A Burning House

by Keith R. A. DeCandido

  “Elddeh, Kralc, and Atorec have earned the right to be treated as equals by laboring with us to provide the empire’s food.” Kaseli angrily grabbed some more of one of the salads and slammed it onto his plate.

  “The San-Tarah earned the same respect from us,” Wol said. “Without honor, we are nothing.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t go that far,” Tabona said. “But without honor, we’re not really Klingons, are we?”

  Kaseli shook his head. “I still say it was ridiculous for so many to die that day. It was a waste.”

  “Was it?” Wol stuffed another handful of gagh into her mouth, then said, “I might say the same of Tabona’s cousin.”

  Tabona threw her food onto her plate. “What?”

  “She threw her life away to activate a generator. Why would she do that? It was a waste of a life.”

  “If she had not done that—” Tabona started, but Wol cut her off.

  “Yes, yes, so you said, Tabona, but as Kaseli pointed out, it was a waste. True, this farm might not have survived, but there are other farms on this planet, and more still elsewhere in the empire. People would not starve. Why should a woman, who was obviously important to all of you, or you would not have waited to eat until proper tribute was paid to her memory, allow herself to be killed like that?”

  “She sacrificed herself for—” Kaseli started.

  “For this farm, yes. For something she believed in. If I dismiss that, Tabona looks on me with disfavor.” Wol looked over at Tabona, who in fact was no longer regarding her that way, having figured out what she was talking about, which was more than could be said for Kaseli. Wol continued: “Yet you feel free to dismiss our sacrifices, when we fight for the very foundation of what makes our empire strong.”

  “So say you.” Kaseli bared his teeth. “I say that the food we grow makes our empire strong!”

  Several people cheered raggedly at that. Tabona was not one of them. She looked at Wol, then looked at Kagak. “I like these two much more than the last ones you brought home.”

  Wol inclined her head. “Thank you, Tabona.”

  Kosted asked, “How long will you be staying?”

  “I do not know,” Wol said honestly. Her first instinct upon arrival was to leave the morning after yobta’ yupma’, but the more she sat at this table, and the more of this excellent food she ate, the less she wanted to leave. The Gorkon would be under repair for half a month, after all.

  “You are welcome to stay as long as you like,” Tabona said.

  “If you remain for a few days, you can see the tournament!” Fuhrman bellowed.

  Kagak practically bounced in his seat. “There’s a tournament? Excellent! I was hoping to see one!”

  “What manner of tournament?” Wol asked.

  “Fistfighting,” Kaseli said. “We’ve had one every season for almost twenty turns now. And I wouldn’t get too excited. Lak’s going to win anyhow.”

  B’Ellor said, “He can’t possibly win all of them.”

  “He’s won the last seven,” Fuhrman said dolefully. “I faced him last time, and he nearly killed me!”

  Wol chewed thoughtfully on a piece of blood pie that she’d liberated from the tray. “How does the tournament work?”

  Tabona said, “It happens in the market circle. Whoever won the previous tournament fights until he is defeated. Any may challenge him, as long as he is a farmer on this world.”

  “No outsiders?”

  “This is our tournament,” Tabona said fiercely. She smiled. “Besides, the side bets are how many of us make our money.”

  “Or we would,” Fuhrman grumbled, “if we won any of them. With Lak’s victories, it becomes difficult to lay a wager!”

  “True,” Tabona said. “We could use some better clothes for this winter. We almost lost B’Ellor last winter when the worst of the frost came.”

  Goran turned to look down at Kagak’s sister. “That is awful. You should wear furs.”

  “Furs are expensive, boy,” Tabona said. “The animals hereabouts have weak pelts, and importing real fur from offworld costs coin we don’t have.”

  “Huh.” Goran scratched his chin. “On Rura Penthe, we just hunted for fur. It cost us nothing.”

  “At last,” Kaseli said, “a reason to move to Rura Penthe.”

  To B’Ellor, Goran said, “I still have one of my fur cloaks. If you want, I will give it to you, so you do not freeze again this winter.”

  “That won’t be necessary,” Tabona said quickly before B’Ellor could speak. “You should not give up your trophy.”

  “But I want to.” Goran sounded confused. “I do not need it anymore. I serve on a ship where it does not get cold.”

  Chuckling, Kosted asked, “What if they send you to a cold planet to kill more people for the empire?”

  “Our armor protects us,” Kagak said. “Besides, the big man’s cloak would be considered an improper addition to the uniform. I am stunned that you continue to carry it, Goran.”

  “I killed the torgot myself.”

  Kaseli sputtered his zilm’kach. “You killed a torgot?”

  Goran nodded.

  B’Ellor stared up at him. “That’s incredible.”

  “It was not difficult. I am the biggest and the strongest.”

  Tabona said, “A pity he cannot fight Lak.”

  Angrily, Fuhrman said, “I will defeat him this time, Grandmother!”

  “You said that last season, and the season before that, boy, and yet he still reigns.”

  The meal continued on for some time. At one point, Tabona told Fuhrman and Kagak to get the torches, which confused Wol; Pheben had only just started to set in the west. Soon, though, the sky was painted the color of blood, and darkness came alarmingly quickly. Every once in a while, Tabona rose and fetched something else from the house, to the point where Wol swore there was more food on the table at meal’s end than there was at its commencement. She also brought out a fresh set of mugs and a barrel full of homemade chech’tluth, which was far stronger than almost anything Wol had ever consumed.

  When she said as much, Kagak asked, “Leader, when did you ever have anything stronger than this?”

  “It was in Krennla,” she said.

  “Oh.” Kagak looked away and sipped some more.

  Kaseli, though, asked, “Is that all? Will you not tell us the story of your drunken exploits on the homeworld?”

  “No,” Wol said, “I will not.” That required her to remember the Kitchen, and that she would not do.

  “Is this how you repay our hospitality, Wol?” Tabona asked. “By denying us a story?”

  Wol smiled. “I will gladly tell you stories of my experiences in the Defense Force. I will tell you of how we took Mempa IX from the Jem’Hadar. I will tell you of my training at the hands of a brutal QaS DevwI’ named Skragg. I will tell you of how we held the line on San-Tarah. I will tell you of how I escaped an Elabrej scientist who tried to experiment on me. I will even tell you tales of a highborn fool of a woman who let herself be impregnated by a lowborn man who was not her mate. But I will not tell you of Krennla.”

  Laughing, Kaseli said, “I want to hear the one about the highborn fool of a woman.”

  “That’s a redundancy,” Kosted said. “All highborn are fools.”

  As laughter spread around the table, Wol reached and grabbed some of the delicious gagh, of which there seemed to be an infinite supply. She was starting to suspect that the worms on the bottom were breeding.

  After swallowing two more, she said, “Very well. I heard this story for the first time when I was training as a soldier under Skragg. It was our last night before training ended, and those of us who survived would be moving on to our first assignments the next morning. We stayed up all night drinking and singing and telling stories. This was one of the stories told.”

  The truth, of course, was that Wol had told the story herself—though, technically, it was indeed the first time she’d heard it, as she had never told it to a so
ul prior to that. She told it that night only because she had had a great deal of very bad bloodwine.

  Pausing only to lubricate herself with a quick sip of the homemade chech’tluth, Wol began her tale. “It is said that one should mate only with one to whom one is willing to devote one’s life. In fact, Kahless himself said that mating without love is living a lie, and lying is the greatest dishonor.”

  From down the table, someone said, “But what if he was lying when he said that?”

  Laughter echoed into the darkening sky. Wol said, “Perhaps. But whether or not Kahless was lying, his words are not always observed in the breach. After all, the House of Varnak was an old and noble House, and they could not let their daughter mate with just anyone. It did not matter to Koradan or B’Etakk whether or not their daughter Eral cared about Vranx. What did matter was that Vranx was of the House of Jorn, a very strong House indeed. The alliance of these two Houses would be good for everyone.”

  “Obviously not,” Tabona said wryly, “or you would not be telling the story.”

  “Indeed,” Wol said, “though my words should have been true. Vranx wanted the union, the head of the House of Jorn wanted the union, Koradan and B’Etakk wanted the union.”

  “But this Eral did not?” Fuhrman asked.

  “No. She had given her heart to another. He was a servant in House Varnak, a man named Kylor. He was strong where Vranx was weak, solicitous where Vranx was uncaring, passionate where Vranx was timid.”

  “So why didn’t she mate with Kylor?” someone asked.

  “Oh, she would have if that were possible. But women from noble Houses do not mate with servants. And alliances between noble Houses are not sundered by women who do not understand their place.” She smiled. “Of course, Eral was a fool. She could have simply had Kylor be her bedmate. Women had been doing this since long before Kahless’s time. But they were discreet, for to do otherwise was to bring dishonor upon the House, and that could not be tolerated. However, their discretion was sufficiently great that the thought of following their example never even occurred to Eral.”

  “Are all highborn women that stupid?” Kaseli asked.

  “No, but this story is not about them.”

  Several people chuckled at Wol’s response.

  She went on: “This bit of foolishness was compounded by another. Eral became with child by Kylor. Vranx was surprised when a DNA test showed that the child was not his—even though Eral had never been able to bear the notion of taking him to her bed.” Wol sipped some more of her drink. She found it went down easier the third time, due in part to it numbing her entire throat. “The child was taken from her, Kylor was put to death—and Eral was cast out.”

  “They didn’t kill her?” Kosted asked. “I thought that was the answer to everything for you warrior types.”

  “No,” B’Ellor said, “she probably killed herself. In the stories, the lovers always give each other Mauk-to’Vor.”

  “Sadly,” Wol said, “Eral was not that bright. Besides, Kylor had already been put to death, so there was no one to do this for her. Instead, she was cast out, never to be heard from again.”

  “They should have let her stay,” one of the Phebens said. “Didn’t they lose the alliance with the House of Jorn?”

  Surprised that a Pheben would catch that nuance, Wol said, “Yes, but that would have happened in any event. Vranx was dishonored by the behavior of a member of the House of Varnak. The alliance was dust.” She smiled. “But the House paid the price for their betrayal of Eral, for they cast their lot in with Morjod when he attempted to remove Martok from the chancellor’s chair. Like all those who supported the traitor, the members of the House were put to death, the House dissolved, its lands and assets seized by the High Council.”

  “Sounds like a happy ending to me,” Kagak—who knew the whole story—said with a smile.

  “So in the end, Eral was the only one who lived?” B’Ellor asked.

  “Yes.”

  “It isn’t very romantic,” she said.

  “Oh, if you wanted a romantic story,” Wol said, “I would have told a different one.” Recalling the one that had been told right before hers during that all-night celebration, she said, “Like the one about Maelgwyn and Gha’rek, who both loved B’Urad.”

  Wol continued telling that story. At one point, Tabona came out with what looked like racht—only it was dead. Worse, it looked as if it had been frozen and dipped in something.

  “Candied racht,” Kagak whispered to her when she cut off her storytelling to stare at the platter. “I’ve been waiting for this. It is the most wonderful thing you will ever eat in all your days, Leader.”

  The moment the platter touched the table, a dozen hands grabbed at the dead racht, a concept that made Wol feel a bit ill. But she would not insult Tabona’s hospitality—and she could not deny the looks of pleasure from those around her who ate the candied racht with pleasure—and so she grabbed one and bit down on it.

  Wol had never had anything this delicious in her life. The tough flesh of the racht mixed perfectly with the sweetness of the coating. She chewed through one serpent quickly and then grabbed a handful more before they were all gone.

  Perhaps this will not be so bad after all, she thought.

  Seventeen

  I.K.S. Gorkon

  Praxis Station, in orbit of Qo���noS

  Kurak stomped toward the medical bay. She had waited a full day for this. Her initial attempts had been stymied by B’Oraq being unconscious. However that petaQ Valatra had just informed her that B’Oraq was awake. She also said that the doctor could not see her right now, but Kurak was hardly about to listen to the words of a physician whom she outranked and who wasn’t even assigned to this ship.

  The medical bay doors rumbled aside to reveal B’Oraq sitting at her desk, talking with someone on a comm screen. Valatra and that civilian she’d brought with her were checking on the patients in the medical bay, many of whom seemed healed enough to Kurak’s untrained eye.

  “B’Oraq,” she said, “I will speak to you.”

  Holding up a hand, B’Oraq said, “I will be with you in a moment. Cou—”

  Kurak stepped forward, her arm gripping her wrist. “Now, Doctor, this can wait no longer.”

  The voice on the comm screen said, “What is that noise I hear in the background?”

  Her eyes smoldering, B’Oraq said, “It is the Gorkon’s chief engineer, Councillor Krozek. I am sure she has what she believes is important ship’s business to discuss.”

  As she walked closer to the desk, Kurak saw the emblem that indicated that the communication was with the Great Hall, and based on B’Oraq’s words, it was a member of the High Council to whom she was speaking. With the greatest reluctance, Kurak said, “I will wait.”

  At no point during this conversation did B’Oraq take her eyes off the viewscreen. “You were saying, Councillor?”

  “I was saying, Doctor, that you may not speak to Kryan. The actions of Captain Stren speak for themselves.”

  “No, Councillor, they do not. I am not sure that—”

  Krozek looked to Kurak as if he wished to be doing anything other than talking to this woman. “Doctor, this is a waste of time. Kryan has been removed from the High Council pending his case being heard before the full council session that will commence in one week’s time. His brother’s actions have brought shame upon his House and upon the High Council.”

  “Councillor, I do not believe that Captain Stren’s actions were—”

  “What you believe is of very little interest to me, Doctor. If you wish to speak on Stren’s or Kryan’s behalf, you may do so in one week in open council. In the meantime, as part of that session, there will be a meqba’. We require Captain Stren’s body be sent to Doctor Kowag for examination.”

  B’Oraq hesitated. “Stren is a patient in my medical bay, Councillor. Standard procedure dictates that I do a full examination and write a report before I release him.”

&nb
sp; “You are welcome to do so, but do it quickly and send the body to Kowag. That is all.”

  With that, the screen went dark. Kurak had to admit to taking considerable enjoyment from the look of frustration on B’Oraq’s face.

  “If you’re done wasting the High Council’s time,” Kurak said with a wicked smile, “perhaps you can take a moment to explain to me why you have commandeered—”

  Pointing to the biobeds in the medical bay, B’Oraq said, “Kurak, do you see all these Klingons?”

  “Of course.”

  “Do you know why they’re alive right now?”

  Pointing at one of them, Kurak said, “That one isn’t.”

  “He was dead before I got to him. But the rest of them are alive because I diverted power to the medical bay. The reason I did it was to save these people’s lives, which, you might recall, is my job. The power requirements of the medical bay are less than five percent of what is required to run this entire vessel on its own, and the Gorkon is currently receiving a power feed from Praxis Station, is it not?”

  “That is hardly the point. You did not receive authorization to—”

  “On medical matters, the only authorization that can supersede mine is Captain Klag’s. As it happens, I was about to contact him. Would you like to ask him if I did anything wrong?”

  “Yes, actually,” Kurak said. She was getting tired of this loathsome woman putting on airs as if she were in some way important to the functioning of this ship.

  The remarkable thing was that she actually gave any thought to the functioning of the ship beyond engineering.

  B’Oraq seemed taken aback by Kurak’s response. No doubt, the bolmaq—as the late, unlamented Nurse Gaj had referred to B’Oraq—had expected her threat to be enough. But Kurak was made of sterner stuff, and if the doctor was going to hide behind the captain’s shields, she was damn well going to make her activate them herself.

  “Very well,” the bolmaq said sourly. She turned back to her console and put through a communication to the House M’Raq estates.

  Klag’s face appeared on the viewer a moment later. “Greetings, B’Oraq. How goes the rescue?”