I.K.S. Gorkon Book Three

by Keith R. A. DeCandido

  “Well done, sir,” Morr said.

  B’Oraq approached the pair. “Indeed. The arm is gaining strength, and you’re growing more accustomed to it.”

  Klag was about to point out that the doctor, like many of her kind, was stating the blindingly obvious, but before he could, the intercom sounded with Lokor’s voice. “Lokor to Klag.”

  The captain blinked. Lokor wouldn’t contact me unless it was important. “Klag.”

  “I need to speak with you immediately, Captain.”

  “Be in my office in five minutes.”

  “Bekk Trant and I will be there, sir.”

  Klag had no idea who that was. What is a lowly bekk doing having a meeting with the captain and the security chief in the middle of the second shift? Does it have to do with the potential mutiny? He sighed. I will find out soon enough.

  “Computer, end program and exit.” The holodeck reverted to its grid form and the doors parted, revealing K’Varia standing guard outside. To B’Oraq, Klag said, “It would seem, Doctor, that it is our lot to be cut short tonight.”

  “Such is the way of things, Captain. I’m just heartened to see the progress you’re making. It provides me with a weapon to use.”

  Frowning as he made his way to the exit, Morr and B’Oraq both following, Klag asked, “Weapon?”

  “A doctor named Kowag published a monograph some time ago excoriating me, calling the procedure I did on you barbaric, and predicting that, within four months, your new right arm will have atrophied and will need to be removed or else risk you dying of an infection.”

  “When was this article published?”

  B’Oraq smiled and tugged on her braid. That nervous habit of hers had abated, mostly owing to Klag pointing it out to her, which made her self-conscious about it, but she still occasionally indulged in it, her fingers wrapped around the clasp with the emblem of her House that held the braid together. “Four months ago.”

  Throwing his head back, Klag laughed to the ceiling. “Excellent! I’m glad I’m able to provide you with a d’k tahg to sink into this Dr. Kowag’s chest.”

  Grinning, B’Oraq said, “Oh, I intend to use something much larger than a d’k tahg. He’s one of the physicians on duty at the Great Hall, mainly due to belonging to the House of Ch’vak. His surgical methods are horrendous, and he’s been the cause of more than one death due to internal bleeding. Admiral McCoy took his work to task when he and I toured the Great Hall medical ward after his talk to the High Council—I’m sure that’s what led him to write that monograph in the first place.”

  “I wish you success in your battle, Doctor,” Klag said as they approached the turbolift. The doors parted, and Klag entered with the two guards. Since the medical bay was on the same deck, B’Oraq did not join them.

  As they rode toward the bridge, Klag asked, “Who is Trant?”

  “He’s a member of the fifteenth, sir,” Morr said. “He was with the seventh, then was moved to the fifteenth after the contests on San-Tarah.”

  It was unusual for troops to move downward through the ranks like that, but Klag did not pursue the question. The intricacies of the troop arrangements were best left to Lokor and the QaS DevwI’. Klag had enough to deal with without adding that to his burden.

  As the turbolift slowed, Klag said, “Morr, I want you with me in the office when Lokor and Trant report. K’Varia, you remain outside.”

  “Yes, sir.” Both spoke in unison.

  K’Nir stood when Klag entered the bridge. “Lieutenant Lokor is waiting for you in your office, sir.”

  Klag nodded to her, and went straight toward the door to his office.

  It parted to reveal Lokor’s powerful form as well as a bekk who was fairly nondescript. His crest was ordinary, his beard trimmed in a popular style, his height and build average for a warrior his age.

  Looking at Morr, the bekk said, “The leader cannot be in here.”

  Angrily, Morr stepped forward. “Who are you to speak to me that way, Trant? I can have you—”

  “Stand down, Leader.” Lokor’s voice, Klag noted, was tinged with a barely suppressed fury. The security chief was more controlled than that, out of necessity for the work he did, so his betrayal of this much anger told Klag much about what the tenor of the upcoming conversation would be.

  Morr turned to Klag with a questioning look.

  Lokor added, “Captain, Trant is correct—what is spoken of in this room cannot be said in front of a mere soldier.”

  Pointing at Trant, Morr said, “That animal is a ‘mere soldier’!”

  Klag considered for a moment. “Does this have to do with why I’ve had my guard doubled?”

  “No, sir.”

  Not the mutiny, then. “Wait outside, Morr.”

  Keeping an angry gaze on Trant, Morr said, “Yes, sir.” Even as he moved to the door, he did not take his eyes off the bekk until the door rumbled shut in front of him.

  “Bekk,” Klag said to Trant as he walked around his desk and took his seat behind it, “I would strongly advise you stay out of Morr’s way.”

  “That is not a concern, Captain.”

  “Sir,” Lokor said, “Trant is not a mere bekk. He is an I.I. agent.”

  Suddenly, Klag’s stomachs felt as if they were trying to meld into one. “What?”

  “I am an I.I. agent,” Trant said slowly, “and I must invoke imperial privilege and take command of this vessel on behalf of I.I.”

  Before saying anything else, Klag turned to Lokor. There was a procedure for this sort of thing, after all.

  His arms folded in front of his massive chest, Lokor said, “I have verified his credentials, sir. He provided a DNA sample, which I ran through the computer; he then provided the code word that unlocked his I.I. file and matched it to that DNA sample. He is who he says he is. And I verified it in—other ways as well.”

  At that, Trant looked over at Lokor. “What other ways would those be?”

  Without looking at Trant, Lokor simply said, “I can imagine no circumstances under which I would reveal my sources, my methods, or my secrets to you, Trant—or whatever your true name is.”

  “Don’t be so sure of that, Lieutenant.”

  Klag stared at Trant. No wonder he is so nondescript. I.I. agents often had their crests surgically altered to something that was not identifiable with a particular family, and he was sure that Trant’s unimpressive affect served him well as a field agent.

  Still not looking at Trant, Lokor said, “I have done what duty requires me to do. I have verified your status and brought you to see the captain. There is nothing more I will do for you, unless the captain orders me to do so.”

  “As of this moment,” Trant said, “I am the captain of this vessel.”

  “No, Trant, you are not.” Klag got up from his chair. “I am under no obligation to turn this vessel over to you unless you have dispensation from the High Council.”

  “And if I said I did?”

  “I would ask you to produce it—not that it matters, since you would have produced it by now if you had it. I am not a fool, Trant, and you would be wise not to treat me as one.”

  Trant said nothing.

  “Absent such dispensation, in order for me to relinquish control of my ship, you must prove to me that such an action is required by circumstance and that it supersedes any and all existing missions. Right now, this vessel is operating under orders directly from General Goluk to proceed to Kavrot wej’vatlh wa’maH vagh.”

  Trant smiled, an expression his face was ill suited for. “In that case, Captain, proving my case to you will be easier than either of us might have imagined, because my first instruction upon taking command will be for this vessel to proceed at maximum warp to that very star system.”

  Klag returned the smile which, to the captain’s glee, caused that of the I.I. agent to drop. “If anything, that provides me with less reason to turn over my ship to you.”

  “May I assume,” Trant asked, “that we are going to that
star system—which is the home of the Elabrej Hegemony—to investigate the disappearance of the I.K.S. Kravokh?”

  “May I assume that you have some method of tapping into the Gorkon’s computer?” Klag asked in a tight voice.

  “Actually, I don’t.” Trant looked again at Lokor. “The computer is quite secure.”

  That got Lokor to smile, though he still would not favor the I.I. agent by meeting his eyes.

  Trant continued: “No, Captain, I got that information from a fellow agent who served on the Kravokh as her operations officer—and is one of only eight survivors of an Elabrej attack on that ship.”

  Klag’s stomachs went back to grinding together. “What happened to the ship?”

  “Damaged beyond repair. The battered remains of the hulk were taken to their capital planet.”

  “Where are the survivors?”

  “Also on the capital planet—as prisoners of the Elabrej, including Captain Wirrk.”

  Now Lokor looked at Trant. “They were taken prisoner?” Lokor sounded as disgusted by the notion as Klag felt.

  “From what the agent said, they were not given any other option.”

  Involuntarily, Klag’s left hand went to the wrist of his right arm—the one that once belonged to his father. M’Raq had been captured by Romulans and not permitted to die. Those pointed-eared petaQpu’ kept him prisoner for years before he finally escaped, giving them no intelligence. He then went back to Qo’noS and waited for death. It took over a decade, but he finally died in his sleep like an old woman, honorless; Klag had taken it upon himself to win back his father’s honor by using his good right arm in battle.

  I will not allow Wirrk and his crew to suffer the same fate.

  Trant continued. “Also there were ten survivors of the battle, but two have died during their imprisonment. One when attempting to escape, the other while the Elabrej—experimented on them.”

  “Experimented?” Klag had mistakenly thought his outrage was complete at Wirrk’s crew being taken prisoner. This revelation proved him wrong.

  “Apparently, the Elabrej have spent much of the last two months attempting to learn everything they can about us. According to B’Etloj—that is the agent on site—they have made attempts to translate our language, though the prisoners have done all they can to stymie those efforts. The Elabrej have also conducted biological tests, which she believes are geared toward forcing the prisoners to provide intelligence.”

  “Truth drugs?” Lokor asked.

  “That is B’Etloj’s theory, yes.” Trant fixed Klag with an intense gaze. “Captain, we cannot allow this to continue. B’Etloj has a translator implant, and she has overheard several conversations that indicate that the Elabrej is massing a fleet to take up arms against us.”

  Klag tapped a finger on his desk. That certainly matched the warp activity.

  When Klag had not spoken for several seconds, Trant apparently felt the need to continue. “I believe, Captain, that I have demonstrated ample reason why—”

  “All you have done is prove that our assumptions regarding the long-range scan of the Elabrej combined with the disappearance of the Kravokh were correct. Your petition is denied.”

  “Captain—”

  Klag snapped. “That is enough, Trant! Speak further without prompting, and you will be executed on the spot.”

  Trant wisely said nothing.

  “You will provide Lieutenant Lokor with a full transcription of the message you received. You will then report back to the fifteenth and maintain your cover.”

  Trant opened his mouth, then closed it. “Permission to speak, Captain.”

  Grinning, Klag said, “Denied. I have no interest in hearing your words, Trant. You could easily be charged with mutiny for your actions. I do not take kindly to those who wish to take my command away from me. Remember that for the future—should you live that long. You may both leave.”

  “Yes, sir.” Lokor then turned to Trant. “Come with me.”

  Klag watched the pair leave his office, Lokor with a smile on his face, Trant looking rather like a child whose pet targ had been killed. Had Trant simply come to Klag with his intelligence, Klag might not have treated the I.I. agent so harshly; he might have even considered the possibility of giving the agent command of the specific mission to attempt to rescue the eight prisoners. The one thing he would never do without explicit instructions directly from the High Council was give over command of his ship to I.I.

  While he waited for Trant’s transcript and for General Goluk to contact them again, Klag went to the bridge to get a status report, which told him nothing new. By the time he returned to his office, Lokor had sent him the full transmission—or at least what Trant claimed was the full transmission. The transcript matched what Trant had reported verbally.

  Then, finally, Ensign Kal’s voice came over the intercom. “Bridge to Captain Klag.”

  “Klag.”

  “I have General Goluk for you, sir.”

  Activating his viewer, Klag said, “Put him through.”

  In addition to Goluk’s grizzled face, the viewer also had an inset image of Chancellor Martok. “Chancellor!” Klag said in surprise.

  “Greetings, son of M’Raq. It seems that once again you are at the heart of trouble in the Kavrot Sector.”

  “Not quite the heart, sir,” Klag said with a smile.

  “Perhaps not. Still, General Goluk informs me that there is trouble.”

  When he first encountered Martok, shortly before the Gorkon’s inaugural mission, he didn’t think much of the chancellor, but time had shown Klag that the one-eyed former general was an honorable man, far more so than most who’d led the High Council. In particular, his support of Klag’s actions at San-Tarah meant a great deal to the captain.

  In response to Martok’s statement, Klag said, “There is, Chancellor, and I have learned more since last the general and I spoke.” He quickly filled in both the general and the chancellor on what Trant had told him.

  Goluk’s face twisted into a snarl. “Spies. I do not trust them.”

  “Nor do I.” Martok then chuckled. “But then, if we did trust them, they would be very poor spies. You believe this Trant’s intelligence?”

  “Yes, sir, I do.”

  “Very well. General, I will be following your recommendation, with one amendment. Who is the seniormost commander of the remaining Chancellor-class ships?”

  “Vikagh. He commands the Ditagh.”

  “I assume the K’mpec is not yet ready for battle?”

  Klag winced. The K’mpec was commanded by Klag’s estranged brother Dorrek, who had sided with General Talak against Klag at San-Tarah. His ship was badly damaged, but Dorrek survived, only to have Klag cast him out of the House of M’Raq for disobeying his elder brother.

  “No, sir,” Goluk said. “It won’t be for another month.”

  For that, Klag was grateful. He was not prepared to deal with Dorrek again so soon after discommendating him.

  “Pity. Very well, have the nine remaining ships rendezvous somewhere appropriate. Captain Vikagh will be the fleet commander. In the meantime, Captain Klag, you are to continue under cloak at maximum speed to the Elabrej home system. Your task is to rescue the survivors and cause as much damage behind the lines as you can. General, how soon can the fleet assemble?”

  Goluk was checking something on his workstation, then he looked up. “The Ditagh, Kaarg, Azetbur, Kesh, and Gowron can all be at Kavrot wejmaH within three days. The other four will not be able to join them for another five to six days.”

  “That system,” Klag added, “will put them only three days from the Elabrej. Right now, we’re five days away.”

  “I do not wish to wait that long,” Martok said.

  “Nor do I. Vikagh should lead the fleet he has in three days’ time—the others can join the battle when they arrive.” Goluk paused. “Chancellor, my own fleet can join the Azetbur. I can leave behind three birds-of-prey on Nayyvrrra.”

  M
artok did not hesitate. “Very well. In that case, General, you shall be fleet commander.” The chancellor then regarded Klag with his one good eye. “Captain, you are to reduce your velocity to add a day to your travel time—I would prefer that your attacks be simultaneous with the fleet’s engaging of the Elabrej forces.”

  Klag nodded. His instinct was to go into battle sooner rather than later, but it was a wise strategy. He also could not help but be amused at the fact that his last campaign in the Kavrot Sector had a general take his fleet from a newly conquered world into battle, leaving behind three birds-of-prey, and escorted by a Chancellor-class ship. Then it was Talak leaving Brenlek with the K’mpec to engage Klag and the forces he’d amassed at San-Tarah. May this battle be more decisive.

  Goluk added, “This I.I. agent of yours should attempt to gain more intelligence from his source. Anything he learns is to be shared with the fleet.”

  “Naturally.” Klag hesitated. “Chancellor, am I to give command of this mission to Imperial Intelligence?”

  “I see no need for that.” Again, Martok chuckled. “I suspect that decision will lead to my being subjected to a lengthy harangue by the head of I.I. Rest assured, my friend, you shall retain control of your ship and your mission. I.I.’s job is to gather intelligence for the empire, and they may continue to do so without interfering with the command structure of the Gorkon.”

  “Thank you very much, Chancellor.” Klag fully intended to show Trant a recording of that statement—either before or after he broke the agent’s legs.

  “You have your orders. General, I want an update by the time the Sword of Kahless arrives on Bajor.”

  “Yes, sir,” Goluk said.

  “Qapla’, all of you.” Martok closed his right fist over his chest.

  Both general and captain returned the salutation, and then the communication ended.

  Klag rose smoothly from his chair and came out from behind his desk. Pressing the communicator on his wrist, he said, “Commander Toq, Ensign Kallo, to the bridge immediately.”

  He then proceeded to the bridge. K’Nir rose at his entrance, but the captain motioned for her to remain at the first officer’s position. Klag meanwhile strode across the bridge, heading not to his own command chair but to the helm.