I.K.S. Gorkon Book One: A Good Day to Die

by Keith R. A. DeCandido

  Davok turned to G’joth. “What other way of fighting is there?”

  Wol was wondering that herself. Before she could agree with Davok’s concern, though, the red light of a transporter effect shimmered in front of her, and eleven more warriors beamed down. Or, she thought, ten warriors and one doctor.

  Vok immediately said, “Leader Wol is the worst hurt, Doctor.”

  “Ridiculous,” Wol said even as B’Oraq approached her. “There are others in far worse condition.”

  B’Oraq stared at her hand scanner, slammed it on the side, then growled and put it away. “Sit down, Leader, it looks like we’ll have to do this the old-fashioned way.”

  When Wol did not follow that instruction, Vok said, “Don’t make me order you, Wol.”

  Sighing, Wol sat on one of the rocks and reluctantly took her arm—now soaked through with her own blood—away from her wounded torso.

  “That’s an impressive wound, Leader.”

  “It was made with an impressive weapon.”

  Davok growled. “I fully intend to take one back with me as a trophy when this is over.”

  “Live until this is over before making rash promises, Davok,” G’joth said with a laugh.

  Wol would have shared in the laugh, but the doctor started treating her wound, which sent searing agony through her entire chest.

  B’Oraq looked at Wol and then chuckled.

  “I amuse you, Doctor?” Wol asked angrily.

  The doctor tugged on the braid that sat on her right shoulder. “My apologies, Leader, I was simply thinking about how much more pleasant it is to treat Klingons than humans. Humans scream at the slightest bit of pain. It’s distracting.”

  “Enter,” Klag said at the sound of the door chime to his office. He was standing in front of his desk, studying the dismaying report from Toq. As the door ground open to reveal Kornan, Klag looked up from the second officer’s tale of woe regarding the ineffectiveness of long-range communications, sensors, weapons, and the cloaking device as long as they remained in orbit. Propulsion, short-range communications, transporters, and shields seemed to be working, as long as the ship didn’t actually collide with any of the subspace eddies.

  “Captain,” Kornan said, “I would never question your judgment in front of the crew.”

  “Good,” Klag said emphatically. Klag wasn’t especially sure Kornan had any business questioning it in private, either—that was a privilege a first officer had to earn, and Kornan had done little to do so these past nine weeks—but was willing to hear the commander out. Especially given the likely subject of the objection.

  “I do not see the benefit of speaking to these San-Tarah. They are primitives. Perhaps more aggressive than we anticipated, but—”

  “It is more than that.” Klag put the padd with Toq’s report down on his desk. “They are not merely more aggressive. We attacked them by surprise by materializing out of thin air at night—and still, they were able to drive us off. That bespeaks a worthy foe.”

  “True, but it simply means we should use more forceful means to subjugate them until General Talak can bring his forces.”

  Klag held his tongue on the subject of the general—who, thanks to the interference, hadn’t even been informed of this potential conquest. “True. However, there is also what the messenger said about the subject of these talks. These are not Federation diplomats discussing ways to not fight or Romulan emissaries attempting to maneuver for the upper hand. The translator wasn’t able to render the word ‘peace’ into a word they could comprehend. What they wished to discuss was a way to continue the fight. For that, I am willing to hear them out.” Then he picked the report back up. “Besides, our own capacity for war-making has been severely curtailed. Your job while I am gone, Commander, is to find ways to improve that. The Gorkon has been reduced to a glorified troop transport. I want that to change.”

  “Yes, sir. I have already asked Lieutenant Rodek for alternative methods of attacking the planet from orbit.”

  Klag smiled. “Good. In the meantime, I will see if the San-Tarah’s methods for continuing the fight are worthy of being heard.”

  Returning the smile, Kornan asked, “And if they are not?”

  “We have already tripled our forces on the planet, and we have the capacity to quintuple that if needs be.”

  “Yes, sir, ” Kornan said enthusiastically.

  “Vok to Klag.”

  Looking up, the captain said, “Klag.”

  “Sir, a group of ten San-Tarah are approaching the camp.” Klag heard the QaS DevwI’ chuckle as he added, “And the sun is just coming up, too.”

  “Our foes are prompt. I am preparing to beam down. Signal the transporter operator when they have arrived.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Moving toward the door, followed by his first officer, Klag said, “You have command of the ship, Kornan. Instruct Lokor to have all remaining troops on standby.”

  Klag exited his office, gave a nod to the bridge crew, and entered the turbolift. His new bodyguard—one of the soldiers from a lower-echelon squad—followed silently.

  As soon as he arrived in the transporter room, the operator said, “We have received a signal from QaS DevwI’ Vok, sir. The delegation has arrived.”

  Stepping onto the platform, his bodyguard next to him, Klag nodded. “Beam us down.”

  Moments later, Klag found himself standing on solid ground. Immediately, he was awash in sensations he had not felt in far too long. Truly, this world had never been touched by technology, and so was as pure a planet as Klag had ever visited in his life. There were designated hunting grounds on several Klingon worlds that were preserved, but even they paled in comparison to this. Just standing here, Klag felt alive: the scent of wild animals, the sound of birds flying overhead, the feel of the wind blowing through his long black hair.

  This prompted Klag to try to recall the last time he had gone on a proper hunting trip, and realized that it was before the war. Too long, he thought ruefully. When this world is conquered, perhaps I will come back. If the fauna is anything like the sentient life, it will be a fine place to hunt.

  Dozens of Klag’s warriors—some injured—surrounded him on all sides save directly in front. Vok stepped forward, his normally jovial face looking understandably more grim than usual. He pointed to the ten aliens who stood just in front of Klag. They were bipedal, each covered head-to-toe in fur of varying colors. None wore anything that could truly be called clothing, though the one standing in the center had the most decoration. Klag presumed him to be the leader.

  That instinct proved correct when that one stepped forward and said, “I am Me-Larr. I lead the Ruling Pack of the Children of San-Tarah. Do you lead your Ruling Pack?”

  “I am Captain Klag—and I rule the warship Gorkon.”

  “Ship?”

  “Yes.” Klag started to walk back and forth, indicating the troops around him with one hand. “What you see before you are but a fraction of the warriors who are under my command. Right now, they and the thousands more on the Gorkon await only my word before they slaughter you in battle.”

  “A worthy task,” Me-Larr said. “My next question, then, Captain Klag, is this: What is the eventual goal of your fight?”

  Klag stared at Me-Larr for a moment. The white-furred alien’s words of praise for the worthiness of their task of combat appeared genuine, but nuances did not always survive the translation process. On the other hand, Vok’s report indicated a people who valued battle as much as Klingons did.

  The captain also noted that Me-Larr did not look Klag directly in the eyes when he spoke to him, and he wondered what, if anything, that signified.

  Finally, he said, “The Gorkon is but one of thousands of ships representing a great Empire that stretches across many stars and hundreds of worlds like yours. Our—our Ruling Pack,” he said with a smile, “has instructed us to find new worlds to bring into our Empire. That is our goal. And I intend to fulfill it. In the unlikely event
that I find my own vessel inadequate to the task, then I shall send for more ships. One way or another, Me-Larr, this world will belong to the Klingon Empire.”

  As Klag spoke, he saw something in Me-Larr’s eyes—which still had not made direct contact with Klag’s. An understanding, perhaps?

  “Tell me, Captain Klag, what would belonging to the Klingon Empire entail?”

  Interesting. “Your people will become jeghpu’wI’—a part of the Empire, though inferior to Klingons. You will serve us in whatever way your planetary governor sees fit. Your planet will serve us as well. There are minerals in your world’s crust that we have need of.”

  “Will we still be permitted to hunt? May we still fight?”

  Very interesting. “Possibly.”

  “I wish to discuss something with the Ruling Pack. May we have a moment to do so, Captain Klag?”

  Under any other circumstances, Klag would have refused. Then again, under any other circumstances, we would not have gotten this far. But their mettle has earned them at least the right to be heard.

  Me-Larr spoke with the other nine San-Tarah for several minutes out of earshot. As they did so, B’Oraq approached. “Captain, I’ve healed as many of the injured as I can. Most can return to battle immediately, but I need to bring some of them back to the Gorkon.”

  “Do so.”

  B’Oraq nodded, and activated her communicator. “B’Oraq to transporter room. Six to transport directly to the medical bay.”

  Klag smiled with pride. Vok’s report included dozens of wounded, but only five needed the extensive treatment B’Oraq required the medical bay for. Excellent.

  “I’m afraid we must beam you to the transporter room, Doctor. The subspace interference makes site-to-site transporting problematic.”

  “Very well.”

  A few minutes later, after B’Oraq and the five wounded disappeared in a red glow, Me-Larr reapproached the base camp. Klag noticed that the planet’s second sun was starting to peek over the far mountains, lengthening some shadows in the forest around them, severely curtailing others.

  “Tell me, Captain Klag, would it be preferable for you to conquer us yourself rather than have to call in your other ships?”

  In that moment, Klag understood the look he saw in Me-Larr’s eyes earlier—or, perhaps more accurately, what Me-Larr gleaned from Klag. Somehow, the San-Tarah leader knew what was in Klag’s heart.

  However, Klag was hardly about to reveal that he knew this. “Why do you ask?”

  Now, Me-Larr stepped forward and looked Klag directly in the eyes. They burned with the fire of a true warrior, and Klag was impressed despite himself. “If you continue on this course, you may well take this world. But you will not take us. From the Ruling Pack on down to the newest litter of cubs, we will fight you. We will not allow ourselves to be defeated. You may bring as many of your ships as you wish, and it won’t change that. However, I do not wish that to happen. I am my people’s caretaker, and though we would prefer to die fighting, we would prefer not to die at all even more. So I propose a way for us to settle this in a manner that is just as fitting but less wasteful.”

  Klag had a hard time wrapping his mind around the idea of warfare being wasteful, but let it go for the moment. “And that is?”

  “A series of five martial contests, pitting the Children of San-Tarah against the fighters of the Gorkon. If you and your subjects win the majority of the contests, the Children of San-Tarah will cede themselves to you. You will have brought San-Tarah into your empire.”

  Throwing his head back, Klag laughed heartily. Oh, I like these people! “And if by some chance you defeat us?”

  “Then you go and your empire stays away from San-Tarah forever.”

  Me-Larr was fortunate that he made his offer when he did. Klag had not reported San-Tarah to General Talak yet. He did not wish to claim a victory that was not yet won, and until they achieved orbit, they could not verify the existence of the kellinite and other exploitable resources on this world. Since they achieved orbit, they had not been able to communicate beyond the planet itself. Right now, he was the only one who could act on the Empire’s behalf with regards to San-Tarah.

  Truthfully, even the Gorkon’ s full complement could not subjugate an entire world. All they needed to do was hold the first city long enough for Talak’s fleet to arrive and provide a proper conquering force. That would be hindered by the subspace eddies’ effects on weaponry and scanning equipment, but not fatally so.

  However, Klag was loath to waste the time and the lives of these noble aliens in such a manner. Not when an alternative—one that allowed all sides to keep their honor intact—presented itself.

  So Klag made a decision.

  “Assuming the contests meet with my approval, I accept your terms.”

  Next to him, Vok smiled. Grumblings from the various Klingons behind him indicated general acceptance of the idea, as well. That served to reaffirm Klag’s faith in his crew’s ability to win these contests.

  “That is good.” Me-Larr then reached into a pouch on his belt and removed a small stone carved with a rune of some sort on it. “When we speak before the anlok, our words are binding for the rest of the days.”

  Quaint, Klag thought disdainfully. “We are Klingon warriors. We need no such rituals. When a warrior gives his word, then it shall be so.”

  Me-Larr squinted. “Even when that word is given to an enemy?”

  “Of course.”

  “Odd. An enemy is the last person one would speak the truth to, I would think.”

  Again Klag laughed. “Perhaps for some. But if your enemies are honorable, then they deserve to hear the truth from your mouth. And if they are not honorable, then they do not deserve to be spoken to at all.” He added, “I speak the words of Kahless, our greatest warrior from times past. It is from him that our way of life, our code of honor, derives.”

  “He was, I’m sure, a great fighter, Captain Klag. Now, let us discuss the contests. Then we may continue our fight in earnest.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Kornan stared at his captain from across Klag’s desk. “Contests, sir?”

  “Yes. A hunt, marine combat, defending territory, strength, and hand-to-hand combat. Our people against the San-Tarah.”

  Shaking his head, Kornan said, “Sir, surely we can defeat these people.”

  “No. Oh, we could, perhaps, succeed in taking the planet, especially once General Talak arrives, but we will not defeat them. I have looked into their leader’s eyes, and I have seen into the San-Tarah’s hearts. They are true warriors. They have sworn that they will willingly cede themselves to the Empire if we defeat them.” Klag stood up. Kornan noticed that the captain did not stumble as he rose—the first time the captain had done so in Kornan’s sight since he signed on. “Think of it, Commander. How often has a single ship been responsible for bringing an entire civilization into the Empire—and without a shot being fired?”

  “Perhaps.” Kornan shifted from foot to foot. “But it is not—not standard procedure.”

  Klag threw his head back and laughed the throaty laugh that Kornan—indeed, that everyone on the Gorkon—had come to associate with his commanding officer. “You think your captain has gone mad, is that it, Commander?”

  In fact, Kornan had been thinking that very thing. But Klag was far too popular among the crew—and Kornan too unknown a quantity to all save the unreliable Leskit—for him to challenge the captain’s authority.

  “You may speak freely, Commander,” Klag said. “Whatever you say now in this room shall meet with no reprisals. Speak your mind.”

  Kornan blinked. He had not expected this. Nor was he entirely sure the offer was genuine. One of the first commanders he served under on the Rotarran would often give his crew members permission to speak freely, then kill them on the spot for insubordination.

  But no, he thought after catching a glance of the Order of the Bat’leth medallion affixed to the captain’s cassock. Klag is an honor
able man. He will keep his word.

  “I question the wisdom of this course of action. We have nothing to gain by these contests and everything to lose. This planet is teeming with the very resources the chancellor’s orders said we needed most: kellinite, koltanium, uridium, and so much more. Our wisest course would be to leave orbit and alert the general. Whether or not we can defeat the people, we can still take the planet—which is, after all, our primary mission.”

  Klag regarded Kornan for several seconds. The commander found that he could not read the expression on Klag’s face.

  Then the captain started to pace across the room. “Tell me, Commander, did Leskit ever regale you with the tale of the Gorkon’ s first mission to the planet taD?”

  Shrugging, Kornan said, “He mentioned it in passing. Why?”

  “The jeghpu’wI’ of that world, the al’Hmatti, were in many ways similar to the Children of San-Tarah.” Klag seemed to be staring now at a point beyond Kornan on the wall behind him. “They had grown restive, no longer willing to live under the the flag of the Empire. They used the massive deployment of forces during the invasion of Cardassia against us, successfully, if temporarily, dethroning the Klingon overseers.” Klag turned to stare right at Kornan. “Even after we took the planet back, the unrest remained for four years. When the Gorkon brought Ambassador Worf there to deal with the situation, it was the opinion of both the ambassador and your predecessor, Commander Drex—” and here Kornan noticed a slight curling of Klag’s lips “—that the al’Hmatti would never yield, even if we wiped them all out. So an alternative solution had to be found.”

  Again, Klag started to pace. Pointing at the padds on his desk, as if the reports they carried represented the San-Tarah themselves, he said, “Those people are like that as well. Yes, we might be able to suppress them with the troops we have on board. Certainly we would be able to bring them down once Talak and his fleet arrive, even taking this planet’s insane properties into account. We could fight them, but we would simply be going through the motions—the outcome of this battle has already been decided. The Children of San-Tarah, even more than the al’Hmatti, will die as a species before they allow themselves to be taken by force.”