Honor Bound

by Keith R. A. DeCandido

  Something struck Goran’s legs, and he lost his ability to stay upright. Letting out a scream of annoyance, he fell backward.

  Now they piled on top of him. The only benefit from falling down was that the pressure on his neck ceased. Goran figured that the one on his back was crushed by Goran’s own weight. He had done that a few times at Rura Penthe—restrained prisoners by the simple expedient of sitting on them.

  Unfortunately, now he felt the cut of multiple blades slicing through his armor. He tried to shove the Klingons off him, and managed to get two or three to stop stabbing him, but that still left several more.

  Then, suddenly, many Klingons were thrown off of him by some outside force. Goran looked up to see a massive Child of San-Tarah holding one Klingon in each of her paws while kicking two more. She then threw the two aside and drew her weapon, the curved, two-bladed weapon that they used.

  Goran recognized his rescuer. It was Fe-Ruv, the one who had defeated him.

  With several of his foes removed by Fe-Ruv, Goran was able to throw the remainder—who were distracted by the surprise of Fe-Ruv’s attack—off him and get up again. When he did, Goran noted that the one who had jumped on his back still lay on the ground, his chest and head crushed.

  “I am told,” Fe-Ruv said, “that your people do not like to ask for assistance. But you looked like you needed help, and I thought together we could show these—what is your word? pa-tak?—what it means to be strong.”

  The Leader, whose left arm was hanging uselessly from his shoulder and was bleeding from a wound in his cheek, growled. “You would hide behind this creature, Bekk?”

  “I’m not hiding from anyone!” Goran said. “And I’m not the one who has to lead over a dozen warriors so I can lose to one Klingon.” Then he smiled. “Or to one Klingon and one San-Tarah.” He looked at Fe-Ruv. “Let’s show them.”

  The Leader raised his bat’leth. “Kill them!”

  Without even having to communicate to each other, Goran and Fe-Ruv stood back to back, Fe-Ruv holding her sword. It is like we were meant to do this, Goran thought.

  Then the few Klingons still left attacked.

  Goran punched one in the face, driving the bones of his nose into his brain, killing him immediately. Another swung her mek’leth at Goran, which he blocked with a gauntlet, then grabbed her neck with his other hand and crushed her throat. Tossing her aside, he then took a swing with his fist at two more, downing them with a single blow that resulted in spurting blood and flying teeth.

  From behind him, Goran heard more cries of pain, and also saw spurts of Klingon blood, probably the work of Fe-Ruv’s sword. Goran had lost his bat’leth somewhere along the line. He supposed he could have taken a moment to pick it up—or one of the many other weapons that had been dropped along with their wielders—but Goran was enjoying simply bashing his foes. Maybe he wasn’t the biggest and the strongest, but he and Fe-Ruv were the two biggest and strongest—and like the Child of San-Tarah said, this was their chance to show them what that meant.

  A few minutes later, they were surrounded by bleeding and broken Klingon corpses—except for the Leader, who was now holding a d’k tahg with his right hand.

  “You are a fool,” the Leader said to Goran. “You obey the orders of a fool, and you ally yourself with inferiors.”

  Goran walked up to the Leader, who did not back away even as Goran loomed over him. “You’re the only inferior I see here.”

  Then he hit the Leader very hard on the top of his head with a closed fist. The Leader fell to the ground, his d’k tahg clattering to the ground next to him on top of a discarded tik’leth.

  Fe-Ruv’s tongue was hanging outside her mouth, just as it had been after she had been holding the rock for several hours. Unlike that time, her fur was matted down with Klingon blood. It gave her a nice smell, though it was hard for Goran to pick up the scent, as the air was still choked with those grenades that G’joth made. Her sword was also covered in blood.

  “We make a good team, you and I, Goran.”

  “Yes, we do. We are the biggest and the strongest.”

  She then reared her head back and howled.

  Several other howls came in response.

  The day had been won.

  So what if he wasn’t biggest and the strongest anymore? Goran was still plenty big and strong enough to serve his captain and the Empire. That was all that mattered to him.

  The faces of two women looked at Klag from the viewer of his bridge. The one on the left had been his secret weapon, the d’k tahg he’d hidden in his boot in order to slice Talak’s throat when he least expected it: Huss, who had answered Klag’s call in secret, remaining inside Talak’s fleet until the best opportunity presented itself. Just as the Taj had turned against Klag, now he had turned the Jor, Nukmay, and Khich on Talak.

  The one on the right was a face he had not expected to see, and hadn’t laid eyes on since his days on the Pagh: Vekma, who was apparently now the Kreltek’s captain. Klag had had Toq send the Kreltek code vagh and its decoding procedure.

  “Captain Triak had to be replaced when he refused to do his duty as requested by a member of the Order of the Bat’leth,” Vekma said.

  “You’re in the Order?” Klag asked.

  “No, but my new first officer is.” Vekma smiled that toothy smile that Klag remembered quite fondly from the old days on the Pagh. “Hevna was insistent that we respond to your call to battle. When Triak was unwilling to do so, I took action.” She laughed, a musical sound. “To be honest, Klag, I’m grateful. Fawning over that arrogant petaQ was getting to be a chore. And he was dreadful in bed.”

  Klag threw his head back and laughed. Vekma was an adventurous lover. She and Klag had shared a bed more than once before she transferred to another post. For that matter, Klag recalled that she was the one who expressed curiosity as to how Klag’s friend and comrade William Riker—a human Starfleet officer serving a brief tour as the Pagh’s first officer over a decade ago—would perform.

  Huss did not share the laugh. She stared at Klag with sharp green eyes that complemented her flame red hair. “What are your orders, Captain?”

  “I would not ask you to fire on your commander again. Take your ships and pursue the Taj and the Gogam. Attempt to herd them toward the remaining mines. Vekma, you and I will take the Akua.”

  “What of the K’mpec ?” Huss asked.

  Klag turned to Toq. “Any change in readings?”

  “No, sir. The K’mpec is dead in space.”

  Turning back to the viewer, Klag said, “Leave them. If they regain power, we will deal with them, then.”

  “Sentiment will prove our undoing, Captain. I am perfectly content to fire on Talak if I must—in fact, I already have. You cannot afford to—”

  “Do not presume to tell me what I may or may not do with regards to my brother, Captain Huss!” Klag snapped. “You have your orders! If you will not follow them, then return your flag to General Talak’s command.”

  “I follow the course of honor, Captain Klag,” Huss said tightly. “When I contacted you two days ago, I swore fealty to you in this cause, as befits a member of the Order. You gave your word to the Children of San-Tarah. I will not besmirch that because I find your strategy lacking. Out.”

  Her face disappeared from the viewer, leaving only Vekma. “We’ve both come a long way, haven’t we, Klag?”

  Now Klag allowed himself a smile. “Not really. Ten years ago, we struggled for honor despite having a fool for a commander. Today is no different—only it is Talak who is the fool instead of Kargan.”

  “Perhaps we should just eliminate the entire House of K’Tal and have done with it.”

  “One step at a time.” Klag grinned. “Qapla’, Vekma!”

  “Qapla’, Klag.”

  The viewer returned to the spacescape. From behind Klag, Kornan said, “Leskit, plot a course toward the Akua, and execute at full impulse.”

  “Weapons?” Klag asked.

  “For
ward disruptors armed and ready, sir,” Kornan said.

  “Kreltek taking up position forty thousand qelI’qams to starboard,” Leskit said. Then he whirled around. “Sir, they’re on course to hit one of the mines!”

  “Toq—” Klag started.

  “I am alerting Captain Vekma, sir,” Toq said calmly.

  “In range of Akua,” Kornan said, then quickly added, “They are changing course.”

  “Keep with them, Leskit, and fire when ready, Kornan.”

  “Sir!” Toq cried. “I’m reading an instability in the Akua’s warp core!”

  Klag rose from his chair, ignoring the fact that he listed to his right. “Verify!”

  As Toq checked his readings, Leskit said, “Captain, I just noticed something you really aren’t going to like.”

  Turning to the old pilot, Klag prompted, “What?”

  “The Akua’s course change puts us directly in the path of their warp-core ejection systems.”

  “Verified, sir—Akua warp core will explode in twenty-eight seconds,” Toq said.

  “Evasive maneuvers! Alert the Kreltek as well—will any of the other ships be in range?”

  “No, sir,” Toq said, “but—” He hesitated.

  Klag suddenly knew why. One of the ways to combat a subspace weapon was to seal the subspace rip caused by such a device with a warp core. Klag recalled that Riker had used just such a technique over a year ago on the Enterprise.

  The question was, what effect would this warp core have on the subspace eddies?

  “They’re ejecting the core,” Toq said.

  Leskit added, “And it’s heading straight for us.”

  Chapter Nine

  Wol stared down in disbelief at the corpse lying at her feet, her mek’leth lodged in his back.

  No. It cannot be. It simply cannot.

  But it was. She could feel it in her very bones, in her heart, that the boy whom she had just killed—whom she had stabbed in the back—was her son. Never mind that she hadn’t seen him since shortly after giving birth, since her father took the child away from her before casting her out of the House of Varnak. He had her crest. He had her eyes. He looked to be the right age.

  And she just killed him.

  Or perhaps not.

  Several howls cut through the ever-diminishing sounds of battle—first one, followed by several more. Over the past week, Wol had come to recognize the different howls of the Children of San-Tarah. This one was the cry of victory. Soon, the howls were joined by Klingons screaming their own cries of victory, and a few breaking into song.

  Even as conflicting strains of both the Warrior’s Anthem and “Don’t Speak” wafted through the air in a variety of keys, Wol activated her communicator. “Wol to Goran—report to my position immediately.”

  “I am coming, Leader Wol.”

  She looked around, but she could barely see a thing with all the smoke in the air from G’joth’s grenades. Not that she was complaining. They had retaken Val-Goral, thanks mainly to the surprise of the grenades.

  “Ch’drak to Wol.”

  That was the Leader of the sixteenth. Wol had last seen him leading both his squad and the seventeenth to the command post that the K’mpec’s QaS DevwI’ had set up at the center of the village. With irritation at the interruption, she activated her communicator. “What?”

  “We have secured the transporter blockers.”

  Wol shook her head. The battle. You are Leader, do not lose sight of the battle.

  Goran came lumbering up to Wol, alongside G’joth. “You sent for me, Leader?”

  “Well done, Ch’drak,” Wol said, gesturing for Goran to wait. “Deactivate the blockers and beam them to the Gorkon.”

  “The Gorkon is not in transporter range right now, Leader.”

  Frowning, Wol started to say something; then a thought occurred. “Bring them to me, then. Bekk Goran and I will be returning to the Prime Village. You are to remain in charge until you hear otherwise from the QaS DevwI’, Ch’drak.”

  “As you say, Leader.”

  “Out.” Wol didn’t like the tone of voice Ch’drak used—it sounded like he thought she was showing weakness. Well, let him think that. I have other concerns.

  She looked at the two bekk s. For the first time, she noticed that Goran’s uniform was covered with tears in the leather and rents in the armor, and also smeared on the outside with blood. The big man himself had no obvious cuts or bruises, though. Typical, Wol thought with some small amusement. “You’ve been busy, Goran.”

  “Yes, Leader,” Goran said proudly. “Fe-Ruv and I demolished three squads.” Then he frowned. “I think it was three squads. There were a lot, anyhow.”

  “Well done, Goran. Now, I need you to pick up that body. We will be bringing it to B’Oraq’s HoSpI’tal, see if he can be saved.”

  Even as Goran moved to follow her order, G’joth stared at her. “What are you doing, Leader?”

  “This is not your concern, G’joth.”

  “Leader, you are responsible for this campaign. And we have won it, but don’t forget that we have a traitor in our midst. You cannot just leave us in the hands of Ch’drak—what if he is the traitor?”

  Wol scowled at G’joth. Her first instinct was to kill him for his insolence, but insolence was a large part of what made G’joth who he was. Besides which, he was right. She was letting her personal life interfere with duty.

  Yet how can I not?

  “Goran,” she said after a moment, “you will bring this soldier and the blockers back to the Prime Village.” He was probably the only person who could physically handle both. “Bring the soldier to B’Oraq and tell her to do everything she can to keep him alive.”

  “What’s so important—” G’joth started.

  “Are you questioning my orders, Bekk?”

  G’joth started. In their time on the Gorkon, Wol had not had the need to take this particular tone with any of her squad. They had become a tight fighting unit without the need for her to enforce her rank.

  “Of course not, Leader.”

  “Good.” She was still left with a conundrum, as she had already given Ch’drak command. Now she had a choice between taking it back and weakening her own position or standing by her orders and leaving the mission vulnerable to a saboteur.

  The mission must take precedence.

  “Wol to Vok,” she said, activating her communicator.

  “Vok.”

  “We have taken Val-Goral.”

  “Excellent!”

  “Bekk Goran will be bringing the transporter blockers—as well as a prisoner to be taken to Dr. B’Oraq.” She hesitated. “I will be escorting the prisoner.”

  “Why?”

  Wol chose her words carefully. “The troops stationed here were prepared for our attack. However, we were able to discern that beforehand, and so changed the attack. It is why we were victorious. This prisoner may know who the traitor is in our midst.”

  “Have Goran bring the prisoner back, but I want you to stay there, Leader. Make sure the village remains secure and try to ascertain who the traitor is. I’d rather just be able to kill the prisoner.”

  “Yes, sir.” Wol let out a long breath.

  She then contacted the Leader of Sixteenth Squad. “Ch’drak, there has been a change. QaS DevwI’ Vok has instructed me to remain here. Bekk Goran will bring the blockers to the Prime Village.”

  “Very well.” Ch’drak didn’t sound pleased.

  G’joth stared at Wol. “What would you have done if Vok hadn’t provided you with an easy way to sidestep your honor?”

  “I have my reasons, G’joth. Do not question me again.”

  Putting up a hand, G’joth said, “As the Leader commands.” Then he grinned. “But at least you could have given my grenades some credit for our victory to Vok.”

  Wol laughed. “It will be in my official report, worry not, G’joth.” She turned to Goran. “Go on, Bekk, get back to the Prime Village immediately.”


  “You can count on me, Leader.”

  Nurse Gaj checked on her patient. If the bolmaq had been present, this would have been a tedious process involving examination of scanning data, possibly the application of whatever arcane chemicals the patient might require, or tending to the patient’s need in some manner or other. The bolmaq—which was how Gaj mentally referred to B’Oraq—could be tiresome that way. Gaj had coined the name shortly after reporting to the Gorkon on Qo’noS seven months ago. A bolmaq was a small, furry animal from Boreth that had a high-pitched bleat that it uttered whenever it ran around in circles, something it was compelled to do at random intervals. It was similar to the Gorkon’s doctor in both nomenclature and, as far as Gaj was concerned, temperament.

  With the bolmaq currently on the planet performing her obscene sorceries on the ground troops and the alien filth of that world, Gaj limited her activities to making sure that the medical bay’s lone patient—Lieutenant Rodek—was still alive.

  The biobed gave readings indicating that Rodek still drew breath.

  Satisfied, Gaj sat down with her padd and started reading Burning Hearts of Qo’noS. It had been weeks since she read it last. She decided to skip ahead to Ngara’s duel with Lughor—that was always her favorite part, and it meant she wouldn’t have slog through all the buildup. Sometimes I wonder why authors waste time like this. I just want to get to the good part.

  Certainly reading this romance was more exciting than anything that went on in her life. The songs told of glorious battles that warriors fought, but after seven months on an allegedly top-of-the-line Klingon Defense Force vessel, Gaj decided that there was a thing or two she could tell those songwriters. “Glorious battle” was a myth. All it was was shouting and blood, and it was exceedingly boring.

  Serving in this nightmare of a medical bay made it all the worse. By going into nursing and joining the Defense Force, she thought she had assured herself of a career that would involve little work and maximum exposure to the heroes of the Empire. After all, what work would there be, truly, beyond the bandaging of the occasional wound, the severing of the occasional limb, the fitting of the occasional eyepatch.