A Burning House

by Keith R. A. DeCandido

  With that, G’joth let go of Kenni and walked down the corridor to the exit.

  The two guards were surprised to see him exit. “Where are you going, Bekk?”

  “I have better things to do,” G’joth said. Activating his wrist comm, he said, “G’joth to Praxis Station. One to beam to the Gorkon.”

  With Klag at the opening, G’joth knew that word of how the performance went would shoot through the Gorkon’s corridors at warp speed. That meant he was relieved of the obligation of actually watching it. He’d already seen the opera dozens of times—another would truly drive him mad.

  Before the transporter took him, he looked around at the Krennla skyline, buildings climbing their desultory way toward the dark skies. His father had dishonored him, his sister had returned to being the lapdog of a fool, and his friends were not truly his friends anymore. I have nothing here.

  As the red glow engulfed him, he swore that the only way he would set foot in Krennla would be to fulfill his promise to Kenni. That alone was reason to hope for a successful opening night…

  Thirty

  I.K.S. Gorkon

  Praxis Station, in orbit of Qo’noS

  The man who still thought of himself as Lieutenant Rodek entered the bridge of the Gorkon with a song in his heart.

  Toq was sitting in the first officer’s chair and rose at Rodek’s entrance. “The captain wants to see you, Lieutenant.” The rest of the bridge crew went about their business. They were on duty, so Rodek thought nothing of their ignoring him as he entered. It was a surprise that Leskit, at least, did not say something—but then Rodek saw that Ensign Koxx was at the helm.

  “Of course.” Rodek moved toward the front of the bridge. “It is good to see you again, my friend.”

  Toq regarded him. “You seem unusually happy. In fact, I do not believe that you ever have been this happy.”

  “It is as if the galaxy has removed itself from the task of crushing my skull, Toq. But I will tell you all about it in the mess hall later.”

  “Perhaps.” Toq spoke hesitantly.

  Frowning, Rodek asked, “What is it, Toq?”

  Again, Toq said, “The captain wants to see you, Lieutenant.”

  With a shrug, Rodek moved toward the captain’s office. He supposed that Klag might be a bit angry about the qaDrav, but he also knew that Worf and the captain had become comrades. Rodek had very little use for Worf, but he knew that the ambassador was, at heart, an honorable man. He would smooth the ground for Rodek with his captain.

  The door rumbled aside at Rodek’s approach, meaning that the captain knew he was coming. He was seated behind his desk, examining a padd.

  “Lieutenant Rodek reporting for duty, sir.”

  “I think not,” Klag said without looking up from his padd. He dropped it to the desk with a clatter and picked up another.

  “What?” Rodek asked, confused.

  Rising from his chair and now glowering at Rodek with his pitiless brown eyes, Klag said, “We served together, Rodek. I made you my second officer. And what is the result? Betrayal!”

  “Sir, I’m sure Ambassador Worf explained—”

  “Worf told me precisely what happened, and the meqba’ in council chambers told me what he did not know. I am fully aware of the chain of events that led to you trying to kill me in the qaDrav. And that is why you will be gone from my ship and never set foot on it again!”

  Rodek took a step back, half expecting the captain to challenge him. But no, that was unnecessary. He was Rodek’s superior—Klag had only to order him away, and Rodek could not question him.

  But question him he did. He had found contentment on this ship, found a place in the universe that he had not had as Kurn for many turns. Why would the captain take this from him? Aloud he simply asked, “Why?”

  Klag stepped closer, fury in his eyes, spit flying from his mouth. “You dare to ask that? Ten months, Rodek! For ten months, we served together. We even fought against Dorrek! I believe that I asked you to fire on Dorrek more than once. My call to battle at San-Tarah included taking up arms against my dishonorable brother, whom I then discommendated from our House. You knew all this! And yet, a mere fifteen-minute conversation with that same petaQ, and you betrayed me. Ten months of service done away because you believed a creature so base, he killed your father without showing his face and died in ignominy on the floor of the council chambers. Either you were too addled to make a sensible decision, or you are as foul a creature as my brother. Whichever it was, I cannot afford to have you under my command where you might betray me again.” He stepped in close enough for Rodek to smell the raktajino on his breath. “So you will not remain. You have been rotated off my ship, permanently, with the reason on your record. Now get off my ship!”

  With that, Klag turned his back on his erstwhile second officer.

  Rodek stared blankly. At first, he thought, How dare this toDSaH speak to me this way! I am a member of the High Council!

  But, of course, he wasn’t. He had chosen the life of Rodek over that of Kurn, thinking it to be a better one.

  Saying nothing—he had tempted Klag’s wrath enough with his questioning why—Rodek turned and left the office.

  As soon as the door to the office closed behind him, all members of the bridge crew got to their feet, crossed their fists in front of their faces, and turned their backs on him.

  The only one who did not was Toq, who walked up to him. “You have betrayed your captain. You have betrayed our captain. I wish it were not so, Rodek, but it is. There can be no forgiveness for what you have done.”

  Then Toq, too, crossed his wrists and turned his back on Rodek.

  A memory came to him all of a sudden, one of Kurn’s: in the Great Hall, after Worf had accepted discommendation from the empire, when the entire High Council did to Worf what the crew of the Gorkon now did to Rodek. The last person to do so was Worf’s brother, Kurn. Kurn had not wanted to accept the dishonor—he was willing to die to preserve the family name. But Worf’s actions, damn him, were the right ones and led to the House of Mogh’s honor being restored.

  Reluctantly, Kurn had turned his back on Worf. Rodek sensed that reluctance in Toq now.

  For all the good that it does me.

  As he moved to the rear door that would take him to the turbolift, and thence to the transporter room to leave forever this ship that he had called home, Rodek’s chest grew heavy with the realization of the magnitude of what had happened today.

  Klag was right—Rodek had betrayed him. He had been so lost in his confusion of who he was that he readily accepted Dorrek’s lies. So eager was he for answers that he accepted the first set of them that were put before him, and he disregarded what he knew about Dorrek.

  Dorrek was in Gre’thor. Rodek wondered if he might be better off following him. Not only had he betrayed a captain he respected as much as or more than any other in the fleet, but he had also guaranteed that no captain who considered Klag a friend or comrade would have him, either. His only recourse was to find a ship with an enemy of Klag’s in command—or, at best, someone who was indifferent to the captain.

  Dejected, Rodek instructed the lift to take him to the transporter room.

  The lift doors opened at the tenth deck to reveal Leskit and Kurak, whose hands were entwined around each other.

  Kurak scowled. “Hasn’t Klag kicked you off the ship yet?”

  “He just did,” Rodek said quietly.

  Leskit put a hand on Rodek’s shoulder. “I will miss you, my friend, truly. But what choice did Klag have?”

  “Should’ve done it months ago,” Kurak said. “I never liked you, Rodek.”

  Rodek ignored the engineer—they’d served together on the Lallek prior to this posting, and one of the first things Rodek had learned about Kurak was that she didn’t like anyone—and said to Leskit, “I will miss you as well, Leskit. I doubt the mess hall on my next assignment will provide the joy that this one has.” He looked around at the bulkheads. “Nor t
he battles that this ship has won.”

  “Perhaps not.” Leskit put his fist to his chest. “Qapla’, my good friend. May you recover your honor and die well.”

  “Qapla’, Leskit.” Turning to Kurak, he added, “And to you as well, Kurak.”

  Kurak just spit at his feet.

  With a sigh, Rodek pushed past the couple and headed to the transporter room. I will not forget that kindness, Leskit. It wasn’t at all the proper thing for Leskit to do—that would’ve been to do what Toq did—but the next time Leskit did the proper thing would probably be the first.

  Good-bye, my friends, Rodek thought, as he left the Gorkon.

  “No, Bekk,” B’Oraq said with a laugh, “bloodwine does nothing to help the singing voice. But try convincing an opera singer of that. No, they must have their rituals.”

  The bekk from the fifteenth—B’Oraq honestly could not remember his name—nodded sagely. He had come into the medical bay with the question. B’Oraq was stunned, since most of the warriors on the Gorkon would rather face a Kreel unarmed than enter the medical bay for any reason other than injury. “I suspected as much. When I saw the performers carousing, my first thought was that this was what they should be doing after the opera. My second was that it would ruin their voices.”

  “Which performers would that be?”

  “The Battle of San-Tarah. It was playing at—”

  “Baldi’maj, I know, I was there. It was quite the performance. Nothing like the real thing, of course, and I could’ve lived without Tereth as Klag’s love interest, but it was a very well-performed opera. The chorus was especially magnificent. I’ve rarely seen a chorus that could make itself heard over the audience’s cheers as well as this one.”

  The bekk smiled. “I’ll be sure to pass that on, Doctor.” By way of explanation, he added, “My sister Lakras is in the chorus of that company.”

  “Ah. Well, the next time you talk to her, give her my compliments.” With a chuckle, she added, “And tell her that if she abstains from bloodwine before a performance, her career will last an extra ten years. I know of only one opera singer whose career lasted into old age, and that was Kabrerr. Know what he drank before each show? Water. Nothing else.”

  Bowing his head, the bekk said, “I will do that, Doctor.”

  With that, he left the medical bay.

  B’Oraq tugged on her braid. Her new nurse—a recommendation from Valatra—was due to report today, along with several other crew replacements. The Gorkon would be setting out into space once again. The KPE had been disbanded, and B’Oraq had more hope for the future of Klingon medicine than she’d ever had since she began her crusade a decade ago.

  The doors to the medical bay opened to reveal Klag. “Captain!” she said.

  “Doctor.” As soon as the door closed, he grabbed her and bit her cheek.

  The feel of his teeth on her flesh intoxicated her, but she forced herself under control. “We are on duty, Klag. Should we not practice discretion?”

  “Discretion is for humans,” he whispered into her ear. “Besides, I escorted you to the opera yesterday, to a performance attended by the chancellor. I doubt our being par’Mach’kai is any kind of secret.”

  “True.” She smiled. “In fact, I have a message from my uncle excoriating me for being seen in public with you.”

  Klag broke the embrace and smiled down at her. “What did you tell him?”

  “That my captain ordered me to come to the opera with him, and I could hardly refuse a direct order from my captain.” She smiled back. “He agreed that that was the case, never mind that you never gave such an order.”

  His smile modulating into a thoughtful expression, Klag said, “Perhaps it might be wise to try to convince your uncle of my merits.” At B’Oraq’s questioning look—all things being equal, she would have no problem mating with Klag, though she did not wish to alienate her uncle, either—Klag said, “My mother’s intransigence may prove to be problematic. The House of M’Raq might need a new Lady of the House.”

  B’Oraq considered. She would make no kind of House lady, but Klag knew that—this was for appearances’ sake more than anything, and to make it clear that Tarilla, the shrew, was no longer running the household. “I am surprised you did not have her put to death.”

  “No,” Klag said softly, and now his face was sad, a show of emotion he rarely allowed anyone on board to see. “She only wished to have her son restored to her. I can blame no mother for that, least of all my own.”

  She rested her hands on Klag’s massive chest. “I will speak with my uncle again soon and see how he reacts to the notion.”

  “Thank you.” Klag grinned. “Though I do not wish to be seen as simply imitating Kurak and Leskit.”

  Laughing, B’Oraq said, “Indeed. They do make an excellent couple, I think.”

  “Yes, and Leskit will make a fine second officer.”

  B’Oraq tilted her head. “He will be third in command?”

  “Why not? He has proved himself time and again, and he has more experience than anyone else left on the ship. My lone concern regarding Toq was his youth—Leskit will counter that.”

  “I think it is an excellent choice.”

  Klag grinned. “Your approval is noted, Doctor. Now then, I have some free time. I was considering a bat’leth drill with Kohn. Or, perhaps, some other exercise…”

  G’joth headed down to the centermost deck, where the Gorkon’s troops had their bunks. The last time he had been there was when he’d convinced Wol to join Kagak and Goran. The leader had promised to slit G’joth’s throat if she had not enjoyed herself. After what I went through in Krennla, I may ask her to do it regardless.

  But when he approached the fifteenth’s bunks, he heard gales of raucous laughter from three voices. It seems I get to live another day.

  “May one assume,” he said as he approached the threesome, who were all standing in front of the bunks, each holding something, “that the trip to Pheben III was a success? And what is that you’re eating?” It looked like dead racht.

  All three turned. Goran bellowed, “G’joth! You have returned!”

  “Of course I have. It’s not like this squad can get by without me.” G’joth plastered a smile on his face. Goran and Kagak both laughed, but Wol was staring at him.

  G’joth stared back with a look that he hoped conveyed his thoughts: We will speak more later.

  Wol nodded, comprehending. She’d lived in Krennla, she would understand.

  Then the leader handed him one of the dead racht. “We have been waiting for you in order to share this.”

  “What is it?” It felt oddly sticky for racht.

  “A specialty of my grandmother,” Kagak said. “Eat it!”

  Reluctantly, G’joth put it in his mouth and slowly, gingerly chewed.

  After the second bite, he chewed much faster. “This is amazing.”

  “So’s our grandmother,” Goran said.

  G’joth looked up sharply at that. “ ‘Our’?”

  “I have mated!” Goran said proudly.

  “To my sister,” Kagak added. “B’Ellor and Goran are now mates.”

  Turning to Wol, G’joth said, “Obviously, I missed a great deal.”

  “Yes, you did,” Wol said with a warm smile. “Would that you had heeded your own advice to me.”

  “Indeed.” G’joth had never seen Wol this content before. And the big man was positively giddy.

  After taking some more of the racht, G’joth looked at Kagak. “It seems you’re one of us at last.”

  A voice said from behind G’joth, “As am I, now.”

  Whirling around, G’joth saw Bekk Moq. “You’re our fifth, Moq?”

  Moq nodded. “QaS DevwI’ Grotek informed me when I reported that I’d been promoted to the fifteenth.” To Wol, he said, “Leader, I can think of no greater honor than to be posted to your squad. I hope I can live up to your standards.”

  G’joth frowned. “Weren’t you in the one-seventy
-fifth?”

  “One-seventy-seventh, actually,” Moq said.

  “However,” Wol said, “Moq was instrumental in identifying the mutineers at Elabrej. The entire ship—or at least, those who remain loyal to Klag—owe him a debt. I believe the promotion was well earned.”

  Wol’s word was good enough for G’joth. He held out his hand. “Have some candied racht, Moq. And welcome to the fifteenth.”

  Grinning, Moq grabbed the confection and stuffed it in his mouth. “This is fantastic!” he said with a full mouth.