I.K.S. Gorkon Book One: A Good Day to Die

by Keith R. A. DeCandido

  Kornan also rose and glared right at Kurak with deep black eyes. “Our orders, Commander, are to approach the planet. The purpose of this meeting is to determine how that is to be done. Am I understood?”

  I understand just fine, Kurak thought. As long as the Defense Force brainwashes you into doing every stupid thing some idiot with a captain’s medal says, you will continue to do those stupid things.

  Aloud, she simply said, “Very well.” She looked up at the display, then saw something. Under most circumstances, she might not even bring it up, but doing so would make her job much easier. Looking at Toq, she said, “Give me your padd, Lieutenant.”

  Toq handed it to her. She entered some commands, and a new course was overlaid in blue. It matched the yellow course up to a point; after that it had three fewer course changes, but a longer travel time. “If time is not of the essence, I suggest we take this route instead.”

  Leskit laughed. “Indeed. What is the rush, after all?”

  Toq laughed as well. Rodek did not, though he did smile, nor did Kornan.

  “Very well.” Kornan had not sat back down. “I will take this to the captain. Stations.”

  With that, everyone got up to leave. Kornan, though, didn’t move, and as Kurak approached the door, he spoke. “A moment, Commander.”

  After the other three had left, she said, “Yes?”

  “I simply wish you to be aware, Commander, that your concerns will go noted from now on. I have been reading your reports, and those of Captain Klag and Commander Tereth. I know that you have had difficulty in getting your viewpoint heard on this ship. That will change, rest assured.”

  Kurak regarded Kornan. She had no idea if this was unvarnished truth or simply a way to impress her in the hopes of finishing that inspection he tried to start nine weeks ago.

  Ultimately, she didn’t care. Having a first officer who appreciated her intolerable situation could only make her life easier. “Thank you, Commander. You can rest assured that, should that be the case, I will be most grateful.”

  Then she left, thinking, If you truly are sincere, all the better. If you aren’t, then you won’t get what you seek.

  Klag looked up from the preliminary sensor scans of the planet to direct a questioning gaze at Lokor, standing on the other side of the captain’s desk. The head of security somehow managed to stand ramrod straight yet still look relaxed; his lengthy, intricately braided black hair framed his square-jawed face like a mane.

  In response to the gaze, Lokor looked down at his own padd. “I recommend we deploy twenty squads to start, with another forty on standby. That should be enough to secure the primary cities.” He tossed the padd onto Klag’s desk. “If you want to dignify these settlements with the word ‘city.’ ”

  “They would appear to be primitive, yes. What concerns me is the presence of these subspace eddies. We can guarantee they will interfere with scanning equipment. I am concerned that there may be similar interference with weapons.”

  Lokor frowned. “Why?”

  “Instinct. These eddies are there for a reason. They’re not natural, that much is certain, and I agree with Rodek’s initial assessment: They’re there for defense. If so, we have to be prepared for the possibility that our disruptors won’t work. They can already neutralize two of our most important technologies, and I will not risk losing this campaign because I did not anticipate that they could neutralize a third. Make sure all the troops are armed with at least two bladed weapons each, and instruct the QaS DevwI’ to make sure that all are proficient in the weapons they carry. If anyone isn’t, keep their entire squad on board.”

  “Yes, sir.” Lokor retrieved his padd and made notes onto the display. “Which QaS DevwI’ do you think should have the honor?”

  The captain thought about it for a moment. This was their first true ground campaign since their shakedown. Every other use of the troops had involved cleanup or securing a site after the action had been completed. Therefore the honor belonged to the second and third highest ranked on the ship. “Klaris, seconded by B’Yrak.”

  “I would recommend Vok lead the charge, Captain.”

  Klag blinked. Lokor had not hesitated, which meant that he had given the matter some thought before the meeting.

  Or, perhaps more to the point, he hadn’t needed to. The main reason to keep Vok’s troops on board the Gorkon was to keep the ship secure. On a vessel this large, there were many security concerns, and it was often the most elite troops who were called upon to enforce that security. That was why the captain’s bodyguard was always the Leader of First Squad.

  The fact that Lokor was recommending having Vok’s team lead the charge on the planet meant that his security concerns were minimal.

  Seeing no reason to dance around it, Klag said as much. “You feel that the ship’s security can be trusted to lesser warriors, then?”

  “Yes. Engineering is the only potential trouble spot, but that’s nothing new.” Lokor grinned viciously, showing especially sharp teeth. “Besides, they are all united in their hatred for Kurak, but also restrained by the fact that none of them actually wants her position. It keeps things—well, not stable, but at least predictable.”

  Klag chuckled at that. “Very well, then. Inform Vok that he is to lead our charge to the planet. Klaris will be second.”

  “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir, this is much better than the holodeck solution.”

  Frowning, Klag asked, “What holodeck solution?”

  Lokor shot his captain a glance. “I assumed Commander Kornan had discussed it with you. Lieutenant Toq and I created a holodeck program that would simulate conquering a world. It was intended to alleviate the—”

  When Lokor hesitated, Klag smiled. “Boredom?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Klag nodded. “Understandable. And it was a good idea. Did the commander approve it?”

  “He did.”

  Another nod. “He was wise to. And not to worry, Lieutenant—this mission is far from over, and the program, I assume, isn’t going anywhere. It may still prove useful.”

  “Yes, sir, I’m sure it will. If that is all?”

  Klag thought a moment. “When you are done speaking to Vok, report back to the bridge. I want you there when we achieve orbit, in case the more detailed sensor data necessitates adjusting our forces.”

  “As you wish, sir.”

  With that, Lokor left.

  Klag leaned back in his chair. He was impressed with Toq and Lokor’s ingenuity even as he was disappointed with Kornan’s continued mediocrity.

  What was most maddening was that Kornan hadn’t done anything wrong as such. He had shown no cowardice, put the ship in no significant danger, and done nothing to undermine Klag’s authority. He simply wasn’t as good as—

  Tereth.

  And, as satisfying as it might be, Klag could not remove a first officer without proper cause. General Talak would love any excuse to strip my captain’s medal from my arm, and that would give it to him, he thought angrily.

  “Bridge to captain.” It was Kornan’s voice.

  “Klag.”

  “We have achieved orbit, sir. Toq has begun his scans.”

  At that, the captain smiled. “Excellent.”

  Time enough to deal with Kornan later. Right now, we have a world to conquer.

  “I have never been so bored in my entire life,” Davok announced as he sat down at the mess-hall table.

  G’joth alternated between stuffing zilm’kach into his mouth and tapping on his padd as Davok took the seat next to him. The zilm’kach was too soft; everyone was falling all over themselves over the presence of gagh on the menu, but G’joth had never been able to stomach the stuff.

  “You need a hobby,” G’joth said as he tried to figure out which adjective to use to describe the bekk’ s bat’leth.

  “Like opera composition?” Krevor asked with a smile.

  “Novel writing, actually.”

  Goran frowned. “I thought you were writi
ng an opera.”

  “I was, but the music didn’t sound right.”

  Leader Wol arrived then, taking a seat between Krevor and G’joth. “And here I thought that you simply were tone-deaf.”

  “He is tone-deaf,” Krevor said. “You’ve heard him hum.”

  “I happen to have a magnificent singing voice,” G’joth said archly. “You’ll find out tomorrow night when I sing before the meal.”

  “It couldn’t be any worse than B’Elath,” Krevor said with a shudder.

  Wol frowned. “B’Elath?”

  “One of the engineers.” Krevor shuddered a second time. “The worst singing voice in all of creation. If you’re lucky, you’ll never be subjected to her rendition of ‘The Campaign at Kol’Vat.’ I’m told the Romulans use a recording of it for torturing prisoners.”

  Goran spoke up. “QaS DevwI’ Vok says that every time B’Elath sings that song before supper, we win a great victory the next day. Besides, I like the way she sings.”

  “We should get her to sing tomorrow night, then,” Davok said, poking at his gagh without actually eating any of it. “Maybe then I won’t be so bored.”

  “Tomorrow night’s my turn,” G’joth said.

  “And that’s the other benefit.”

  Wol swallowed her gagh. “A victory would be a good thing. I helped Lieutenant Toq break up a fight between two bekk s from the seventh earlier today.”

  Davok sneered. “Why did you break it up?”

  “They were fighting because one of them complimented the other.”

  G’joth couldn’t believe it. “You’re joking.”

  “I wish I was,” Wol said. “One of them said the other had a strong beard, and the other attacked him. It was ridiculous.”

  “You should have let them fight,” Davok said, finally picking up a couple of worms. “At least then we’d have something to talk about besides G’joth’s novel.” He swallowed the gagh.

  Ignoring the gibe, G’joth asked, “Can you call a bat’leth ‘sturdy’?”

  Wol and Krevor exchanged glances. Wol shrugged. “You could. Why would you want to?”

  “I need the right adjective.”

  Davok snarled. “You need a better hobby “

  Wol turned to Krevor and, through a mouthful of taknar gizzards, asked, “Did you cut your hair?”

  Krevor’s hands moved self-consciously to her straight black hair. G’joth hadn’t noticed before, but it had been growing past neck-length over the past few weeks, and now Krevor had hacked it back to what it was when she first joined the fifteenth. “I prefer to keep it this length,” she said. “It was shorn in battle against the al’Hmatti when I was protecting Ambassador Worf.”

  Snorting, Davok said, “Not much of a trophy.”

  “You’d rather I do what Lieutenant Leskit does?” Krevor asked. “Wear Cardassian neckbones on my person like some kind of museum exhibit?”

  “True warriors are not afraid to display their victories,” Davok said.

  Krevor shrugged as she swallowed her gagh. “You display yours your way, I’ll display mine my way.”

  The intercom then sounded with Lieutenant Lokor’s voice. “First through Twentieth Squads, report for combat. Twenty-first through Sixtieth Squads on standby.”

  “At last!” Davok practically leapt out of his chair.

  G’joth got up more in a more leisurely manner, taking a moment to swallow one last bite of zilm’kach. The novel wasn’t really coming along very well anyhow. Perhaps I should try verse….

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Me-Larr watched with glee as the two Children of San-Tarah tried to beat each other senseless.

  El-Yar claimed that Bo-Denn had stolen a small keepsake from her. Bo-Denn denied the accusation, and the item had not been found in his hut, or El-Yar’s, or anyone else’s. However, the item was small and easily disposed of in the river, and Bo-Denn’s disdain for El-Yar was no secret, and went back many seasons. Declaring the solution was but a formality for the Ruling Pack, since they hardly needed Te-Run’s expertise to know that such a dispute was resolved by unarmed combat. It didn’t even require a circle.

  The fight had commenced after the meal, when the day’s hunt had been consumed. El-Yar’s white fur almost glowed in the flickering light from the assorted fires that had been lit around the village, whereas Bo-Denn’s black-furred form seemed to have a glowing outline around it.

  Although Bo-Denn was both larger and more powerful than El-Yar, El-Yar was much faster, with sharper claws. More to the point, she knew how to use them. She had spent most of the fight on the defensive, but her attacks drew blood, where Bo-Denn had made many attempts to gain the upper hand, with little success.

  Screaming, Bo-Denn suddenly dove at El-Yar. Me-Larr watched with amusement. No art to it, he thought, but art matters little if one achieves results. Bo-Denn’s greater weight meant that he might very well crush El-Yar and be victorious.

  Sure enough, Bo-Denn landed on top of El-Yar, knocking her to the ground. He lay across her, his bulk pinning both her head and her right arm to the ground.

  “Now you die, liar!”

  You should have pinned both arms, Me-Larr thought even as El-Yar reached with her left arm and grabbed the back of Bo-Denn’s neck, then ripped out a chunk of fur and flesh with her claws.

  Bo-Denn screamed in pain, but did not move. Perhaps he hopes to suffocate her.

  Around them, members of the pack goaded on one or the other of the contestants. Me-Larr was not in the least bit surprised to see that most of those cheering El-Yar were the women, while Bo-Denn’s primary support came from the men.

  A three-note horn blow cut through the fighting, the cheering, and the screams.

  Those sounds all stopped almost at once. El-Yar ceased her struggles, and Bo-Denn even rolled off her. Suddenly, the Children of San-Tarah had a concern far beyond that of an accusation of petty theft.

  Three notes meant something that had not happened since Me-Larr was a cub. Then it had been three of the packs rebelling against the Ruling Pack and attempting to take over the guidance of the Children of San-Tarah. That effort had failed, owing mainly to the valiant Yi-Rak, who died quelling the uprising, as well as a much younger Te-Run. Since then, the only combat the San-Tarah had engaged in had been of their own choosing: on hunts, or in disputes like that of Bo-Denn and El-Yar.

  The messenger who had sounded the alarm ran into the village, horn in hand, looking for Me-Larr. The head of the Ruling Pack ran toward her to make finding him easier on her; the others of the Ruling Pack did likewise, and they converged near one of the fires.

  “We are invaded,” the messenger said.

  “By whom?” Te-Run asked.

  “I do not know. I have never seen their like before. They appeared as if from the air. They have no fur, save for a mane atop their heads, their faces are flat, and they are armed quite well. They are moving toward us.”

  Me-Larr did not hesitate. Some threat had come. Perhaps it was more from beyond the clouds, like those whose sky-battle blotted out the stars generations ago. Perhaps they came from beneath the ground, or from the other side of the world. Ultimately, it did not matter. None might violate San-Tarah land without a fight, and no force existed that could defeat them in battle.

  “To arms!” he cried. “A foe has come! Tonight we shall prove to them that the Children of San-Tarah are defeated by no one!”

  All those present howled in reply, then ran to their huts to retrieve their weapons.

  Wol materialized in the middle of a dirt road, the rest of her squad alongside her.

  The only illumination was provided by the shoulder-mounted lamps that each member of the fifteenth carried. Among the many deleterious effects of the subspace eddies in the space around this world were that the stars were blocked from view, so the sky provided no illumination at night.

  However, the shoulder lamps combined with some not-too-far-off firelight to give the Klingons—who had night vision far superior to
that of most bipedal sentients in the galaxy—enough of a view to quickly get the lay of the land. The road on which they stood had tall, brown-leafed trees and shrubs on either side. Good cover for an ambush, she thought. A village—the source of that firelight—could be seen about a quarter of a qelIqam in one direction, a mountain in the other. The former, from what Wol could see, was constructed from simple huts made out of local flora. These people would seem to be easy prey.

  However, the fifteenth did not have the honor of taking the village—which was apparently the closest to a first city that this world had. Their job was to secure the primary road leading into that city. Although calling it a road was, perhaps, giving this dirt path too much credit….

  Wol held her disruptor pistol in one hand, a mek’leth in the other. QaS DevwI’ Vok had warned them that energy weapons might not work on the surface of this world, so they needed to be prepared to fight with older, bladed weapons. No one really found that much of a hardship. Goran had decided not to take his hundred-year-old disruptor with him for fear of harm coming to the old heirloom. The bekk claimed that it had been used in the service of Dahar Master Kor on Organia in the campaign against the Federation’s Kirk, which Wol didn’t entirely believe.

  Vok had in fact ordered that everyone take two secondary weapons, and they had to be proficient in both of them. In practical terms, that meant that most had to bring something besides their d’k tahg. The exception, once again, was Goran, who had a d’k tahg, naturally, but never used it, as his hand was larger than the blade’s grip, making it impractical for the giant’s use. He instead carried a tik’leth on a holster strapped to his back, as well as a bat’leth.

  For her part, Wol had always preferred the flexibility of a mek’leth. Unlike the two-handed bat’leth, it could be wielded with one hand and was faster on the parry and strike.