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

by Keith R. A. DeCandido

  “Why not just hunt them?”

  Te-Run made a noise. “The san-goral are not good prey. They are more bone than meat, and the meat is foul-tasting. Besides, why waste time on unworthy prey when you go to hunt the san-reak?”

  B’Oraq found she couldn’t argue with the logic. However…“Did you warn Captain Klag or Commander Kurak about the san-goral?”

  “No.”

  Frowning, B’Oraq asked, “Why not?”

  “Your people are fighters. If they cannot recognize an opponent when they see it, they do not deserve the fight.”

  I guess I cannot argue with that logic, either, she thought.

  “I find it odd, B’Oraq, that your sole purpose is to heal. Do not all your people know those arts?”

  B’Oraq restrained herself from going into her long-practiced tirade on the subject of the appalling state of Klingon medicine. Her fight to change that had been an uphill battle from the moment she decided to study at Starfleet Medical Academy in the Federation, but it was not one that Te-Run was likely to appreciate.

  Choosing her words carefully, she instead said, “Our people have a variety of views on the subject of healing. Some feel that treatment of injury is a sign of weakness. In addition, our technology has improved what we can do to heal. Use of it is—”

  “Technology?” Te-Run interrupted. “Is that what allows you to fly among the stars?”

  “Yes, and—”

  The doctor’s next words were swallowed by the earsplitting sound of an explosion. One of the two wind boats had engaged its opponent with its tal-lyn. B’Oraq peered out over the dark blue sea and saw that the Gorkon’ s wind boat had fired a shot. The tal-lyn fired a metal ball through a tube via exploding gases. B’Oraq had always thought that such weapons lacked appeal. They simply destroyed anything in their path, requiring neither skill nor precision. Energy weapons at least were quick and surgical, and bladed weapons actually required that the wielder know how to use them.

  The Gorkon wind boat’s shot also went very wide of its target. B’Oraq shook her head. Rodek and Morketh—the two primary gunners—were supposed to be in charge of firing the boat’s two tal-lyn s. B’Oraq would have thought that using such a weapon would be as easy for those two as firing a quantum torpedo. The awkwardness of it, however, was no doubt working against them.

  “Your empire,” Te-Run said suddenly. “How large is it?”

  “It encompasses many planets across dozens of star systems. I’m not sure how to put it on a scale you’d understand.”

  “And if you win this contest, then we will become part of it.”

  “Yes.” B’Oraq didn’t add that the chance of the San-Tarah winning this contest was the only chance they had of not becoming part of it.

  “I would like to learn more about your empire, if you don’t mind my asking you questions.”

  “Not at all,” B’Oraq said. She could understand why Te-Run would come to B’Oraq. Unlike most of her crewmates, B’Oraq was accustomed to dealing with different peoples as equals—it came with the medical degree.

  “Good. I have many questions, and I will need to know the answers before the contest is over and you depart.”

  B’Oraq couldn’t help but smile at that. “Oh?”

  “Your people are soft,” Te-Run said matter-of-factly. “You depend far too much on this—technology. I admit that some of you are fine fighters—and the one who captured the chera-mak is a hunter the likes of which I haven’t seen in many seasons—but you will lose.”

  Tugging on her braid, B’Oraq said, “You’re that sure?”

  “I’m old, B’Oraq. Very soon, it will be time for me to run with the dead. You gain understanding the more seasons you see, and my understanding tells me now that you will lose. What is that?” The last question was asked while pointing at the pin at the end of B’Oraq’s braid, resting on her right shoulder.

  Peering down briefly at the pin, B’Oraq said, “That is the symbol of my House—I guess you could say it’s the equivalent of my pack.”

  “So you function in packs as well? Interesting.”

  “Well, no, not really.” B’Oraq blew out a breath, wondering if she was up for explaining the entire structure of Klingon society.

  Her attempt to do so was cut off by the sound of another explosion. A large green creature had emerged from the water—surprisingly silently, since the scaled animal was larger than the wind boat—and the Gorkon wind boat fired both its tal-lyn s at it.

  “That’s a san-goral?” B’Oraq asked.

  “Yes.”

  Even as the Gorkon continued its assault, the San-Tarah wind boat maneuvered around to the Gorkon wind boat’s flank. No, no, you fools, B’Oraq thought. The San-Tarah were using the distraction of the sangoral—which probably caught Kurak and her crew by surprise—to get in behind them.

  As it happened, Kurak knew this, too. Even from here, B’Oraq could hear the engineer screaming. She was too distant to make out words, but the doctor knew that Kurak was not happy. Then again, when is she ever happy?

  The San-Tarah’s tal-lyn fired a fatal blow into the keel of the Gorkon’ s wind boat. The latter was now on fire and starting to sink.

  “QI’yaH, ” B’Oraq cursed, and stood up.

  The san-goral retreated back into the sea. Relative to where B’Oraq stood, the creature was behind the wind boat, so the doctor couldn’t tell if it was wounded or not.

  “It would seem that this contest is ours.” Te-Run sounded more than a little smug at that.

  Four Klingons abandoned ship, jumping into the water and swimming to shore. That still left six on board the boat, which continued to sink.

  B’Oraq activated her communicator. “B’Oraq to Klag.”

  “Klag. I see it too, Doctor.”

  “Request permission to have the Gorkon beam everyone off the wind boat and to me here on the shore.”

  “That violates the rules of the contest,” said another voice in the background. “Unless you are conceding, Captain Klag.”

  The doctor could hear the anger tinging Klag’s words as he said, “Yes, we concede this contest, Me-Larr. Proceed, Doctor.”

  “Thank you, Captain. B’Oraq to Gorkon.”

  “Toq.”

  “Lieutenant, I need the transporter room to beam any Klingons on the wind boat about half a qelIqam in front of me to my position.”

  “Stand by, Doctor.” A moment passed. “We have determined a way to use the transporters for site-to-site beaming.” Another moment. “We can do it, but we are having difficulty locking on to specific life-forms.”

  “There are only six on board, Lieutenant. Do a wide-beam if you have to, but we need to get all six of them off of there, living or dead.”

  “If they are dead,” Te-Run said, “what does it matter if you retrieve the bodies?”

  “If possible, we commend the spirits of the dead who fall in battle to Sto-Vo-Kor. That requires the body. Once that is done, the body is but an empty shell that may be disposed of. And if they live, I must heal them.”

  “One does not survive a sea battle if one loses.” Te-Run spoke with the assurance of an older person speaking to a child who did not know better.

  B’Oraq found she was going to enjoy proving her wrong.

  A few seconds later, the red glow of a transporter beam deposited Kurak, Leskit, Kornan, Morketh, Rodek, and a soldier B’Oraq didn’t recognize in front of her. Morketh and the soldier were quite obviously dead—the former’s head had been half caved in, and the latter’s entire chest cavity was destroyed—but the others still lived. Rodek was unconscious, the others simply bleeding, so she attended to the gunner first.

  Kurak was in the middle of shouting as the transporter effect died down. “—ilthy petaQ! How could you have been so unutterably stupid?”

  “The boat would not maneuver in the way that we had been led—” Kornan started.

  “Which is why I told you not to make that maneuver! The captain put me in charge for
a reason. And then, when that—that thing appeared—”

  Kornan interrupted by limping over to B’Oraq. “Why did you transport us?”

  “Captain’s orders,” the doctor said quickly, not wanting to get into a protracted discussion. Rodek had a subdural hematoma and several chest wounds. One chamber of his heart was damaged. “I need to get him to the medical bay.” She bandaged both wounds—they’d keep for a few minutes while she checked the others.

  “I knew this was a mistake,” Kurak said as B’Oraq did a quick examination. The doctor hated working without a hand scanner, but that technology was lost to her here. “I should never have allowed myself to let deficients such as yourselves ruin this for me.”

  Leskit snorted. “I wasn’t aware that this was about your pride.”

  “The one joy I still had in my life was sailing, Leskit. Now you’ve taken that away from me. I’ll never be able to look at a boat again without thinking of how incredibly stupid you all are!”

  “You’ll be fine,” B’Oraq said to the engineer. “I’ll knit your broken arm back on the ship.” As she examined Leskit, she heard footfalls.

  “Report, Commander,” Klag’s powerful voice said. B’Oraq looked up to see that he, along with Me-Larr, had joined them.

  Both Kurak and Kornan spoke at once.

  “Report, Commander Kurak, ” Klag said, cutting them both off.

  “Your precious warriors were unable to follow the simplest instruction, Captain, and even when they didn’t completely embarrass themselves, they were barely competent. All of which would have been forgivable and might have allowed us to still at least put up a fight, until that green thing came out of the ocean and then both Morketh and Rodek turned to fire on it, even though I only ordered Rodek to do so. Morketh deliberately disobeyed me and fired as well, leaving our flank exposed. I want him disciplined.”

  “A bit late for that,” B’Oraq said as she put a pressure bandage on Leskit’s leg wound. “Morketh is dead. So is that soldier. I haven’t yet performed the ritual.”

  “Then I shall,” Klag said.

  Kurak snorted. “I wouldn’t bother with Morketh. He does not deserve—”

  “He died in service of the Empire!” Klag snapped. “He died doing his duty, and for that reason alone, he died with honor. That is all that matters, Commander. You would do well to remember that.”

  The engineer said nothing in reply.

  Klag walked over to Morketh, pried his one remaining eye open, then looked up to the heavens and screamed, warning the warriors in the Black Fleet that another was crossing the River of Blood to join them in Sto-Vo-Kor. He then did the same for the soldier.

  “Captain, I need to take the wounded back to the Gorkon, ” B’Oraq said after determining that Kornan’s wounds were superficial.

  “Very well,” Klag said.

  Te-Run spoke up, then. “That was the death ritual of which you spoke?”

  “Yes.”

  “Interesting. Why did you not perform it for this one?” She pointed at Rodek.

  B’Oraq smiled at that. “He is not dead.”

  “That is ridiculous. He bleeds from multiple injuries. He cannot possibly live.”

  “You are incorrect. He will live, and fight another day. That is the advantage that our technology gives us.” She activated her communicator. “Gorkon, this is B’Oraq. Have Nurse Gaj meet me in the transporter room, then beam up five from this position.”

  “Acknowledged. Stand by,” Toq said.

  “Te-Run, I’ll need you to step back. Our transporters aren’t able to work as precisely on this world, and I need only these wounded to be near me.”

  “May I be permitted to go with you? I would like to see this Gorkon of which you have spoken—and I would especially like to see how you can save the life of one who is dead.”

  That was not B’Oraq’s decision to make. She turned to Klag, who was talking with Me-Larr. “Captain, do you—or Me-Larr—have any objection to Te-Run accompanying me back to the Gorkon?”

  Klag smiled. “Not at all. I think it would be good for your people to see what becoming part of the Empire will mean.”

  “Ready to transport, Doctor,” said Toq.

  “Make that six from this position, Lieutenant. Energize when ready.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  Krevor stood at attention as QaS DevwI’ Vok addressed the twenty troops that were gathered in the clearing. They stood in one of the many forests that this planet was littered with. The first sun was just starting to be visible over the tree line, and the second sun would rise within the hour. Krevor squinted as the light flickered through the brown leaves.

  The contest in which the fifteenth and three other squads were to engage was a common enough combat exercise. Many species had variations on it—humans called it “capture the flag,” Tellarites referred to it as “defend the trough,” and Andorians simply used an unpronounceable word with too many lisping sounds. One had to find a symbol of the enemy’s power and capture it, all the while defending one’s own symbol.

  Between Vok and the line of troops was a circle of stones. Each stone had a character painted on it, and the circle’s diameter was wide enough so that two Klingons could stand in it. In the center of the circle was another stone. Unlike the other bits of lettering, a translation had been provided for the character painted on this one: prize.

  “Second Squad will scout ahead in search of the enemy prize,” Vok said. “Fourth and Seventh Squads will defend the inner reaches, and also search. Fifteenth Squad will remain here and defend the prize.”

  Krevor was still not sure what she and her squad were doing here. The first had been assigned to remain at the “prime village,” as the natives called it, to make sure that the Children of San-Tarah stayed true to their words, the third and fifth had both taken losses during the initial strike, and the sixth was wiped out in the same attack.

  “QaS DevwI’ Vok, request permission to speak.” That was Wol, standing to Krevor’s left at the end of the line of troops. If their Leader had shown any sign of her wound at the hands of the enemy, she no longer showed it. It was either a testament to the doctor’s talents or to Wol’s own fortitude. Krevor chose to believe the latter. Her own broken leg had been but a minor inconvenience, easily repaired, the lingering pain hardly worth acknowledging.

  Vok grinned a very wide grin. “Granted, Leader.”

  “The fifteenth is honored by your assigning us to this glorious task, sir. But I have to wonder why the eighth was not given the honor. Surely, they have earned it.”

  Walking over to stand in front of Wol, Vok rested his right arm on his corpulent belly. “Honor is indeed earned, Leader, but by deeds and actions, not by numbers or accidents of birth.”

  Krevor started.

  “You held the road,” Vok added.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Vok then turned to the rest of the gathered troops. “The aliens do not know where our prize is, and we do not know where theirs is. Let us show them that it is not just our bridge officers who are skilled in the hunt.”

  Several troops chuckled at that, including Krevor.

  The first sun shone brightly as it moved past the top of the tree line. Krevor put up her arm to block out the worst of the rays. Next to her on the right, G’joth did likewise, cursing under his breath.

  “Worried the sun will melt you, G’joth?” Krevor asked with a grin.

  “No, just burn out my eye sockets,” he muttered.

  Vok turned and faced the forest. “It begins! To battle! Qapla’!”

  All twenty troops cried “Qapla’!” in reply.

  Then fifteen of them followed Vok into the forest, leaving Wol, Davok, G’joth, Goran, and Krevor to defend the prize.

  Wol had brought a bat’leth this time, and she held it firmly in her right hand, using it to point. “Goran,” she said, directing her weapon at the circle of stones, “I want you to stand right there and not move. You’re our last line of defense. Even if
those toDSaH get past everyone else, you’re not to let any of them into the circle, is that understood?”

  “Yes, Leader.”

  “That includes helping anyone. If I’m standing right in front of you being slaughtered by ten of those beasts, you’re not to move from your post. You have no other duty but to keep the prize from enemy hands.”

  Goran nodded with almost childlike enthusiasm. “You can rely on me, Leader Wol.”

  Davok muttered, “Good to know we can count on that, at least.”

  “Something bothers you, Bekk?” Wol asked frostily.

  “No, Leader, not a thing is bothering me. What could possibly be bothering me?” Davok started to pace, his small eyes squinting even more than usual, making him look to Krevor like a blind grishnar cat. “After nine weeks of tedium, we’re now called upon to keep a bunch of primitives from stealing a rock. Surely, this is a glorious mission worthy of the finest warriors in the Empire.”

  “We’re fighting to conquer this world,” Krevor said. “It will be a great victory.”

  “By sailing in wind boats and stealing rocks?”

  Krevor shook her head. “No, fool, by defeating our enemies!”

  G’joth put a hand on Krevor’s shoulder. “You’re wasting perfectly good breath, Krevor. Arguing with Davok is like teaching a targ to sing opera—you waste your time and annoy the targ.”

  Snorting, Davok said, “I’m surprised targ singing isn’t one of these mindless competitions.”

  “That’s enough!” Wol said before Krevor could reply. “Davok, cover the north flank. G’joth, the south. Krevor, go west. I’ll take east.”

  “Yes, Leader,” Krevor and G’joth said in unison. Davok simply took up a position in a northerly direction.

  “This is still a waste,” Davok muttered. “With nothing to lose, no sacrifice, there is nothing to gain.”

  “Ensign Morketh would disagree with you on that subject,” Krevor said. “And many others almost died in the second contest. For that matter, Lieutenant Toq could have been killed by the beast he slew.”