Klag paced the wardroom toward B’Edra. “In the literal sense of violating the orders of a superior, you are correct. But were the warriors who defended Gowron against those who had allied with the traitorous House of Duras committing treason?”
“Of course not, but this is hardly the same thing.”
To Klag’s joy, it was K’Vada who replied. “It is exactly the same thing. House Duras allied themselves covertly with the Romulans and splintered the High Council by trying to shove Duras’s bastard in as a legitimate candidate for chancellor. General Talak now asks a Klingon to go back on his word given to an honorable foe. Perhaps not the same scale, but the principle is the same—it is a point of honor.”
“Is it?” Daqset asked. He had removed his d’k tahg upon entering, though without unfurling the side blades, and was now twirling it absently in his hands. “These aliens are animals, nothing more. A word given to them is like a word given to a targ.”
“Have you met them?” Klag asked, whirling on the captain. “Have you fought them? I have. They are among the finest warriors I have ever encountered, and the most honorable foes that any Klingon could hope for. If you wish, I will have the recordings of some of our combat with them made available to you.”
“All that proves is that you are weak, and cannot defeat creatures fit only to be jeghpu’wI’.”
Klag snarled. “Are you challenging me, Captain?”
Daqset smiled unpleasantly. “Not yet. But I do wish to see these recordings before committing my ship to your doomed quest.”
Ankara rose from her chair. “I too would like to view the records, but I do not feel that the quest is doomed. If a Klingon cannot count on his word, then our entire way of life becomes meaningless. Some may be prepared to live with that. I am not.” Unsheathing her own d’k tahg, Ankara unfurled the blade and then sliced through her own palm. “I swear my fealty to your crusade, Captain Klag.”
K’Vada stood and did the same. “As do I.”
Daqset remained seated.
Grakal—who had been surprisingly quiet, given how voluble he’d been at the induction ceremony—finally spoke. “I will fight as well. The Empire is meaningless without honor. How many times have we as a people turned our backs on Kahless? The only way we have been put back on the right path is for warriors such as Klag to take the lead—to remind us of who we are. The battle against the Children of San-Tarah has already been fought. We must move on to new challenges now—and we must make General Talak see that.” He removed his dagger and sliced his palm.
As the blood of three warriors stained the deck-plates of the wardroom floor, Klag turned to B’Edra and smiled. “Well, Captain? Will you join us in our treason?”
B’Edra’s expression was distressingly unreadable. The Taj’s captain had a small, round face with a single-ridged crest and short, curly brown hair. Her black eyes were unusually large for so small a face, and it almost made her look helpless, until you saw the hard lines of her mouth.
Finally, she said, “I will not swear fealty to you, Captain, for I am not a member of the Order. I am only here because my first officer insisted that I hear you out. Having done so, I am convinced that your cause is just, and the Taj will be at your disposal in your conflict with General Talak.”
Klag was relieved by this; leaving aside any other considerations, the Taj was by far the most powerful ship besides the Gorkon in his minuscule fleet. “Thank you, Captain—and thank you all. You will not regret this.” He pressed a control on his wrist, and the door opened to his bodyguard and another soldier. To the latter, he said, “Escort all but Captain Daqset to the transporter room.” Klag regarded Daqset. “Captain, you will remain here while I show you just what the Children of San-Tarah are capable of.” Looking back at the other four, he added, “I will have all the information on the subspace eddies that we have compiled sent to your ships.”
“Thank you, Captain,” K’Vada said.
“And know this,” Ankara added, “whether or not we live through what lies ahead, the victory is already ours.”
Daqset laughed at that. “You are all fools. I will view these records of yours, Captain Klag, and perhaps I will lend the Qovin to your fleet. But do not expect this to end in anything but a swift journey to Sto-Vo-Kor.”
General Talak gazed out upon his fleet on the viewscreen of the bridge of his flagship, the I.K.S. Akua. A dozen ships orbited the new Klingon planet of Brenlek, plus the K’mpec.
Now it was time to move on to San-Tarah.
Talak’s concerns were far greater than the mere taking of a world. Klag’s presence was an affront to Talak. For years, the filthy toDSaH had remained as first officer of the Pagh, preferring to bask in the reflected glory of Talak’s Housemate, Captain Kargan, than to forge his own path of honor. Then, when Kargan died nobly at Marcan V during the Dominion War, Klag took all the credit. “The Hero of Marcan V,” they called him.
It made Talak ill. Why this petaQ was given a Chancellor-class ship to command—not to mention induction into the Order of the Bat’leth—when so many worthier captains were out there was a source of great confusion to Talak. But Martok found Klag to be an honorable man, and Talak could not afford to defy Martok’s wishes. The one-eyed chancellor was just the person the Empire needed to lead it into an honorable future, one not laden with the petty corruptions and political compromises of regimes past.
Instead, Talak had waited until Klag did something to dishonor himself—an inevitability, truly—and he had done so. A word given to jeghpu’wI’ is no word at all, he thought. Let him have all the contests he wishes—it means nothing. San-Tarah will be part of the Empire, and Klag will be shown for the fool that I have always known him to be. Klag’s first officer was a man who had served with Martok on the Rotarran during the war, and Talak was sure, once Talak’s tik’leth blade found Klag’s heart, that Kornan would make a much more worthy captain of the Gorkon.
Unless, of course, Klag defies me, in which case, I will destroy him and his crew and leave them all in the disgrace they so deserve. Let them all ride the Barge of the Dead. Serving under Klag, they’re halfway there already.
Aiding him would be Klag’s own brother, Dorrek. The K’mpec’s captain had his own reasons for hating his sibling—something about their father—and Talak was more than happy to take advantage of that for his own ends. The House of K’Tal had suffered at Klag’s hands, and if Talak could be instrumental in destroying Klag while ingratiating himself with the person who would be the new head of Klag’s House, it would only serve him well.
“Incoming transmission from Captain Huss, sir,” said the voice of the operations officer from behind Talak.
The general frowned. Huss commanded three birds-of-prey, Nukmay, Khich, and Jor. Their atmospheric strikes had been instrumental in neutralizing the ground-based defenses that the natives of Brenlek had brought to bear on Talak’s ground troops and on the ships in orbit. “Put it on the viewer.”
“She wishes to speak in private, sir.”
Whirling around, Talak regarded the operations officer and squinted his gray eyes at her. “Does she?”
Quickly, the officer said, “I am merely repeating her words, General.”
He rose from his chair. “Very well. Inform her that I will take the communication in my office, and I will see what it is that compels such audacity from a captain to a general.”
“Yes, sir.”
Talak entered his office slowly, seeing no reason to rush to satisfy Huss’s need for privacy. She was a fine captain, it was true, and her three ships had served well as part of Talak’s armada during the war. But requesting a private audience in such a manner was not something he would reward—at least, until he knew its purpose.
After inspecting the contents of his office—he had decorated the space with several examples of his family’s weaponry, including a three-hundred-year-old gIntaq spear and a fifty-year-old d’k tahg that his House Head, K’Tal, had worn when he first served on the High
Council under the reign of Chancellor Ditagh—he finally activated the small viewer at his workstation. Captain Huss appeared on the screen. The captain had flame red hair that surrounded her long face like a glowing ember, and her oddly spotted crest had the complexity of a noble House indeed. She resembled Talak’s favorite daughter, which he suspected was why he had invited Huss’s fleet into his armada in the first place years ago, though she had, through her deeds, more than justified her placement.
“Speak.”
“General, why am I being left behind?”
Eyes narrowing, Talak said, “You are remaining at Brenlek to provide support for Governor Worvag’s installation.” Worvag was the captain of the other three birds-of-prey in the conquering armada, and had earned the promotion after many years’ long service. Talak would probably have offered it to Huss, but she had few ambitions beyond her current position, and was better suited to the life of a fleet captain than a politician. “We will return for you once San-Tarah is taken. I would have thought you’d be pleased by the honor.”
“I believe that Worvag’s former crew would be better to support him than I. They are suited to the tactical nature of the assignment. My specialty is surgical strikes. Based on what we know of San-Tarah, you will need someone with our maneuvering skill.”
Talak considered. He had thought Huss would prefer the honor of finishing the job at Brenlek, in case he had misread the situation and she had wanted the governor’s position, plus he thought it would be better for Worvag’s erstwhile crew to prove themselves without their former commander hanging over their heads.
“Besides,” she added, “I have worked with Captain Klag before, at Narendra III. I believe I am better suited to accompany you to San-Tarah.”
That got Talak’s attention. He recalled that several ships—among them Huss’s fleet—were placed in the mental thrall of a mad dictator named Malkus months ago, and that Klag, with the aid of a Federation starship, had liberated them.
“Very well, Captain Huss. You pose compelling arguments. You will accompany us to San-Tarah.”
Huss grinned, showing attractively uneven teeth. “Thank you, sir. I promise to serve the Empire with glory on this mission.”
“Of that I am sure, Captain. We will be departing Brenlek in three hours.”
“We will be ready. Out.”
He then put through a secure communication to Dorrek on the K’mpec and informed the captain of his change in plan.
Dorrek’s face soured. His small, beady eyes looked even beadier when he did so. “Why the alteration?”
“Huss is better suited to the style of battle we will likely have to engage in, especially with the subspace eddies Klag spoke of. And she has an added benefit to our goals.” He explained the Narendra III connection. “She has faced Klag in battle, even if she was under someone else’s control when it happened. We can use that.”
Then Dorrek grinned, but for some reason Talak found this captain’s grin to be as repulsive as he found Huss’s to be pleasant. “Indeed we can. Thank you, General. Soon I will be able to wreak my revenge on my brother, and finally salvage our family’s honor!”
“Yes, you shall,” Talak said patiently. “We depart in three hours. Be prepared.”
Chapter Four
Leader Wol of Fifteenth Squad stood for just a moment, enjoying the feel of the breeze through her auburn hair, the warmth of the suns on her face, the scent of the animals and the flowers in her nostrils. Her previous two trips to the surface of San-Tarah involved combat, and she had been focused primarily on her duties then. This time, however, as they came down to help prepare for the ground troop invasion by General Talak and his dishonorable forces, she was able to spare a moment to enjoy the purity of this planet.
After spending so long in the regulated atmosphere of a ship, this is almost a relief. She had not been able to truly enjoy a natural setting such as this since her times spent hunting on the lands owned by the House of Varnak. But that was another life. Since being disgraced and exiled from that once-noble House, she had changed her name, joined the Defense Force as a common soldier, and spent all her time on bases and ships, her only excursions to the surface of a planet spent fighting for her life—and for her Empire.
It paid handsomely in the end, though, she thought with a bittersweet smile as she tasted the scent of a wild bird soaring overhead, and she longed for a spear to see if she could take it down and rend its head from its body and prepare it for a meal. Varnak was disgraced when they aided in the coup against Chancellor Martok. And now I am a Leader of a favored squadron on a great ship serving under the finest captain in the fleet.
“Leader.”
Wol turned to see G’joth approaching her, Trant and Maris behind him. She had been sorry to lose Krevor—a bit less sorry to lose Davok, though he was a fine warrior when he needed to be—but at least now she had the opportunity to properly fulfill the responsibility that Lieutenant Toq had laid upon her shoulders. Trant and Maris would become proper warriors or die in the attempt.
“What do you want, G’joth?”
“I have a thought for a weapon we might be able to employ—one the general’s forces will not be expecting. Are you familiar with a human weapon called a mol’tov qaghteyl?”
Frowning, Wol thought the second word sounded familiar, then placed it as a human word that usually applied to a beverage. “No,” she said honestly, wondering where G’joth was going with this.
“Ambassador Worf used them on Narendra III. It involves placing a cloth of some kind in the neck of a bottle of alcohol, setting the rag alight, and then throwing the bottle.”
“A fire bomb?”
G’joth nodded. “Exactly.”
“Why not just start a fire?” Trant asked snidely.
Before Wol could respond, Maris did. “This enables you to do so from a distance and sow confusion among the enemy, allowing you to attack. And a spreading fire can be a great aid in battle.”
“And a detriment,” Trant added. “I think this is foolish.”
The Leader spoke up. “Your thoughts are noted and discarded, Bekk.”
“Something else,” G’joth said
Wol had to keep from grinning at the bekk’s enthusiasm. He hasn’t been this excited since he first got the idea for writing an opera. “Yes?”
“I believe that we can make other explosives. Some of the caves in the hills have mineral deposits that might be useful. But I’ll need to talk to the ship to confirm the readings. If I’m right, we will have the makings of chemical explosives, which will be even more useful.”
This made Wol growl with glee. “And won’t be affected by the subspace interference.”
“Exactly.” G’joth grinned. “We should be able to construct some grenades.”
Trant snarled again. “Primitive grenades, perhaps.”
At that, Wol laughed. “How sophisticated does a grenade truly need to be, Trant?”
The bekk had no answer for that. Wol didn’t really expect him to. Instead, he asked, “Am I the only one who finds this entire endeavor foolish? We are taking up arms against Klingons. General Talak ordered the captain to conquer this world. Should we not be doing so?”
G’joth regarded Trant as if he had grown another head. “The captain gave his word, Trant. In my universe, that means something to a Klingon. If it does not, perhaps you should not be wearing that uniform.”
“I am more worthy to wear my uniform than an old fool like you, G’joth.”
Wol stepped between them. “You have already been demoted once, Trant. I do not wish to see it happen again.”
Gritting his teeth, Trant said, “I only wish to obey my orders!”
“Your orders were given to you by Captain Klag.”
“His orders—”
“Are between him and General Talak. Our duty is to follow our commander.”
G’joth added, “And I would much sooner follow Klag than some petaQ of a general who does not know the meaning of honor
.”
Maris finally spoke. “Trant has a point, loath as I am to credit him for it.” Trant snarled at that, but Maris ignored him. “Our duty is to follow the orders of our superiors. If Captain Klag has failed in his duty, is it not ours to see that he is replaced with one who will?”
“Who, Kornan?” G’joth asked. “He supports the captain—as should we.”
The bekk’s words served to forcibly remind Wol of her own past. Of the lowborn lover she chose to be with against the wishes of her noble House. Of her subsequent exile into the life of a Houseless woman. Of her years spent clawing her way through the Defense Force soldier ranks, where once she would have been accepted as an officer with no question.
And of her complete lack of regret. She had chosen her path, and had she the opportunity to do it again, she would do nothing differently.
“Sometimes, Bekk,” she said to Maris, “one must choose between what is right and what is proper. Yes, it would be proper to blindingly obey the orders of our superiors. But what kind of Klingons would we be, then? I would rather die with honor than live with knowing that I had done wrong by the noble warriors of this planet.” Turning to G’joth, she said, “Excellent work, G’joth. I will convey your suggestion to QaS DevwI’ Vok.”
With that, she suited action to words and walked to where Vok, first among the Gorkon’s troop commanders and Wol’s commander, stood. The portly, brown-haired man was speaking with one of the Children of San-Tarah, a male with dark brown fur, whom Wol recognized as Ga-Tror, their Ruling Pack’s Fight Leader.
Upon Wol’s approach, Vok smiled broadly, his hands resting on his ample belly. “You have something to report, Leader Wol?”
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