A Burning House

by Keith R. A. DeCandido

  “Well enough, Captain. We were able to save all those that were not already dead. Doctor Valatra in particular is to be commended—she saved one person who was very close to death.”

  “Doctor,” Kurak said, growing impatient with the doctor’s bleating.

  “Captain, Commander Kurak is with me, and she has a complaint.”

  “That is hardly surprising,” Klag said. “After all, she is awake.”

  Kurak stepped forward, a growl building in her throat. “That is hardly fair, Captain.”

  “It is my ship, Commander—I am under no obligation to be ‘fair.’ What is the nature of your complaint?”

  Opening her mouth to form a reply, Kurak realized she was going to sound foolish. The captain had begun the conversation asking B’Oraq about the rescue. Of course, it was all over the information net, so Klag could hardly not be aware of it. It had been a huge scandal, as the aircar’s pilot, Captain Stren, was the brother of Councillor Kryan. Or, based on what she had overheard, former Councillor Kryan. Stren’s cowardly, brutal, and wholly unprovoked attack on the city of Novat had resulted in disgrace for the entire House of Kryan. B’Oraq had even been mentioned in some of those reports, especially since one of the people whose lives she had saved was a member of the House of Kurita.

  However, the casualness of Klag’s tone indicated his likely response to Kurak’s protest.

  Still, she had come this far. “I do not appreciate medical personnel who are on leave commandeering ship’s power without consulting with the chief engineer. We are in the midst of repairs, and it is possible—”

  Holding up a hand, Klag said, “Stop there, Commander. This was a medical emergency, and thus procedure becomes secondary to duty. B’Oraq made the proper decision.”

  That was that, then. Kurak’s only option at this point was to challenge either B’Oraq or Klag, neither of which was particularly attractive. She probably could kill B’Oraq, but that would serve only to alienate Kurak farther from a captain she was only just starting to appreciate and under whom she had to serve for another year.

  “Very well, Captain.”

  “Are the repairs proceeding apace?”

  “Despite the imbecility of the Praxis Station personnel, who have managed the unbelievable task of being even more incompetent than my own engineers, we have maintained the repair schedule, yes. I believe we will be able to achieve our intended departure date.”

  “Good. I will inspect the repairs in three days before I go to the Great Hall.”

  Kurak frowned. “The Great Hall?”

  Klag’s upswept eyebrows knit into a furrow of annoyance. “I have been summoned to a meeting with Chancellor Martok and several councillors. The state of the Gorkon’s repairs may well be a subject of the meeting, so I wish to be as cognizant as possible of them.”

  “I will be happy to assist you in whatever way necessary, Captain.” Kurak surprised herself with the words.

  Grinning, Klag said, “That would be appreciated. That will be all, Commander.”

  Recognizing the dismissal, Kurak gave the bolmaq one final glower before departing.

  That was foolish, she thought as she walked down the corridor toward her cabin. Klag was never going to favor any but the bolmaq. If they haven’t actually bedded each other, it is only a matter of time before they do, and even if they do not, he will always favor her over me. Indeed, he is likely to favor anyone over me. Kurak could not blame the captain. After all, Kurak had spent most of her tenure on the Gorkon trying to do as little work as possible. This was not someone for whom the captain would ever be an advocate. Trust had to be earned, and Kurak had a long way to go to start accumulating such coin.

  So why did I revert to my old self and barrel into the medical bay to step on B’Oraq?

  She knew the answer: Leskit.

  He was right to stay mated to Karreka, Kurak knew that. It would be a stain on both their honor if Leskit divorced her.

  Yet she could not help but feel that she was being denied true happiness, that what she had with Leskit was an illusion that could be shattered at a moment’s notice. The only way she would believe that it wasn’t would be for them to mate.

  As soon as she walked into her cabin, she noticed the light on the workstation blinking, indicating that she had a message. She activated the station and sat at the desk.

  The face of an old woman appeared on the screen. It took Kurak a moment to place it as belonging to Torj, one of the chambermaids at the House Palkar estate.

  “Greetings, Kurak. I bring grave news. Moloj is dead.”

  Kurak hesitated, waiting for the grave news to actually be given. The House ghIntaq since before Kurak’s father was born, that tiresome old toDSaH had been Kurak’s nemesis since birth. She had been hoping for his death since her Age of Ascension, and Kurak’s only regret at his dying was that it took this long to happen. In addition to all the other indignities Moloj had visited upon her, he had forced Kurak to stay in the Defense Force until Gevnar came of age, or face discommendation.

  That threat, however, died with him. Now the House was in control of—

  Of no one. Even as Torj droned on with the irrelevant details of Moloj’s joyous passage to Gre’thor—Kurak couldn’t imagine that petaQ getting anywhere near Sto-Vo-Kor—Kurak frowned. That there were no able-bodied men of Palkar to serve in the Defense Force also meant that there were none such to take over the House.

  Then, suddenly, the frown turned into a smile, as Kurak realized that she could solve all her problems in one d’k tahg thrust. She cut off Torj’s ramblings and connected to the Great Hall. Krozek said that the next full session of the High Council was in one week, and Kurak needed to be on that session’s agenda.

  Once that was accomplished, she had to track down a woman in Kopf’s Cliff named Karreka.

  Eighteen

  Kaga’s Restaurant

  Federation Starbase Deep Space 9

  Dorrek sat opposite the Klingon who believed himself to be Rodek, son of Noggra, and said, “You are a difficult man to find, Lieutenant. I had come to your father’s home to speak with you but was told you had gone offworld. Luckily for both of us I was able to commandeer a ship to take me to this forsaken place.” He glanced around. For years, this station had been a dreary Cardassian backwater. Now, thanks to the discovery of the Bajoran wormhole, it was a major Federation outpost—but still, it was dreary, and still quite far from civilized space.

  Rodek bared his teeth. “Is your vessel still under repair from the damage it took thanks to your dishonor?”

  Dorrek refused to take the bait. “The K’mpec is space-worthy again; however, it now has a new captain. I have been removed from my post thanks to the actions of a coward.”

  “And which coward would that be, Captain?” Rodek all but snarled the rank.

  The disdain Rodek expressed had not been entirely unexpected. After all, the Gorkon fought hard at San-Tarah against Dorrek, General Talak, and their forces, and Rodek was the ship’s gunner. If he was not loyal to Klag, Klag would have replaced him rather than promote him as he did.

  Still and all, he barged ahead. The plan required it.

  “The coward would be my older brother, Lieutenant. Klag, most unworthy son of M’Raq. It is not enough that he soiled the honor of our family, and that of the House of K’Tal, but he did likewise for your family as well.”

  As expected, Rodek unsheathed his d’k tahg. “You dare to insult my captain?”

  Holding up a hand, Dorrek said, “Let me speak, Lieutenant. If, after you have heard my tale, you still wish to challenge me for insulting your captain, then I will accept. But you do not know Klag as I do, and you do not know what he has done.”

  The restaurateur came by then. Dorrek waved him off, but Rodek said, “Bring me a skull stew.”

  After the chef bowed and went to fill the order, Rodek looked at Dorrek. “I never killed anyone at the supper table, Captain. You have until I finish my stew to convince me that I should
not cut you down where you stand.”

  Dorrek inclined his head. All I need is for you to sit and listen, and then, at last, vengeance shall be mine!

  He had spent a full day after General Kriz took his command from him going over the service records of the Gorkon crew, convinced that there was someone among his brother’s subordinates who could be used against him. The best choice seemed to be Rodek, son of Noggra, especially when Dorrek did some investigating and learned that Rodek had not existed until four turns previous.

  Now facing the object of his research, Dorrek said, “You were not born with the name Rodek, Lieutenant. Your name is Kurn, son of Mogh, brother of Worf.”

  “What?” Rodek’s mouth widened with shock. “That cannot be!”

  “I see the doubt in your eyes that belies your words, my friend. Your ship has transported Worf since his posting to the Federation embassy, has it not?”

  “Yes,” Rodek said in a low voice. “And he said to me that I reminded him of someone he once knew who was now dead.”

  “An entertaining fiction,” Dorrek said wryly. “When you were an infant, your father, Mogh, as well as his mate, Kaasin, your older brother, Worf, and your family’s ghojmoq, all traveled to Khitomer. You were deemed too young to go and stayed with a family friend named Lorgh.”

  Dorrek could see that Rodek was doing the arithmetic in his head. “The massacre?”

  Nodding, Dorrek said, “Yes. The Romulan attack on Khitomer claimed thousands of lives, including those of Mogh and Kaasin. Your brother survived, rescued by a Starfleet vessel. One of their crew took him in and raised him in the Federation, eventually to become their ambassador to the empire. Lorgh took you as his own son, not telling you the truth until you reached the Age of Ascension. Eventually, you joined the Defense Force as an officer, rising to the rank of captain. But you did not share your true bloodline until your father was accused of betraying Khitomer to the Romulans.”

  The chef came by with the skull stew, but Rodek barely acknowledged it. It was as Dorrek hoped: the true story was prompting long-dead memories.

  But then Dorrek’s hopes were dimmed when Rodek said, “I recall none of this.”

  “Do you recall approaching your older brother, revealing the truth to him, and aiding him when he challenged the High Council’s ruling against your father? Do you recall learning the truth—that Ja’rod of the House of Duras, whose son served on the High Council, was the true traitor at Khitomer. Do you—”

  “All of this is in the public record, Captain,” Rodek said, spitting the stew on which he chewed. “Chancellor Gowron restored the House of Mogh in exchange for the House’s support in his civil war against Duras’s sisters, who tried to put Duras’s bastard in the chancellor’s chair.”

  “And when they failed, Gowron ascended to that chair—and appointed you one of his councillors.”

  That seemed to bring the lieutenant up short. “I served on the council?” he asked in a much quieter voice than he’d been using.

  “Yes. After commanding the Hegh’ta against House Duras’s forces, Chancellor Gowron rewarded you with a seat.”

  Rodek got a faraway look in his eyes, and Dorrek knew that he had, at last, struck home. Perhaps he has some memories of his time on the High Council. The reasons why did not matter; Dorrek knew that he had him.

  Which was fortunate, as the rest of his story would be pure falsehood.

  “And then four years ago, your memories were taken from you by Klag.”

  That brought Rodek out of whatever fugue he’d been in. “Klag did this to me?”

  “Yes. My brother has always been ambitious. Throughout our childhoods, he always needed to be best at everything.” That much, at least, was true. “Being an officer was never good enough. Being a ship captain was never good enough. He was not to be satisfied until he ruled the empire. To that end, he had targeted several councillors in the hopes of making them allies. But you refused, so he had you brought here and blackmailed the human doctor into making you into Rodek. Apparently, the doctor had broken some Federation laws regarding genetic enhancement; Klag learned of this and threatened to expose him. He altered your crest and erased your memory.”

  “No wonder the human was so reluctant to assist me just now.” Rodek looked at Dorrek. “He covered it well, but he was hiding something from me.”

  “Now you know what it is. Klag’s plans were curtailed by the Dominion War, but after its end, he redoubled his efforts. The House of K’Tal has also stood against him, which is why Klag contrived to have both Captain Kargan and General Talak killed, and I was cast out of my own House. Klag was able to get you assigned to his command so he could keep an eye on you.”

  Rodek shook his head, his skull stew lying abandoned in front of him. “I was so blind—I saw none of this.”

  “You saw only what my brother wished you to see, my friend.” Dorrek leaned in, speaking in an intense whisper. “There is more. This is by far the worst sin.”

  Pulling a padd out of a pouch in his armor, Dorrek keyed up the display to show the recording that he’d liberated from the House Noggra estate’s security system. He’d called in his last remaining favors with a friend in I.I. to obtain this footage.

  He knew what was on it before he’d ever gotten it, of course, by virtue of being in it, which was also why he had the need to edit it.

  Rodek—or, rather, Kurn—stared at the padd with eager eyes. He saw Noggra returning home from a trip he’d been on. As he walked in the door, he was assaulted by a figure dressed in black who kept his face obscured behind what Rodek, as a lieutenant in the Defense Force, had to recognize as a holomask. That figure beat Noggra repeatedly, who fell to the floor. The mystery figure then unsheathed a d’k tahg, picked Noggra up (though the old man’s face was obscured from the security sensor), and stabbed Noggra in his heart.

  “QI’yaH!” Rodek cried and got to his feet, the padd clattering to the restaurant floor. The non-Klingons in the place looked up in surprise. “Who has done this?”

  Leaning over, Dorrek retrieved the padd from the floor and handed it back to Rodek, after thumbing the display back a few seconds so he could see what he missed by tossing it aside.

  Rodek snatched it from his hands and started the playback going again. Dorrek heard the words, filtered through the holomask, of the assassin: “Die, traitor, in the name of the House of M’Raq!”

  Dorrek knew the words well, for he had spoken them himself. He had also spent quite some time interrogating Noggra from behind the holomask before killing him, but that footage was edited out before it was placed on this padd.

  Again, Rodek tossed the padd aside. “Klag did this?”

  “And more, though not to you. He must answer for these crimes, Rodek—or should I say Kurn?”

  Shaking his head, the lieutenant clenched his fist. “I no longer know who I am—and for that, and his other crimes, Klag must pay!”

  Dorrek stood and put a hand on his shoulder. “Then return to the homeworld with me, son of Mogh, that we both may have our revenge.”

  As the pair of them left the restaurant, Dorrek smiled when his face was out of the lieutenant’s sight. All is going according to plan. Soon Klag will be dead and I will be restored to my rightful place as the head of the House—as it should have been all along.

  Julian Bashir and Ezri Dax entered Kaga’s Restaurant but saw no sign of Rodek.

  “He said he’d be here,” Bashir said. He sighted Kaga placing three plates on the table of a Bajoran couple and made a beeline for the chef, Dax trailing behind his longer strides.

  “Doctor!” Kaga said with a hearty smile. “Do you wish more zilm’kach?”

  Rubbing his belly from the stomachache that even the thought of more zilm’kach gave him, he said, “Er, no, I’m sorry, we’re not here to eat. We’re looking for someone—a Defense Force lieutenant by the name of Rodek?”

  “Yes, he was here, but he left half an hour ago. He had been joined by a captain named Dorrek—w
ho did not eat anything, the petaQ!”

  “His loss,” Bashir said with a small smile. “Did they leave together?”

  Kaga nodded. Bashir thanked him, and he and Dax went out onto the Promenade. Dax tapped her combadge. “Computer, locate Lieutenant Rodek and Captain Dorrek.”

  “Lieutenant Rodek is not on the station. Captain Dorrek is not on the station.”

  “When did they leave?”

  “Unknown.”

  Bashir muttered a curse. Dax, however, was undaunted. “Computer, check outgoing vessels manifest for both those names.”

  “Captain Dorrek, son of M’Raq, and Lieutenant Rodek, son of Noggra, are listed as passengers on the Klingon transport vessel Ky’rok.”

  “Dax to ops.”

  “Nog here.”

  “Nog, has the Ky’rok left yet?”

  “Uh, hang on, let me check.” After a pause that seemed interminable to Bashir, the young Ferengi ops officer said, “I’m sorry, Ezri, it left ten minutes ago, bound for Qo’noS.”

  “Dammit,” Bashir muttered.

  “Thanks, Nog. Dax out.” Looking up at Bashir, Dax asked, “Now what?”

  Bashir sighed. “I don’t know. I suppose we could contact the Ky’rok, but this isn’t the sort of thing I want to broadcast over subspace. It would be best if we could bring him back here, but I don’t see a Klingon transport turning around for us, do you?”

  “No,” Dax said emphatically. “But we don’t need any of that. Remember, we’ve got an in at the Federation embassy.” She smiled.

  Moments later, they were back in the infirmary. Bashir was seated at his desk, Dax standing behind him instructing ops to put a call through to the Federation embassy on Qo’noS.

  A human face of mixed ancestry appeared on Bashir’s workstation screen a minute or two later. “Greetings—I am Giancarlo Wu, the ambassador’s aide. How may I assist you?”

  Bashir said, “You may put the ambassador on, Mister Wu. My name is Julian Bashir, and this is Ezri Dax. We’re—”

  “The ambassador’s former crewmates from Deep Space 9, of course. My apologies for not recognizing you straight away. The ambassador is in the midst of a call.”