For a full engret, Jeyri stood in the room with Captain Klag and the ever-silent Lieutenant Rodek. Jeyri had no idea what the other alien’s function was—a bodyguard? aide? Regardless, he had not participated in the conversation. From his time as a defensor, Jeyri did not find that unusual. Subordinates only spoke when spoken to, after all.
He waved his midlegs briefly. “Your conveyance did battle with hegemony military, did it not?”
“Yes,” Captain Klag said.
“How many?”
“Seven ships altogether.”
“Did any of them survive?”
“No.”
“And you crash-landed?”
“Yes.”
“Yet your conveyance will be spaceworthy in only a few digret s.” Jeyri let out a puff of air. “And somehow you are able to speak our language and make us understand yours.”
Again, Captain Klag’s growth’s features shifted. “And what conclusion do you draw from all of this?”
Another puff of air escaped from Jeyri, as he wished to Doane that he could figure out what Captain Klag was thinking. But these aliens remained wholly inscrutable. “That I would be a fool if I allowed you to become my enemy when you have offered us the leg of friendship. Especially since you could easily take what you want without asking.” After a moment, Jeyri allowed himself to say the words he had stopped himself from saying during so many conversations with Mal Sanchit and with Vor Viralas and with Yer Brantak and with his own subordinates. “And especially because your words are correct. We are losing our war, and the only thing to do under those circumstances is to change tactics. I will take you to our redoubt, Captain Klag, and we will fight our mutual enemy together.”
“Grotek to Tarmeth.”
Tarmeth let out an annoyed sigh and stopped the playback on his padd. He was curled up in his bunk with the latest episode of Battlecruiser Vengeance—or, rather, what he chose to think of as the latest. In truth, the last installment of the serial was produced over a hundred years ago, but Tarmeth had recently obtained the entire run, and he was going through them one night at a time.
Grotek’s call interrupted Captain Koth of the Vengeance as he was about to repel a Federation boarding party. The episode was produced during the height of tensions between the empire and the Federation, and the party consisted of computer-generated images of what were supposed to be an Andorian (with skin more green than blue and overlong antennae), a Vulcan (with ears far too pointed), a Tellarite (who looked more like a targ than the alien in question), a Betazoid (with fully blacked-out eyes instead of the simple dark irises common in that species), a human (with eyes too large and mouths too small), a Trill (with spots covering her entire body), and a Denobulan (with the ridges misplaced). To Tarmeth’s mind, the inaccuracy just added to the joy of it. These over-the-top old-fashioned productions were so much more enjoyable than the staid operas and leaden dramas that littered the empire’s modern-day performance landscape. Nobody was making anything that was as much fun as Battlecruiser Vengeance. Goz always teased him about the inane predictability, but that very predictability was the appeal to Tarmeth. After all, everyone knew what Kahless said in the Story of the Promise, but that didn’t make hearing the story any less compelling—so what was wrong with the thrill Tarmeth knew was coming as soon as Koth drove back the Federation invaders, strode onto their bridge, and declared, “I am Koth—Koth of the Vengeance—and this ship is my prize,” as he did in every installment?
Activating the communicator on his wrist, the bekk said, “Tarmeth.”
“Report to me in Lieutenant Lokor’s office, Bekk.”
“Yes, sir.”
Tarmeth stuffed the padd into his duffel. I’ll have to finish the episode tonight before sleeping. Goz’s incessant harping on the inanity of Vengeance had led Tarmeth to skip the evening meal and watch the latest episode in his bunk while the rest of the one-seventy-first ate in the mess hall.
Climbing down the ladder to the deck, Tarmeth wondered what this was about. Usually the squad leaders dealt with the troops, not the QaS DevwI’. Of course, Kylag could be in Lokor’s office with Grotek.
He hoped that it was a simple mission—perhaps bodyguarding duty or covering the armory. Tarmeth was in no rush to die. He didn’t believe in an afterlife, thinking it just a bunch of nonsense told to gullible Klingons so they wouldn’t mind dying for the empire so much. As far as Tarmeth was concerned, Sto-Vo-Kor was as fictional as Battlecruiser Vengeance.
Once, he made the mistake of bringing that up over a meal. The resultant argument was another reason why he avoided the mess hall these days. Kylag wanted to know why Tarmeth joined the Defense Force if he was so afraid of dying. Tarmeth replied, “I’m not afraid of dying, I’m just not in a rush to do it, is all.”
What he didn’t tell them was the real reason why he joined the Defense Force: He was unfit to do anything else. His parents were servants in the House of Pagax—in fact, they were the only servants, as the House of Pagax was a minor House indeed. Father had hoped to train Tarmeth to become skilled in cooking or housework or one of the other menial tasks he and Mother performed for Pagax and his family, but Tarmeth was terrible at all of them. Pagax refused to allow the boy to serve his House. The one thing Tarmeth had always been good at was fighting; he got into many brawls as a youth, primarily due to other children teasing him about his family and who they worked for, and he always won.
So he joined the Defense Force.
Mostly, Tarmeth was happy with his service—as he generally avoided coming anywhere near officers and other highborn yIntaghpu’. The bekk had little use for the upper class and their tiresome notions of honor; it was why he was willing to go along with Leader Kylag’s desires to overthrow the captain. Klag drew over a dozen ships into an absurd conflict just because he wouldn’t go back on his word to a bunch of furry aliens. The very notion appalled Tarmeth. As far as he was concerned, the sooner the universe was rid of Klag the better.
He arrived at the office of the chief of security, a small, cramped space occupied by a desk piled with padds and two Klingons. One was the office’s occupant, Lokor, who was sitting at the desk. The other was Grotek, standing near the door. No Kylag—interesting. Behind the desk was a door. Nobody knew what was on the other side of the door. Many a mess-hall conversation had centered on what it was Lokor kept back there—everything from torture devices to a harem—but Tarmeth’s considered opinion was that the door was a fake that didn’t actually lead anywhere, and he kept it there as an intimidation tactic. One that won’t work on me.
“Bekk Tarmeth, reporting as ordered.” He stood at attention as he spoke the words.
Lokor looked at Grotek. “That will be all, QaS DevwI’.”
Without hesitation, Grotek said, “Yes, sir,” and left the office without even giving Tarmeth a look.
What in Kahless’s name is going on here?
Rising from behind the desk, Lokor fixed an intense gaze upon Tarmeth. Until now, the bekk had never realized how pitiless the lieutenant’s brown eyes were.
“You transferred over from the Kreltek after San-Tarah, did you not?”
“Yes, sir.”
“How did you feel about that?”
I hated it. But Tarmeth was too well trained to say that aloud to an officer. “I had no feelings on the subject, sir. I am a soldier of the empire, and I go where I am told.”
Lokor nodded, his long intricately braided hair bouncing slightly. “That is the answer I would expect from a good and loyal bekk.” He walked around the desk to stand next to Tarmeth who, for his part, continued looking straight ahead. “But you are not a good and loyal bekk, are you, Tarmeth?”
“I—I don’t know what you mean, sir.”
Suddenly, Lokor grabbed Tarmeth by the left shoulder and pushed him against the bulkhead to the bekk’s right. The impact slammed into his side. Before he could recover his wits or his breath, Lokor shoved his massive right arm in the space between Tarmeth’s chin and ches
t, pressing up against his neck. Tarmeth’s breaths came more slowly.
“I know what is happening, Tarmeth. I know that Leader Kylag is part of a conspiracy to overthrow Captain Klag. I know that you have the ship’s nurse and the second-shift bridge crew loyal to your cause.”
His voice straining to be heard through the pressure Lokor was putting on his throat, Tarmeth said, “That—that’s not true!”
“Are you calling me a liar?”
“No! No, sir—merely that you—you are mistaken!”
Lokor laughed long and hard at that. “You have not served on this ship long, young fool, so let me tell you what an absurd notion that is. I know everything that happens on this ship. I know that Bekks Yojagh and Moq are having sexual relations in secret. I know that three of the squad leaders in First and Second Company are no longer using the names they were born with. I know that Ensign Kallo would rather be a painter than an officer, but that she is dreadfully bad at painting. I know that Leader Ryjjan has borrowed storage in the cargo bay from two officers in order to store barrels of bloodwine. I know that Commander Kurak has a nephew who will enter Defense Force officer training in less than a year, at which point she will resign her commission. I know that Leader Hovoq is impotent. I know that Lieutenant Yaklan writes fiction under an assumed name. I know that Leader Wol accidentally killed her own son at San-Tarah. I know that Bekk J’nfod cheats when he plays grinnak. I know that most of the neckbones that Lieutenant Leskit wears were not taken in battle as he claims. I know that Leader Zurlkint has a fondness for a Terran fruit called sutawberIs and he had a box of them smuggled in when we left Ty’Gokor. I know that Leader Kylag has two different mates on two different planets in the empire. I know that you received those recordings of Battlecruiser Vengeance you’re so fond of in exchange for a set of coins that, should your father ever find out you traded them, he would kill you. And I know, Tarmeth, son of Morgoth, failed servant of the pitiful House of Pagax, that you are part of a conspiracy to overthrow Captain Klag, and you will tell me everyone who is a part of that conspiracy.”
Tarmeth’s mouth had gone dry. He of course had no idea if most of Lokor’s claims were true—indeed, he seriously doubted what he said about Yojagh and Moq, since Moq had a mate back on Qo’noS—but the last three things he said were absolutely true. Tarmeth had tasted some of Zurlkint’s human fruit—he found it vile—Kylag had indeed taken on two separate mates, the second after accidentally impregnating her, and Tarmeth had traded Father’s hideous collection of useless coins for the Vengeance recordings. For that matter, Hovoq being impotent explained a great deal.
Even as Lokor’s arm pressed more tightly against his neck, a thought penetrated the panic that was threatening to overwhelm Tarmeth: Why is he asking me this if he knows everything?
His voice croaking now, he asked, “Why—do you—need—me?”
“I don’t need you, Tarmeth. You are simply the most expedient method I have for making sure that all the conspirators are dealt with.”
“You mean—killed.” Tarmeth wondered why Lokor bothered with the euphemism.
“Eventually, yes. I understand that you have no wish to die—that you fear death like some kind of human.”
Tarmeth did not respond to the statement. “Why—why should I tell you—anything? You’re going to—to kill me anyhow.” As soon as Lokor started reciting the secrets of half the Gorkon crew complement, Tarmeth knew he was never going to leave this room alive. Which is a pity—I wanted to see Koth take that Federation ship….
Lokor’s mouth spread into a wide grin. “Oh, I rather hope you don’t tell me anything.”
Now Tarmeth was even more confused.
Indicating the door with his head, Lokor said, “Do you know what I keep behind that door?”
“N-No.”
“Oh come now, I’m sure you’ve speculated. A storage place for my sexual playthings, a stash of bloodwine, a special armory, a bank of surveillance equipment from which I watch the entire ship—you’ve thought all those things, have you not?”
Thinking that telling the truth just at the moment would only make a bad situation worse, Tarmeth did not answer the question.
“As it happens, the reason why I keep the contents of that room secret is because what is in there is quite illegal. Are you familiar with the mind scanner?”
Tarmeth’s stomachs started to churn. The klongat leg he’d grabbed to eat before retiring to his bunk started to burble back up his throat. What he knew about the mind scanner mostly came from old episodes of Vengeance. But when he was younger, he had gone through a phase where he wanted to learn about history, and he had studied the Khitomer Accords, and one thing he remembered was that one of the terms of the accords was the banning of such technologies as subspace weaponry—and mind scanners.
Unbidden, an installment of Vengeance came back to him. Captain Koth had taken a Nausicaan pirate prisoner. When he refused to talk, Koth used the mind scanner on him. By the time Koth was done with him and had learned who was financing the pirates, the Nausicaan—not much of a specimen to begin with—was a mindless vegetable.
“How—how can you have one?”
Again, Lokor laughed. “The only people who learn of it are soon thereafter in no position to discuss it.” He pushed his arm tighter onto Tarmeth’s neck, causing the bekk to cough. “You see, there are worse fates than death, Tarmeth. Shall we proceed to the back room?”
“No!” Tarmeth had no desire to die, but he had far less desire to live out his life like that Nausicaan on Vengeance.
Lokor pulled his arm back, allowing Tarmeth to breathe more easily. “A pity. I was looking forward to learning why a cowardly petaQ such as you would enter the Defense Force, would choose to serve the cause of honor when you have no conception of what the word means. The mind scanner may have provided those answers.”
“I had nowhere else to go,” Tarmeth muttered.
“What was that?” Lokor asked.
“I joined the Defense Force because I had nowhere else to go—sir.”
Lokor grinned again. “Nowhere is precisely where you have left to go, Tarmeth. If you reveal the names of all the conspirators, I will grant you Mauk-to’Vor, and you will go to Sto-Vo-Kor, having redeemed your honor by exposing the cowards among us. The alternative…”
Tarmeth nodded emphatically.
Briefly, the bekk entertained the notion that Lokor was bluffing, but he discarded it for two reasons. One was that Lokor was a prototypical highborn officer: full of imbecilic notions of honor and duty that precluded telling so blatant a lie. The other was more fundamental: Tarmeth had no desire to find out the hard way that Lokor was telling the truth.
Besides, even if Tarmeth did call Lokor’s bluff, the only possible result of that would be Lokor making Tarmeth’s death very long, very slow, and very very painful.
Tarmeth didn’t care much about Mauk-to’Vor. Lokor could shoot him in the head for all the difference it made. Dead is dead—it doesn’t matter how you get there. Tarmeth had been hoping not to get there for some time yet, but he knew that was a forlorn hope in the Defense Force.
As he began to give Lokor a list of names, Tarmeth’s only regret was that he’d never find out how, exactly, Captain Koth would take the Federation ship.
Wol was really starting to like the feel of the Elabrej weapon.
She had killed several of the aliens as she worked her way through the circular tubes and spherical rooms of the government complex. The first two had only been wounded by the blasts, as she had yet to master the nuances of the firing control. Eventually, she reasoned that the length of time she held down the activator button—which was the only feature on the tube-shaped weapon—determined the power level of the blast it emitted.
Unfortunately, she had no idea where she was going. She did not have Trant’s homing beacon to use as a guide to the prisoners, and they had been unable to determine the layout of the complex from the Gorkon. All she could do was keep moving throu
gh tubes and spheres until she found what she was looking for, killing anyone who got in her way.
This was made more complicated by the fact that she kept seeing images in her mind of Klingons—ones whom she knew couldn’t possibly be present, like Skragg, who was probably back on Ty’Gokor making some new collection of would-be bekks miserable, or Krantor, who was dead, or Vok, who was back on the Gorkon.
Making her legs move forward was not always the easiest task in the world. The alien scientist’s experiment left her central nervous system in a state of disarray. Every fiber of her being cried out to relax, to lie down, to let the pain pass.
But Wol was a warrior. Such weak thoughts might have been appropriate for a daughter of the House of Varnak, but she was a squad leader in the Defense Force. She would not succumb to this.
She worked her way through a tube, stumbling awkwardly on the rounded floors. Fatigue started to overwhelm her, so she stopped moving.
Her vision swam, and suddenly Skragg was standing before her. “Do not simply stand there like a Regulan bloodworm—move!”
Wol moved.
A closed and locked door stood before her.
It wasn’t the first one she’d encountered since escaping the alien scientist—and how glorious it was to see him die in agony—but she found she could no longer remember how she got through the others.
Yojagh. If he was here, he could get it open.
But Yojagh was not here. He was one of the ones Wol had to free—if he was still alive.
Krantor appeared this time. “I don’t care how you do it, Bekk, but get through the door!”
I.K.S. Gorkon Book Three Page 20