I.K.S. Gorkon Book Three Page 12

  “It is much more than that,” Toq said, “and you would know that if you had paid attention to any of this briefing.”

  “Have you even tested this adjustment? No, you have not, because we don’t know what the parameters of the test are, and even if we did, we have no way of creating the conditions.”

  A thought occurred to Klag. “Yes, we do.”

  Everyone looked at him.

  “We have a holodeck. The Federation often uses their holodecks for scientific testing.”

  Kurak did not sound placated. “It will not be a wholly accurate test.”

  “I thought you were a scientist,” Kallo said. “I remember reading your monographs, viewing the specs of the Negh’Var and all the other ships you designed—and I remember thinking it was an honor to serve with you when I was assigned to the Gorkon. But now I see that your reputation is a sham.” The ensign leaned forward, her fists resting on the wardroom table. “No test can possibly be wholly accurate. I believe that you are simply too cowardly to implement these changes and are making excuses.”

  Rising from her chair, Kurak said, “Believe what you will.”

  Klag also rose. “You have not been dismissed, Kurak.”

  The chief engineer stayed standing, though she seemed to wobble a bit on her feet. “Of course not, sir.”

  After glaring at his chief engineer for several seconds, pity mixing with disgust, Klag turned to Toq. “Commander, program the holodeck with the parameters of the new cloak and the specifications of the Elabrej ships, and conduct your tests immediately.”

  “Sir, the QaS DevwI’ are conducting training exercises in the holodeck until second shift.”

  Klag hesitated. The holodeck was the best cure for indolence among the troops, who often went for months without activity, or performing menial tasks, before being pressed into combat duty.

  “Compose the program. Work with Commander Kurak on it,” he added, ignoring the look of irritation the chief engineer gave him. “Begin the testing when the QaS DevwI’ have completed their drills.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You are dismissed—” Toq, Kallo, Kurak, and Rodek moved toward the door. “—except for you, Kurak. Remain.”

  Kurak stopped, turned, and sat—fell, really—back into her chair.

  When the other three were gone, Klag said, “I grow weary of you, Kurak. Kallo was correct about you—your reputation for brilliance has not been in evidence on this ship, and you have proven yourself a coward.”

  “I am not—”

  Klag slammed a hand down on the wardroom table. “You were directly challenged! And you disregarded it!”

  Laughing bitterly, Kurak said, “Must I pay attention to the mewlings of infants now?”

  Leaning over the engineer, Klag could smell the warnog on her breath. In truth, he could have smelled it if he were on the bridge and she in the aft portion of the port wing. “The only thing you must do, Kurak, is follow my orders. You have, to date, done a poor job of it.”

  “Then it is your duty, Captain, to kill me and replace me with someone who will do the job better.” Then she widened her eyes in mock surprise. “But, wait! There is no one who will do the job better! This is, after all, a ship of fools and imbeciles, led by the captain of petaQpu’ himself, who—”

  Whatever else Kurak was going to say was cut off by Klag’s fist striking her face, which sent her sprawling to the floor.

  Klag stood over her prone form. “My duty, Kurak, is to run this ship as best I see fit. Right now, I feel the best way to do that is to remind the chief engineer that death is an honor. To die in service of the empire is the hope of any warrior. Therefore, I would not waste any energy providing you with a death that might, for some reason, lead you to Sto-Vo-Kor. The Black Fleet does not deserve the likes of you. And neither does this ship. The crew of this vessel has fought and bled and died for honor and for the empire. Many of them have suffered. But you? All you have done is lose a wind-boat competition and whine about being ordered to do your job.”

  Kurak spit on the deck. “You think I have not suffered? To be forced to work with my inferiors, to—”

  This time Klag interrupted Kurak by slamming his boot down on her left leg. Based on the cracks that echoed throughout the wardroom, he broke her leg in at least three places.

  To her credit, she did not scream, though she did bite down on her lower lip sufficiently hard to draw blood.

  Then Klag knelt down next to her. “You may call what you have endured suffering, but it is nothing compared to what will come. I have been patient with you, Commander, because of your reputation and indeed because of the lack of viable alternatives. But my patience has run out.” He stood upright and activated his communicator. “Klag to B’Oraq. Report to the wardroom. Commander Kurak is injured.”

  Klag heard the slightest whimper of pain as he left the wardroom without looking back.

  “Your leg will be stiff for a few days, but it should heal just fine.”

  Kurak barely heard Dr. B’Oraq’s words. Instead she stared at the ceiling of the medical bay and hoped that she would be released soon so she could go drink some more. At least this injury meant she would not have to participate in the captain’s idiotic exercise on the holodeck.

  How much more of this must I endure? she asked herself, even though she’d known the answer since the end of the war: until Gevnar came of age.

  So typical, she thought as she looked down at her leg, which B’Oraq had healed with a bone-knitter. Only the Defense Force would use such tactics for discipline. Much better to kill the offending officer and be done with it.

  With a start, Kurak realized that she was wishing for her own death. It would certainly be preferable to this. Perhaps that is why I have continued drinking—in the hopes that Klag would kill me. It was truly her only alternative; suicide would send her straight to Gre’thor, and there was no one on this ship with whom she could entrust Mauk-to’Vor.

  “This is interesting.”

  Kurak looked over at the doctor, who was studying a readout on the display over the engineer’s biobed, but said nothing.

  B’Oraq stared down at her and smiled. “Don’t you want to know what’s interesting?”

  “I don’t care all that much.” Kurak looked away as she spoke, going back to staring at the ceiling and thinking about warnog.

  “You have something I’ve never diagnosed in a Klingon before. Plenty of humans, Betazoids, Tellarites, and Vulcans, but never a Klingon.”

  This confused Kurak at first; then she recalled that B’Oraq had studied medicine in the Federation, and therefore probably treated several of their species for whatever illnesses their weakened bodies contracted. Kurak had visited the Federation once, and despised it. She was falsely accused of killing a Ferengi scientist in secret, which offended Kurak—when she killed someone, she did it face-to-face. Besides, this Ferengi was actually a skilled scientist whose work on metaphasic shields was groundbreaking; she would as soon kill her mentor, Makros. She didn’t see how B’Oraq could have tolerated being among these weaklings for longer than the fortnight Kurak had spent, much less the eight years required to learn how they practice medicine.

  The doctor continued: “You, Kurak, have alcohol poisoning.”

  That got Kurak’s attention, and she looked back at the doctor. “How can alcohol poison one?”

  Chuckling, B’Oraq said, “Alcohol is a poison, Kurak, but it’s one for which the Klingon system has a very high tolerance. But drink enough warnog, and even those tolerances can be exceeded.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Kurak said defiantly.

  “Don’t be stupid, Kurak. I did a full examination while I was setting your leg—you’ve got more warnog than blood in your veins right now.” B’Oraq tugged at the braid that hung down on her right shoulder. Kurak felt a sudden urge to tear the braid from her scalp. “Looks like you’ve been off the wagon for two months. Sorry, a human expression,” she added wit
h a chuckle, though Kurak hadn’t really been paying close enough attention to care. “In any case, if you keep up this pace, you’ll be dead in two days.” She looked over at the nurse, who was sitting in a corner with a reader. “Gaj, prepare a hypo of Broxmin-C.”

  The nurse seemed irritated at the instruction, but got up from her reading and prepared the hypo. If one of my engineers acted like that, Kurak thought, she’d already be dead.

  Looking back down at Kurak, B’Oraq said, “It will help break down the alcohol in your system, and ease you out of the addiction. You’ll be nauseous for a few days, and if you touch anything with alcohol in it, you could die instantly.”

  Gaj walked over with the hypo, but Kurak grabbed the nurse’s wrist to prevent her from handing it to B’Oraq. “No. I will not take this drug.”

  “It’ll make the withdrawal much easier, Kurak,” B’Oraq said.

  “I do not intend to withdraw from anything.”

  “If you keep drinking, you will die, Kurak. It’s as good as committing suicide.”

  “That is not your concern.” Kurak did not believe the doctor’s words. Alcohol was not a poison, unless you were one of those weak Federation species like humans or Betazoids. They made Kurak sick to even be near them. She started to rise from her bunk. “I will no longer—”

  B’Oraq touched a control next to the biobed, and suddenly Kurak felt as if she had slammed into a duranium wall just above the biobed. She slumped back down onto the metal bed. “What have you done?” she asked with a snarl.

  “It’s a restraining field. I won’t force the medicine on you, but I can keep you confined to the medical bay until further notice.”

  Kurak decided that after she ripped the braid from B’Oraq’s scalp, she would strangle her with it. “You have no authority to do that! Only the captain does!”

  At that, B’Oraq laughed. “Have a good relationship with the captain, do you? Klag considers me to be a valued advisor, Kurak. You, he considers an irritant at best—and, I might add, he shares that opinion with everyone on this ship, with the possible exception of Leskit. Which of us do you think he will believe?”

  Seething, Kurak said nothing.

  “However, since you wish him to make the decision, I’ll be happy to bring him down here.”

  B’Oraq then left the medical bay, leaving Kurak alone.

  No, not alone—the nurse was there, also. She put the hypo away, but did not go back to her corner. Instead, she leaned over Kurak.

  “I can help you.”

  That earned the nurse a sneer. “How can you help me?”

  “You do not believe that the son of M’Raq is a good captain.”

  Kurak said nothing.

  Gaj continued. “You are not the only one who feels that way. Many of us wish to see Klag removed from power on this ship. He leads us to dishonor, and consorts with the bolmaq.”

  “The what?” Kurak asked, confused.

  “That creature who just left. I call her the bolmaq because she reminds me—”

  Getting the joke, Kurak actually smiled. A bolmaq was an annoying little marsupial native to Boreth that made a bleating sound and tended to run around in circles. “The name fits. Go on.”

  “We are organizing. Lieutenant K’Nir is on our side, as are Ensign Zaloq and most of the second-shift bridge crew. So are Lieutenant Rovar, Lieutenant Yaklan, and Ensign B’Mar. So are many of the troops.”

  This conversation was starting to bore Kurak. “How many of the troops?”

  “Many,” Gaj said unconvincingly. “All those who came from the Kreltek, for certain.”

  “Any of the QaS DevwI’?”

  “Latkos and Karin.”

  Kurak snorted. Those two commanded Nineteenth and Twentieth Companies—the lowest of the low. “Any of the command crew? Toq? Rodek? Lokor?”

  “No—they are among those who must be purged if this ship is to return to glory!”

  Shaking her head, Kurak said, “You are all fools. A few transfers, some unimportant officers, and the QaS DevwI’ of the poorest soldiers on the ship are your revolutionary force?”

  Sounding almost petulant, Gaj said, “Our numbers are growing.”

  “I’m happy for you.” Kurak felt her thoughts clearing and her anger rising, and she desperately wished for a mug of warnog. “You asked if I thought Klag was a good captain. The phrase ’good captain’ is an oxymoron. I will not participate in a mutiny that will simply exchange one petaQ for another. All of you are fools, and I only wish to be left alone until I can be rid of you.” A question occurred. “What made you think I would be intersted in this insanity?”

  “Yaklan suggested it. He and Ensign Zaloq both thought you’d jump at the chance.”

  Now Kurak laughed, though she had no idea who Zaloq was. “Yaklan—that toDSaH has yet to come up with a thought that was worth voicing, much less acting on.” Yaklan had been her assistant chief engineer for eight months, ever since Vall was left behind on taD to act as a figurehead planetary governor. Vall was irritating and Kurak had to restrain herself from killing him several times, but at least he was a skilled engineer. Had he been her assistant at the Science Institute, and had he not had such ludicrous notions as treating engineering conundrums as battles to be won rather than problems to be solved, Kurak would have welcomed him. As it was, she was happy to see the back of him.

  But while Yaklan was more tolerable than Vall, it was mainly because he was so undistinguished as to be irrelevant. If Kurak actually cared about what kind of engine room she ran, she would have gone to the trouble of finding a new assistant who was qualified for the job, but by her lights that was impossible in the Defense Force. All the candidates were imbeciles by dint of their being in the Defense Force. So she simply promoted the one with the most years of service.

  And now he wishes to mutiny, along with the other fools. “Yaklan was mistaken. Don’t feel bad,” she added at Gaj’s sour expression. “Yaklan is usually mistaken. It is a direct result of his being awake.” She looked away from the nurse, going back to staring at the ceiling. “Go away from me now.”

  Gaj stared at Kurak for several seconds before returning to her corner to continue reading.

  By Kahless’s hand, I want a drink, Kurak thought plaintively.

  “Leaders of Fifteenth through Thirtieth Squads, report to the wardroom.”

  The command woke Wol out of a sound sleep, her naked body intertwined with that of Leader Ryjjan. When they went off duty yesterday, Ryjjan had called in his debt in precisely the manner she had expected, in his bunk.

  Years of service had made it easy for Wol to get into uniform quickly while confined to two meters, even if she was sharing it with someone else. Ryjjan continued to slumber, making Wol wonder if the rest of his squad covered for him when announcements didn’t awaken him.

  To Wol’s disappointment, but not to her surprise, Ryjjan was a thoroughly unimaginative lover. His technique showed only a basic brutality. She barely even had any bruises, and not a single welt. I may as well have slept with a human.

  Still, the experience was not actively unpleasant, and it fulfilled her debt to him. Certainly, it was worth enduring one tedious night of dull sex in order to get her squad back in working order. Ever since the night of debauchery in the mess hall six days earlier, G’joth was back to his old self, Kagak was fitting in better, and Wol herself felt more alive and in control of her life. Only Trant was a problem, insofar as he had been acting no different since the night in the mess hall, despite his encouraging words.

  No, that’s not true, she thought as she pulled her boots on and clambered out of Ryjjan’s bunk, now fully dressed. He is acting different—as if he’s distracted by something.

  She resolved to deal with it later. Right now she was more concerned with why she was going to this meeting. Sixteenth through Thirtieth Squads comprised Second Company under QaS DevwI’ Klaris’s command—she was the only leader attending this meeting who was part of First Company.

 
; Entering the wardroom, she found herself even more confused by the presence—besides twelve of the other fifteen leaders, plus Klaris, Lokor, and Commander Toq—of Trant.

  What in Kahless’s name is he doing in this meeting?

  Trant stood in the corner of the wardroom, his arms folded before him. He looked different—not the malcontent he’d been when he joined the squad, nor the distracted soldier he’d been the past week. Now he carried an arrogant affect, as if he were better than anyone in the room. Since it was Wol’s considered opinion that that notion was precisely reversed in reality, she wondered what brought it on.

  Deciding to confront the issue head-on, she did not take her seat at the table as the other leaders had, but instead walked over to the bekk. “What are you doing here, Trant?”

  “You’ll find out soon enough.” Wol had never heard Trant use such a dismissive tone, not even during his arguments with Maris or G’joth.

  “Do not dare to speak to me that way, Trant! I—”

  Lokor interrupted her. “Leader—take your seat.”

  Wol whirled on the lieutenant. The security chief’s eyes were blazing with fury—and after a moment, Wol realized that it was directed, not at Wol, but at Trant. That, however, did not stop him from giving that order. What is going on here?

  She turned back to Trant. Confusing her even more, Trant’s face seemed apologetic. “It will all be explained, Wol. Trust me.”

  “Leader, take your seat,” Lokor said again.

  “I do not trust a subordinate who addresses me familiarly without cause, Bekk.” Wol put extra emphasis on the rank before turning her back on Trant and taking her seat next to Leader Gozak of the twentieth.

  “Maybe they’ll be telling us why the pointless transfers,” Gozak muttered.

  Wol frowned and spoke at a low volume, as Gozak had. “What do you mean?”

  “I lost two of my troops. Zabyk over there lost one, half the thirty-first moved…”

  Not having heard any of this—but also not having concerned herself overmuch with troop assignments that didn’t affect First Company generally and Fifteenth Squad in particular—Wol asked, “Moved where?”