestures.”

  “Not anymore,” Anset said quietly. “I’d say today’s gestures had meaning. It will take sogrets to repair the damage the seps did today, and leave us vulnerable to further attacks by the aliens.”

  Another silence descended upon the meeting sphere.

  Finally, Brannik spoke to their leader. “First Oligarch, I think we have to start thinking in terms of surrender.”

  “No.”

  “First Oligarch—”

  “I said, no! We are the rulers of this hegemony, and I will not let some alien filth take it from us! Divert all resources—all resources—to stopping this threat! Enlist every able-bodied hegemon to aid in the war effort. This is our biggest priority—to eliminate this alien plague once and for all! Are we agreed?”

  Three of the oligarchs, Mitol, Makrus, and Gosnot, said, “Yes,” immediately. With Jorg, that meant four of the seven oligarchs approved of this course of action, which meant the entire oligarchy was bound by it.

  Waving his midlegs in satisfaction, Jorg said, “Make it happen, Brannik. I want those aliens gone!”

  “Yes, First Oligarch.”

  But Brannik knew that this was a fool’s errand, and that the hegemony that they had spent so long building and making great was about to collapse under the weight of a group of aliens that no one even believed in half an ungret ago.

  Toq stared at the naked, filthy, unarmed form of Captain Wirrk and tried very hard not to laugh.

  In truth, that was horribly unfair to the captain and what he had endured. His honor was tarnished with every moment that passed in this spherical cell, being denied an honorable death while alien petaQpu’ poked and prodded him.

  However, neither Toq’s amusement nor Wirrk’s dishonor was relevant now. As strong as their forces were, as well as they had done to get from the access tube to where Wirrk and the others were being held, the fact was that they were lucky, and that luck was going to run out soon. They had to get back to the tube, and thence back to Viralas’s home before they were overrun by the forces arrayed against them in this complex.

  Toq suspected, however, that Wirrk would not see it that way. Still, he had to try. “Captain, we must escape, now. We cannot raze this structure with the forces we have here.”

  “You call yourself a Klingon?” Wirrk asked with a sneer. “Do you think so little of your fellow warriors that—”

  “I do not think little of any of you,” Toq said. “But there is a larger—”

  “Enough! I am your superior, boy, and I say we destroy this vile place! Honor must be restored, and it cannot be until this affront to the empire is ashes on the ground!”

  Toq closed his eyes for a moment. “Sir, you are not speaking rationally—”

  A woman, also naked, stepped forward. “Captain, he is correct. We cannot—”

  “Do not dare speak out of turn, B’Etloj!”

  “Do not dare speak to me that way, Captain—or need I remind you that it is only because of me that we are not still trapped here?”

  Toq stared at the woman, recognizing the name from the briefing. “You are the I.I. agent who contacted Trant.”

  B’Etloj turned to Toq. “Assuming Trant is the agent who informed you of our location, yes.” Looking back at Wirrk, she said, “This is an I.I. operation, Captain, and you have no authority—”

  “I have every authority, you spineless bloodworm! My ship has been destroyed, my surviving crew humiliated! I will have my vengeance.”

  “We will have our vengeance,” Toq said. “I promise you that, sir. But we must go, now.”

  “I will go nowhere with you, boy.”

  “Commander.”

  Toq turned at the sound of Wol’s voice. The naked, shorn warrior was standing near one of the doors, along with G’joth and Kagak, both members of her squad, who were hunched over the door’s controls. “Yes, Leader?”

  “There are Elabrej coming. We’re deactivating the door, but that will only hold them back for a few minutes. We must go.”

  Wirrk snarled. “No. We stay and fight them!”

  B’Etloj started, “I am ordering you to accompany the commander to—”

  “Never! You I.I. petaQpu’ may be cowards, but—”

  “They’re coming!” Wol cried. “Form a skirmish line, quickly!”

  Even as the troops moved to defend the room, Toq looked at B’Etloj. The woman’s eyes were unreadable. Typical I.I., Toq thought, having far more experience with that agency than he was entirely comfortable with.

  Normally, the only way out of this would be a challenge. Wirrk was behaving irrationally, and Toq had every right to fight Wirrk for leadership of this mission. But there was simply no time.

  Besides, he thought, he does deserve the chance to regain his honor.

  He then looked at B’Etloj and said a word. It was a word he learned from his adoptive father, a man named Lorgh. If Lorgh knew Toq was aware of the word’s existence, much less its significance, Lorgh would probably do things to Toq that would make slow torture seem like a pleasure. But he needed a quick solution to the problem facing him, and this would do it.

  For her part, B’Etloj knew the word’s significance also, and, in a credit to her I.I. training, responded immediately. “I cede command to you, Commander.”

  Pretty much everyone else in the room looked at Toq in shock—even Wirrk. “Captain, you will remain here along with whoever wishes to stay and fight.” He cast his gaze around the room. “Those of you with more than one weapon, give one to those who are unarmed. Anyone who wishes to join Captain Wirrk in regaining the honor of the Kravokh may do so. The rest of you will come with me to the access tube, where we will rendezvous with the separatists and plan our next attack.”

  The sound of weapons fire on the door drew Toq’s attention.

  “They’ll be through in less than a minute, sir,” Wol said.

  Wirrk gave Toq a look. “You’re Klag’s first officer, boy?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Tell him to enjoy the bloodwine—he’ll know what I mean.”

  The weapons exchange went quickly—save for B’Etloj, all those from the Kravokh stayed behind, as did five of the Gorkon troops, leaving the remaining Gorkon crew to go with Toq.

  G’joth walked up to Wirrk and handed him a qutluch. “Captain, this belonged to Bekk Davok—he was my best friend, and he died in battle at San-Tarah. It is a fine blade—I can think of no better cause for it to be used in.”

  Grinning, Wirrk took the offered blade. “Thank you, Bekk—I will do honor to your friend.”

  “Let us go!” Toq yelled. “Ensign Kallo, take point with the fifteenth.”

  Wol nodded her appreciation at Toq for that honor. Toq nodded right back. Based not only on what she said, but the reports Toq heard over the speakers in the complex since their invasion started, the swath Wol cut through the Elabrej probably had as much to
do with their safely freeing the prisoners as Toq’s own surprise entrance.

  As his troops moved out, Toq gave Wirrk a final look, his own group forming their own skirmish line. “Qapla’, Captain.”

  “It is a good day to die, Commander. Qapla’.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Lokor entered his cabin to find that K’Nir was already there, and had already removed all her clothing.

  He struck her hard in the jaw with the back of his hand. A thrill passed through his body as she crumpled to the floor, blood dripping from her mouth.

  “I told you, I want to be the one to undress you!”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Lokor raised his hand.

  “I’m sorry, master,” she amended quickly.

  “Better.” He lowered his hand and then started to remove his own uniform. “You did well.”

  “Thank you, master.”

  “I chose Tarmeth to be the informant. He was already weak.”

  “An excellent choice, master. May I get up now?”

  “No.” Lokor took off the rest of his uniform, and stood naked over K’Nir. Then he kicked her in the ribs.

  Her voice more strained, K’Nir said, “I’m sorry for presuming, master.”

  “You should be.” He kicked her again, the mild pain of his foot’s impact with her stomach giving him another thrill. Seeing the bruising that was already starting to form on her enticing flesh almost gave him goose bumps. “Each of the conspirators will be dead by the end of the primary shift tomorrow, and before they die, they will know that Tarmeth betrayed them.”

  Now K’Nir sounded pathetic. “No one will know that I betrayed them?”

  “Unless I decide to tell them.” He crouched down next to her. “Perhaps I will tell one of them. Kylag, perhaps—or Zaloq.”

  K’Nir whimpered. She drew her arms close to her chest, covering her breasts.

  “Yes, I think I will do that. I will describe your treachery—and then I will let that one go to find you. What do you think that Zaloq—or Yaklan, or Gaj—will do to you when they find out that you led them on, that you lied to them, that you told them that you were on their side, that you are truthfully loyal to Captain Klag, so much so that you lied to your fellow warriors and betrayed their trust by telling Lieutenant Lokor of their conspiracy? What will they do if I tell them that?”