I.K.S. Gorkon Book Three

by Keith R. A. DeCandido

  “This is your fault!” Bantrak yelled at Sanchit as batteries assaulted Viralas’s home sphere. “I knew attacking the government sphere was a mistake!”

  Sanchit knew that Bantrak was right, though not for the reasons he thought. She doubted that the military—occupied as they were with fighting against the Klingons—had developed a method of detecting the separatists’ stealth conveyances in the past digret. But they are still able to intercept communications. Sanchit hadn’t concerned herself with that because the oligarchs and the military didn’t have the Klingons’ translation capabilities.

  They could understand me just fine, though, she thought angrily. The words had already escaped her mouth when she realized that giving away the location of Vor Viralas’s home sphere on an open channel was an idiotic thing to do.

  At first, Sanchit feared the sphere would be destroyed, but then Toq’s superior arrived, along with a dozen or so conveyances that Sanchit recognized as belonging to Jeyri’s group on the Tenth Moon. This would not have given them much of an advantage on the face of it, but then she saw the same kind of weapons that Toq’s people used being fired out the portholes of the conveyances.

  These Klingons are clever—and adaptable. We are less so, and it may destroy the hegemony. Then again, isn’t that truly our goal?

  The floor shook, and Sanchit fell to the floor, preventing injury only by bracing herself with her forelegs.

  “Where is Viralas?” she asked Bantrak.

  However, the old man was not finished berating her. “You suggested this! You were the one who took those demons in, and look what it’s brought down on us!”

  Angrily, Sanchit said, “It’s brought us closer to victory than we’ve gotten in all the ungrets since we started this movement, Bantrak!”

  A piece of the sphere broke off and almost hit Bantrak. “You call this victory?”

  “Yes I do, Bantrak, because I’ve spent my life studying history, and I’ve learned two truths. One is that governments always fall and the other is that they do so because they believe they cannot possibly fall. This is victory for us because the oligarchs are running scared. This is victory because they consider us enough of a threat to attack us like this.”

  “If it hadn’t been—”

  “Bantrak, do you truly believe that Vor Ralla couldn’t have figured out where we were if he actually put any effort into it?”

  Unlike the other separatists, Bantrak knew Ralla, which was why she asked him the question. After letting out a puff of air, Bantrak said, “No. To be honest, I always assumed that he received intelligence that Viralas was involved and dismissed it—indeed, that that was the only thing saving us.”

  “If he’s acting on it now, it’s because he thinks we’re worth responding to—which we weren’t until the Klingons came.”

  “And what do you think they will leave in their wake, Imparter?”

  Before Sanchit could answer that question, Toq ran into the room along with the strange-looking Klingon who did not have the same fuzz on her head that the other Klingons had. She also wore less of the strange armor.

  “We have to abandon this sphere,” Toq said. “Your military has landed ground troops—they’ll be taking the outer spheres soon. We need to form a defense inside while Captain Klag attacks from the outside.”

  “Ground troops?” Bantrak’s forelegs waved with shock. “Doane’s limbs, are we an ancient castle being harried by arrow-firing defensors?”

  “Apparently we are,” Sanchit said. “Let us go.”

  The strange-looking Klingon gestured to the door. “This way.”

  Then the world exploded.

  Sanchit cried out in pain as she felt something slice into one of her hindlegs, and she fell to the floor.

  Three soldiers stood in a very large hole where part of the sphere used to be. One of them—the highest-ranking one, based on his markings—said, “You have one engret to surrender, or we wi—”

  Energy from Toq’s weapon and the other Klingon’s Elabrej weapon—taken off a soldier in the government sphere, apparently—interrupted, and all three of the soldiers were dead moments later.

  Bantrak’s forelegs waved in anger. “They were giving terms of surrender!”

  Toq lowered his weapon. “And I just gave them our answer. We must move before more come in.”

  Sanchit struggled to rise up on her forelegs. She found it difficult to focus on her surroundings, so overwhelming was the pain.

  “Are you all right?” Bantrak asked.

  “I’m fine, just a small cut.” Sanchit was lying. She was amazed that she was still conscious.

  “We will help you when we get to a safe part of the sphere.” Toq and the other Klingon moved toward the doorway as the sphere shook again. This place will collapse in a few engrets, Sanchit thought as she struggled to join them.

  Then she noticed another soldier in the hole in the wall, aiming his weapon.

  Toq did not move.

  Sanchit remembered that the Klingons had appallingly limited vision. She had wondered if that was why they were so much cleverer—they could not see all around them like normal people, so they had to compensate. But it also meant that Toq and the other Klingon had no idea they were about to die.

  They cannot die—they’re our only hope.

  With what little strength she had remaining, Imparter Mal Sanchit leapt into the path of the weapon that was about to kill Toq.

  Toq heard Sanchit’s scream and the weapons fire from behind him at the same time. He whirled around to see that another Elabrej stood in the hole in the curved wall. He and Wol had both fired their weapons and killed the soldier before it completely registered with Toq that Sanchit had leapt into a blast that was meant for him.

  Those honorless bloodworms would have shot me in the back—and Sanchit saved me.

  Toq knelt down over her singed, bleeding body. He blinked, then looked over at Bantrak, whose legs were vibrating. “I cannot tell if she is alive or dead.”

  “Keep—fighting—” Sanchit’s voice was terribly weak.

  “What?”

  “You—only—hope—for—Elabrej—keep—fighting…”

  A final puff of air came from her. Toq had seen many beings from many worlds die before, and even on so alien a creature as the Elabrej, he recognized when death arrived.

  Bantrak’s arms were still vibrating. “Her death is on your head, alien.”

  Wol aimed her disruptor at Bantrak. “She died saving the commander’s life—it was a warrior’s death!”

  “What possible difference could that make?” Bantrak asked.

  “Every difference.” Toq pointed at Sanchit’s corpse. “And she, at least, understood that.”

  He looked down at her body. The Elabrej did not have eyes that could be pried open, so Toq skipped that part of the ritual. Instead he simply threw his head back and screamed to the ceiling.

  Sanchit risked much to save Toq and his team, and was the only one of these passionless creatures who understood the way of the universe. There is a new warrior in Sto-Vo-Kor tonight—for if any of these Elabrej deserve to cross the River of Blood, it is she.

  Wol, to her credit, joined in the scream.

  When they were done, Bantrak said, “You are insane. You will destroy our entire way of your life with your savagery.”

  Toq stared in shock at Bantrak, but it was Wol who responded: “Isn’t that what you want?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, of course I don’t.”

  “Then why do you do what you do? You are called separatists—do you not want to destroy your entire way of life in favor of a new one?”

  Rising to his feet, Toq said, “We do not have time to discuss this. More of these soldiers will be coming.” Without another word, he led Wol and Bantrak out through the doorway to the better-protected inner spheres of Viralas’s estate.

  “The systems are failing, sir!”

  Klag ground his teeth at the report from Jaketh. “I’m aware of that alr
eady, Bekk. Continuous fire.”

  “I’m trying, sir.” Jaketh aimed his disruptor through the porthole, but was unable to hit anything.

  As he struggled to keep the increasingly unaerodynamic Elabrej craft from crashing into the estate that housed the separatist movement, Klag started to worry that the battle would be lost. The Elabrej military had taken the perimeter of the estate and were moving in. Plus, Klag thought angrily as he stabbed at the recalcitrant controls, which were all placed in ridiculous locations, their ships are actually in good working order, which is more than can be said for these useless metal balls the separatists gave us.

  He glanced around to see how the other ships were doing, cursing the Elabrej for not having proper sensor technology. The only ship that was doing serious damage to the Elabrej was Leskit’s—which did not entirely surprise Klag. That old razorbeast could fly a bird-of-prey with its engine removed.

  The battle would have gone much better if the disruptor cannon worked. Right now all it was doing was providing extra drag on the craft as Klag struggled to keep it aloft in the turbulent atmosphere of Elabrej’s First World. He would not be around to do that much, had Lokor not warned him that Yaklan was one of the potential mutineers on board the Gorkon. By the time he learned that Yaklan installed the cannon, they were already en route to the First World. A scan revealed the explosive device Yaklan had installed that would kill Klag and Jaketh, and destroy any other ship that was within a quarter of a qelI’qam of them, if the cannon was activated.

  Klag hoped that Lokor had spoken true when he said the conspiracy would “no longer be a factor” by the time Klag reported back to his ship.

  An Elabrej blast took out one of the ships piloted by Bekk Gan, leaving Klag’s forces down to four of the separatist conveyances. For their part, they had destroyed only three of the dozen ships the Elabrej sent.

  “Klag to Toq.”

  “We’re holding the line, sir, and I believe we can do so as long as the Elabrej ground forces remain as they are.”

  Snarling, the captain said, “Understood.” If they landed more ground troops, Toq would likely not be able to hold the line. They would die well, at least. I thought I lost my first officer once this mission. I will not do so again without a fight.

  He managed to coax the ship into a flight path that would take it directly toward the vessel that just destroyed Gan’s ship. “Get ready to fire,” he told Jaketh.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Klag found that the controls would no longer respond. He tried to pull the craft up, but it would not follow his instructions. Jaketh fired on the Elabrej ship with his disruptor, but they were about to crash into it as well.

  So be it. If we are to die today, it will be only after we send as many of these creatures to Gre’thor as we can.

  “Prepare for impact.” Klag was completely calm. He had no great desire to die on this world, but he also knew that he had no say in the matter, only that his cause was a just one, and he would be rewarded for his efforts in Sto-Vo-Kor. It was the goal he had spent his life trying to achieve.

  Then, much to his surprise, the Elabrej ship exploded. Klag was rocked in the cushion that kept him in place in the circular ship, and the small craft tumbled end over end toward the ground.

  Struggling with the controls, he eventually managed to get the ship to hover about half a qelI’qam off the ground—right before half those controls failed completely, providing him with a display in a language he did not know, but which he recognized from the crash course Jeyri had given them as indicating nonfunctionality.

  Klag noticed that the sun, which had been shining brightly overhead, was now totally blocked by something.

  Gazing out the window, Klag felt his blood roar, and the beginnings of a song forming in his heart.

  It was the Gorkon.

  Klag’s ship moved through the air with all the grace and beauty of a lotlhmoq bird, its disruptor cannons all—save the one sitting uselessly atop Klag’s conveyance—firing on the Elabrej ships, blowing them to pieces. It was less the explosion than the displacement of the massive Chancellor-class vessel as it plowed through the atmosphere that caused Klag’s ship to tumble through the air.

  Minutes later, it was over. The Gorkon swooped into the air, heading toward orbit.

  “Gorkon to Klag. This is Commander Kurak in command.”

  Klag almost swallowed his own tongue. “Kurak?”

  “Yes, sir—I’m sorry, but Lieutenant Rodek was incapacitated during a failed mutiny led by my petaQ of an assistant. Dr. B’Oraq is caring for him.” A pause. “Ensign Kal reports that your ship’s engines are about to implode. Shall I have you beamed aboard?”

  It took a moment for Klag to find his voice. “Yes—yes, beam all Klingons in the area to the Gorkon immediately.”

  And then I will find out who this impostor is who is pretending to be my recalcitrant chief engineer….

  Chapter Thirteen

  First Oligarch Vor Jorg wasn’t sure when it was that he lost control. It had all seemed so reasonable—these alien creatures could be used to rally the hegemons and gave us the excuse to unleash the new weapons. We should have won!

  Brannik came into his private sphere in the secret redoubt. “I’ve got bad news.”

  “Do you ever have anything else, Second Oligarch?” Jorg snapped. “Must you always enter my presence with yet another piece of bad news? Is it my lot in life now to be inundated with report after report after report of the sheer incompetence of our military?”

  “No—it’s your lot in life to be given reports on how stupid we were to engage in a war with people who are a lot better at it than we are.”

  “What are you talking about?” Jorg had never heard Brannik talk such nonsense before. These were inferior beings, Mal Donal said so….

  “I mean that they’ve outfought us in every possible sense. I’ve looked over the reports from what’s left of our military forces in the skies, and they have battlefield tactics that make us look like amateurs. Plus they can defend against our weapons—not forever, but they can, which is more than can be said for us against theirs. And now the latest.” Brannik walked over to the hammock where Jorg lay and handed him a recorder.

  Jorg looked at its display. It told him of an attack on the estate of Vor Viralas—who, it turned out, had separatist leanings. Unfortunately, the aliens were with the separatists, and dozens of conveyances were destroyed.

  “Doane’s limbs,” Jorg muttered. “Vor Viralas is a sep?”

  “I don’t think that really matters all that much, do you, First Oligarch?”

  “I can’t believe it. I know Vor Viralas. He’s a high strata of the first order. How could he possibly put his legs in with—”

  “Doane take it, Jorg, will you listen to me?” Brannik’s midlegs were waving with more anger than Jorg had ever seen—and it was the first time Brannik had ever called him by name since they were children.

  “How dare you speak to me in this way, Brannik! You may be the second oligarch, but that doesn’t give you the right—”

  “We’re losing, Jorg! Don’t you understand? Our military has been decimated, the commerce sphere has been destroyed, the government sphere has been taken.”

  Jorg waved his midlegs in dismissal. “Don’t be absurd. We can’t be stopped by a group of mindless savages—”

  “They’re not mindless savages, Jorg. They’re a lot smarter than Mal Donal thought, and—”

  “It doesn’t matter.” Jorg simply refused to accept what Brannik was telling him. Such notions were nonsense, and unworthy of a member of the Vor strata. “We have the greatest military in the history of the world. They will fight to the bitter end.”

  “That end’s closer than you think—and what motivation do they have to fight?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “We can’t pay them, Jorg.” Brannik’s forelegs waved in irritation. “All the money in the commerce sphere was destroyed by the aliens.”

>   Jorg waved his hindlegs dismissively. “We can pay them out of our own capital.”

  “That would be the capital that we kept in the vaults under our homes?”

  “Yes, the—” Realization dawned on Jorg. “The homes the aliens destroyed. Doane’s limbs, Brannik, we can’t pay them?” He waved his right foreleg. “No, wait, that’s ridiculous, of course we can. We’ll make up credit slips. After all, we’re still worth plenty—we can always raise a new tax, the people won’t have any problem with supporting the military in our efforts against alien demons who have come to destroy us, and then—”

  The door opened, and one of Jorg’s aides—Jorg could never remember their names; they were non-stratad anyhow, so it wasn’t as if their names were worth remembering—ran in. “First Oligarch! We’re receiving a transmission from Fourth Defensor Mal Rennols!”

  Brannik’s forelegs waved with relief. “He was one of the ones at the government sphere. Where is he?” he asked the aide.

  “On his way here right now—he has a report, but he said he would only give it to the first oligarch.”

  Jorg couldn’t believe it. At least Rennols was a Mal strata, so it wasn’t as big a breach of protocol as it might have been under other circumstances, but Jorg was still appalled at Rennols’s effrontery for insisting on speaking directly to the first oligarch. There were channels—he would speak to Vor Ralla, who would then speak to the oligarchy.

  Still, I suppose in times of war such minutiae tend to be the first casualty. Besides, I do want to know what’s going on at the government sphere.

  “All right, then,” Jorg said. “Put him through here.”

  To Jorg’s surprise, he did not see the fourth defensor on the screen that formed in the sphere wall. Instead, it was one of the aliens.

  “What in Doane’s name—”

  “Greetings, Elabrej. I am told you are the leader of your people.”

  “I am the first oligarch,” Jorg said angrily, “and I have nothing to say to you.”

  Brannik then spoke, annoying Jorg. “How did you gain access to this channel?”