A Burning House

by Keith R. A. DeCandido

The woman was standing now. Her hair flew wildly about her head, and for a moment B’Oraq thought that perhaps she was a madwoman who wandered in off the streets. Normally, she would expect security to be too tight to allow that, but somehow she suspected that nobody cared enough to secure this conference all that well. “But there is a third possibility: that the arm has no spirit whatsoever, in which case, your captain carries a dead weight on his body.”

  “Again, that is a question best left to a cleric. My concern is the physical well-being of my patient—”

  Kowag got to his feet. “Physical well-being begins with the spirit, does it not? Did you consider these implications when you performed your barbarity on an honored captain of the Defense Force?”

  “No, I did not—Klag had made those considerations for himself.” Once again, she restrained herself from discussing Klag’s tempestuous relationship with his father, not to mention his rather absurd insistence that it be the arm of a warrior attached to his right shoulder. “Once again, I suggest you pose such questions to him. My concern is with the physical procedure—”

  “And I wonder, Doctor, what you would have done had your procedure failed.”

  “But it did not fail,” B’Oraq said tightly.

  “Fortunately for you, yes. You had to suppress his immune system in order to allow his body to accept this foreign limb, which made him susceptible to any number of diseases and ailments that a Klingon would normally fight off with ease. Even with that, he could still have rejected the arm. In fact, Doctor, what you did was increase the risk that he would die—not in battle but on your operating table. A Klingon warrior fights so he may die honorably, in battle against his foe. How, I ask you, is it serving your patient to increase the risk that he die in his bed, writhing in agony from a limb that has betrayed him, or an immune system that has done the same?”

  “That has not happened—”

  “Yet! There is still that risk, is there not?”

  B’Oraq paused a moment to gather herself. She had expected hostility, of course, but not of this nature. Kowag was showing a knowledge of medicine that B’Oraq hadn’t credited the incompetent old toDSaH with having.

  Tugging on her braid, she said, “Klag thought it more important to be a whole warrior. To be the bat’leth champion he once was. Without his right arm, he was less than he was. He was willing to accept the risk. I am his physician, but he is also my captain. He ordered me to do the procedure.”

  “Which he would not have known about had you not revealed it to him!” Kowag bared his teeth at her. “You manipulated him into accepting your vile experiments as medicine, just as you manipulated the High Council into convening this farce. You are a sorceress, and a fraud, and you are not fit to belong among the ranks of Klingon physicians.”

  With that, Kowag crossed his wrists in front of his face, clenched his fists, and turned his back on B’Oraq.

  The two men who had been sitting on either side of Kowag stood up and did likewise.

  In turn, virtually everyone in the room also stood up and turned their backs on her, some crossing their wrists, others not bothering.

  To her relief, Valatra and Kandless were not among those who turned their back on her. To her surprise, the old woman who questioned her spirituality also hadn’t stood up but faced her as if waiting for her to continue her talk.

  She’s going to have a long wait. B’Oraq stepped off the stage and walked slowly toward the exit at the rear. Besides Kandless, Valatra, and the old woman, there was a fourth person who hadn’t turned his back on her, but as she walked closer to him, she saw that he had fallen asleep.

  To the two doctors and the old woman, she said, “Thank you for attending.”

  Then she walked out of her own talk.

  As she went downstairs to the large hall on the ground floor, B’Oraq found that she had no disappointment in her heart. To be disappointed, one had to have expectations, and she had none for this conference. The KPE was not going to change its ways because the High Council forced them to talk to each other. This was just one very small step on one very long road. B’Oraq had already accomplished more than she’d ever hoped to. She’d take her victories where she could.

  Today simply would not be one of them.

  She walked onto the promenade outside the Lukara Edifice’s front doors, feeling the cool breeze blowing through her auburn hair. Looking up, she saw the statue of Lukara. Unlike most public statuary, Lukara was not depicted holding a weapon. Instead, she had her hands out as if in exhortation. When B’Oraq had her Age of Ascension ceremony here, she heard one of her cousins disdainfully saying that Lukara was so portrayed because she was “just a woman.” When B’Oraq angrily pointed out that women could do anything men could do—something her own parents had instilled in her from birth—her cousin said, “I agree with you, B’Oraq, but my point is that Lukara was just a woman. We do not remember her for her great deeds but because she was Kahless’s woman. What else did she do?”

  Had her cousin bothered to read the plaque on the statue, he would have had an answer. As it happened, B’Oraq hadn’t yet read the plaque, so she had no answer either. It wasn’t until years later that she read that Lukara had been the one to spread Kahless’s word after he was gone, and she had founded the Order of the Bat’leth as a means of ensuring that Kahless’s words would still be heard. But the average Klingon knew her only as Kahless’s woman and nothing else.

  B’Oraq had never given much thought to her own legacy—she was far more concerned with the here and now to worry herself about the future—but times like this, she wondered if she would even have a legacy. Would anyone think to build a statue for her, or would her deeds be stricken from history by the Kowags of the empire?

  Or would she be remembered as Lukara was? After all, Kahless might well have been forgotten had Lukara not lived on to spread his teachings, but by doing so, she ensured that she herself was all but forgotten. Decades from now, B’Oraq could imagine her medical techniques being standard in the empire but her own work as forgotten as Lukara’s.

  Look at me, she thought, shaking her head. How arrogant am I, to put myself on the same level as Kahless’s mate?

  She lifted her wrist, about to contact the Gorkon for a site-to-site transport to Klag’s estate, when she heard a whining sound.

  Looking up, she saw an aircar plummeting toward the ground at a great rate. There was no visible damage to the aircar; it was simply diving straight toward one of the large office buildings down the street from the Edifice. The whining quickly became a scream as the aircar streaked right at the structure.

  Then it crashed in a deafening conflagration that sent B’Oraq sprawling to the stone ground at the base of the Lukara statue.

  Eleven

  The remains of Tokath’s camp

  Carraya IV

  Even as Kuut pointed the disruptor right at his face, Toq heard the voice of Captain Quvmoh over every-one’s wrist communicators, even his own.

  “Quvmoh to Kuut. Prepare the survivors for transport.”

  “Captain—”

  However, Quvmoh wasn’t finished. “Imperial Intelligence has taken over this mission, Commander. They have a ship in orbit, and they have ordered that Commander Toq and the two survivors be beamed directly to them.”

  Toq could almost feel the anger in Quvmoh’s voice and could not bring himself to cast blame on the captain. He recalled the anger with which Klag had greeted Trant’s attempt to take over the Gorkon on the Elabrej mission. Most Defense Force captains preferred it when I.I. remained out of sight, in the shadows where they could gather their intelligence, not out in the open where they interfered with duty.

  “Captain,” Kuut said, “you do not know what is happening here.”

  “But apparently, I.I. does. Is there any reason why you cannot carry out their orders?”

  Toq’s heart raced faster. Kuut could easily tell Quvmoh that he had to kill Toq, and then shoot him after the communiqué ended in order to f
ulfill that lie. Deciding to help aiding in his decision not to do that, Toq said, “I.I. no doubt has sensors trained on this location. They know that I am still alive, as are Tokath and Ba’el.”

  “You know the survivors?” Quvmoh said.

  “Yes, sir, I do. There is more going on here than Commander Kuut knows or understands. He believes that I should be put to death. However, if he carries out his intention to do so, I believe that I.I. would be displeased.”

  “I tend to agree with my first officer,” Quvmoh said, and Kuut’s face lit up, “but you are also correct, Commander. Kuut, lower your weapon.”

  Toq could see the war playing out on Kuut’s face. He obviously very much wanted to kill Toq. What he saw on this world was an abomination to him, and he needed to strike out at someone.

  There had been many elements of Klingon life that Toq had had trouble adjusting to, but the one that gave him the most difficulty was the instinctive hatred that Klingons had for Romulans—and, as he’d seen during the Dominion War, that Romulans had for Klingons. Some of the finest people Toq had known in his youth were Romulans, and he had never been able to subscribe to that hatred.

  Toq could see into Kuut’s heart, and this was a man who might well disobey his superior’s orders if it meant doing what he felt was right, and he obviously felt that killing Toq was the right thing to do.

  But then he lowered his disruptor. “As you command, sir.”

  Another voice spoke, one quite familiar to Toq. “You made the right choice, Commander.”

  “Who is this?” Kuut asked belligerently.

  “Mind your tone, Kuut. I am Lorgh of Imperial Intelligence. You will beam back to the Gorlak. Captain Quvmoh has been instructed to remove all record of this rescue mission from the Gorlak’s logs. If you or any of your warriors speak of this planet to anyone, it will be considered treason.”

  Now there was no conflict on Kuut’s face or on those of the soldiers: Toq saw fear. It was one thing to have I.I. spoken of, but when an agent threatened you with treason, you listened. I.I. did not make idle threats, and anyone foolish enough to think otherwise rarely lived to regret that decision.

  Treason carried even more weight than simply being put to death, as such a sentence condemned not only the accused but also the accused’s family for ten generations.

  Then Toq felt the glow of the transporter, and moments later he found himself in a medical bay that was as sophisticated as the one on the Gorkon. Toq had been led to believe that only the Chancellor-class vessels were so equipped.

  Two Klingons placed first Ba’el, then Tokath onto biobeds. Even as the scanning equipment provided readouts on a large screen, each Klingon examined each patient.

  While the doctors—at least, Toq assumed them to be physicians—did their work, the door rumbled open to reveal the craggy features of Lorgh. “So,” he said, staring at Tokath and Ba’el, “it seems that someone learned of the centurion’s secret.”

  “You knew all along?” Toq asked.

  “Yes. Does this surprise you?”

  Instinctively, Toq thought it should have, but thinking about it, he found that he could muster no shock. “No. It explains why you were willing to take me in.”

  “I was willing to take you in, Toq, because Worf asked me.”

  Toq knew that Lorgh was an old friend of Worf’s, having been a friend of the ambassador’s grandfather, who was a general in the Defense Force Political Corps. Lorgh also took in Worf’s brother after the Khitomer massacre.

  “We will speak more of this later.” Lorgh turned to the doctors. “Will they live?”

  The doctor examining Tokath said, “Yes. Their injuries are substantial but treatable.”

  “Wake him.”

  Nodding, the doctor grabbed a needle and applied it to Tokath’s neck.

  The Romulan’s eyes opened a moment later. His voice, normally deep and resonant, sounded weak. “Where—?”

  “You are in the custody of Klingon Imperial Intelligence, Centurion Tokath.”

  That prompted a ragged smile. “I have not…not been a centurion for some time.” His bleary eyes focused on Toq. “Is…is that you, Toq?”

  Toq approached the biobed. “Yes, Tokath, it is I.”

  “You became a soldier. How…how disappointing.”

  Lorgh said, “Do not be so quick to judge the boy, Tokath. Had he not been on the ship that responded to your distress call, we would not be having this conversation, because the captain of the Gorlak would have finished the job your attackers began.”

  Tokath let out a ragged breath. “Your people are always so…so quick to judge.”

  “Not all of us. Believe me, I would have been more than happy to let you live in peace.” Lorgh snarled that last word. “Until you would be of use to me, in any event.”

  “How…how long has Imperial Intelligence known?”

  “Long enough. And we would have used you, should we have required a club to use against the Romulans—always assuming they continued to tolerate you.”

  “The camp was privately funded,” Tokath said. “Our patron would not have abandoned us.”

  “Your optimism is touching, but all it requires is one regime change to alter that, and given the rate at which Neral is acquiring enemies, I suspect that he will not be in the praetor’s chair for much longer than two turns.” Lorgh smiled. “But this matters little, since your camp is no more. What I require now is that you tell me who attacked you, and why.”

  “It was a Klingon vessel,” Tokath said after a moment, “but not from the Defense Force. They fired on the periphery of the compound by way of getting our attention. Then they contacted us, saying they wanted L’Kor.”

  Lorgh nodded. “One of the Khitomer survivors.”

  “He was more than that,” Toq said. “He was the leader of the Klingons in the camp.”

  Tokath nodded. “L’Kor has been my friend and comrade for three decades. I would not surrender him, and even if I would, none of the Klingons would allow it.”

  “You said ‘they’ contacted you,” Lorgh said. “Who, precisely?”

  “A Klingon. A civilian. He did not provide a name, and I did not recognize the type of ship he flew.”

  Lorgh nodded. “And your planet’s sensors were all eliminated in the assault.”

  “Yes.”

  “L’Kor was taken?”

  Tokath nodded. Toq noticed that his eyes were getting even more rheumy. “They transported to the surface and disposed of my guards quickly. And then they killed everyone else—except for L’Kor, who was the only one they took. They no doubt believed Ba’el and me to be dead after the building fell on us. In fact, I am surprised that we did survive.”

  “A crossbeam fell just over you,” Toq said. “I noticed when I removed the rubble from your person.”

  “I am grateful for that, Toq. And grateful for your appearance.”

  Toq bowed his head.

  “Can you think of anything else that might aid our investigation?” Lorgh asked.

  Tokath raised an eyebrow. “Oh, this is an investigation, is it?”

  “Yes. Klingon lives were taken. That requires a response.”

  “Romulan lives were taken also.”

  Lorgh smiled again. “There are those who would say that that requires only a celebration.” The smile fell. “All of those who died this day will be avenged, Centurion.”

  Tokath, though, was obviously falling asleep. “I…I appreciate…appreciate that.”

  Lorgh turned his back on the Romulan, letting him rest. He looked at Ba’el, who also slept. “She is his daughter?”

  Toq nodded. “Gi’ral is—was her mother.”

  “I assume her ability to recognize Klingon civilian ships is even less than that of her father.”

  “Yes.”

  Lorgh folded his arms, looking thoughtful for a moment. Then he scratched his crest and turned to Toq. “Come with me.”

  Toq followed his foster father out of the medical bay. A
s they walked down the cramped corridor, Lorgh said, “We have recovered the bodies. There are several older Klingons who are matches for the Klingons who were assigned to the control room at Khitomer. They were missing after the Romulan attack, but that was true of many who died that day. There are only two missing from the dead on Carraya: L’Kor and Gi’ral.”

  Toq blinked. “Tokath said that only L’Kor was taken.”

  “I doubt he would lie about that, especially since it was his mate. However, vaporization is always a possibility, though it was not true of any of the others. Still, there isn’t time to do a more intensive scan.” Lorgh arrived at another door that rumbled aside only after he peered into an optical scanner. Inside was a desk that was piled high with padds, around which Lorgh walked. He sat and then looked up at Toq.

  “There is another reason why I kept Carraya a secret—even from my fellow agents.”

  That brought Toq up short. “I.I. does not know?”

  Lorgh let out a low growl. “It is possible that other agents know of it but are keeping it secret for their own reasons.”

  “And what are yours?” The question was presumptuous, Toq knew, but his own honor—not to mention his life—was at stake here.

  “If the truth about Carraya were to be revealed, so too would Worf’s role in keeping that a secret. The empire cannot afford to have him disgraced, especially now that he is of the House of Martok.”

  Toq suspected that there was more to the answer than that, but he had already pushed his luck with Lorgh. “Then what is the next step in this investigation?”

  Lorgh riffled through the padds on the desk, then found the one he was looking for and handed it to Toq. “When he was assigned to Khitomer, L’Kor had an unresolved feud with a warrior named Gannik. It related to a financial transaction.”

  Toq looked down at the padd’s display and saw that, at L’Kor’s advice, Gannik had invested in the Turok shipbuilding company instead of the Sokor company. He looked up in confusion at Lorgh. “I have not heard of either of these. I assume Turok went under, since that was the source of the feud, but Sokor?”