Honor Bound

by Keith R. A. DeCandido

  Bowing his head, Maris said, “I would never do such a thing, Leader. I go where you command.”

  “Good. I command you now to prepare for a frontal assault. Our primary goal is to let them think they are being attacked from the south—then the other companies will begin the grenade barrage. Secondary goal is to locate the transporter blockers and capture them. Do not destroy them—we need to take them for our own use.”

  G’joth smiled. Even though Wol had gotten Davok and Krevor killed, they died with honor—she was a good Leader, and one he was proud to die for.

  Wol raised her mek’leth above her head. “For Klag! For honor! For glory! For the Empire!”

  “For the Empire!” G’joth and several others—though neither Maris nor Trant were among them—shouted back.

  And the battle was joined.

  The acrid smell of burning conduits brushed across Talak’s nostrils as several of the Akua’s bridge consoles exploded. Fire control was handling the worst of it, keeping it from spreading around the bridge, but these damned rips in subspace were taking their toll on his ship.

  His pilot screamed, “I still do not have helm control! We’re drifting!”

  Clenching his fist, Talak screamed right back. “Regain control now!”

  The operations officer, in a much calmer tone, said, “Until we drift out of the eddy, sir, we cannot reliably use any control systems.” Another console exploded, underlining her point.

  “Find a way! I will not lose Klag now!” He unholstered his disruptor. “If this ship is not back under control in five minutes, you will pay for it with your life, Lieutenant!” He turned to the gunner, his disruptor still aimed at the operations officer’s head. “Is there any way to fire weapons?”

  The gunner shook his head. “Targeting systems are down. I can fire blindly, but I cannot guarantee that we will not hit an ally—or one of those mines.”

  “I have regained control!” the pilot said, even as the operations officer declared, “We have cleared the eddy.”

  Belatedly, Talak realized that his gesture had been an empty one. His hand weapon would no more fire within the subspace eddies than it would on the planet—or the ship’s own disruptor cannons and arrays would. The tears in space rendered them useless. He had to hope that the operations officer either had forgotten, or was too concerned with her duties to notice. I may have cost myself a great deal in the eyes of my crew.

  He stared at the viewer, which showed Klag’s ship drifting, also a victim of this mad space. You have done this to me. Like you have done so much to me and my House. But it ends today.

  “Firing control has returned,” the gunner added, then looked at Talak and grinned. “I am locked on to the Gorkon.”

  Talak returned the grin. “Arm four torpedoes and fire.” To the pilot, he said, “Resume intercept course.” Then he turned to the viewer, and watched as the four torpedoes headed toward the Gorkon. The Chancellor-class ship was drifting. So much for your ability to map the eddies, Klag, Talak thought with glee.

  “Sir?”

  Turning to the operations officer—who sounded unusually hesitant—Talak prompted, “Yes?”

  “The sensors must be malfunctioning. I’m reading that the Gorkon is arming disruptors.”

  It took a moment for that to sink in. “What?”

  “They’re arming disruptors—and firing!”

  Talak whirled back to the viewer just in time to see the Gorkon’s disruptor array fire on and destroy all four of the Akua’s torpedoes.

  Damn him to Gre’thor, he has outmaneuvered me again! “You are a worthier foe than I imagined, Klag—that will only make your defeat and death sweeter. Arm a full spread of torpedoes! Fire on the Gorkon! And instruct Captain Huss to engage the Gorkon as well.”

  The gunner and operations officer acknowledged the order as one.

  “Fire all disruptors!” Kornan cried, a huge grin on his face.

  His bipolar feelings toward Kurak had firmly lodged in the wanting-to-ravage-her category. I don’t know what motivated you to find a way to make it work, but it may mean victory for us, he thought at the chief engineer.

  “Toq!” Klag bellowed from his chair to Kornan’s left. “Switch to code vagh and pass on to our allies the modifications necessary to allow them to fire disruptors.”

  Kornan nodded. They had been using code wej up until now, but needed to switch to vagh now that Captain B’Edra had betrayed them.

  “Sir,” Toq said, “Commander Kurak’s method may not work on other classes of ship.”

  Klag scowled, but Kornan quickly said, “They won’t know that until have the opportunity to try, Lieutenant.”

  Toq grinned. “Good point. Altering code and sending now.”

  Kornan remembered the meeting in the wardroom days ago where they had discussed the codes. Klag had summoned Kornan, Lokor, and Toq to determine how best for the allies to communicate among each other. Using the Order of the Bat’leth frequency was immediately dismissed as impractical by the captain. “There may be Order inductees among Talak’s fleet—we cannot afford to give them free intelligence.”

  Confidently, Toq said, “I can construct a code that will be intelligible only to those we give the key.”

  “Or any reasonably intelligent security officer,” Lokor added. “We cannot count on it remaining unbroken for long.”

  Klag scratched his beard thoughtfully. “It will not need to be unbroken for long. Once the battle has begun, there will be precious little time for decoding. And only Talak’s flagship—and Dorrek, if he comes—will have the personnel capable of such an action.”

  “Even if they do make the effort,” Toq said, his confident tone still evident, “they will first assume it to be a standard code and run through those before realizing it has nothing to do with them.”

  “You’ve created your own codes?” Kornan asked.

  Suddenly Toq looked uncomfortable. “Let us say I have adapted a nonmilitary code for my own use.”

  “What do you mean?” Klag asked.

  “I cannot say further, sir. Believe me when I tell you, though, that this code will not be broken under these circumstances.”

  Klag and Lokor exchanged a glance, and Lokor gave Klag a quick nod. Lokor knows something about Toq that Klag does not, Kornan had thought, and that Toq may not even know that Lokor knows. But then, that was Lokor’s job as head of security.

  “Very well, create the code.”

  Then Lokor asked, “Do you have more than one of these—nonmilitary codes that you can adapt, Lieutenant?”

  “Several, why?”

  Lokor looked at Klag. “There is a very strong possibility that some who answer your summons, Captain, may well side with General Talak—without informing you first.”

  “You fear treachery,” Klag said.

  “Fear? No. Expect, yes.”

  “Klingons betraying their honor,” Toq said with disgust. “It is almost unthinkable.”

  Lokor snapped, “It is very thinkable, boy. Ideals are just that. In reality, we must account for the fact that not all Klingons are the noble creatures of honor we wish to be.”

  “One need not even be so cynical,” Klag said, staring at an indeterminate point on the bulkhead. “I am sure that Talak sees his own actions as serving the cause of honor and his duty as a soldier of the Empire—as will those who follow him.”

  “Either way,” Lokor said, “we will need to have more than one code in case such a betrayal occurs.”

  “What do you suggest?” Kornan asked.

  “Create several codes. If and when allies do present themselves—”

  “They will,” Klag said.

  Lokor fixed his captain with a look. “Your confidence is touching, sir, but I must be more realistic.”

  “Understood. Continue.”

  “We give them each all the codes, plus methods of decoding all but one of them—with each ship having a different one missing.”

  Klag nodded. “If one betrays
us, we switch to the code that person cannot break.”

  “It is not perfect—if more than one of your fellow inductees chooses to betray us…”

  “That will not happen,” Klag said with confidence. “Induction into the Order is not something given lightly. I believe we can count on proper behavior from most of those chosen for such an honor. Moreover, anyone not inclined to support my call is far more likely to simply not show up.”

  Lokor smiled. “An excellent point.”

  Now Kornan thought back on that meeting, and came to two realizations. One was that Lokor was an invaluable asset to the Gorkon. The other was that Kornan himself need not have even shown up at the meeting for all that he contributed to it.

  “Aft shields have not reconstituted!”

  Grint’s words brought Kornan back to the present and the battle they were engaged in. “Leskit, can you alter our heading to compensate for the lack of aft shields?”

  “That depends.”

  “On?”

  “How badly you wish to have the ship ripped to pieces by a subspace eddy.”

  Kornan cursed. His tactical display showed that the three birds-of-prey led by Captain Huss were on an intercept course with the Gorkon—they’d be in firing range in minutes.

  Worse, the Taj destroyed the Ch’marq, leaving only the Gorkon and the Vidd among the original six still fighting and loyal to Klag. Obviously T’vis, B’Edra’s first officer, did not feel that Klag’s summons was the call to honor they’d hoped. Or B’Edra overrode her first officer’s wishes. Either way, we are losing valuable ground.

  “Sir,” Kornan prompted.

  “Not yet,” Klag said. “It is best not to unholster all our weapons at once.”

  Kornan seethed, but said nothing.

  “Torpedo bearing directly!” Toq said.

  Then one of the secondary gunner positions exploded, just as a bekk took a seat at it. The station had remained unstaffed, since those four positions at the aft of the bridge controlled the four rotating disruptor arrays that, until a few moments ago, were inoperative.

  “Aft disruptor arrays five, six, and twelve offline!” Toq said, even as Grint and the other bekk flew across the bridge from the impact.

  Kornan leapt from his station to the tactical post. He saw the bodies of Grint and the other bekk on the deck, bleeding profusely, but there was nothing to be done for them now. If the opportunity presented itself, he would commend their souls to Sto-Vo-Kor; if the opportunity didn’t, then Kornan will have joined them there.

  Assuming that that is where I am bound…

  He saw that Grint had programmed a standard firing pattern into the aft disruptors. Foolish infant, he thought. In this terrain, half the shots would go into the eddies. But Grint was not experienced—indeed, he was only at that post because Rodek was injured and Morketh was dead.

  Not that it mattered, since the only aft disruptor now working was the stationary one at the rearmost part of the ship.

  Kornan quickly programmed a new firing pattern into the computer, making use of disruptor arrays ten and eleven, which were better suited to targets closer to the center of the ship’s underside, but would have to do in this case.

  He checked the subspace eddies, then looked at the pilot’s station. “Leskit, change course 182 mark 6!”

  The pilot whirled around. “What?”

  “Do it!”

  To Kornan’s annoyance, Leskit looked to Klag for confirmation; to the first officer’s relief, Klag gave an instantaneous nod, and Leskit changed course.

  Once the course change—which managed to keep them out of the eddies—was made, Kornan fired the aft disruptors, and ordered the bekk at one of the aft positions to fire arrays ten and eleven in the pattern he had laid out.

  The Akua’s port wing, already badly damaged when it crashed into one of the eddies, exploded.

  From his command chair, Klag pumped his fist in the air. “Well done, Kornan!”

  Kornan grinned. Perhaps I am bound for Sto-Vo-Kor after all….

  “Sir!” Toq cried. Kornan looked over to see a look of glee on the second officer’s face. “K’Vort-class vessel decloaking ten thousand qelI’qams off our port bow!”

  Checking his own display, Kornan was able to verify the reading. “It’s the I.K.S. Kreltek,” he said, “under the command of Captain Triak.” Then he looked up in fury. “They’re hailing the Akua!”

  Chapter Eight

  Kalpok watched as fifteen warriors came charging down from the south, and thought that perhaps this would finally be the day he died.

  I doubt I will be so lucky.

  It had seemed such a good plan. Join the Defense Force as a soldier, get put into battle, die a heroic death, go to Sto-Vo-Kor. All his prospects for this life had been burned to ashes, so the best he could hope for was a proper entry into the next one. Suicide would send him straight to Gre’thor, and the circumstances that led to this sorry state of affairs meant that no one would give him Mauk-to’Vor.

  That left combat. The best place to find that was the Defense Force, so he changed his name—identifying himself with his House was no longer prudent—and enlisted. He was assigned to one of the new Chancellor-class ships, the K’mpec, and figured he’d be dead inside a week.

  No such luck. The K’mpec had had its share of battles, of course, and plenty of his comrades died gloriously, but Kalpok himself continued to breathe. He had been injured a few times, but nothing terribly serious—especially since Chancellor-class ships had medical facilities superior to those of other Defense Force vessels.

  Now he stood in a valley on a primitive world in the Kavrot Sector hoping that the ground troops from another Defense Force vessel, the Gorkon, would do what none of the K’mpec’s other adversaries had managed.

  One advantage: This was a much better place to die than Brenlek had been. The K’mpec’s last assignment was to begin the process of conquering that world. A barely post-industrial society populated by hairless bipeds with gray skin and wide black eyes, Brenlek was foul-smelling, with smoke choking the air and filth on the ground. It was like swimming in a cesspool. The Brenlekki fought poorly; they had numbers on their side, and some powerful explosive weapons, which only meant it took an extra day or two to fully conquer them. Kalpok had killed several dozen of them himself. But they were no challenge, and there was little glory to be gained in dying on so foul a planet. Even the Brenlekki blood—of which Kalpok had spilled a fair quantity—had a wretched stench. The blood of one’s foes should roar in one’s nostrils, but the blue Brenlekki blood smelled like industrial waste, just like their world.

  It was a bad place to die.

  San-Tarah, however, was a worthy place to give one’s life. This world’s scents were all of trees and grass and wildlife.

  And blood, the smell of which made any warrior’s heart sing with joy in spilling it. That came later, of course.

  The natives of this world were far worthier opponents. Kalpok was as likely to die from accidentally falling into one of the waste-extractor-like rivers on Brenlek than from actual combat. More Brenlekki surrendered to him than fought him; if the so-called Children of San-Tarah had a concept of surrender, no one in this village subscribed to it. These were worthy foes who fought to the bitter end.

  I cannot believe my life has led to this.

  Kalpok was born to a noble and successful House, the son of Nakob, the owner of one of the finest weapons-makers in the Empire. Or, at least, that’s what he thought, until the party following his reaching the Age of Ascension. Then, Nakob—who was, at that point, quite drunk—informed him that his parents were Nakob’s cousin Eral and some lowborn dalliance of hers. Kalpok’s father had been put to death, Eral exiled, and Kalpok given to Nakob to raise. “And you’ve done me proud, boy, you truly have!” was the last thing Nakob said before he passed out.

  Nakob never brought the subject up again, and Kalpok was perfectly happy to let it go—right up until eight months ago. Their House had sup
ported the traitor Morjod in his attempt to wrest control of the Empire from Chancellor Martok. When Martok triumphed, Kalpok’s House was disgraced. He didn’t even dare think the House’s name now, for it was not to be mentioned.

  Strictly speaking, Kalpok should have died with the rest of his family. But when Martok retook the chancellor’s seat and had the Great Hall rebuilt, Kalpok managed to avoid the vengeance. For the first time since reaching the Age of Ascension, he acknowledged the words that Nakob had drunkenly imparted to him.

  My parents were not part of our House—my mother was cast out, and my father was never part of it in the first place. So I should not be held accountable for their actions.

  Of course, he still was left with nowhere to go, nothing to do—except die well. That was the true wish of every Klingon, to die a glorious death and ascend to Sto-Vo-Kor. Kalpok hadn’t been entirely sure that was his true wish for most of his life—but the actions of his family in supporting a lunatic’s attempted coup left him with few options. It was either go for the good death or settle for the miserable life ending in a bad death.

  Besides, the Defense Force provides regular meals. Before hatching this particular plan, he had spent the better part of a week living on the streets of the Old Quarter of the First City. He had no desire to relive that experience ever again, not after living in the lap of House Varnak’s luxury for so long….

  He cursed. Don’t think the name. They are not your House. That House does not exist. Neither do you. You are Bekk Kalpok—no House, no known father, just a soldier of the Empire. One of those fifteen Klingons heading toward you right now is going to run his or her d’k tahg through your heart, you will die a painful and glorious death, and this will finally be over.

  Kalpok was a bit confused at the attack, though. They had been told to expect the frontal assault to come from the south. Someone on the Gorkon was apparently feeding information to the K’mpec’s QaS DevwI’, and that intelligence indicated a southern assault.