Star Trek #97: In the Name of Honor

by Dayton Ward

  “Koloth!”

  Toreth started to draw his sidearm as Sulu moved forward to intercept the attacking prisoner. Kirk was in front of the helmsman and so was closer to J’rgan, but it didn’t matter.

  All three of them froze as Koloth stepped boldly into the charge, his left hand grasping J’rgan’s right wrist and halting the downward swing of the bat’leth. Koloth jerked down on J’rgan’s arm, pulling the weapon to the side and drawing the other Klingon off balance, his head and neck now exposed and vulnerable to attack.

  Which Koloth delivered.

  The strike was so fast, so brutal, that Kirk almost didn’t believe it could have happened. It wasn’t until J’rgan’s lifeless body fell limply to the deck that the realization was driven home.

  His mouth open in mute shock, Kirk could say nothing as Koloth calmly straightened his uniform and bent to retrieve the fallen bat’leth. Only then did he face his small audience.

  While Toreth was smiling in admiration at his captain’s impressive display of physical prowess, Kirk and Sulu wore nearly identical stunned expressions. Finally, Kirk was able to summon enough control to speak.

  “Was . . . was that really necessary?”

  Koloth studied the Enterprise captain’s face for several seconds before replying. “You may look like a Klingon, my dear Captain, and you may even learn to fight like a Klingon. But do not believe for one moment that any of that gives you any insight into what it means to be Klingon.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  KOMOR READ THE LATEST communications transcript from the Gal’tagh, the latest from the deep-cover operative he had stationed aboard Koloth’s ship, giving full details as to the Gal’tagh ’s activities. “K’zeq,” he read aloud from his datapad. Then, in a rare display of his formidable temper, he threw the small device across the room. It slammed against the far wall of his office and shattered into countless pieces of metal and plastic composite shrapnel.

  “There can be only one reason for attempting to locate K’zeq,” K’lotek said from where he stood near the expansive window dominating his friend’s office. “Koloth is looking for the prison on Pao’la.”

  Komor rose from behind his ornate stone desk. The centerpiece of his office, it had been fashioned from a slab of granite taken from the mountain monastery on Boreth. The remote planet, according to Klingon legend, was where Kahless would one day return from Sto-Vo-Kor to lead the Klingon Empire toward its ultimate destiny. Komor had visited Boreth once many years ago, and had been so taken with the monastery that he desired a souvenir, something that he could look upon each day and which would remind him of the simpler though perhaps more rewarding existence that living on the planet might bring to him. He had possessed the desk that had been carved from the granite since first being elected to the High Council, and it was one of the few items from the office he would take with him when it came time for him to step down.

  “Of all the things I thought Gorkon capable, I never imagined this,” he said, shaking his head as he paced the office. All around him, the trophies and mementos of a glorious military and political career begged for his attention, but his gaze fell on none of them. Instead, he stared at the worn wooden floor as he walked.

  With J’rgan’s report stating that the Gal’tagh was enroute to Pao’la, it was obvious what Koloth had discussed with K’zeq.

  The Gagarin.

  Komor had long ago relegated the memory of that cursed Federation ship and all the problems it had caused to obscurity. To have it so violently thrown back in his face at this most tenuous of times for the Empire galled him.

  He remembered objecting to taking any of the Starfleet crew captive, even if the reason put forth by Chancellor Kesh was to learn of the Federation’s plans for the unoccupied planets bordering the Neutral Zone near Klingon space. As he had only recently been elected to the High Council, Komor’s voice had not carried the weight of the more seasoned members. So he had sat by and watched as the surviving members of the Gagarin ’s crew were scattered to various prison facilities across the Empire, including Pao’la, and held in secret.

  “Why didn’t we simply kill all of them once we’d obtained the information we’d wanted?” he asked, knowing that K’lotek would understand that the question was rhetorical and would not offer an answer. His close friend understood his tendency to ramble, talking and posing questions aloud to himself in the hope that clarity would emerge from whatever confusion might be consuming him. Komor, as well as a few other Council members, had argued for the execution of the Gagarin survivors once their perceived usefulness had come to an end. Once again, though, such thoughts were waylaid as the Empire entered yet another round of negotiations with the Federation. Kesh had believed that Starfleet hostages might prove useful should the talks begin to go against the Klingons. Even when the negotiations ended and both parties came away no better or worse than they had been before, the Council had still not seen fit to dispose of the prisoners.

  Now, years later, Kesh, Komor, and K’lotek were the only members of the current Council who had been in office at the time of the incident. They alone shared the secret.

  Well, they, along with Gorkon and Koloth, apparently.

  Gorkon had only recently been appointed to the Council, but he had wasted no time making his views known. War with the Federation, he espoused, was a waste of time and resources. The Federation, regardless of how differently they viewed the universe they occupied, had at their command far greater reserves of materiel with which to increase their sphere of influence. The Empire, on the other hand, was greatly restricted, territorially speaking. Cosmic Fate had seen fit to position both the Federation and the Romulan Empire in such a manner that Klingon boundaries could only be expanded away from the galactic center and into a desolate region of the Beta Quadrant. Very few suitable star systems had been found in that area of space, with even fewer planets that could be populated or mined for vital resources. Because of this, Gorkon believed the course of action best for the Empire was to seek some kind of peaceful coexistence with the Federation.

  “If Gorkon has discovered that the Empire holds Starfleet officers in captivity,” K’lotek said, “he will insist on their safe return to the Federation. It’s just the sort of goodwill gesture he’s been looking for to prove his point.”

  Komor nodded angrily. “Yes. He’s so enamored with establishing peace with the Federation that he’s blinded himself to the consequences. With the unrest we face, this will only worsen the problem.”

  True enough, there was a growing movement within the Empire of Klingons who sought to return to the old ways, to the days when the teachings of Kahless guided the people rather than a group of elected political officials. Many Klingons believed that the High Council had lost sight of the values put forth by the Unforgettable and that they should be made to see the errors of their misguided leadership.

  If the swelling ranks of Kahless followers learned of the existence of any Gagarin survivors, they would see it as an act of blasphemy in the face of Klingon honor. There would be calls for removal of the Council, an action that could very well plunge the Empire into civil war.

  “We must prevent any knowledge of the prisoners from escaping,” Komor said. “Gorkon cannot be allowed to take this matter into his own hands, not with the peace talks still underway. Though I prefer the battlefield to a conference table, I am not so dense that I cannot see the greater good being served here. If the Empire can benefit from such an alliance, then so be it. One day, our patience will be rewarded and we will take our place as the supreme rulers of the galaxy.”

  K’lotek nodded in agreement, knowing as well that his personal beliefs would have to remain subordinate to the needs of the Empire as a whole if it were to continue to thrive.

  “What shall we do?”

  “Find me a ship,” Komor said. “Send it to Pao’la and have it destroy that prison. I want nothing to remain of it.”

  The look of astonishment was evident on K’lotek’s
face, and it took several seconds for him to respond. “It will take some time to evacuate our troops.”

  Komor shook his head. “No. Destroy everything. Make it look like an attack by an outside force. Romulan, Orion, I don’t care, but I want nothing to remain.”

  “Kill our own soldiers to protect this secret?” K’lotek countered. “How is that better than the secret itself?”

  “It’s their handful of lives against the entire Empire,” Komor countered. He indicated the computer terminal on his desk. “We have to purge all information regarding these prisoners. No record of the Gagarin can exist anywhere in our archives.” He felt his face flush with a fury he hadn’t known since he and K’lotek had served together aboard a battle cruiser in their youth.

  “Make them disappear.”

  The desk intercom on Komor’s desk chirped for attention. He tapped a control to open the connection and the display screen coalesced into the image of his aide.

  “Komor, we have received an incoming transmission from Captain Koloth aboard the Gal’tagh. He wishes to speak to you.”

  At first Komor wondered what Koloth could possibly want with him, but realization dawned and he felt an initial knot of fear well up in his stomach.

  “Put him on,” he ordered.

  A Klingon whom Komor did not immediately recognize replaced the image of his aide. However, he did notice that the Klingon’s face was severely bruised on one side, and that his head sat at an odd angle atop his neck. It only took an additional second for Komor to realize that the eyes staring at him from the computer screen were devoid of life.

  “J’rgan!” K’lotek gasped, making no attempt to hide his shock.

  On the screen, the face of J’rgan fell out of view, to be replaced by that of Koloth himself.

  “I’m afraid your spy will not be able to make his next scheduled report, Councilman Komor. If you want any further information about my ship, you’ll have to request it from me.”

  Komor felt his blood beginning to boil. Of all the impudence! Koloth, a mere ship commander, rendering such blatant insulting behavior toward a member of the High Council!

  “I will see to it that you and your ship are reduced to atoms,” Komor hissed.

  Koloth shook his head. “You are invited to send anyone foolhardy enough to try. In the meantime, I will continue on with my mission.”

  “Your mission?” Komor roared. “Your mission to plunge the Empire into chaos?”

  “No, Councilman,” Koloth replied. “My mission to see that a hideous blight on the honor of the Empire, which you have helped to perpetuate all these years, is wiped away. And when that is finished, I will come for you.”

  The threat meant nothing to Komor. “I know your destination, Koloth. You will be met by Klingon warriors loyal to the Empire, and they will destroy you.”

  Koloth laughed, embracing the challenge. “I look forward to that, but my sensors tell me there are no vessels in range to intercept me. We will be away before any resistance can arrive. Besides, I have allies who would not take kindly to my death at the orders of a conniving politician using the power of his office for his own personal gain. Weigh that, Councilman, and remember this : Today may not be a good day to die for you, but one day will be.”

  With that, the computer screen went dark, the transmission severed.

  “He’s right,” K’lotek said. “He has many friends, even on the Council, who would avenge his death.”

  Komor had begun his pacing again. “So far as we know, the only other Council member who knows what Koloth is doing is Gorkon.”

  “We cannot take action against Gorkon until we are certain the situation is contained,” K’lotek warned. How much knowledge did Gorkon possess? Who had he shared it with? What information still remained cloaked in darkness, perhaps waiting to be revealed in the event of his untimely demise?

  “We will address that issue soon enough,” he said. “However, we must distract the remainder of the Council long enough to sanitize this entire situation.”

  And then it struck him.

  It was so simple, and it was the perfect method to ensure that no unanticipated loose ends might be dangling.

  “The peace talks,” he said. “It is possible that someone there is aware of what Koloth is doing. We cannot risk that.”

  Eyes wide in disbelief, K’lotek stammered, “You’re not suggesting . . .”

  “What I suggest,” Komor said, “is that we deal with all of our problems in the most efficient manner available to us.”

  “Today may not be a good day to die for you, but one day will be.”

  On the bridge of the Gal’tagh, Koloth severed the connection, then turned to face Kirk and Sulu.

  “Are you sure that was the best way to handle that?” Kirk asked.

  Smiling wolfishly, Koloth replied, “Komor is angry and perhaps a bit desperate. I saw it in his eyes. That is good. He will be easier to predict that way.”

  “What if he sends a ship?” Sulu asked. “Are there really none close enough?” The helmsman tried not to look too closely at the prone form of J’rgan. He had to admit, though, that it had been an effective way to initiate communication with Komor.

  Koloth consulted the latest report from his sensor officer. “The nearest ship is the Zan’zi, but we should be able to retrieve the prisoners and be gone before it arrives. They outgun us, but I know of her captain. He is an inferior tactician.” Casting a glance at Kirk that on a human would have been considered mischievous, he added, “Even you could best him in battle, Kirk.”

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Kirk replied, chuckling as he scratched his beard. The adhesive that McCoy had used to affix the prosthetic to his face had begun to irritate his skin, a condition worsened by the warm temperature aboard the Gal’tagh which the Klingons found comfortable. He would be glad when he could rid himself of the Klingon disguise.

  Turning away from the communications station, Koloth made his way across the cramped bridge deck to his command chair even as two subordinates moved to carry the lifeless body of J’rgan away.

  “Komor won’t only be concerned with us, however. He will be trying to cover up all knowledge of our activities. That means the peace negotiations could be in danger.”

  “They wouldn’t try to attack the starbase,” Sulu countered. “It’s too far inside Federation space, for one thing. There’s no way they could get a ship close enough without being detected, could they?”

  Kirk shook his head. “No, it doesn’t seem likely, but we’ll alert Spock to the possibility.” For the first time since leaving the Enterprise, Kirk found himself wondering how his first officer was coping with the extended deception that had been enacted to cover his absence. He knew that McCoy or Scotty would be there to help him; either man was fully capable of selling sand to a Vulcan.

  “No,” he continued, “the real problem might be sabotage from within. If they could put a spy aboard the Gal’tagh, then they could have one aboard the other ship just as easily.”

  Koloth slapped the arm of his chair. “It matters not. We will complete our mission and restore the honor of the Empire, regardless of the obstacles we face.”

  Kirk exchanged looks with Sulu, wondering if the helmsman shared his concern about the trouble that the Klingon captain’s convictions was sure to land them in.

  Chapter Twenty

  THE LASER DRILL was not heavy, nor did it vibrate or kick as he wielded it, but Garrovick hated the tool just the same. Its intense heat wrapped around him like a cocoon, suffocating him and drenching him in sweat. He could feel the rivers of perspiration coursing down his body inside his coveralls, which in turn caused abrasive rubbing against his skin. The one-piece undergarment he wore, also soaked, only compounded the situation. It had taken less than a day for the guards to return the prisoners to something resembling their normal routine following the earthquake. While eighteen inmates had been killed and dozens more had suffered injuries, Sinak was the only one of the Ga
garin officers to be wounded. Garrovick once again gave silent thanks to the deity or deities watching over them all these years. How much longer would he and his friends continue to benefit from their divine influence? It was a question he asked frequently, waiting for an answer that he was sure would never come.

  He tried to keep his full attention on the work before him, but it was difficult. Garrovick had not yet seen Khulr today, and that worried him. He would much rather have the Klingon where he could see him instead of lurking about in the shadows, waiting for an opportunity to strike. After the incident during the earthquake two days earlier, the Gagarin first officer knew that he would be a target now, possibly even more so than Sydney. The Klingon’s pride had been damaged, which was far more harmful than any physical injury Garrovick could have inflicted. Khulr was no fool, however, and would not risk having the details of his last encounter with the humans brought to the attention of Korax. Instead he would bide his time, waiting for the right moment to seek revenge.

  In front of him, the drill’s focused beam of energy continued to bore into the dense rock of the mining cavern. Sensors built into the unit were programmed to cut around any dilithium contained within the bedrock of the mine, freeing the precious mineral from its underground prison and allowing the irregular-sized specimens to fall to the ground. Periodically, the worker manning the drill would have to cease digging long enough to transfer the extracted dilithium into portable containers, which were then transported by hand to remotely controlled collection vehicles. At the moment, a male Gallamite whom Garrovick did not know was performing this task.

  As he deactivated his laser drill and set it on the ground to help gather the dilithium, he couldn’t help but stare at the Gallamite’s transparent skull. Nearly twice the size of the average human’s, the prisoner’s brain was visible without skin or muscle tissue or blood surrounding it. Only a semi-clear fluid could be seen, surrounding the Gallamite’s brain. Almost every detail of the brain itself was visible, in some ways reminding Garrovick of the holographic representations of the human anatomy he had studied in otherwise long-forgotten biology classes.