I.K.S. Gorkon Book Three Page 7

  Brannik took in some air before expunging some.

  Jorg waved his forelegs. “Thank you for your report, Mal Donal. Soldier Yellek will escort you back to the holding sphere so you can continue your tests.”

  That’s her name, Brannik thought.

  Waving his forelegs back in acknowledgment, Donal said, “Thank you, Oligarchs.”

  Donal and Yellek both departed.

  Jorg leaned forward in his hammock, his hindlegs solidly on the floor. “Thoughts?”

  “I’m not sure I believe Mal Donal’s assessment,” Brannik said. “I don’t think we’re going to succeed by underestimating these creatures. Just because they’re different doesn’t make them inferior.”

  Mitol said, “Oh, and you’re a scientist now, are you?”

  “Look, Mitol, I respect Donal, but—”

  “I respect him too, Brannik, and I respect his credentials. I wouldn’t expect him to make a sensible judgment about how to run a government, so frankly, I’m not going to believe you over him when it comes to what makes a viable intelligent species. If he thinks they’re dumb animals, I’m inclined to believe him—especially given how physically inferior they are.”

  “Maybe, maybe not, but that doesn’t really matter,” Fifth Oligarch Yer Blos said. “The point is, these beings, whatever they are, are out there. Whether they did it themselves or had help doesn’t matter—the point is, they are flying through the skies in conveyances that have broken the light barrier, just like we did. They were first encountered flying through an uncharted star system, just like we were. And they fought with energy weapons, just like we did.”

  “What’s your point, Blos?” Jorg asked.

  “My point, First Oligarch, is that it’s reasonable to assume that if they have done so much that we have also done, they also have the ability to communicate over interstellar distances.”

  Brannik saw where Blos was going with this. “You think that they were able to let their fellow aliens know about what happened to them?”

  “Vor Ellis was able to warn us.”

  Jorg waved his forelegs. “In which case, we have to assume they did the same to their people.”

  Seventh Oligarch Yer Gosnot said, “We have to mobilize.”

  “Definitely,” Sixth Oligarch Vor Markus said with a wave of her forelegs.

  Anset added, “We have to finish re-arming all our conveyances, and then we have to mount a defense. It will take several sogrets for the buildup to reach full strength, even if we start immediately, but I believe we must do so.”

  “I think that’s premature,” Mitol said.

  Brannik expelled a huge amount of air. “Mitol—”

  “I’m still not convinced that this isn’t all an elaborate ploy by the military, Brannik.”

  “It isn’t.” The first oligarch spoke with authority and finality. “Fellow oligarchs, this is an unprecedented opportunity. We’ve been plagued by separatist attacks on our government and on our people. This ends now. It was one thing when the seps were our only concern, but now we have a bigger problem, one that affects all Elabrej, not just the government, not just the people, not just the seps—all of us. Gosnot, Markus, and Anset are correct—we have to defend ourselves. Are we agreed?”

  All the oligarchs save for Mitol raised their hindlegs in agreement.

  “Vor Mitol,” Jorg said, “I understand your reservations, but—”

  Mitol raised his hindlegs. “I agree, also, First Oligarch—with those reservations, but I do agree. I ask only that we be careful.”

  Brannik said, “We can’t afford to be careful. These things are coming. We can’t let them destroy us.”

  Chapter Three

  “And then—and then—the petaQ fell on top of my tik’leth!”

  The Imperial Intelligence agent who went under the name of Bekk Trant gulped his bloodwine while he listened to Leader Wol’s story, secure in the knowledge that his anti-inebriation implant would keep him from feeling any ill effects.

  “It was absurd—he had me on the ground, poised to make the killing blow—and he passed out!”

  Laughter echoed throughout the mess hall, mainly because, aside from the five soldiers of the fifteenth and the Pheben steward cleaning the tables on the far side of the hall, the room was empty. Wol had ordered them here, only to show up accompanied by Bekk Tolark from the fourteenth and a barrel of bloodwine.

  “The only problem was, he fell on my tik’leth—and my sword arm.”

  Goran asked, “Why was—why was—why was that a—that a problem?” Though he was twice the size of the average Klingon, the big man, as he was called, could not hold his liquor.

  Wol poured a large amount of bloodwine toward her face. Most of it entered her mouth; she swallowed that quantity before answering Goran’s question. “He weighed a ton. I couldn’t move my arm!”

  More laughter. Trant joined in it, making sure to bray as loudly as possible. After all, I should be as drunk as the rest of them.

  G’joth kept rocking back and forth on his feet. Kagak sat at a table constantly swatting a nonexistent insect near his head. And Wol was gripping the back of one of the mess-hall chairs for dear life, as if letting go of it would be fatal.

  However, their drunken state wasn’t what was important—rather it was that they were relaxed. Trant’s observations since arriving on the Gorkon had been that troop morale on the ship depended a lot more on the squad leaders than the QaS DevwI’. One of Trant’s assignments from I.I. was to report on this phenomenon, which Trant attributed to the greater number of troops on a Chancellor-class ships. Smaller units would rely more on the QaS DevwI’, but the sheer number of troops present made the squad leaders’ role that much more crucial.

  Wol’s unit was of particular interest. Wol was a highborn Klingon woman who had successfully reinvented herself after being cast out of her House. Trant had targeted her as a possible I.I. recruit, going so far as to get himself (as well as the late Bekk Maris) demoted from the seventh to the fifteenth to keep a closer eye on her. Her squad was a standout on San-Tarah, and the morale difficulties since leaving that planet were surprising to Trant.

  This night of debauchery, however, seemed to be accomplishing what Wol wanted.

  Wol’s was the latest in a series of stories. G’joth had told the story of his unexpected trip to Narendra III, during which a Federation ambassador shot Davok. This led to several other stories of G’joth and Davok’s exploits. Goran told a story from when he was a prison guard at Rura Penthe. Trant even made up a tale on the spot, claiming it was from early in his career. Wol then shared some of her war stories, of which this duel with a drunken soldier was the latest.

  “Kagak,” she said suddenly to the fifteenth’s newest recruit, “you’ve been pretty quiet.”

  “I haven’t had anything to say.” Kagak swatted at his invisible insect again.

  “Pfaugh,” G’joth said. “You haven’t had anything to say for six weeks. I was starting to think that a targ had eaten your tongue.”

  “I—I knew someone whose—whose tongue was eaten by a—by a targ once.” Goran let out a long, loud belch—Trant swore the bulkheads rattled from the sound of it—before proceeding. “It was on—on Rura Penthe right after—after I became a guard there on Rura Penthe when I was—I was a guard.”

  Swatting his insect some more, Kagak said, “Well, nobody took my tongue, s’just—I just—I don’t feel so good.”

  G’joth laughed. “Not used to the good stuff, eh?”

  Playing along, Trant also laughed.

  “Well, you haven’t done your share,” Wol said. “All of us—even Trant—have told a story. Except you. Tell us about yourself.”

  “Yes,” G’joth said. “Tell us why you’re worthy.”

  “Excuse me?” Kagak sounded befuddled.

  “This is the fifteenth!” G’joth bellowed, holding his mug up toward the ceiling. “We held the road against the San-Tarah! We defended the prize! We won the day at the Prime V
illage and then took back the village of Val-Goral from General Talak’s troops! Krevor—Davok—even that toDSaH Maris—they all died with honor!”

  “Yes!” Trant cried, even though he knew that Maris’s death had nothing to do with honor. Thanks to a lapse that still shamed Trant—and for which he fully expected to be put to death when the Gorkon returned to Qo’noS and he was fully debriefed—Maris had found some of Trant’s I.I. gear and used it to feed intelligence to General Talak’s troops. Trant had put the traitor to death, and the rest of the fifteenth believed that he died in an unfortunate accident during battle. Even that false report is not truly dying with honor, but G’joth is trying to prove a point here….

  G’joth walked on unsteady legs to stand in front of Kagak. “So tell me, why are you worthy to follow in their noble footsteps?”

  “I have always served the empire with honor, and I have always done my duty to the High Council.”

  Before Kagak even finished, G’joth was laughing so hard he fell onto the deck. Trant, who joined in the laugh, moved to pick him up, as did Wol. Between them, they were able to drop G’joth’s weight onto one of the mess-hall chairs—certainly not with any help from G’joth himself, who apparently was saving all his strength for mocking Kagak.

  The young bekk himself seemed outraged. “What is so amusing about serving the empire?”

  “You sound like a recruitment enticement, infant,” G’joth said. “That’s the kind of answer I’d expect from the button-pushers on the bridge. But you’re no officer, you’re a working warrior just like the rest of us. So tell me again—why are you worthy?”

  Now G’joth was fixing Kagak with a sharp gaze. Trant noticed that Wol had retaken her seat, and was content to watch this play out. But despite the amount she had drunk, Trant knew that she was as aware of what was happening as he. She’s gauging Kagak’s reaction, and how it will affect the squad.

  Kagak didn’t seem to be able to make his mouth move.

  When Trant reported to the fifteenth, he had shown his support for Captain Klag’s call to arms against General Talak—who had called for the captain to go against the word he had given to the Children of San-Tarah—by playing the malcontent and questioning Klag’s actions. Those who supported Klag spoke out in his defense, helping to persuade those who might not be sure on whose side their loyalties lay.

  Now, though, I think the time for playing malcontent is past. He stood next to G’joth. “Why don’t you answer?” he asked belligerently, as befit the amount of bloodwine he’d drunk. “You’ve been assigned to the finest squad on this vessel!”

  As expected, G’joth looked at Trant with shock. “What did you say?”

  “Leader Wol is the noblest of the soldiers on this ship—she has led the fifteenth to honor and to glory!”

  Wol smiled. “What led you to this new conclusion, Trant?”

  Trant turned to Wol. “I know I questioned you—and the captain—in the past, Leader. But Chancellor Martok himself approved of Klag’s actions, and I do not disobey my chancellor.”

  G’joth snorted, sending spittle flying across one of the tables. “That’s it? Chancellor One-Eye says all is well and you’re no longer a whining little Ferengi?”

  “I may be slow to see honor, G’joth, but I do see it eventually. I am proud to be a member of the fifteenth.” He turned to Kagak, who still looked mildly stunned. “And so should you be. But what we want to know—what Leader Wol and G’joth and Goran and I want to know—”

  Trant was interrupted by a very loud snore. He looked over to see that Goran had passed out.

  All of them laughed at that sight, especially since Goran’s mouth was hanging open and drool was pouring down his beard like the nagh waterfall.

  “Very well, then,” Trant said. “What Leader Wol and G’joth and I want to know is—why are you worthy to be among us?” Pointing at Kagak with his bloodwine mug, he added, “And be warned! It would be better for you if we liked your answer!”

  Kagak took a long gulp of bloodwine. Then he got up and stumbled unsteadily toward the barrel—which had very little left at this point. He scooped up as much as he could, then drank it all down.

  Then, finally, he turned to face the rest of the fifteenth, dropping the mug in the process. It clattered across the deck, the noise echoing.

  “Well?” G’joth asked.

  “In truth—I’m not sure I am. I was a good soldier on the Kreltek. I thought that Captain Triak was the greatest captain in the fleet. We had seen many campaigns together, and always we were victorious! Especially during the war…”

  After Kagak was silent for a moment, Wol said, “Go on, Bekk.”

  Shaking his head, as if to revive himself, Kagak then said, “Then Captain Vekma—well, she was Commander Vekma, then—Commander Vekma killed the captain, saying he had chosen the path of dishonor. That the Order of the Bat’leth had been summoned to glory and Captain Triak had ignored it—in fact that he belittled the order. I was stunned. I could not believe that the great warrior I served under would do such a thing. Then when we found out that Vekma was taking us into battle against our fellow Klingons—worse, that we were going into battle against General Talak—and there were many of us who thought—who thought—who thought that this was wrong!”

  Kagak moved his hand to his mouth as if to drink more bloodwine, only to realize that his mug was gone. Without a word, Trant handed Kagak his own mug. The bekk grabbed the mug and drank down its contents eagerly.

  “This,” Kagak said, “is a good vintage.”

  “Yes, it is,” Wol said. “Continue. What was ‘wrong’?”

  Trant noted that Wol now sounded completely sober.

  “One of our QaS DevwI’, an old warrior named Krox, said that the captain who summoned the order was Klag, son of M’Raq. We knew him as the Hero of Marcan, but QaS DevwI’ Krox portrayed him as an animal who mutilated his body and was not a true warrior.”

  G’joth moved forward, his d’k tahg out. Trant didn’t think the old razorbeast was fast enough to unholster his blade while sober, much less drunk, but at the insult to the captain, he managed it. Wol intercepted him, and in response to her actions, Trant did likewise.

  “Let him finish, G’joth,” Wol said.

  Struggling against both Wol and Trant’s grip, G’joth asked, “Why? I will not let Captain Klag be spoken of that way!” Trant thought he would pass out from G’joth’s breath, which combined the worst elements of bloodwine and gagh.

  Kagak’s bloodshot eyes had gone wide. “You were the ones who called the officers ‘button-pushers’!”

  At that, G’joth laughed. “They are! But the captain is still the captain, and no one insults him and lives.”

  “I said let him finish, G’joth.” Wol’s voice was deep and dangerous. “When he is done, if he has not explained his slander—we will all kill him where he stands.”

  Wol let go of G’joth, Trant doing likewise a moment later. Snarling, G’joth paced back to another table and sat angrily in a chair. He kept his d’k tahg unsheathed, though he closed the secondary blades.

  “It was Krox who slandered Captain Klag, not me! But I knew only that Captain Triak was in Sto-Vo-Kor and that his killer was leading us into dishonorable combat. So we planned a mutiny.”

  “Did you?” G’joth bared his teeth and, with a telltale click, again unfurled the d’k tahg’s secondary blades.

  “What came of your mutiny?” Wol asked.

  “Nothing! The battle ended before Krox could implement his plan, and then the Sword of Kahless showed up, Talak was disgraced, Martok gave Klag his blessing—and Krox committed Mauk-to’Vor.”

  “Coward.” G’joth snorted as he made the accusation.

  “Perhaps he was. But I know that I was wrong. And when I was reassigned to this ship, I hoped that I would be able to regain the path of honor that we all lost on the Kreltek. But—”

  Wol stepped forward, now standing nose-to-nose with Kagak. “But what?”

  �
��I know that we were wrong to plan that mutiny, that to have done so would have dishonored us all. But—”

  Again Kagak cut himself off at that word. Trant said, “Speak your words, boy, because we will not restrain G’joth a second time.”

  Kagak looked at Wol, then at Trant, then at G’joth, then even at Goran’s slumbering form. “There are those who served on the Kreltek who still believe Krox’s words.”

  Normally, Trant’s training would have required him to control his reaction to this, but shock and anger would have been expected from a bekk, so he allowed himself to express outrage at this. “What are you saying, boy?”

  Kagak drank down the rest of Wol’s bloodwine before answering. “I’m saying that you should all watch your backs. My former shipmates may not be happy with the command structure on this ship. And I’ve—I’ve heard things.”

  “What kind of things?” Wol asked.

  “That they may have some officers on their side as well.”

  G’joth spit. “I wouldn’t count on that.”

  In truth, Trant didn’t think it likely either. Klag had not chosen most of his command staff; if any of them had any problems with Klag’s leadership, it would have come out months ago. Certainly, it would have at San-Tarah. If these theoretical mutineers had the support of any officers, they weren’t high-ranking ones.

  However, in the interests of maintaining his cover, Trant said, “How do we know? Kagak could be right, there could be officers involved.”

  “If officers are involved,” Wol said, “it’s their problem. All we need do is watch our own backs—and watch Kagak’s former crewmates.” She turned to Kagak. “And him as well.”

  “Me?” Kagak’s voice broke when he bellowed the word. “I’ve confided in you! Why won’t you trust me?”

  Wol barked a laugh. “You’ve been with this squad six weeks, and this is the first we’ve heard of any of this. We’ve seen no battle together, so we do not even know if you are a worthy warrior. We do know that you will sell out your former crewmates.”