Star Trek: Seven Deadly Sins

by Margaret Clark (Editor)

  “We are all ruled by a heavy gauntlet, Supervisor. Yet somehow your mine has difficulties that no others do.”

  Kobyk slugged down the remainder of his warnog, slammed the mug onto his desk, and said, “He is my brother! Of course he’s an incompetent toDSaH, but he is family.”

  Shaking his head, Kang said, “All the more reason to put him out of your misery.”

  “Oh, my misery will only begin there. Do you honestly believe, Captain, that I hired that fool willingly? And do you know what agonies I will face from our family if I am the one to condemn him to death? Believe me, the House of Kamarag is not to be trifled with.”

  Kang had no sympathy for Kobyk’s plight, but he did understand it. He knew of the supervisor’s House, and knew that, if he’d been forced to keep Sorkav safe, he could not condemn him to death—no matter how wretched at his duty he was.

  Kobyk continued. “Believe me, Captain, no one will be happier if you and your fellow captains contrive a way to have a d’k tahg plunged into Sorkav’s chest. But that order cannot come from me.”

  Even as Kang considered his response, a security alarm rang out through the speakers in the office.

  The two masked men attacked Jurva while she was on her way to the transporter room.

  She was just coming off her shift and was eager to return to the Voh’tahk, where she could get edible food. Her mid-shift meal had been taken in the mine’s mess hall, and Jurva would sooner eat human food than that bland, tasteless garbage again.

  Her journey took her on a lengthy corridor that was carved out of the asteroid rock, similar to the one she’d taken to the checkpoint on her first day, when she killed that section chief. But here, the lights were dimmer, some flickering, and odd shadows were being cast upon the walls.

  No doubt, the two attackers had expected those shadows to hide them, but Jurva saw them—and their masks—the moment she entered. She simply waited for them to make their move before acknowledging their presence.

  One leapt out at her with an embarrassingly clumsy and obvious lunge. With the greatest of ease, Jurva used a mok’bara throw, using her attacker’s momentum to toss him into the opposite wall.

  The other one came at her with a blade—a qutluch that looked a lot like the one she’d killed Targ with. She had placed it back in the box after wiping Targ’s blood from it, and it should have been sent to the storage bay on the main asteroid.

  Jurva’s surprise at the weapon had no impact on her reflexes. She deflected the knife strike by blocking her foe’s forearm with her own. With her other hand, she punched him in the belly, causing him to lose his breath. Then she grabbed his forearm and brought it down so that the blade of the qutluch impaled his left groin muscle.

  The weakling actually screamed in pain at that.

  Jurva kicked him in the ribs, sending him stumbling to the floor against the wall, then turned to face the first one, who once again leapt at her.

  The second leap was no more successful than the first, and Jurva again tossed him into the wall.

  Now that she had a moment to take in the tableau, Jurva realized that, masks notwithstanding, she knew who these two were: Goroth and Gonn, Targ’s subordinates. Jurva would have been touched by their loyalty had they been in any way skilled in seeking revenge for their section chief’s death.

  Gonn was the one she’d stabbed, and he was bleeding on the floor and not moving. Goroth, however, recovered quickly from being thrown into the wall a second time, and unsheathed his painstik.

  “You will die today, petaQ,.”

  Grinning, Jurva said, “Only if I burst a blood vessel from laughing at your pathetic fighting skills.”

  Goroth lunged with the painstik. Jurva deflected it easily, then grabbed it and yanked it forward, causing Goroth to stumble right into her elbow, which collided with his left eye.

  As Goroth stumbled about, dazed, Jurva grabbed his head from both sides and twisted, breaking his neck.

  She let Goroth’s corpse drop to the floor and turned to look at Gonn, now in a large pool of blood. Without medical attention, he would be dead soon.

  Jurva found herself unable to be concerned.

  She tore off both masks to confirm that she was right. Then she signaled a security alert.

  Within a few minutes of the security alert, Sorkav reported to Kobyk’s office. After sparing a venomous glance at Kang, Sorkav said, “Two of my people have been killed. The perpetrator is being brought here now.”

  Moments later, Kobyk had refilled his mug of warnog and the door to the office slid open to reveal two of Sorkav’s guards, who were holding their painstiks on Jurva.

  Kang tensed. “What is this?”

  “This woman,” one of the guards said, “was standing over the bodies.”

  “Yes,” Jurva said angrily, “because I was waiting for you two to show up so I could give a report.”

  Sorkav started to speak, but Kang interrupted. “Then do so, Bekk.”

  “Yes, sir.” Jurva sounded relieved to be responding to an order from someone actually in her chain of command. “Two of the security guards ambushed me while wearing masks. One was armed with a qutluch that had been confiscated from one of the miners, the other with a standard-issue painstik.”

  “And you killed them?” Sorkav said.

  “I defended myself, yes,” Jurva replied with a snarl at Sorkav. “And then I activated the security alert myself.”

  Sorkav walked closer to her. Jurva tensed, but did not move—which was well, as the guards’ painstiks were brushing her uniform. “And yet you seem completely unharmed.”

  Jurva shrugged. “There were only two of them.”

  Kang smiled at that. Morglar had always said that Jurva was the finest warrior under his command, and Kang knew that Morglar did not issue such praise lightly.

  From behind his desk, Kobyk was manipulating his computer station with the hand that wasn’t clutching his warnog. “Unfortunately, the sensors in that corridor are down—more sabotage from the malvaq bortaS.”

  “So,” Sorkav said, “we only have your word that this ambush happened as you describe.”

  “She is a warrior under my command!” Kang barked. “Her word is more than enough evidence!”

  Sorkav walked up to Kang and stared up into the captain’s face. Kang somehow resisted the urge to spit on him.

  “It is no kind of evidence at all, Captain. The only true evidence is two of my guards are dead and your bekk is responsible.”

  “Enough!” Kobyk said. “Sorkav, she was the one who sounded the security alert, and she waited for your guards to arrive. I see no reason not to believe her story. She is free to go.”

  Kang looked upon Kobyk with surprise. He had, at this point, despaired of any of those who worked in this mine having any conception of honor and duty. Then he looked at Jurva. “Return to your duties, Bekk.”

  Jurva batted aside the painstiks with annoyance, saluted Kang, and said, “Yes, sir!”

  Then she looked at Sorkav, turned her back on him, and left.

  Sorkav looked up at Kang again. “This is not over.”

  “Yes,” Kang said, “it is.” Then he left the office as well.

  8

  Torad

  Torad sat in the mess hall, alone as usual. He preferred it that way, honestly. He was raised alone by his father on Donatu V after his mother was killed during the battle with the Federation that occurred there two and a half decades ago. Since Father was always working at the factory, and often worked double shifts because they needed the money, Torad was generally left on his own.

  The idea of being around a lot of people was always strange to Torad, so he tended to stay quiet and not annoy anyone. That seemed to work well for him, and led eventually to his job here at the mine.

  A shadow fell over him. “May I join you?”

  Torad’s expression of a desire to be left alone died on his lips as he looked up and saw that the man standing on the other side of the table was wear
ing a Defense Force uniform and the sash of a shipmaster.

  Practically leaping to his feet, Torad said, “Of course, sir! It would be an honor.”

  Torad’s father hadn’t spent much time with his son, but one of the lessons he did beat into the boy was to always respect the Defense Force even if they were QuchHa’—as this one was.

  “Please be seated.” The officer spoke in a pleasant tone with a polite smile. “I am Kor, son of Rynar, captain of the Klothos.”

  “It is an honor to share my meal with you, sir. I am Section Chief Torad, son of Keldraq.”

  Kor’s smile widened. “I merely wish the pleasure of your company, Section Chief.” He gave the bok-rat liver on Torad’s tray a disdainful look. “I’ve—I’ve already eaten today.”

  “How may I be of service, Captain?”

  “My first officer was tasked with questioning the miners regarding the malvaq bortaS movement.”

  Torad nodded. He recalled Commander Kohlar, but Torad had been unable to tell him anything useful.

  “Kohlar told me that he thought you knew more than you told him.”

  Shaking his head quickly, Torad said, “That is not so, sir. I answered every question the commander posed to me.”

  “Perhaps. But he thought you knew more.”

  “I cannot imagine what,” Torad said honestly. “I serve as a section chief—”

  “The only QuchHa’ among the section chiefs, according to the personnel records,” Kor said. “Why is that, I wonder?”

  Shrugging, Torad said, “I have been fortunate enough to gain the attention of my superiors.”

  “You misunderstand, my friend—I do not wonder how you became a section chief, but rather how you are the only QuchHa’.”

  That struck Torad as an odd question. “Why would you wonder that? Such jobs are usually reserved for Klingons.”

  “Yes, that is why we see no jeghpu’wI’ in such positions, but . . .” Kor’s words trailed off, and he folded his hands in front of him on the table. “Tell me, did you know the two victims—Malvak and Gahlar?”

  “Yes.” Torad chewed some liver before continuing. “Neither was in my section, but they were part of the same site, and we sometimes spoke on the shuttle or during meals.”

  “Really? During meals, you say? Yet, here you are, sitting alone—not with other section chiefs, not with other QuchHa’.”

  Defensively, Torad said, “I prefer it that way.”

  “Yet you spoke to both Gahlar and Malvak during meals?”

  “Well, not Gahlar, no. Not really Malvak, except for that one time.”

  One of Kor’s bushy eyebrows rose. “Oh?”

  “It was shortly before Gahlar’s death. Malvak came to me and asked if I would help him.”

  “With what?”

  Torad hesitated. “He believed that Gahlar killed his friend Krov.”

  “What?” Kor’s hands unfolded, and his eyes widened.

  Now Torad was confused. He had thought this was common knowledge. Quickly, he explained what Malvak had told him about Gahlar’s feud with Krov, and how Sorkav had not investigated Krov’s death, and how Malvak then took matters into his own hands.

  Kor was sneering at Torad now. “Which he did after you refused to help him!”

  “What could I do? We are only QuchHa’. It would be our word against that of a Klingon.”

  “We are all of us Klingons, Section Chief.”

  “Are we?” Torad looked away from Kor. “When I look at my reflection, I see the weak face of a lesser species.”

  “If your heart is Klingon,” Kor said quietly, “then physical appearance matters not.”

  Torad turned back to face Kor. “No? Then can Earthers be Kling-ons? Can Romulans? Vulcans?”

  Kor rose to his feet. At once, Torad was ashamed. He had raised his voice to a captain in the Defense Force. Even QuchHa’ didn’t deserve that as long as they wore the uniform.

  “I apologize, sir,” he said quickly. “I did not mean—”

  “Be quiet! I no longer wish to hear your mewling, Section Chief. Sorkav’s false judgment prevented Krov from receiving justice, and when Malvak tried to mete out that justice, as is proper, Sorkav rewarded him with a coward’s death. Believe me, your role in this will not be forgotten by me—or by my comrades.”

  With that, Kor turned and left the mess hall.

  Torad finished eating alone, as he always did.

  9

  malvaq bortaS

  It was when Kor left the mess hall that he and his bodyguard were ambushed.

  Kor’s bodyguard, Nyor, had originally been chosen for his considerable size. However, size and skill were not attributes that necessarily came together, as Kor discovered in short order when five masked Klingons were able to take him down.

  A sixth held a disruptor on Kor. It was, he noticed, a loSmaH Soch—long since discontinued by the Defense Force, and the same type that was used on Koloth’s first officer.

  “Do not move,” the sixth one said. Like the others, he was masked.

  Kor simply smiled. “You’ve got courage, I’ll grant you that—subduing a soldier, holding a weapon on a Defense Force captain. No honor, of course, but one takes what one can get, I suppose.”

  “Be silent.”

  Kor then felt a hypospray on his neck, probably applied by one of the other five.

  As he lost consciousness, he realized that he now knew at least one of the drugs that had been taken from the dispensary.

  His dreams were filled with battle, of his defeats turned into victories, of meeting Starfleet’s Captain Kirk in armed combat on the streets of Organia, of wiping the sneer off the face of the man at Ty’Gokor, of returning to the Delta Triangle and conquering it, of planting the Klingon flag on the ravaged world of Mestiko, and of a hypospray being applied to his neck.

  That last actually happened, and the dreams of glory and honor and victory faded, to be replaced by the faces of a dozen or so Klingons—all QuchHa’—who now, at least, were showing their faces.

  They were in a cave that probably serviced one of the dilithium mines. Based on the scarring patterns on the rock and the lack of equipment, Kor supposed that this was a vein that had been tapped out, with the miners having moved on to a new location.

  “You must be the malvaq bortaS,” Kor said.

  “And you must be Kor, son of Rynar,” said one, who had the same voice as the one who had held the disruptor on Kor.

  Noting that there were no weapons being held on him now, Kor said, “You do realize that nothing is currently stopping me from killing all of you.”

  “I don’t doubt it,” said the man who was apparently the leader. “But we are deep underground in an abandoned mine. The site on this asteroid was discontinued a turn ago. There’s no one here but us. The only reason there is still life support is because Supervisor Kobyk does not wish to incur the expense of dismantling it. In any case, Captain, there is nowhere for you to go once you do kill us.”

  “Perhaps.” Kor had an entire starship at his disposal, and two more as reinforcements. He was hardly without resources to survive.

  “I am Nargov.”

  “You lead this dishonorable rabble?”

  Several of the others bristled at that. Nargov said, “Honor is a coin we cannot afford, Captain.”

  “Ridiculous,” Kor said dismissively. “Sneak attacks—sabotage—doing battle without showing your face—these are not the actions of Klingons!”

  “We are not treated as Klingons,” Nargov said, “so why should we act like them? When we are looked upon, it is as inferiors.”

  Kor shook his head. This attitude was hardly unique to these malcontents. Many in his own crew had abandoned Kahless’s ways, for the very reasons Nargov had given. He recalled an incident on Organia when that bloodworm Kirk had threatened one of his lieutenants with death, and the coward had actually given in, unwilling to die for an empire that considered him less than what he was. On the one hand, Kor could understand
how a QuchHa’ could come to such a state. On the other hand, Kor didn’t hesitate to execute the lieutenant when the mission was over.

  Finally, he spoke. “I know now why you take arms against your commanders. I know about the feud between Krov and Gahlar that led to Krov’s death, and eventually that of Gahlar and Malvak.” He looked at each member of malvaq bortaS in turn. “But when faced with an injustice of this kind, you should have acted like Klingons and challenged your superiors!”