“ ‘No True Klingon Would
Betray His Word of Honor,’ ”
Me-Larr Quoted.
“When you told me that, Captain Klag, did you lie?”
“No. It was, however, a mistake.”
“You said it was the most important tenet of your people!”
Te-Run, oldest and wisest of the Ruling Pack, said, “Then we are to be conquered.”
“No,” Klag said, “the Gorkon will defend your world to the last dying breath of each warrior on board. Other Klingons may be willing to turn their backs on honor, but I am not.”
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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For Marc Okrand, who told us how they speak,
Ronald D. Moore, who told us how they live,
and Michael Dorn, who showed us who they are
It is the purpose that makes strong the vow,
But vows to every purpose must not hold.
—William Shakespeare, Troilus and Cressida, Act 5, scene 3, lines 23–24
Historian’s Note
This novel immediately follows Book 1 of this series, A Good Day to Die. It takes place approximately eight and a half months after Star Trek: Deep Space Nine’s final episode, “What You Leave Behind,” and about three years prior to the movie Star Trek Nemesis. That would put it at the end of the Year of Kahless 1001 on the Klingon calendar, at approximately Stardate 53800 on the Starfleet calendar, and in late 2376 on the human calendar.
Honor Bound
Prologue
“I am Klag, son of M’Raq, captain of the I.K.S. Gorkon—and I summon you, my fellow members of the Order of the Bat’leth, in a call to honor.
“When the Order was first formed, by the Lady Lukara after Kahless’s ascension to Sto-Vo-Kor, its members were tasked with ensuring that the teachings of the divine one would continue after the teacher was gone—to make sure that the Great Houses of the Klingon Empire remained on the path of honor, and to lead them back to that path if ever they strayed. Chancellor Martok has, in his wisdom, returned the Order to that original sacred purpose, and it is for such that I summon you now.
“Ten weeks ago, a dozen ships, including the Gorkon, were sent to the Kavrot Sector to find new worlds on which to plant the Klingon flag. A week ago, the Gorkon found one, in the system designated Kavrot loSmaH Soch. Called San-Tarah by its native population, the world’s orbit is littered with subspace eddies. We have determined that it is the fallout from a battle with subspace weapons fought some time within the last two centuries. These eddies have played havoc with our technologies, hindering some, eliminating others. Energy weapons do not function on or near San-Tarah, and communications only in the short range. However, the planet itself is rich with such mineral resources as kellinite, koltanium, and uridium—it would make a glorious addition to the Empire.
“The native population is a warrior culture. You may think that makes them like us, but they are different—the planet is so abundant that they can afford a pure warrior ethic that Kahless himself would envy. The day-to-day compromises of life do not affect them. When we first beamed ground troops down, we surprised them, arriving at night by a method of transport far beyond their means—and still they succeeded in driving us from their village.
“I had planned to beam down a larger force and take them, but then the leader of their Ruling Pack requested an audience. They wished to discuss how the battle might continue. They did not wish to speak of peace—in fact, the translator did not render the word peace into one that they could comprehend. No, they were only interested in how best to continue fighting, for they, like we, value battle above all else.
“I learned something, speaking with the head of their Ruling Pack, a wise and powerful warrior named Me-Larr: We would not defeat the Children of San-Tarah. Oh, we might very well crush them, we could easily overtake them even with our curtailed weapons capability, but they would defy us from the oldest warrior to the youngest cub.
“They also offered us an alternative. They proposed five martial contests. If we defeated them in the majority of these contests, they would willingly cede themselves to the Klingon Empire. If they defeated us, we would go and never trouble their world again.
“I looked into Me-Larr’s heart when he made this offer. I knew that these were honorable foes—more, they were worthy ones. And so I agreed.
“In the end, we were defeated. More specifically, I was. We bested them in the hunt and in a seek-and-capture combat mission, while they got the better of us in marine combat and in a one-to-one contest of strength. In the end, it was left to me and my bat’leth to face Me-Larr and his sword. After many hours of glorious battle, I was finally defeated. Though Me-Larr spared my life, he did declare a just victory, which I conceded to him. I gave him my word that I would honor our agreement, and that the Klingon Empire would leave these fine warriors to their own planet.
“Only a few minutes ago, I received this message from General Talak.”
“Captain Klag, I have reviewed your reports. While I appreciate your admiration for these primitives, I do not appreciate your attempts to speak on the Empire’s behalf, nor do I see any reason for the future of the Empire to be governed by words spoken to those who deserve only to be jeghpu’wI’. Regardless of the outcome of this ridiculous ‘contest’ that you and these people have concocted, San-Tarah is a world that must come under our flag. Brenlek will be fully conquered within three days of your reception of this message. You are to hold station at San-Tarah and await the arrival of the task force in five days’ time. I expect a full map of the subspace eddies and a tactical analysis of how best to secure the planet given the limitations presented by those eddies by the time the fleet arrives. San-Tarah will become part of the Empire within the next two weeks. I will contact you again when the task force is en route. Out.”
“Is this now the face of the Empire? Are we no longer Klingons? Do we break vows at a whim, ignore promises that inconvenience us? I say we do not. Kahless slew his own brother because that brother went back on his word. I am a Klingon warrior, a proud member of the Order of the Bat’leth, and captain of one of our warships—if I do not speak for the Empire, then who does?
“General Talak is sending his fleet to this system in order to conquer a people to whom I have sworn the Empire’s protection. I would not be worthy of my position as captain nor of my induction into the Order if I did not defy the general. I do not take this action because I wish to—for I have no desire to engage my fellow Klingons in battle—but because I must. If we allow this to happen, then all we fought for against the Dominion will have been lost. We are not mindless Jem’Hadar who blindly obey our Vorta handlers. We are Klingons—we ar
e warriors! And we must stand against this atrocity before it has a chance to spread!
“Join me—bring the Empire back to glory. The days of such honorless behavior must be put in the past forever!”
Klag ended the recording, encoded it onto a data spike, and sat back in his chair. He had the support of his first officer, Commander Kornan. Now he needed to go out to the bridge and secure the support of his crew. He had little doubt that he would get it; he had been in command for over half a year, and knew that the warriors of the Gorkon were among the finest in the Defense Force.
The true test was the call to the Order. Would they heed Martok’s return to the Order’s primary function? Even if they did, would they consider this a fulfillment of that mandate?
If not, Klag thought, I will be one ship against many. Talak’s fleet included a dozen ships, though he might well leave a few behind at Brenlek.
And then there is Dorrek. Just as Klag had found San-Tarah, Klag’s estranged younger brother Dorrek had found Brenlek as commander of the I.K.S. K’mpec. Klag would not be at all surprised if the K’mpec—a massive warship of the same class as the Gorkon—accompanied Talak’s fleet.
Like Kahless, I too may need to take up arms against my sibling. So be it. Dorrek had never forgiven Klag for refusing to see their father, M’Raq, when he chose to wait for death on the Homeworld rather than reclaim the honor he lost when he was captured by Romulans. Nor had his younger brother thought any better of Klag when he chose, shortly after M’Raq died in his sleep, to have their father’s right arm grafted onto Klag’s own shoulder to replace the one he had lost during the war. Dorrek had refused to acknowledge Klag’s supremacy as older brother, so Klag would treat him as any other honorless petaQ.
M’Raq’s arm was a few centimeters shorter than that of his eldest son. As a result, Klag—despite having several months to grow accustomed to the new limb—still often listed to the right whenever he got up out of a chair. He did so again now, cursing as he stumbled rightward, grateful that Kornan had left the office moments before he began his recording for his fellow members of the Order.
He went onto the bridge and played the general’s message for the crew. A breach of protocol, perhaps—the words of generals to captains were not usually fit for the eyes of mere crew to see—but it was best for them to hear the reasons for what he was about to ask of them unfiltered.
To his relief, but not his surprise, the crew was behind him. “Strike them down!” one cried. “We go with honor!” said another.
Then the second officer, Lieutenant Toq, led them in song—an old victory chant called “Don’t Speak.” Klag smiled as he joined in the titular refrain of “yIja’Qo’, yIja’Qo’, yIja’Qo’.” Their song was sung throughout the halls of the mighty vessel.
After the second verse, cheers echoed off the bridge’s bulkheads. Toq and the substitute gunner, Grint, head-butted.
“Fear not!” Klag cried over the din. When he spoke, the bridge grew quiet again. “We will not face the honorless general alone. Over a thousand years ago, the Order of the Bat’leth was formed after Kahless ascended to Sto-Vo-Kor—both to spread his word and to enforce his doctrine. Today, the call will go out once more. Again, the Order of the Bat’leth will serve to remind the galaxy of what it means to be a Klingon!”
Klag walked over to Toq and handed him the spike onto which he had recorded his message and his Order of the Bat’leth medallion. Indicating the medallion, he said, “This will allow you to send a tight-beam communication to anyone else in the Order.” Then he held up the spike. “I want you to send the message encoded on this.”
Now, he thought after Toq took both items, we wait….
Chapter One
Captain K’Vada watched as Klag’s face faded from the small viewscreen. He then removed the Order of the Bat’leth medallion from his workstation, and was about to put it back in the drawer from which he’d retrieved it only a few minutes before. Just before he did, he hesitated, then decided to put the medallion at its proper place on his shoulder. It’s been too long since I wore it. Longer still since wearing it actually meant anything.
K’Vada’s service to the Empire went back to his youth—a youth that went back fairly far, much as he hated to admit it. He had won many campaigns, brought honor to his House, and continued to grow older. Eventually, he knew, he would slow down, and some ambitious first officer would decide to challenge him. Or perhaps a worthy foe would send him to Sto-Vo-Kor—though if the Romulan, Federation, Kinshaya, Kreel, Dominion, Cardassian, and Breen foes he’d faced over the years couldn’t manage it, K’Vada didn’t see how anyone else would. He had never considered himself to be an especially great warrior, yet here he was, still fighting after all these years, after all these campaigns.
With the decommissioning of his previous command following the war, he had only recently taken command of the I.K.S. Vidd. The previous captain had been the victim of a duel relating to some family feud or other. K’Vada came from a minor House that had never offended anyone; it was not of enough consequence to do so. As a result, his life had been refreshingly free of such distractions.
Unfortunately, Command placed him in charge rather than promoting the first officer, Commander Vigh. His House was of considerable consequence, which explained his high rank; his incompetence was also considerable, which explained K’Vada’s placement on the ship over him. But it also meant that K’Vada needed to watch his back.
Entering the bridge, he saw that Vigh was sitting in the command chair. Although there was no regulation prohibiting it, Defense Force tradition held that no one save the ship’s supreme commander sat in that chair, regardless of who was in command of the bridge. K’Vada supposed that Vigh could have come up with a more obvious insult, but one didn’t readily spring to mind.
As the door to his office rumbled closed behind him, K’Vada said, “Pilot, change course to the Kavrot Sector, system loSmaH Soch, maximum warp.”
Vigh, K’Vada noticed, did not rise from the command chair. “Sir, we have been assigned to patrol this sector for the next three days.”
As if I did not know that. “We have new orders.”
“No communications have arrived from Command.”
This was, strictly speaking, true. The message from Klag came on a tight-beam subspace carrier wave that bypassed the Vidd’s communications system and went straight to K’Vada’s Order medallion. K’Vada did not respond directly to Vigh’s statement, but instead turned back to the pilot. “Is the course laid in?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Execu—”
Vigh rose from the command chair. “Belay that!”
K’Vada sighed. I should have known. “Pilot, execute at maximum warp, or I will replace you with a living officer who understands the chain of command.” He turned to Vigh. “That goes for you as well, Commander.”
“We have received no change in our orders!”
“We have not. I have.” Indicating the Order medallion, K’Vada added, “This is official business of the Order of the Bat’leth, which supersedes any authority save that of the emperor himself.”
To K’Vada’s satisfaction, the pilot engaged the warp drive as soon as K’Vada mentioned the Order.
Whereupon Vigh unsheathed his d’k tahg, the secondary blades unfurling with a dual click. The captain sighed.
“It was not enough that Command did not give me this ship that was rightfully mine, but to put a lying sack of taknar droppings in my place is an insult I will bear no longer! The Vidd will be mine!”
K’Vada contemplated wasting his breath pointing out the rightness of his position with regard to the Order, but decided against it, choosing to simply unsheathe his own personal dagger. Vigh was making use of these events as an excuse to finally challenge K’Vada. Better to get this challenge out in the open and over with than to let it fester on the bridge for months on end.
“Now,” Vigh continued, “you will be exposed for the honorless petaQ you trul—”
His diatribe was cut off by K’Vada slashing at his face.
Vigh stumbled backward, apparently surprised that K’Vada didn’t wait until he was done giving his speech before attacking. Blood seeped from the wound in his cheek.
Screaming, Vigh lunged forward in a clumsy attack that K’Vada easily sidestepped. He had an opportunity to strike back, but decided against it. K’Vada hadn’t had a good workout in far too long.
Within five minutes, it was clear he wasn’t going to get one now, either. What Vigh lacked in command competence, he more than made up for in clumsiness. His attacks were the tiresomely predictable ones of a novice fighter. K’Vada had seen children fresh off their first hunt wield a d’k tahg with more skill than his soon-to-be-former first officer.
Finally, on Vigh’s fourth obvious lunge, K’Vada again sidestepped, and plunged his own d’k tahg right into Vigh’s chest. I should have done this weeks ago.
By this time, the entire complement of the bridge was chanting K’Vada’s name. He removed the dagger and let Vigh’s body fall to the deck. The captain then moved to the command chair, not bothering with the death ritual. That was only for honored warriors bound for Sto-Vo-Kor, a state of affairs that most assuredly did not apply to Vigh.
The second officer—now the first officer—grinned and said, “You have done a great service to this vessel today, Captain.”
“I did nothing that Vigh did not bring upon himself,” K’Vada said dismissively as he sat in his chair and saw the distorted starfield on the viewscreen that indicated that they were at warp. “Pilot, time to destination?”
“Twenty-seven hours, sir.”
“Speak with engineering about increasing engine efficiency. I want us at that star system as soon as possible.”
Stepping around from the operations console to K’Vada’s side, the new first officer—Lieutenant Yivogh—spoke in a low voice, so their conversation would only be heard by the two of them. “Sir, may I know our new mission?”
Honor Bound Page 1