I.K.S. Gorkon Book Three Read online

  “Pilot, at what speed would we need to travel in order to arrive at the Elabrej home system in six days rather than five?”

  Ensign Koxx quickly entered some commands into his console. “Warp seven-point-nine, sir.”

  “Reduce speed to warp seven-point-nine.” He turned to the second-shift gunner, Zaloq. “Ensign, engage cloak. Inform engineering that we will be maintaining cloak for the next six days at least. When the inevitable complaints come from Commander Kurak, direct her to me.”

  Looking puzzled, Zaloq said, “Yes, sir.”

  Klag recalled that Zaloq was one of the many transfers from the Kreltek, replacing the second-shift gunner and backup gunner, who both died at San-Tarah. “You have not encountered our chief engineer, have you, Zaloq?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Be grateful, then, that the she-beast has not seen fit to sink her verbal fangs into your hide. Perhaps you will retain that distinction, but I doubt you will be so fortunate.”

  Several of the bridge officers chuckled in response. Only when that happened did Zaloq do so as well.

  The turbolift doors opened to reveal Toq, Kallo, and Beyr. Klag walked over to the operations console, and the two officers correctly assumed that was where the captain wished to meet with them, along with Ensign Kal, who currently staffed the station. “Toq, we now have six days before we reach the Elabrej. By the time we arrive, I want to know everything there is to know about them. You and our two ensigns here are to study everything in the Kravokh’s report, as well as everything the Gorkon’s long-range sensors tell us. From what Captain Wirrk reported, the Elabrej were able to detect them even while cloaked. If there is a way to counteract that, I want you three to find it.”

  With his usual eagerness, Toq said, “Yes, sir. We will begin immediately.”

  “No,” Klag said. “There is no need for haste. Ensign Kal may begin tonight, but I want the pair of you rested for the morning shift. Only a fool rushes into battle, and our battle is not for six more days.” He smiled and quoted Kahless. “ ‘Hasty warriors are soon dead warriors.’ ”

  “Understood, Captain,” Toq said.

  Kallo simply nodded.

  Toq looked at Kal. “I want a full report of all long-range sensor readings by the time the first shift begins tomorrow.”

  “Yes, sir,” Kal said.

  “But first,” Klag said, “address intraship.”

  Nodding, Kal did so. Klag strode to the front of the bridge and stood between the viewscreen and his chair, facing the officers and bekks who had second-shift bridge duty, as well as Toq, Kallo, and the guards.

  “Warriors of the Gorkon—we have been called into battle. Our brother ship, the Kravokh, has encountered a new enemy for us to fight, a discovery for which that mighty vessel was destroyed. Captain Wirrk, along with seven members of his crew, have been taken prisoner by this new foe, who call themselves the Elabrej Hegemony. One of their ships fired upon the Kravokh with no provocation; Captain Wirrk destroyed them, then was attacked in turn when he investigated. Our other brother ships are being dispatched along with General Goluk’s fleet to do battle with this new enemy—but we will not be joining them. Instead, we are to take the battle behind the lines, to attempt to defeat the enemy from within—and also to rescue our fellow Klingons from their wretched fate. We will arrive in six days, and by then I want all of you to be prepared to claim victory.”

  Klag moved forward, his fists clenched. “We go now to battle! We go now to victory! We go now to glory!”

  Cheers rang out from those on the bridge. Over the com system, he heard several groups of warriors break into song. After a moment, Toq started leading the bridge crew in a rousing rendition of “Don’t Speak.”

  Lending his deep voice to the song, Klag took his seat, ready to face the coming battle.

  Chapter Four

  Imparter Mal Sanchit attempted to be enthusiastic as she read her day’s lecture. She looked out over the young Vor children in her care, sitting in their hammocks and following along on their readers, and decided that they weren’t convinced by her attempt at enthusiasm. Then again, they don’t seem to be putting any effort into seeming enthusiastic about what I’m saying, either, so perhaps we are even. Still, she had to make the effort. After all, her job was to provide them with knowledge to prepare them for life as the best of the hegemony.

  What a pathetic sham.

  For ungret s, Sanchit had fought to expand the mandate of the schools to include all Elabrej, but all she had been able to do was convince the oligarchs that it wouldn’t be too damaging to allow other stratas to mix in with the Vor and take classes together. Sanchit suspected that the recent appointing of two Yers to the oligarchy had a lot to do with that, and she had to admit that it was progress. A generation ago, the idea of mixing stratas in classes was unheard of—as was anyone other than a Vor serving as an oligarch.

  First Oligarch Vor Jorg tried to cast himself as a reformer, but the truth was that it was politically expedient to allow two Yers to replace the oligarchs who had died three and five ungrets earlier. That one very public gesture, which had comparatively little bearing on the daily lives of the average hegemon, made it easy for the oligarchs to quietly block reform on virtually every other level.

  Now, of course, there was a military buildup, with concomitant budget increases, all of which were taken away from social programs, infrastructure maintenance, and so many other vital functions—all so the military could find more ways to blow up sep redoubts.

  She paused in her lecture notes. Her thoughts had turned to all the friends, all the colleagues, who had died when the military destroyed the cave system on Magna For. That had been a major sep hideout, and they had lost dozens of people. It had been a devastating blow.

  Sanchit forced herself not to think about it. Especially now when she was supposed to be doing her job as an imparter. If they even suspect I’m connected to the seps, I’ll be arrested by Enforcement, interrogated—probably tortured—and then, when they’re finished, a public show trial.

  Forcing those thoughts to the back of her mind, sheended her lecture, and then opened the room for questions. This was the part of the class that Sanchit both enjoyed and dreaded the most. On the one hand, the free exchange of ideas was much more conducive to the learning process than dry lectures; indeed, Sanchit was one of the few imparters who encouraged this kind of conversation with the students. On the other hand, the extemporaneous nature of such discussions increased the risk that she would expose her separatist leanings to the students, none of whom would hesitate to report her to Enforcement.

  As usual, Vor Tammik was the first to ask something. “I don’t understand why the oligarchy decided to separate the clergy from the oligarchy, as if government and religion weren’t integrally connected to each other. Hasn’t making the first oligarch and the first cleric two separate posts simply made the rule of government that much more complicated?”

  Sanchit waved her midlegs with amusement. Every term, someone asks that question. It wasn’t an unreasonable one, either—to the average hegemon, the separation of church and state seemed only to add to the bureaucracy.

  “That’s a good question, Tammik,” Sanchit lied, “but the mistake many people make is to think that it was done in order to keep religion and government from interfering with each other. While there are some who believe that, it had little to do with the oligarchy’s decision. Note the time frame of that decision: it was only a few ungrets after the Fourth World was added to the hegemony. With each new world, the amount of work needed to govern it increases exponentially—if not logarithmically. It simply was no longer practical for only seven oligarchs to maintain the civic and spiritual well-being of the hegemony. They could have expanded the oligarchy, or they could have separated the two—and, while there is considerable overlap between them, the two functions are separate—and they wisely chose the latter option.”

  Vor Larrab then posed a query. “But what about when the cler
gy and the oligarchy disagree? Like with the exploration program. The first cleric objected to the space center’s initiative to explore skies beyond the home system.”

  Sanchit’s instinct was to say that she agreed with the first cleric, but that was more overtly political than she was comfortable being in her class. Still, she had always found the space center’s idiotic mandate to be an appalling waste of time and money that could be better dedicated to—well, almost anything. So many in the hegemony were poor or hungry, so many were struggling to survive, that the notion of sending expensive conveyances on long-term missions to far-off skies for no discernible practical purpose sickened Sanchit. It was one of several examples of the financial mismanagement that was leading the hegemony to ruin.

  However, she could say none of this aloud to her students. “The first cleric’s interpretation of holy writ meant that he had to object. The oligarchy’s interpretation differed. That will always be the case. Laws are subject to interpretation as much as holy writ—sometimes more so.” Several students laughed at that. “The oligarchs do not always agree on those points of order, either. What makes us Elabrej, what separates us from the animals and plants, is that when we disagree, we discuss it, we compromise, we argue, and eventually we figure out a way to live with or alter our disagreements. That doesn’t change with the clergy separated from the oligarchy.”

  Before any other student could talk, the viewer built into one section of the learning sphere lit suddenly to life with the image of someone Sanchit didn’t recognize.

  “Hegemons, attention, please. We must interrupt your lives in order for the first oligarch to speak to all of you.”

  This surprised Sanchit. Jorg hadn’t given an address that wasn’t preplanned since he was elevated to first oligarch.

  The image switched to that of Vor Jorg, seated in the hammock in his office sphere. “Greetings, hegemons. I apologize for intruding on you like this, but it is necessary. Many of you are aware of the fact that there has been a military buildup over the past few sogret s. Rumors have been spreading, and many of the newsgivers have speculated as to the reasons for this unprecedented military activity.”

  Sanchit expelled quite a bit of air in reaction to that, an outward show of negative emotion that she quickly regretted. It wasn’t just the newsgivers who were speculating, though they certainly were—everything from massing an attack on the seps to a hastily covered up mining disaster on Timnor For—but also the seps themselves. At the last meeting, several had put forth a variety of theories. Of all the ludicrous notions presented, Sanchit’s favorite was the most nonsensical: an attack by aliens. Gansett had insisted that his sources were reliable, but Sanchit knew the idea was absurd. It was as the clerics said: Doane and Gidding made the Elabrej unique in all the universe. The idea of alien life-forms was patently absurd. It was why she shared the first cleric’s objection to the exploration program.

  Jorg continued. “Before I continue, I must warn you that the images you are about to see are quite graphic and violent—but it is necessary that you understand the extraordinary circumstances in which we find ourselves. As many of you know, the space center has sent several conveyances to explore beyond our skies. These images are from the flight recording of one of those conveyances, led by Shipmaster Vor Ellis, who made sure to warn us of this impending threat before she and her valiant crew were murdered so very far from their home skies.”

  A commotion ran through the class at the thought of a Vor being killed. Sanchit was less concerned, in part because she didn’t share the arrogant notion that the Vor were almost divinely superior, but mostly because of her own feeling, shared by most of the seps, that the best Vor was a dead Vor. Sanchit was far more interested in why anything involving that idiotic program of the space center’s was of such concern that it necessitated interrupting what was turning into a particularly lively discussion.

  The image on the learning sphere wall changed to that of some kind of full sphere. Oddly, it had workstations all over the interior. After a moment of watching the various people tethered to those workstations, Sanchit realized that they were in a gravity-free environment. Of course, she realized, there is no gravity in the skies. Yet another reason why this project was an abomination. Elabrej should be able to place all their limbs on the ground.

  She recognized the one sitting in the elaborate cushioned seat at the center of the sphere: Vor Ellis, who had appeared with many of the newsgivers before her conveyance left hegemony skies, being treated as if she were engaged in the most noble endeavor imaginable, rather than the boondoggle it truly was.

  After a moment, the image changed to that of a section of the sphere that showed an outside view. Sanchit saw only the stars and blackness, and wondered what the significance was of this. Then one of those electronic weapons shot out from the sphere and hit—something.

  Sanchit had no idea what it was the weapon could have hit, but half an engret after it struck, something became visible.

  Never in her life had Sanchit ever seen anything like what appeared on the screen then. She hoped never to see anything like it again. Her windpipes dried up, and her limbs fell limp.

  It looked like some kind of giant predatory bird suddenly appearing in the sky in order to swoop down and destroy everything.

  A moment later, the bird spit fire.

  The image switched back, then, to the rest of the sphere. As Sanchit watched, horrified, a piece of the sphere ripped apart, drawing the people within toward it. Sanchit did not see all of them die as the sphere came apart, but she did see several of them lose their lives, though Vor Ellis was still alive when the image stopped transmitting.

  Children would always talk, or at least whisper, so Sanchit did not concern herself with the fact that there was a low murmur while the first oligarch was speaking. Now, however, the sight of that—that thing wiping out an entire conveyance full of people left the room utterly quiet. Larrab dropped his stylus onto the floor, and it echoed throughout the room as if someone had fired a weapon. But Larrab, whose limbs were limp with the shock, didn’t even move to pick it up.

  Jorg’s face came back on. “I apologize for showing you those images, but you needed to see the gravity of the threat we face. For many ungret s, we have believed ourselves to be alone in the universe. We now know that to be false—but I assure you, I do not seek to belie holy writ. The clerics tell us that Doane and Gidding made us unique in the universe, and they are not at all wrong—for these creatures who appeared out of nowhere and murdered our people with no provocation are nothing like us. They were not created with the divine touch of Doane, but rather belched forth from some foul nether region. I have spoken at great length with First Cleric Vor Hennak, and he has assured me that these beings were sent by Doane to test us, and that it is our duty to eliminate them from the galaxy.”

  The first oligarch continued to drone on, but Sanchit paid little attention, because there was one thing in the image that played back that struck her even more than the presence of any kind of alien life.

  We fired first. They didn’t murder our people without provocation—the provocation was right there. We fired a weapon at them, and they fired one right back at us. If Doane did send them as a test, Sanchit had a very bad feeling that the Elabrej had already failed it.

  “Furthermore,” Jorg said, “we now know for sure that these foul creatures will be returning in force to destroy us as they destroyed Shipmaster Vor Ellis. Their sacrifice will not be in vain, I assure you. We are massing our fleets into a fighting force that is to be reckoned with.” Jorg paused and folded his midlegs. “I know that there is unrest among some of you. I know that there are a select few who believe that times are difficult, even though the hegemony is more economically stable than at any time in its history.”

  This time Sanchit managed to hold back her disgusted expelling of air, but it was difficult. The hegemony was only “economically stable” if you were a Vor or a Yer.

  “Those few have had
the flame of discontent fanned by arrogant, unpatriotic separatists who believe that everything should be handed out indiscriminately—”

  Sanchit managed to keep her limbs under control. As opposed to now, when things are handed out discriminately.

  “—rather than earned by their own labors, and who believe that sedition and disloyalty is the only way to get what they want. But now is not the time for divisiveness. Now is a time when we must all come together to face a common foe. Because no matter what you may think of me and my fellow oligarchs, whatever you may think of the Elabrej Hegemony, I can tell you this for sure: The aliens do not care about our differences. They only want to see us dead. And the only way they will fail is if we stand together. I am calling for all able-bodied hegemons to enlist with the military to aid in our efforts to expel these demonic invaders. Our military conveyances have received upgraded weaponry guaranteed to blow these foul aliens out of our skies permanently.”

  Yet again, Sanchit had to hide her dismay, as she wondered what service vital to the needs of the average hegemon would be reduced or eliminated to pay for these new recruits and for this new weaponry. She also wondered what the basis of the first oligarch’s guarantee was.

  “The digret that Vor Ellis and her conveyance were destroyed was a dark one indeed, but the digret s and sogret s ahead will be the greatest we have ever seen. Doane will wrap his limbs around us and we will be strong.”

  Jorg continued on with some tiresome patriotic speech or other, but it didn’t matter. Sanchit’s main concern was what would happen next.

  We have to have a meeting. We need to have a meeting now, and we need to figure out what to do.

  Imparter Mal Sanchit was sure of one thing: First Oligarch Vor Jorg had it completely wrong. The digrets and sogrets ahead were likely to be the worst they had ever seen.

  When Sanchit went back to her private office sphere, she found a message waiting for her inviting her to a surprise gathering for a friend’s natal day. It was the common code used by the seps—an emergency meeting. Good, she thought.