“No, you brainless toDSaH, you have thirty with my engineers, and they are more efficiently used on a three-shift rotation—”
“Your engineers are not trained on my equipment! I’ll need to waste countless hours training them to—”
“Enough!” Korax was about ready to rip his own beard off his chin. “If I wished to listen to the mewlings of old women, I’d have stayed home on Qu’Vat!” He fixed his gaze upon Kly’bn. “You will do as Lieutenant Paibok says, or I will kill you and have Supervisor Kobyk assign someone who will do as Lieutenant Paibok says.” Turning his gaze upon the chief engineer, he added, “And if I hear you two arguing again, I will kill you both!” He shook his head. “Now go do whatever it is you’re supposed to be doing!”
Kly’bn snarled at Paibok. “I was going to repair the plasma manifolds, then replace the topaline injectors.”
“And I told you,” Paibok said with a snarl of his own, “that I can do one of those tasks.”
“Our plasma manifolds are very particular—”
Paibok rolled his eyes. “They’re standard-issue ret manifolds—or, at least, they were standard issue during the Second Dynasty.” Looking at Korax, he added, “This mine is filled with ancient equipment. It’s a wonder any of it runs. However, I was trained on ret equipment as a child—that was all we had on Forcas III.”
“You could have mentioned that,” Kly’bn said in a tone that was, in Korax’s opinion, unbecoming a Klingon.
Korax said, “It isn’t your concern, Kly’bn. Your only concern is with how you follow Lieutenant Paibok’s orders.” He moved close enough to smell the raktajino on Kly’bn’s breath. “And mine.”
“Of course,” Kly’bn said weakly. “I will repair the manifold. Lieutenant, if you’d be so kind as to take the topaline injector?”
Paibok threw up his arms. “I just told you—”
“Yes, Lieutenant, I know, but the manifold is near the top of the dome, and requires climbing up that very long ladder.” Kly’bn pointed at a nearby thin metal ladder that led up to the top of the dome. “I climb that ladder daily. I do not wish to risk you—”
Now Paibok got in Kly’bn’s face. “I am not some broken-down old fool who needs to be coddled, Kly’bn—I am an officer in the Defense Force!”
“Fine!” Kly’bn threw up his hands and walked away. “I will fix the injectors and you can break your neck!”
Korax walked in the other direction. “I hate engineers,” he muttered, uncaring if Paibok heard him. It wasn’t as if the lieutenant hadn’t heard it before.
As Korax went back to the desk where he had been reading over the latest dispatches from Command—Koloth expected him to go through them and report anything the captain might need to know—he heard the impact of boot on rung that indicated Paibok was climbing the ladder in question.
Then he heard Paibok’s distant voice: “What are you doing up here?”
Not liking the sound of that in the least, Korax ran back to the base of the ladder.
Craning his neck up, he saw three Klingons—all QuchHa’—on a catwalk that was partway up the ladder. They were who Paibok was talking to.
In answer to the engineer’s query, one of them lunged at him with what looked like a pipe. Paibok was able to deflect the blow, but he was in a poor position—the catwalk was at his waist, and he was reliant on the ladder’s rungs for support. His three foes had more freedom of movement.
Without hesitation, Korax unholstered his disruptor. Koloth had only ordered him to take one prisoner, after all.
His aim was true, and the one who had attacked Paibok was dead moments later, screaming from the fatal disruption of his nervous system. Korax grinned with glee at the kill.
That gave Paibok time to leap onto the catwalk. He faced the other two—unfortunately, from a position that spoiled Korax’s shot. Much as he hated engineers, he wasn’t about to sacrifice one of his officers just to kill two rebellious petaQpu’.
One of Paibok’s opponents leapt at him, and the two of them quickly fell to the catwalk floor, rolling around. The third opponent held back, his hand moving toward his hip.
Korax fired at the third one, but missed.
That was when the other one unholstered a disruptor pistol of his own.
Ducking behind a console, Korax avoided being hit by the beam from the pistol, which appeared to be one of the old loSmaH Soch types. Considering that nobody on this mine was supposed to be issued disruptors of any kind, Korax wondered where this particular weapon came from.
However, that question could be answered later. Peering out from the console, Korax saw that Paibok had his foe in a wrestling hold and was now throwing him over his shoulder.
Normally such a move would have the opponent on the floor, but this was not a wrestling square, but a narrow catwalk. So Paibok’s throw took his opponent over the railing and crashing to the floor near Korax.
Korax spared the man one glance—his neck appeared broken—and then fired back up at the catwalk.
Distracted by his comrade’s plunge, he was an easy target for Korax, who hit him on his weapon arm. He dropped his pistol, and that left him open for Paibok to palm-heel his jaw.
He collapsed like a sack of loSpev.
Paibok hoisted the man over his shoulder, then climbed quickly down the ladder. Arriving at ground level, he dropped the groggy Klingon to the floor and looked at Korax, echoing the commander’s own thoughts. “I thought they weren’t issued any disruptors.”
“They weren’t.” Korax knelt down and pointed his own disruptor under the man’s chin. “You will tell me who your co-conspirators are.”
“I will … will say … say nothing to you … ’urwI’.”
At that insult, Korax instinctively activated the disruptor, which cut through the flesh of the man’s chin and blew out the top of his head.
6
Koloth
Koloth had been extremely grateful to receive the invitation from Mara on the Voh’tahk to dine with her and Kang that evening. After the day he had, he needed a good meal.
He arrived on the Voh’tahk to find a bekk awaiting him. “I will take you to the captain’s cabin,” the soldier said, then turned and left, expecting Koloth to follow him, as was proper.
It was only a short walk down the corridor until the bekk arrived at a door that had two bekks already guarding it. Koloth had left his own bodyguard on the Devisor as a courtesy to Kang. He hoped that Kang had posted these guards, and that Kor hadn’t been tasteless enough to bring his guard on board.
Inside, he found Kang and his mate, Mara, as well as Kor already present.
Mara smiled. “I was starting to think you were not going to come, son of Lasshar.”
“As if I would turn down a meal from your chef,” Koloth said as he took the seat next to Kor, leaving both captains to face the couple.
“Yes,” Kor said, raising a glass of breshtanti ale, “I’ve heard stories about the glorious meals served by Voh’tahk’s chef.”
“They’re not at all true,” Mara said. “Galarch is far better,” she added with a smile.
All three men laughed at that, and Kor drank his ale.
Kang rose to his feet and approached a sideboard. “Now that we are all here, we may open the bloodwine!”
“Excellent!” Koloth said. “Of course, if we were dining on the Devisor, the bloodwine would be needed to get us drunk enough to not notice the taste of the food—or, rather, the lack of same.”
As he used his d’k tahg to slice off the cork of the bottle—which, Koloth noted, came from the Ozhpri vintners, one of the finest in the Empire—Kang said, “You once told me that you would sooner give up your good right arm than give up your chef.”
“I was not given the option. After the—the incident with the tribbles on the Gr’oth, he refused to report to the Devisor, instead choosing a lesser position at the Lukara Edifice on Qo’noS.” Koloth shuddered. “His replacement is a decent technician, certainly, but the pr
eparation of food is an art.”
“Then prepare,” Mara said as Kang poured bloodwine into her mug, “to dine on artwork.”
“Indeed I shall, madam,” Koloth said with a bow of his head.
Kang finished pouring the bloodwine, then raised his own mug. “To victory—to glory—to the Empire! Qapla’!”
Koloth cried, “Qapla’!” as did Kor and Mara, and they slammed their mugs together, then drank heartily of the bloodwine.
“A fine vintage,” Kor said, wiping the wine from his mustache with his sleeve.
“Indeed,” Koloth said. “As usual.”
“Tell us, Koloth,” Kang asked, “what delayed your arrival at the supper table?”
Koloth sighed. He had hoped that dinner would provide a respite from the idiocy of the mine, but Kang was the senior here, so Koloth was duty-bound to answer. “My first officer and chief engineer encountered some of the malvaq bortaS rabble attempting to sabotage the same atmospheric dome that was damaged previously. There were three of them, and they had homemade explosives—and a disruptor.”
“What?” Kor said. “I thought these mines weren’t issued dis-ruptors.”
“They aren’t,” Koloth said tightly. “When Korax informed me of this, I questioned Supervisor Kobyk, who said he purchased several surplus loSmaH Soch disruptors for his security detail.”
Kang shook his head. “And that yIntagh Sorkav allowed one to be stolen?”
“At least one,” Koloth said. “Sorkav claimed it was the only one missing, but I’m loath to trust him.”
“You are wise not to,” Kang said.
Before he could elaborate, the door slid open to reveal three Klingons coming in with two trays each. One carried a massive skull stew and a plateful of both gagh and racht artfully arranged around a bowl of the finest-smelling grapok sauce Koloth had ever encountered. The second carried a bowl of jInjoq bread that smelled fresh out of the oven and magnificent, and a plate containing four massive klongat legs. The third had a rokeg blood pie that smelled to Koloth as if it had been spiced with something unfamiliar, and a large plate that, Koloth soon realized, was a casserole made from mixing pipius claw, heart of targ, and gladst, and a tureen filled with baghol soup made with durani lizard skins.
The hardest part for Koloth was deciding what to eat first.
His mouth filled with jInjoq bread that he’d dipped in the grapok sauce, Kor asked, “What has Sorkav done to earn your ire, Kang?”
After Kang—between mouthfuls of gagh and racht—told of Bekk Jurva’s challenge and Sorkav’s reaction, Koloth shook his head in disgust. “Absurd. Absolutely absurd.”
“What do you expect?” Mara said bitterly.
“I expect them to behave as Klingons,” Kor said. “This entire situation is incomprehensible. We are all Klingons, are we not?”
“Are we?” Mara asked.
Kang sneered through his blood pie. “Yours, Kor, is a typical high-born attitude.”
“And why not?” Kor asked while ripping some meat off one of the klongat leg bones. “I am noble-born—as is everyone seated at this table. Otherwise, we would not be officers—and certainly not captains.” With a glance at Mara, he held up his mug of bloodwine and added with a smile, “Or science officers.”
“Yes,” Kang said, “but we are not treated as nobility.”
“Kobyk and Sorkav certainly don’t treat us so,” Koloth added. Then he poured himself some of the soup and slurped up some. “I must say, Kang, that Galarch has outdone himself.” Though the compliment was legitimate, he was mainly hoping to steer the conversation away from duty.
No such luck. Kang was determined. “We will never be considered true warriors, true Klingons, as long as we look like this.” Kang indicated his own forehead with his right hand.
Kor looked sour. “As long as we fight the Empire’s battles, we are warriors.”
“Soldiers, perhaps,” Kang said, “but warriors? Hardly.”
Slamming his hand on the table, which caused the soup to splash onto it, Kor said, “I am the equal of any shipmaster in the fleet! Those under my command fight and die for the Empire regardless of their cranial topography!”
“No doubt,” Kang said, his solemn, deep tones in contrast to Kor’s louder ones. “But where are they sent?”
Kor gnawed on his klongat leg. “What do you mean?”
“During the conflict with the Federation a turn ago, your mission was to secure a planet of pacifists, was it not?”
“Organia was a critical position!”
Having despaired of a change of subject, Koloth decided to bolster his friend’s argument. “Yes, but how difficult was it to subdue? Were it not for Kirk—may he suffer all the torments of Gre’thor—you would have faced no resistance whatsoever.”
Kang scowled and gulped bloodwine. “The perfect task for mere QuchHa’.”
“Meanwhile,” Koloth continued, “the ridge-heads were given the plum battle assignments while we were left to secure insignificant planets or less well traveled portions of the border. Had the Organians not stopped the conflict, the important battles would all have been claimed by HemQuch.” Since they were on the subject, he went on. “One of the saboteurs called Korax ’urwI’.”
Kor’s eyes widened as he swallowed a handful of racht. “I assume this Korax killed him for his effrontery?”
“Yes, and I rather wish he hadn’t. Oh, of course, he had to respond, but the other two were killed in the conflict, and I wanted at least one to interrogate.”
Shaking his head, Kor said, “Whether or not we are considered warriors, we are still soldiers of the Empire. We are doing our duty. How does that make us traitors?”
“Because,” Mara said, “the QuchHa’ on this mine feel oppressed—and we have sided with their oppressors.”
“We haven’t ’sided’ with anyone,” Kor said dolefully, dipping more bread into the grapok sauce. “My own first officer, Kohlar, has attempted to interrogate the miners, but no one will give him an answer. If they were not loyal subjects of the Empire, I would use the mind-sifter on them.”
Koloth chuckled bitterly through his casserole. Klingon law clearly stated that, while the mind-sifter could be used freely on any aliens, it could be used on Klingons only if they had been bound by law as criminals. “Sorkav would no doubt allow us to question any QuchHa’ that way.”
“But not HemQuch,” Mara said while wiping soup from her lip. “Never HemQuch. After all, Sorkav wanted to have Jurva killed because she had the effrontery to challenge a HemQuch, never mind that he was her inferior and that the challenge was legitimate, and that she won it.”
“It’s obvious,” Koloth said, “that Sorkav is incompetent. Every single incident on this mine can be traced to his failure to do his duty as head of security. While I was speaking with Kobyk, he received a report that someone had raided the dispensary and injured the nurse on duty. The question must be asked: Why is Sorkav still alive?”
“That is a fine question, my friend,” Kang said. “I will ask Kobyk tomorrow myself.”
Then the door slid open again, revealing dessert, and, to Koloth’s great relief, all talk of duty ceased.
7
Kang
As soon as he walked into Supervisor Kobyk’s office, Kang spoke without preamble. “Why is Sorkav still alive?”
Kobyk—clutching his warnog for dear life, as usual; Kang thought his liver must have been constructed from rodinium—stared at Kang as if he were a glob fly he wished to swat. “What?”
“The question is a simple one, Supervisor. Why is your chief of security still alive?”
“Because he’s good at his job and therefore hasn’t been killed.”
Kang almost laughed in Kobyk’s face, but this was hardly a laughing matter. “There are many ways that Sorkav may be described. ’Good at his job’ could never be one of them.”
“Captain, you do not understand.”
Folding his arms across his chest, Kang said, “No, I do not
. That is why I posed the question, Supervisor. Make me understand.”
Kobyk opened his mouth as if to speak, then stopped. Then, he started again. “These incidents have been solely due to the QuchHa’ getting the notion that they are treated more poorly than the HemQuch.”
Kang had to admit to being impressed that Kobyk said those words with a straight face. “A notion no doubt bolstered by a QuchHa’ having his throat slit and the death being ruled an accident, while a HemQuch dying in the same manner led to the death of a QuchHa’.”
“My brother does not discriminate.” Then Kobyk smiled. “He treats all the miners like the scum that they are. These are laborers, Captain, not high-born Klingons like you and I. They must be ruled with a heavy gauntlet.”
Star Trek: Seven Deadly Sins Page 26