I.K.S. Gorkon Book Three Page 15

  Retreating to the city was starting to look like a viable option.

  Then Toq felt as if someone had grabbed him by the waist and thrown him into the air. As he landed back on the ground with a bone-jarring thud, he deduced that someone had set off an explosion underground, which was confirmed by the sight of the ground several meters to his left exploding upward—knocking aside two of the troops.

  The one advantage to the protective sphere that was being erected was that it seemed to be bereft of weapons emplacements, so Toq felt comfortable breaking cover—if one could call lying on the ground “cover”—to investigate the explosion. It might be a way in, if nothing else.

  Several Elabrej climbed out of the hole left by the ground. The troops nearby took aim, but Toq cried, “Hold your fire!” These Elabrej were unarmed, and they did not have the same markings on their torsos as the ones who fired on them earlier did.

  One of the aliens looked at Toq. “I understood you! But you’re an alien!” Two of the creature’s arms started vibrating in a manner that frankly made Toq nauseous.

  “Yes.” Toq saw no reason to reveal the existence of the translator. “You have two seconds to tell me why I shouldn’t kill you.”

  “We came here to rescue you. But we thought you were trapped in the government sphere.”

  Toq was confused. “You came to rescue Klingons?”

  A noise came from the hole in the ground. Toq looked down to see other Elabrej trying to clamber out of it. “They’re coming for us! Mal Sanchit, we have to go now! We cannot afford for the oligarchs to have any of us in custody!”

  “The military will kill us all if we do not leave now,” the alien said to Toq.

  Belying those words, Toq heard a muffled order from below to take the separatists alive.

  Quickly, Toq weighed his options. Retreat had not been an option in part because they had nowhere to go. Now they had found people who were called “separatists” by the same military that had taken the warriors of the Kravokh prisoner and fired on Toq and his people. And they still had not heard from the Gorkon.

  We have somewhere to go now.

  “You have a method of transporting us?” Toq asked the alien.

  The creature’s arms vibrated even more now, to the point where Toq had to look away. “We have a conveyance hidden nearby. It was intended to carry however many of your kind were imprisoned by the oligarchs, so it can fit you. But we must go now.”

  Toq made his decision. “QaS DevwI’, gather the remaining troops quickly! We will go with these—separatists.”

  “Yes, Commander!” Klaris immediately set out to follow his orders, for which Toq was grateful. His decision was probably not the one Klaris himself would have made—indeed, Toq doubted that any of his three predecessors as first officer would have made it—but he had been raised with both Romulans and Klingons, and also spent time as the adopted child of a top I.I. agent. As glorious as a suicide attack on the government complex might have been, going with these separatists offered the better chance for victory in the long run.

  Toq shared few philosophies with the Jem’Hadar, but, though he gloried in battle, he also believed as the Dominion’s genetically engineered soldiers did that victory was life.

  A flash caught Toq’s eye, and he looked down to see one of the separatist aliens struck by weapons fire. Toq immediately fired in the direction of the weapon’s source, though he could see no specific target.

  He then looked over to see Klaris running toward him, Ensign Kallo alongside him, the surviving troops behind them.

  “We need covering fire,” Toq said to the QaS DevwI’.

  Klaris nodded, and said, “Twenty-ninth and Thirtieth Squads, cover!”

  Only four troops responded to that order; Toq realized after a moment that the remaining six must have been among the twenty-one cut down.

  To the alien, he said, “I am Toq, of the House of Lorgh, commander in the Klingon Defense Force, and first officer of the I.K.S. Gorkon.”

  “I am Imparter Mal Sanchit, and you must follow me.”

  “I place the lives of my crew in your—” He hesitated. “—hands.” He just now noticed that the Elabrej had ten fingers on each of six hands at the ends of their limbs. “If you betray that trust, I will not hesitate to kill all of you.”

  Now four of the arms vibrated. “Understood, Toq. Follow, please.”

  They ran down the hill. Kallo positioned herself alongside Toq. “Commander, is this wise? We cannot trust—”

  Toq cut the tiresome ensign off, taking great pleasure in interrupting her for a change. “My orders are given, Ensign. You will follow them or you will be put to death, is that clear?”

  “Of—of course, sir.”

  Chapter Seven

  Klag stood atop a hill, his head pounding so hard he thought his brain would explode out through his crest. He looked down at the remains of his ship.

  No, not remains. The hull is intact, more or less.

  Somehow, Leskit had managed to regain enough helm control for the Gorkon to land in a marsh that cushioned the impact.

  That was an hour ago. Lokor and the QaS DevwI’ who had survived were overseeing the troops, setting up a perimeter. Klag went to this hill to await Rodek’s report from the crew. With Toq likely dead, Rodek was now first officer, and the situation report was his to gather.

  Rodek arrived with that report in due course. The lieutenant still bore the scars of the head injury he’d sustained at San-Tarah. However, since that injury, Rodek had been much more than he was. True, he still came across as subdued, but he no longer was as passionless as he had been when the Gorkon first left the shipyard.

  “Seven hundred and twenty-two died in the crash,” Rodek said without preamble. “Many more are injured, and are being treated by Dr. B’Oraq and Nurse Gaj.”

  Klag nodded. Between those casualties and the ones on the Elabrej homeworld, that left them with less than two thousand crew.

  “The doctor also reports that the magnetic fields on this planet may provoke headaches.”

  Klag smiled. “No ‘may’ about it, Rodek. Does B’Oraq have a prescription?”

  Nodding, Rodek said, “She will dispense remedies once the injured are cared for.”

  “Good.”

  “Lieutenant Lokor reports that the QaS DevwI’ have set up a perimeter. Since this marsh is surrounded by higher ground on all sides, it will be easy to defend.” Rodek grinned, an expression that surprised and pleased Klag. “It seems Leskit chose his crash site well.”

  Klag threw his head back and laughed. “Indeed he did. Ship’s status?”

  “Engines are intact and repairable. We have replacements for most of what was damaged in the attack, and the hull breaches can also be repaired.”

  “When can we be spaceworthy?”

  Rodek hesitated. “According to Kurak, never.”

  At that, Klag snarled. Every time I think I have convinced Kurak to actually do her duty as my chief engineer, and every time I am proven wrong by that recalcitrant cow. You would think I would learn that lesson.

  “Anything else?”

  “Quartermaster died in the crash, but the assistant quartermaster says that most of the supplies are intact, and we are properly provisioned for several months, even if the replicators are not brought back online. That is all, sir.”

  “Very well. Bring her to me.”

  Rodek frowned. “Sir?”

  “Kurak.”

  “Of course, sir.”

  As Rodek moved down the hill, Klag turned to view the surrounding area. The marsh was a sunken area in the midst of a humid grassland. Rodek had been correct in that it was defensible. Looking around, he saw sentries posted at regular intervals. Lokor does his work well.

  Speaking of whom, the security chief was approaching from the opposite direction, accompanied by QaS DevwI’ Vok and Grotek. Klag recalled that Grotek was the QaS DevwI’ to whom Lokor had sent most of the transfers from the Kreltek.

 
“You have a report for me, Lokor?”

  “Yes, sir,” Lokor said. “Or, rather, QaS DevwI’ Grotek does.”

  Grotek stood at attention. “Sir, Lieutenant Lokor told me to be on the lookout for mutinous tendencies among the Kreltek transfers.”

  “You’ve found some?” Klag asked.

  “I believe so, sir. I also have a suggestion for weeding them out.”

  Klag wondered why this was even being brought to his attention. “Has Lokor approved the plan?”

  Grotek shot a look at the lieutenant. “Yes, sir.”

  Lokor said, “I thought you should be made aware of the plan, sir. With all of us on this planet for an indefinite time, the situation is harder to control than it would be on-ship. I thought it best to gain your direct approval before proceeding.”

  Better Lokor err on the side of caution than the other way around in this case. “Tell me your plan, QaS DevwI’.”

  “We send the one-seventy-first through one-eightieth on a foraging mission. All the Kreltek transfers are in those ten companies, including the leader of the one-seventy-first, and there are other malcontents in those squads—as is Bekk Moq.”

  “I assume,” Klag said dryly, “that this Moq would be your eyes and ears?”

  “Yes, sir.” Grotek allowed himself a small smile. “He is a ward of my House, and he will do as I ask. In this case, sir, I will ask him to report on what the troops say to each other. Isolated from the rest of the crew, it will present them with a perfect opportunity.”

  Lokor added, “There is a risk, sir. They already know I suspect them, and they may rightly interpret this assignment as a ruse to draw them out. If that is so, they will say nothing.”

  Klag considered Lokor’s words. “The worst outcome of this will be that the ten squads go on a successful foraging mission.”

  “True.” Lokor bared his teeth.

  Then Vok spoke up. “Sir, I believe there should be more.”

  “In what way, Vok?” Klag asked.

  Vok turned to Grotek. “I assume you will equip Moq with a listening device?”

  “Of course—assuming it will work in this planet’s magnetic air,” he added with annoyance.

  Turning back to Klag, Vok said, “Then we should have twenty squads on standby, sir—to be prepared to deal with any mutineers when they return to base.”

  Angrily, Lokor said, “We cannot spare twenty squads in addition to the ten we will be sending out. With our casualties, we will not have enough left to fortify the perimeter. We are in enemy territory.”

  “We’re six thousand qelI’qams from any life signs,” Vok said. “We can spare—”

  “Enough!” Klag silenced them with the word. Their arguing was only making his headache worse. “Ten squads will be sent to destroy any traitors. Vok, you will select them.” He looked at Lokor. “I did not take up arms against my fellow Klingons just to have my command destroyed from within.” Gazing down at the Gorkon, half-sunk in the muck, he added, “The Elabrej have done enough to destroy us from without.”

  Hearing footsteps, Klag looked down the hill to see Rodek returning, Kurak limping behind him. B’Oraq had, of course, cured the broken leg, and had apparently given her something to deal with her “alcohol poisoning.” Whatever it was, it made Kurak far paler than normal.

  “Proceed with your plans,” Klag said. “Report your progress to either myself or Lieutenant Rodek. Qapla’.”

  All three returned the salutation, and departed.

  Rodek smiled as he said, “Commander Kurak, reporting as ordered, sir.”

  “Captain,” Kurak said, and Klag noted that her voice had very little of its usual arrogant, angry timbre, “I know what you are about to say. But there is no way for the Gorkon to lift off.”

  “Why?”

  Gripping her left wrist with her right arm, Kurak said, “Because the Chancellor-class ships were not designed to take off from a planet’s surface. And even if they were, the Gorkon couldn’t do it with the hull and the structural integrity field in the shape they’re in.”

  “I do not believe that. Surely, Commander, there are ways to make the ship work beyond what it is designed to do!”

  “Captain—”

  Klag started to pace the top of the hill. “During the war I encountered several Starfleet ships. Have you ever worked with Starfleet engineers, Kurak? They are marvels. Give them a pile of rocks, a magnospanner, and a self-sealing stembolt, and they can make a working replicator that also fires phaser beams. I find it impossible to believe that the engineer who designed the Negh’Var, who was able to get disruptors to function within the field of subspace eddies surrounding San-Tarah, who was able to modify the ship’s probes into mines, who was able to dump holodeck power into the engines—” Then Klag turned and faced Kurak. “Oh, wait—that was Vall who did that, was it not?”

  Kurak said nothing, though she was seething. To Klag’s amusement, Rodek was grinning as widely as Klag had ever seen him do.

  “You say, Commander, that the Gorkon cannot achieve escape velocity in a gravity well.”

  Snidely, Kurak said, “I was not aware that such as you knew any engineering jargon, Captain. Yes, that’s true.”

  Klag let the insult pass. “Yet we were able to escape the gravity well of a sun when we fought the Kinshaya months ago.”

  “We were already in motion, and not confined by the friction of an atmosphere. We also hadn’t sustained hull damage. I can fix the structural integrity field—I might even be able to strengthen it—but the ship cannot handle the stresses of taking off—”

  Angrily, Klag said, “That is absurd! You cannot convince me that the stresses of faster-than-light travel are less than that of escaping a planet’s gravity well.”

  “So much for your understanding of engineering. When we go to warp, we’re protected by a subspace field.”

  Rodek asked, “Can we not protect ourselves with a subspace field when we take off from the planet?”

  That brought Kurak up short, which in turn prompted Klag to laugh. “Well said, Rodek. Well, Chief Engineer, is it possible?”

  “Not without considerable risk of damage to the planet.”

  “I can assure you, Commander, that my concern for the welfare of the planet of an enemy of the empire is minimal.”

  Kurak nodded, conceding the point. Klag noticed that she was even paler than when the conversation started. “Very well, then—it can be done. But it will take time. Several systems need to be repaired, and reconfiguring the engines to do what you require will take several days. If that is not acceptable to you…”

  “Several days will be more than sufficient, Kurak.” Klag grinned. “It is a great improvement over ‘never’ as a departure time. Get to work immediately. Use any personnel you need who are not required to maintain perimeter efficiency.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Then Kurak threw up all over the ground in front of her—as well as Klag’s boots.

  Still bent over, Kurak said in a weak voice, “With the captain’s permission, I will see Dr. B’Oraq first.”

  Rubbing the front of his boot on the soft ground, Klag said, “Permission granted.”

  “Sir,” Rodek put in, “I have a report from B’Oraq. She has developed a medicine that will keep us from succumbing to the magnetic fields of this planet. Prolonged exposure will result in permanent brain damage without the medicine.”

  “Good. Have her distribute it—after she has seen to Kurak.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  It took all of Sanchit’s willpower to keep from running away screaming.

  Nonetheless, she stood fast alongside the alien creature who was called Toq and calmly discussed with him what the separatists were all about as they flew through the skies of the First World in their stealth conveyance.

  The conveyance was perhaps the most valuable physical asset the seps had. It was a prototype of a new conveyance the military was developing that was invisible to standard scans. Sanchit had no idea
how Jammit managed to get her hands on it, but it allowed them to move freely without being detected.

  But Sanchit could not get over how revoltingly strange Toq and his fellow Klingons looked. Only four legs—no forelegs, midlegs that didn’t seem to be used for ambulation, and hindlegs that didn’t seem to be used for any manual purpose, especially given that they wore coverings on the hindleg hands. Most peculiar of all was the odd appendage that extended upward from the torso. Their mouths were there instead of center mass like a sensible being’s, and that appendage seemed to move about freely and alter its shape constantly. They only seemed to use their four legs for simple physical functions. While they sat in the conveyance, Toq’s hindlegs never moved, and his midlegs only a little. Sanchit found it very difficult to carry on a conversation with someone so unexpressive.

  Soon they arrived back at the home sphere of Viralas. One of the wealthiest members of the separatist movement—indeed, one of the wealthiest people on the Four Worlds—Vor Viralas’s support had been another of their greatest assets. He was exactly the type of person against whom the seps fought, and his taking their side was a huge risk to him.

  He also had the largest home sphere, so that was where they’d intended to take the alien prisoners.

  When they arrived at Viralas’s home sphere, Gansett was waiting for them in the underground conveyance storage sphere. “Did you get them, did you—” Then all of Gansett’s legs—even the ones he was standing on—started waving with excitement. “Doane’s limbs! They’re real! They’re really real!”

  After all that, and he didn’t even believe it. Then again, Sanchit thought somberly, neither did I. Until I actually saw the aliens, I didn’t completely believe it. A big part of me wanted Yannak to be right, that this was all a plot by the oligarchs—better that than to believe that the clergy had lied to us all this time. Or worse, were mistaken…