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

by Keith R. A. DeCandido

  “If they are weak, then they should die.”

  Klag smiled. “I agree—if they are weak, but I do not believe they are. You have seen the scans Toq made of the planet, heard Vok’s report on the engagement on the surface. With no warning, at night, they were able to fend off a hundred warriors—with an organized attack. They have no farms, no merchants, no indication of anything save a pure warrior ethic. They don’t even have a word for technology. They literally live off the land—and this land provides them with plenty.”

  Moving closer to Kornan, Klag spoke now in a quieter, more intense tone, his deep voice going even deeper. “We call ourselves a ‘warrior culture,’ but in truth that only means that warriors hold the highest place in our society. But the San-Tarah live the ideal that we only aspire to. No politics, no commerce, no—” He hesitated, then smiled. “No compromise.”

  The captain then went back to his desk and sat down. “If we continue with proper procedure, as you suggest, we will be doing the Empire a disservice. Even if we managed to subjugate the San-Tarah for a little while, they would be ever against us, ever opposed to us. What Me-Larr has given us is a way that benefits them and us. Now, instead of fighting a war with a predetermined outcome, we battle for a cause where we know not what will happen. And if we are victorious—and I believe this crew to be more than worthy and easily capable of defeating even these fine warriors—then the San-Tarah will become part of the Empire willingly. These are pure warriors of a kind even Kahless would envy. The Empire can only benefit from having them be part of it, and can only lose if they continue to oppose us.”

  Kornan found himself speechless. After a moment, he finally said dryly, “Obviously the captain—has given this a great deal more thought than I.”

  At that, Klag once again reared his head back and laughed heartily. “Well said, Commander, well said!” Again, Klag rose from his chair, and again, he did not list to the right. “Now then, have Lokor, Toq, and Rodek meet with us in the wardroom in one hour. I wish to assemble a list of Gorkon personnel best suited for the tasks ahead of us.” Klag grabbed a padd from his desk and handed it to Kornan. “The first contest is the hunt, and it begins at first sunrise tomorrow.”

  Gazing down at the padd’s display, Kornan saw that the contest required one representative from each side to hunt a san-chera. Vok had scanned a drawing that one of the San-Tarah made of the animal in question: it looked, at first glance, like an overgrown targ. Based on the size of the stick figure drawn next to the beast, it was twice the size of a Klingon, and differed from a targ in three important ways: it had shaggier fur, four tusks instead of two, and six legs rather than four. The extra set of legs were in the center, and Kornan assumed that it increased the beast’s speed. No wonder hunting it is considered a challenge.

  Kornan remembered several mess-hall conversations and smiled. “I believe I know who will be best for this contest, Captain.”

  Toq moved silently westward through the thick foliage of San-Tarah, holding his prize gIntaq spear, trying to catch a scent of the san-chera. The thickness of the underbrush that snapped against his leg, the lack of a proper trail for him to follow, the sounds of the beasts crawling across the branches, all served to remind him of his first hunt, back on Carraya.

  Toq was born and raised at a compound on a planet in the Carraya Sector—that was, in fact, where he got the spear. At the time, he had used it for farming—but at the time, he had thought his home to be something else entirely. On Carraya, Klingons and Romulans lived in peace. Toq had been told that his parents and the other adults had come there to get away from the endless war between their peoples. It wasn’t until the arrival of Ambassador Worf—then a Starfleet officer, who had come to Carraya for reasons of his own—that he learned the truth. Toq’s parents and the other adult Klingons had been taken prisoner after a Romulan attack on the Khitomer outpost. The Romulans had not permitted them to die, and the Klingon Empire would not bargain with the Romulans for their lives. A Romulan commander named Tokath took pity on them and set up the compound.

  Carraya was a place for dishonored Klingons to live out their lives, with the rest of the galaxy thinking them dead in order to spare their families from the same dishonor. But their children were not told of their heritage, denied knowledge of who and, more importantly, what they were. Worf had taken Toq on a hunt, showed him how to scent his prey, how to stay downwind, where best to strike. They had successfully stalked and killed a beast that day, and Toq had reveled in it. Never before had he felt as alive as he had on that hunt with Worf.

  At least, up to that point. Worf had left Carraya and taken with him any who wished to leave, on the proviso that they never reveal the truth about the prison camp. Toq was conveyed to Federation space by a Romulan supply ship, and thence to the Klingon Empire, with Worf claiming that the children were the survivors of a years-old crash. An old friend of Worf’s family, Lorgh, made R’uustai with Toq, bringing the young man into Lorgh’s own House.

  The first thing Toq asked was to be permitted to go hunting with Lorgh.

  Although he would never be able to re-create the sensation of joy he felt upon that first hunt with Worf, Toq had, in the years since, gotten much better at it. Now he could look back and see how clumsy he was on Carraya. He had not moved silently enough, then, barreling through the bushes and distressing the branches, leaving an obvious trail behind him. He became a most proficient hunter, encouraged by Lorgh, and had even entered a few professional competitions. Had not the siren call of the Dominion War led him to a different vocation, that of officer in the Klingon Defense Force, he might have gained tremendous renown.

  Now, at last, he was able to combine his two greatest joys into one. He hunted for the honor of the Gorkon and the glory of the Empire.

  Somewhere else in the forest, one of the Children of San-Tarah, a female named Ur-Gan, also hunted. They had both left from the San-Tarah’s first city, moving in separate directions. Toq was given the scent of a san-chera that had been captured the night before but not yet slaughtered. Both Toq and Ur-Gan had the same task: Seek out and subdue a san-chera and bring it back to the first city by second sundown. If both succeeded, the hunter who brought down the largest beast would be declared winner. If neither did, they would start again the next day.

  Toq heard a slithering noise overhead, and caught a vaguely reptilian scent. Perhaps some manner of snake, he thought, putting it out of his mind. Vermin such as that only distracted.

  One thing Toq knew for sure was that he had to find as large a san-chera as he could. Ur-Gan had the upper hand, after all—she knew the terrain, she knew which animals were most dangerous, and she knew the signs of a san-chera’ s passing: what it ate, what it wouldn’t eat, what plants it would use, how it would mark its territory.

  The first professional competition of Toq’s had taken him to HuDyuQ. He was transported to the peak of a mountain and told to subdue the first animal he came across. He was told nothing about the local fauna—such as the fact that the smallest beast he was likely to find on that mountain would be thrice his size, and that it had been known to eat Klingons—but he not only succeeded in the hunt, he was among the top fifty in the competition’s history for both size and speed of the capture.

  And at least here it isn’t so cold….

  The biggest variable in hunting in an alien environment was how the prey would react to the unfamiliar scent of the hunter. After all, no Klingon had ever visited San-Tarah until yesterday. What Toq did not know—and, given the apparent paucity of alien visitors to this world, nobody knew—was whether the beast would avoid the strange new scent or investigate it.

  In order to minimize this variable, Toq had dressed in a So’HIp —a one-piece outfit that altered its coloring to blend in with the background—and covered himself in dirt and mud and grass from the ground around him. The former meant he was visually the same combination of brown and green as the local flora, and the latter served to mask his scent as much as pos
sible.

  The wind shifted. Toq scented his prey. It didn’t smell especially large, but it was a start.

  Moving around one bush and hiding behind another one, Toq got a glimpse of a san-chera that was half as big as Toq himself. Its tusks barely stuck out of its mouth. A mere pup, Toq thought. It stood on its middle and rear legs and batted at a tree with its front paws, dislodging the ripe fruit.

  Toq had two choices: take the easy kill and go back to the first city, hoping that Ur-Gan would find nothing or something smaller, or follow this one to better prey.

  Smiling, Toq thought, That is no choice at all. The day has barely begun. Surely I will find more worthy prey than this—and surely Ur-Gan will find something that at least has some meat on its bones.

  So the young second officer of the Gorkon bided his time, waiting until this pup led him to an older sibling, perhaps.

  Having knocked down several fruits, the pup got down on all sixes and started gnawing on its meal, spitting out the seeds. The smell of the fruit juice combined with the scent of the san-chera made Toq’s mouth water, but he did not move. This close, any movement, even to retrieve his water bottle from one of the pouches on his thigh, might alert the pup to his presence, and that he could not afford.

  As he observed the pup dining, Toq wondered how the Children of San-Tarah would rule if he brought back multiple san-chera. Would quantity make up for quality? But no, Me-Larr had been very specific back at the first city. Whoever brought back the largest san-chera would win the day.

  I hope you come from good stock, young one.

  After eating parts of several fruit, the pup apparently grew bored with its repast, and started licking its paws clean.

  Then the wind shifted again. Toq realized in an instant that he was downwind of the pup.

  Sure enough, the pup raised its head up from its grooming. It looked around for a second, then turned its head right at the bush behind which Toq hid.

  Toq, for his part, did not move. He willed himself to be as still as the statues in the Hall of Warriors.

  The pup looked around a bit more, then loped off at a dead run on all sixes.

  Now, truly, the hunt had begun. Unsurprisingly for a creature with six limbs, the san-chera moved very fast. Luckily for Toq, this was a young one, so its legs were short and not fully developed, slowing it down somewhat. The wind had not shifted, but Toq hardly needed a scent to track this prey. The pup barreled through the underbrush with all the clumsiness of youth, combined with the security of being near the top of the local food chain. It had no need for stealth.

  When the wind did shift, Toq still did not pick up the scent immediately. They are fast, he thought as he moved through the brush, now taking less care himself to be subtle. After all, the san-chera knew he was near.

  He slowed down when he caught the scent again, however. Spying a clearing up ahead, Toq looked around and found a tree that had grown in a manner suitable for climbing. Strapping the spear to his back, he shimmied up the trunk, ignoring the pricks of the smaller branches into his dirt-encrusted So’HIp, which did not protect his skin as well as his uniform did.

  Coming to roost on a thick, outlying branch, Toq peered down at the clearing. Reaching into another thigh pouch, he removed a pair of binoculars that gave him a closer view.

  The pup had, as expected, returned to the proverbial nest. A san-chera that was over twice Toq’s size was nursing six baby san-chera—these had no visible tusks and were smaller than Toq’s arm—and grooming two others that were about the same size as the pup. The mother wasted no time in turning her attention to grooming the pup, still covered as it was in fruit juice.

  Toq bided his time. He would not kill a mother in the midst of feeding and caring for her young. There was no honor in such a kill—and no sense, either. The mothers were needed to keep the population alive so there would be subsequent hunts, and besides, only a fool took on a mother protecting her children.

  The question is, do san-chera fathers remain after childbirth—or even remain after conceiving the children? And if so, will this father return before the second sundown?

  Two hours passed before Toq got his answer. The infants had finished suckling and were now sleeping curled up against the stomach of the mother—three on either side of the mother’s middle legs. The mother was also asleep, with the three pups gadding about the clearing, climbing trees and batting sticks and rocks at each other.

  Just as Toq was about to give up and take his chances by bringing all three pups back to the first city, he caught another scent—similar to those of the san-chera before him, but far stronger. Seconds later, he heard the powerful six-legged strides of an approaching beast.

  The sound was enough to wake the mother; the infants slumbered on. The three pups evinced no interest either way.

  When the creature came into sight, Toq couldn’t help but grin—and it took all his self-control to keep from laughing with joy.

  The san-chera that lumbered into the clearing was about three times Toq’s size. Covered in shaggy black fur that made him stand out even more against the green-and-brown flora, he ambled toward the mother, holding the remains of a small, four-legged animal in his mouth.

  Standing between the male and the infants, the mother looked at the male somewhat expectantly, to Toq’s eyes. The male opened his mouth, dropping the animal in front of her, then nudged it toward her with one massive paw. Toq saw now that his upper tusks extended past his head, with the lower tusks extending almost to the ground (at least while he was on all sixes). His delivery complete, the male turned and stomped off the way he came.

  By this time, the three pups decided to get involved. They circled the corpse while the mother sniffed it more closely. Then she leaned down and ripped out a chunk of meat with her bottom tusks.

  Toq was, at this point, content to leave them to their meal. He had the scent of the giant male, and he was not about to give him up. It was possible that Ur-Gan would find a san-chera bigger than this, but Toq was not about to lay odds that he himself would.

  Hoping that the beast was maintaining its leisurely pace, Toq moved as quickly as he could without disturbing his surroundings too much. He was upwind of the san-chera, but that could change at any moment. The pup’s reaction to Toq’s unfamiliar odor might well have been unpredictable, but Toq was willing to bet his spear that the large male would see him as a threat and act accordingly.

  Of course, Toq thought with a grin, he’d be right.

  Toq slowed once he realized that he had lost the scent. Then he heard the sound of running water. Less than a minute later he found himself at the edge of a stream, and spied the san-chera swimming in it. For such a massive creature, he disturbed the water surprisingly little, moving economically and almost silently.

  What made Toq a superior hunter more than any other factor was his aim. He had reasoned early on in his training with Lorgh that the best way to subdue prey was to stab it through an eye. At worst, you blinded the creature, at least partially; at best, you killed it with a direct blow to the brain through one of the weakest parts of the outer portion of any living being’s body.

  The difficulty was in actually attaining the eye-shot, so Toq had dedicated himself to improving his aim, which was naturally quite excellent. Even as a boy on Carraya, he could hit targets no one else could even come close to. Now, after years of honing his skills, he could shoot the wings off a glob fly at half a qelI’qam, and he was fairly sure he could throw his spear through the eye of the san-chera from the distance he was at now.

  He aimed along his arm and waited for the creature to turn around.

  The wind shifted.

  Moving with a speed that belied his bulk, the san-chera turned around in the water, roared so loudly that Toq’s teeth rattled, and leapt out of the water straight at the young Klingon.

  Toq did not move until he threw the spear.

  The gIntaq flew through the air, and lodged in the san-chera’ s shoulder. The animal didn�
��t even seem to notice, as it arced straight for Toq.

  The Klingon’s training was superb. Without even having to think about it, Toq fell backward, intending to roll with the blow and use the san-chera’ s momentum to kick the creature behind him.

  Sadly, the san-chera’ s momentum was considerable, primarily due to its tremendous mass. Toq’s legs were simply not powerful enough to perform the maneuver. The beast landed on top of Toq, pinning the Klingon to the ground, the claws of its front paws tearing into his So’HIp and chest.

  Even as the pain seared through his upper body, Toq reached for his d’k tahg in its thigh pouch. All he needed was to free his right arm enough to plunge the blade into the creature’s head.

  The creature, for his part, sniffed Toq, as if verifying that he was, in fact, an alien—or perhaps that he was edible. Then the san-chera moved to bite Toq’s head off.

  However, Toq had taken advantage of those precious seconds. Lorgh had trained him well, including in ways to focus past pain, to disregard its presence. Toq did so while the san-chera performed its olfactory inspection. Then, with a mighty jerk of his right arm that flayed several layers of skin off his biceps as it ripped out from under the san-chera’ s claws, Toq freed his right hand and plunged the d’k tahg it held into the side of the san-chera’ s head.

  The impact caused the san-chera to wave his head around and around. He screeched with sudden pain, hot breath steaming onto Toq’s face. Yellow liquid—the creature’s blood, presumably—spurted out, covering Toq’s already-muck-encrusted form, as well as the bushes and ground around them.

  Then the creature fell dead. Right on top of Toq.

  The Klingon wasn’t sure how long it took him to wriggle out from under the massive creature, but he managed it. He looked down at his person, found a bit of cloth from his So’HIp that was not covered in the san-chera’ s yellow blood, and ripped it off. Then he removed the d’k tahg from the animal’s head and cleaned it with the cloth. After resheathing his personal weapon, he then, with his left hand, yanked out the spear and cleaned it as well. He would give them proper care when he transported back up to the Gorkon, but this would do for the time being—enough to keep the blood from drying and caking on the blade, thus dulling it.