by Kevin Ryan
Gurn paused, looking over the crowd. They were all waiting attentively for what would come next. Whatever it was, Gorath was sure that he would not like it. Gurn did not keep them waiting long.
“We need a new kind of strength for the new world in which we live. We cannot afford to stand alone with so many dangers awaiting us.” He pointed up to the sky. “There are people of our blood who have offered us friendship. They have offered us great machines which we can use to defend ourselves from green-skins or anyone else who would do us harm. These people, these Klingons, have built a great empire, an alliance of many worlds. No one in the galaxy dares stand against them.”
Gorath couldn’t wait. He stood up and shouted, “These Klingons sent the green-skins here to destroy us!”
Gurn lifted his head and looked down on Gorath, the way a parent looks down on a foolish child. “You will have a chance to speak, please wait until then.” Turning back to the others, he continued, “That is what the humans have told us. We cannot measure their truth. And the humans also want these crystals. The Klingons merely want to talk to us, to make us an offer of assistance. To tell us more of their empire, so we can decide for ourselves if we wish to join. They will be here in less than three days. We can choose to welcome them, or to turn them away.”
Gorath felt the blood rush to his face. That was it. Gurn had already spoken to the Klingon leaders. He must have taken one of the talking machines from the mine. If the Klingons were coming in three days, Gorath was not sure whatever they decided in the council pit would make any difference.
Gurn gave an absurd short bow to the clan leaders and took his seat. Gorath did not wait, he stepped to the center of the pit. “The Klingons sent the green-skins here to destroy us. The human captain, Kirk, told us this and I believe him because the humans came and helped us stop the Orion monsters. Those of us who fought with the humans,” Gorath said, shooting a look at Gurn, “know them to be people of honor. They shed their own blood to defend us; they left their own dead on our fields of battle. And it is true that they also want this dilithium, but remember, they could have taken it from us if they wanted to. Instead, they respected our wishes for them to go. They also offered us assistance, protection, and machines, but I sent them back to their ship because we are not ready to enter their galaxy. We have much to learn, much to understand about their devices and their ways.
“When we have learned enough, we will emerge on our terms. Gurn says that we need machines and a new kind of strength to defend ourselves. I say this is not true. We destroyed the Orions with the strength of our blood. We will decipher the puzzles of their machines with our minds and hands. And then we shall enter the galaxy as masters, servants to no one but our own blood and will. Gurn says the Klingons will be here in three days. I say we turn them away. The humans left our world when we asked them to. If the Klingons have honorable intentions, they will do the same. If not, I say we fight them with the last drop of our blood and the last bit of our strength. I have hunted with all of you, fought green-skins with most of you. Stand with me now and no enemy can stand against us.”
Gorath finished and scanned the crowd. He had won some of the hearts around him, but some of the faces were impossible to read. He had no illusion that this would be easy. What Gurn was offering was tempting—immediate safety without effort, incredible machines for worthless rocks. The path Gorath was offering would take many summers, require much of his people, and was full of uncertainty. But as his father had taught him, If you lie down with flen, you wake up with mites.
“We shall vote. Those who would welcome our brothers in blood, stand with me. Those who would turn them away, stand with Gorath,” said Gurn. The clan leaders hesitated, considering the two men. Slowly, they made their way to the pit. Besides Gorath and Gurn, there were seven clan leaders. All Gorath needed now was four, yet he could see that not all were decided.
One leader joined Gurn, one joined Gorath. Another for each side. Then another. One remained: Balen, who considered both men for a moment …
And then stepped to Gorath’s side.
That was it. This battle was won, at least for now. Gorath would have expected Gurn to fume, but he merely nodded and said, “Let no one challenge the will of this council.”
Afterward, they had the customary meal, but there was little talk. At the end, Gurn approached Gorath and said, “I congratulate you. You remain a leader to us all.”
Gorath merely nodded and turned to go. He had no desire to trade dishonest words with a snake. He wanted to get back to his village, to see his brother and his son and tell them about what had happened here tonight. It was more than just talk, and Gorath was sure that the matter was not finished. At the least, in three days they would need to be ready for battle. When the battle with the green-skins had come, Adon had been too young to fight. But since then, he had passed his fifteenth summer. This was a battle that he would join. Gorath had to make sure that he was ready.
On his walk back, Gorath found that he was more troubled than when he knew the Orion machines might kill them all. Then he had been worried about his people’s survival. Now, he thought that they might lose something even more valuable than their lives. Even the trees and the night wind could not quiet his mind.
He heard noises around him, but did not think much of them until he saw the five people holding torches ahead of him. He didn’t have to see their faces to know that they were Gurn and his people. Gorath was immediately alert, his hunter’s instincts automatically at work. He cursed himself for allowing Gurn to surprise him. The flen had something planned, and Gorath realized that he had misjudged the coward. He had never thought Gurn would take any direct action against him.
“What do you want, Gurn?” Gorath shouted before he was even close enough to see the men’s faces.
“Gorath,” Gurn replied, his voice showing uncertainty. He was wondering, no doubt, how Gorath knew who he was in the dark. Good. His men would be nervous too. That would work to Gorath’s advantage.
“We need to talk further,” Gurn said, coming close enough so that Gorath could finally see his face, and the faces of his four men. Gorath was pleased to see that they were nervous. Good. He intended to give them more to worry about, if necessary.
“Is it really talk you are here for, Gurn?” Gorath said, making the question a taunt.
“Ah, yes, I have grave concerns about the course of action you have set for us,” Gurn said, gaining confidence as he spoke. Immediately, Gorath saw that Gurn would need to speak for a few minutes to gather his courage before this began.
Well, he would not engage in such a dance. Gorath took two steps toward the group and was pleased to see them all take a step back. “Are you here to kill me, Gurn? You five?” Drawing his mek’leth, Gorath swung it in front of himself a few times for emphasis. “I did not expect to hunt tonight, but a man does not always choose his fate.”
Gurn took another step back. “You have put us all in danger,” he muttered.
“No, you have lain down with flen. You are upset that I would not lie down as well. Now, either stand aside or you will see how much danger you are in.”
Gurn held his ground and said formally, “A judgment has been rendered against you.”
“By the council?”
“By me,” Gurn said.
“Are you prepared to carry out the judgment yourself?” Gorath said as the other four men drew their weapons.
“The stakes are too high here to trust our future to single combat, as much as I would enjoy it.” Gurn made a hand signal and the four men began to spread out.
“Let me ask you, are the stakes ever low enough for you to do your own fighting?” Gorath said, taking another step forward. He judged that if he got a little closer to Gurn, he could reach the man before Gurn’s people could stop him.
“Your skills as a hunter and a fighter are legendary among our people. For that, if for nothing else, you have earned my respect. But the future belongs to those who see be
yond the next hunt, and those who use greater weapons than simple blades,” Gurn said.
“One at a time, or shall I end your cowardly lives together?” Gorath said, making eye contact with each of Gurn’s men. They were nervous. They didn’t have the false courage of bullies with an advantage.
“Destroy him together. Take no chances,” Gurn said.
A red haze descended over Gorath’s vision. The time for talk was ended. He knew he had little time in which to act. The four men in front of him were cowards, and he had no doubt that he could best each of them individually, but he knew he would not get that courtesy from this lot.
Now he had one goal: get to Gurn before the others could get to him. His ancestors had a simple axiom: When outnumbered, attack. Gorath didn’t hesitate. He attacked.
Racing forward, he let out a fierce battle cry and slashed at the man on his right. The guard was too surprised to offer a serious defense, and Gorath felt his blade make contact with the man’s neck. He didn’t wait to see what happened to him and kept moving forward. He only had one desire now: kill Gurn. And do it before he further poisoned their people.
Gorath was peripherally aware of someone slashing at him from behind. A blade raked down across his left shoulder, cutting him deeply. Gorath ignored the wound, leaping the last steps to Gurn, who held his own sword feebly in front of him. Slicing downward, Gorath knocked the mek’leth out of the coward’s hand and lifted his own blade again to bring it down one more time to end Gurn’s pitiful life.
As he swung his sword, he was aware of movement behind him. Someone was rushing him. The prudent move would be to turn and defend himself. Of course, the odds were still four to one, and Gorath might not get another chance at Gurn. He ignored the man behind him and completed his attack on the traitorous clan leader.
As the blade came down, Gorath was pleased to see the terror in Gurn’s eyes. However, an instant before he made contact, someone knocked into him from behind. Apparently, in a surprising burst of courage, one of Gurn’s thugs had simply thrown themselves at Gorath to protect his clan leader.
Still, Gorath tried to complete the blow, bringing his blade down with all his strength as he felt himself thrown forward. Though strong, his aim was off and Gorath could see the blade make only glancing contact with Gurn’s face and shoulder.
Then he was rolling on the ground, with someone still clutching him from behind. He rolled on his left shoulder, which screamed in pain, but it allowed him to keep hold of his mek’leth. As he sprang back to his feet, he slashed back with his weapon, trusting his hunter’s instincts to guide the blade. They did not fail him. He turned to see the man clutching his stomach. It was a deep wound and would likely be fatal. Most important, however, the man was out of the fight for now.
The other two guards were eyeing him warily and keeping a respectful distance. Gurn was clutching his face, which wore an expression of pain and disbelief.
When Gorath spoke, he directed himself to the guards. “End this foolishness. This is not a man you can follow. We are a proud people. We defeated the green-skins, we can defeat the work of a coward in our midst. Do not let him poison you against your own kind.” Gorath saw the beginnings of shame in the men’s eyes. That was something. If they could be shamed, they might again know something of honor.
“Now you wish to talk?” Gurn said.
“Not to you, coward,” Gorath said.
“Either way, talk will not save you today. There are three of us,” Gurn said, holding up his mek’leth.
“And a moment ago there were five.”
“But you are injured,” Gurn said.
Gorath gave a glance to his left arm. The blow had struck him in the back, but he could see blood running freely down to his hand and then the ground. He tried to lift his left hand and found that it would not easily obey his commands.
Gurn was giving him an unpleasant smile.
“I need only one hand to finish you,” Gorath said.
After a quick hand gesture from Gurn, the two guards approached him slowly from either side. Gorath realized that they were lost. Whatever Gurn had offered them was worth more to them then their honor.
Gurn raised his own blade and said, “Strike him at the same time.” That was it. Gorath knew he needed to act quickly. He could still get to Gurn before they stopped him, and killing Gurn meant everything now. Gorath’s people were depending on him—his son was depending on him. He felt a growing sadness that he would not see Adon again, would not see him grow to a man. Ultimately, Gorath had to push away his son’s image. He could not be distracted now.
He prepared for a final leap to Gurn, planning his move. However, when he began, he found his body slow, sluggish. I’m losing too much blood, he realized. Still he made the effort and moved forward with all the speed he could muster.
It was almost enough.
He sensed the blows coming and struck out with his mek’leth, the blade that had been his father’s and his grandfather’s. The sword had felled many beasts and a number of green-skins. It was well made and true. In skilled hands it was a powerful weapon. Through it, Gorath felt the power of his ancestors, and yet he did something he had never done before on a hunt, or in battle …
Gorath missed. His body, slowed by loss of blood, had failed him.
The blade touched only the air in front of Gurn’s face, and then Gorath felt the blows come—one to his right arm, one to his left side. Immediately, he dropped the blade. Yet he kept to his feet. It was a last surprise for Gurn, and Gorath enjoyed seeing it on the coward’s face.
Gurn was speaking but Gorath did not bother to decipher the words. Everything slowed. Watching dispassionately, Gorath saw Gurn pull his blade back and strike out with its point. Gorath felt the blow as pressure on the right side of his chest. He looked down and saw that Gurn’s blade was actually quite deep inside his body.
Turning his head up, he looked at Gurn’s face and saw that the coward was still afraid of him, even as he was tasting victory. With a small measure of satisfaction, Gorath found himself falling. There may have been more blows, but Gorath was beyond feeling then. It was dark and it took great effort for him to continue breathing.
Gorath’s failure taunted him. He had failed his people. He had failed his son. His son. Adon’s image rose in his mind and comforted him. If there was hope for his people, it lay in his boy. He was still young and Gorath had much he still wished to teach him. Yet, in many ways he was wiser than his father. He would grow to be a better man than Gorath himself.
His son …
The final darkness came and Gorath took Adon’s face with him on his journey.
Chapter Seven
I.K.S. D’K TAHG
KLINGON SPACE
“FIRST OFFICER KAREL, come to the exercise area immediately,” Captain Koloth’s voice boomed through the intercom.
Immediately, Karel put his food down and got up from the table.
In the past, a summons from a commander had always led to a reprimand or worse for Karel. Too often, senior officers tried to lead through fear. Well, as first officer, Karel had changed that on this ship. Warriors worked harder and performed better when they were not constantly worried about how a commanding officer might punish them for a small mistake or minor offense. Of course, Karel dealt harshly with serious infractions. To do less would invite sloppy performance and, more important, hurt the battle readiness of the ship.
Fortunately, Captain Koloth shared Karel’s views on treatment of the crew. Of course, that was not surprising given the fact that, like Karel, Koloth was also a follower of Kahless the Unforgettable. With warriors like Koloth at the helm of its warships, there was hope for the empire, Karel thought. Of course, first, the empire would have to survive the next few months and the inevitable conflict with the Federation. That survival was by no means certain, but Klingons like Koloth would give it at least a fighting chance of not only continuing, but continuing with its honor intact.
Karel entered the
training area and was surprised to see it empty, except for Koloth, who was standing in the center of the room. This time of day there should have been at least twenty Klingons perfecting their skills and testing themselves against one another. Something was going on and Karel was immediately alert.
He noted that Koloth was wearing his uniform, not the white Mok’bara clothing both he and Karel wore when they trained together. Finally, he saw that his commander was not pleased. Karel stepped toward him, glancing down to see if Koloth was holding a weapon. He was not, but an accomplished warrior did not need a weapon to kill, and Koloth was an accomplished warrior.
“Captain,” Karel said, looking into his commander’s eyes. He saw murder there.
With lightning speed, Koloth’s hand shot out, the back of it making contact with Karel’s face. It was a single blow, not hard enough to injure him. Koloth did not attempt another one.
Still, the insult was there and Karel would have to answer it. “Strike me again and I will kill you,” he said, keeping his voice even.
“Why wait for my blow? That is your intention, to kill me. Though it is early for you to make a challenge. You have been first officer for mere weeks,” Koloth said.
This didn’t make any sense, yet he saw the deadly purpose in Koloth’s eyes. “I intend no challenge at the moment, honorable or otherwise,” Karel said.
The captain studied Karel, looking at his eyes. Koloth seemed surprised by what he saw there: the truth.
“Then it seems we have a different problem. You have been a good first officer and I owe my life, in part, to you, but I will answer treachery as strongly as a challenge.”
“Treachery? Captain, I do not know what is going on here,” Karel said, not even trying to hide his confusion.
Koloth studied him. “One week ago there was a malfunction in the surveillance system in the computer room when you were alone inside it. Logs outside the room show High Councillor Duras coming and going, yet there is no record of what passed between you. What happened in that room, First Officer Karel?”