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

by Keith R. A. DeCandido

  “Good.”

  “Not particularly,” B’Oraq said, turning angrily at her captain. “Sir, if one of those tal-lyn s had struck a bit closer, or if we hadn’t beamed them off in time, we might well now be without the services of our first officer, chief engineer, and primary pilot. As it is, one of our gunners is dead, and I don’t know when the other one will be fit to return to duty.”

  “We are warriors, Doctor, that sort of risk is—”

  Angrily, B’Oraq said, “Yes, I know that such risks are part of combat, but there’s also no need to be foolish about it.”

  Klag’s face darkened. “Tread carefully, Doctor.”

  B’Oraq, however, was beyond caring if she angered her captain or not. Let him kill me, I will be heard on this. “Of all the contests, this was the one we were mostly likely to fail at. Kurak is the only crew member who has even been on a wind boat. The San-Tarah center one of their most important annual rituals around it—there was no reasonable way to expect that we would be able to defeat them in this. The other contests, certainly, but not this one.”

  “Do you truly think so little of your shipmates, Doctor?”

  Save me from Klingon arrogance, B’Oraq thought. “In a hunt? In hand-to-hand combat? In a show of strength and power? I believe that the warriors of this vessel can overcome anything—and I have every bit of faith that we will triumph in the other contests, including the one going on down there now. But the sea combat was a loss, Captain. It was guaranteed to be a loss.”

  Slamming a fist onto an empty biobed, Klag yelled, “What would you have me do, Doctor? Forfeit the contest? Is this the way we prove our mettle?”

  “Of course not—but why commit valuable bridge officers to the mission? We’re only nine weeks into a mission that could take years, with no chance of crew replacements in anything like a timely manner. Kurak, I can see, given her experience, but the first officer? The pilot? Both gunners?”

  Klag scowled. “The contest called for a pilot and two who can fire weapons. I wanted the best we had. Only a fool goes into battle without his best weapons.”

  “I believe a more apt saying, Captain, is that only a fool fights in a burning house, and this one was practically burned to the ground before we arrived. Leskit’s skills didn’t prepare him for maneuvering in water, and any idiot can fire one of those tal-lyn s. There are fifteen hundred expendable soldiers on board this ship, who swore to give their lives for the Empire. They should have been sacrificed on this contest, not the officers.”

  Klag’s hand moved to his d’k tahg as he spoke in a quiet, slow voice. “Your objection has been noted. You will not speak of it again, or I will put you to death where you stand.”

  “Go right ahead,” B’Oraq said. “Then you can heal the wounded yourself in your mad quest.”

  “My mad quest? We fight for the Empire, B’Oraq, not—”

  “Yes, yes, I know, we engage in pure battle to preserve the spirit of what Kahless taught us. Kornan has gone on at great length on the subject. But I saw you on Ty’Gokor when Captain Dorrek approached you. And I saw you after we received the report on Brenlek. Tell me, are you engaging in this contest as a return to proper Klingon values, or do you just want to one-up your brother?”

  B’Oraq barely saw Klag move—one moment he was standing in front of her, smoldering, the next he had slammed the heel of his hand into her chest, sending her sprawling against the bulkhead. Before she could catch her breath, he pinned her to the bulkhead with his right arm, having unsheathed his d’k tahg with his left. The point of the blade was at her neck.

  Despite the shooting pains in her chest and the sudden difficulty breathing, B’Oraq managed to say, “Go ahead and kill me, Captain—if I’m lying, you have every reason to.”

  Klag stared at her for several seconds, the fire in his eyes so intense that B’Oraq was not at all convinced that she would live to see the next minute. Not that she was afraid; she had dedicated her life to challenging her people’s assumptions and habits. Every morning she woke up fully expecting a blade in her chest for her insolence before she went to bed that night.

  “I also have every reason to kill you if you are insubordinate, Doctor. Do not ever forget that.”

  Then he broke her right arm.

  After that, he walked toward the exit, leaving her to collapse onto the deck in considerable pain. “Keep me apprised of the lieutenant’s progress, Doctor,” Klag said as the doors ground open to allow him egress.

  Somehow B’Oraq managed to get to her feet, using only her left arm for support. She walked over to the bone-knitter, and began the awkward task of applying it to herself.

  It would seem, she thought, that I was right. I rather wish I wasn’t. If he is truly blinded by his need to prove himself superior to his brother, Morketh may not be the only officer we lose….

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Kurak had read the same paragraph of the technical journal eight times when the alert to her door sounded.

  “Go away,” she said, starting the paragraph for the ninth time. A plate of half-eaten zilm’kach sat in front of her, along with a mug of raktajino that had long since gone cold.

  “It is Kornan,” said the voice from the other side.

  She sighed. “That changes nothing. Go away.”

  “I am still first officer of this ship, Commander, and I will enter your quarters with or without your consent.”

  Kurak let out another sigh as she turned off the display on the padd. The latest theories in warp-field technology—or was it antimatter injection?—faded from the screen. I might as well get this over with, she thought. It’s not as if I am getting any work done here….

  “Enter.”

  The door opened to Kornan’s muscular form. As usual, he wore a sleeveless tunic, now showing off the scars on his arms. Normally, Kurak would find such a sight intoxicating, but knowing that he got those scars from their embarrassing bout of sea combat ruined the effect.

  “What do you want, Commander?”

  Kornan had the unmitigated gall to smile as he entered her quarters, the door closing behind him. “Why so formal? I was hoping to make up for what happened yesterday with that—inspection.”

  “If you and Leskit performed a mutual Mauk-to’Vor on each other, I might consider it a small step toward making up for what happened yesterday. That, however, is the only way you will be able to do so.”

  At that, Kornan stepped backward as if she’d struck him. “How dare you—”

  “How dare you, Commander!” She stood, knocking her padd, the plate of zilm’kach, and the mug of cold raktajino to the floor. “Very little in this life has given me joy. Thanks to the stupidity of you and the other ‘officers’ on this targ pit of a ship, the one thing I still cherished as a fond memory has been soiled!”

  Walking up to her and practically shoving his face against hers, Kornan said, “You might recall, Commander, that you volunteered for the mission. No one forced you to do so—no one even knew of your prowess with wind boats. You could have simply remained on board, and no one would have been the wiser.”

  Her crest almost scraping against his, Kurak almost screamed. “Perhaps I should have! But I didn’t, and now my life, already a shambles, has been all but ruined.” Kurak decided not to bother mentioning the role that Leknerf had played in her decision making. Bad enough that Kornan was so unrepentant in his role in this—she couldn’t stomach the idea of his ridicule at her asking jeghpu’wI’ for advice.

  “No, Kurak,” Kornan said, his voice now softer, “you could not have. Do you know why? It would have been the act of a coward. You are many things, but you are not the type of craven animal that hides her talents in order to avoid conflict. Even if you are more at home among data spikes than disruptors, your heart is still Klingon.”

  Kurak laughed in Kornan’s face, then turned her back on him—two deliberate insults. “You know nothing about me, Kornan, and even less about my heart. Now, unless you have official ship’s bus
iness, get out of my quarters!”

  “Oh, I do have business, Chief Engineer. Lieutenant Toq has some theories he wishes to test involving traveling around the subspace eddies. You need to report to engineering to supervise the modifications to the navigation shields.”

  Gripping her right wrist with her left hand, Kurak said, “I am off duty until—”

  “You are on duty when I say you are on duty, Commander, is that clear?” Kornan barked.

  She whirled around. “Or what? You will kill me? Feel free.” Then she smiled and walked back toward him. “Oh, but then you will never get me into your bed, will you? That has been consuming you all these weeks, hasn’t it? ‘How do I get Kurak into my bed? How do I harness that fire for myself?’ ” Once again, she brought her face close to his. His musk permeated her nostrils, but now she just found it repugnant. She whispered, “I guarantee that you will never succeed.”

  Scowling, he looked into her eyes with a stare of death. A pity that stares do not match the reality. But, though she had misread her own heart rather spectacularly, she had taken Kornan’s measure weeks ago. He had wanted her from the moment he laid eyes on her, and it had taken her until now to realize that that, truly, was what appealed to her about him as well. Now, however, that she knew him to be the same sort of fool that littered the Defense Force, she had dismissed him as yet another who disgusted her by his very presence.

  After a moment, he said slowly, “You will report to the engine room. Now.”

  “As you wish, Commander Kornan.”

  She pushed past him, the door to her quarters opening. Then she stopped and turned around. “Feel free to stay if you wish. You may sit on my bed. But know this: It is the only circumstance under which you will get to experience it.” She grinned. “Unless, of course, Leskit is an especially adroit storyteller.”

  With that, she headed to engineering. Her only regret was that she did not stay long enough to see the look on Kornan’s face. It had made only a minor improvement in her mood, but she would take what she could get.

  As she approached engineering, she saw Leskit standing in the corridor. “Ah, there you are. Toq is waiting for us inside to go over the modifications.”

  Kurak sighed. She had been hoping to avoid Leskit for much the same reasons she was avoiding Kornan, but if they were performing modifications to the navigational shields, she supposed the ship’s primary pilot needed to be present also.

  As she started to move past Leskit into engineering, the lieutenant put a hand on her shoulder. “Kurak, a moment.”

  “Remove that hand, Lieutenant,” Kurak said without looking at him, “or I will remove it for you.”

  Doing so, and putting both his hands up in a mock gesture of surrender, Leskit said, “Of course, Commander, my humblest apologies for soiling your person with my unworthy touch! I simply wished to convey something of a personal nature before we went about our business.”

  Kurak had to force herself to keep from smiling. That’s the Leskit I know. But it was also the Leskit she was still, dammit, furious at. “I have no wish to discuss anything personal with you.”

  “No discussion will be involved—as I said, I just wish to convey something.”

  Resigning herself to the inevitable, Kurak again grabbed her left wrist with her right hand and let out a growl for good measure. “Get on with it, then.”

  Leskit took a long breath, one so deep it made the Cardassian neckbones he wore rattle. “I have always prided myself on my ability to steer any vehicle in the Empire. Yesterday proved me wrong. I made a fool of myself, and contributed to our defeat—and, it would seem, hurt you personally as well. I regret that, and therefore offer my life in recompense.” Standing up straight, speaking formally, he said, “Kurak, daughter of Haleka, I am yours to do with as you will.”

  This time Kurak was unable to hold back the laugh.

  Leskit grinned. “My imminent death amuses you, Commander?”

  “No, you do.” She shook her head. “I should kill you, truth be told, but as irritating as you are, and as much as I would love for you to pay for what you did yesterday, Ensign Koxx is even worse than you at navigating the subspace eddies. At least I know you will keep the ship in one piece.”

  Bowing, Leskit said, “The commander is too kind.”

  She leaned in close. “Don’t make me regret the decision, Leskit.”

  “The last thing I would ever wish to do, Kurak, is make you regret anything. I remain yours to do with as you will.” He grinned. “Whatever that might be.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” she said dryly. I don’t know what it is about this old fool, but I cannot seem to retain any anger toward him. “Now come, let us see what obscenities you and Toq wish to perform upon my engines.”

  B’Oraq returned to the medical bay from dinner to find Toq sitting by Rodek’s bedside. Rodek was no longer the ward’s sole occupant. QaS DevwI’ Vok and his troops had succeeded in capturing the prize of the San-Tarah even as the Klingons successfully defended against the San-Tarah’s attempt to do likewise, so the third contest had resulted in a victory for the Gorkon. However, as with all true victories, a price had been paid. Several warriors, including Krevor, Klorga, H’Na, and Davok, had died, and several others had been wounded. Wol, G’joth, Maris, and Trant were among the latter, and they all lay in biobeds.

  The doctor had come back from the evening meal to check up on her healing limb, which was still a bit sore after her discipline at the captain’s hands, and do her rounds.

  Toq looked up. “Nurse Gaj let me in,” he said by way of explanation.

  Holding up a hand, B’Oraq said, “It’s all right, Lieutenant. I was wondering why I didn’t see you at the secondary bridge in the mess hall.”

  “You have healed all the damage to Rodek, yes?”

  “Yes.” B’Oraq nodded as she walked to her supply cabinet. “Unfortunately, at this point, it’s more or less up to him. He has to fight to stay alive—and to regain consciousness—or give up and die.”

  Toq turned back to his crewmate. “He would never give up. Rodek may be a passionless bloodworm, but he is still a Klingon. When he awakens, I want his first sight to be of me.” Then Toq looked over at the doctor. “And if he does die, I wish to be the one to commend his spirit to Sto-Vo-Kor.”

  “Feel free to stay as long as you want, Lieutenant,” B’Oraq said with a smile. She grabbed a scanner and looked over her arm. It seemed to be almost completely mended. If only I can do the same for the captain, she thought. She then grabbed a padd and started making rounds. Now we’ll see how many of them ask when they can be discharged as soon as I’m in earshot.

  “When may I leave, Doctor?” Wol asked as soon as B’Oraq approached her biobed.

  That’s one. “In the morning, Leader. I don’t want you to put any weight on your leg until then.”

  Wol spoke with the belligerence that most of her people showed to B’Oraq’s profession. “I can return to duty, Doctor.”

  “Which you wouldn’t be doing until morning in any case, so you may as well stay here.” Satisfied with the current biobed readings that Wol’s healing was proceeding apace, she moved on to G’joth.

  The older warrior was entering something on a padd, and barely looked up at B’Oraq. “You’re doing fine, G’joth,” she said. “You may go now.”

  “Fine,” G’joth muttered.

  Odd. G’joth is usually more voluble than this. “Is something wrong, Bekk?”

  “Why should anything be wrong?” G’joth snapped. “Davok and Krevor died noble deaths defending the Empire and are probably arguing about something in Sto-Vo-Kor now.”

  “That is to be expected, G’joth. You should know that as well as anyone.”

  “Yes, I know, I’ve served for many years—but for the last ten, Davok has been by my side. We’ve been together at dozens of posts. Now he’s dead.”

  Wol actually chuckled at that. “You didn’t even like Davok.”

  Again, G’joth sna
pped. “He was my friend. I don’t care if he’s in Sto-Vo-Kor—or maybe in Gre’thor as punishment because he was such a pain in the crest—but the point is he is there and not here. Who am I supposed to argue with now?”

  B’Oraq tugged on her braid. “Isn’t that a little selfish?”

  “Why can’t I be selfish? I think after serving this damned Empire and this damned Defense Force for all this time, after giving up my life for it, I am entitled to be selfish when my friend dies!”

  “Tell you what, G’joth,” Wol said, “tomorrow in the mess hall when we come off duty for dinner, I promise to say something incredibly stupid, and then you can excoriate me for it.”

  “It won’t be the same,” G’joth muttered. Then he actually let out a bark of laughter. “No offense, Leader, but you’re incapable of saying something as stupid as Davok would say.”

  Wol grinned. “I have an entire day to practice, I am sure I can come up with something.”

  Laughing, B’Oraq said, “I, at least, have faith in you, Leader.”

  At that, Wol scowled.

  “In any case, Bekk, you can finish your opera in the mess hall or in your bunk or wherever you wish.” She pointed at G’joth’s padd. “That is the opera you’re working on, yes? Or, no, wait, it’s a novel now.”

  Her scowl returning to a grin, Wol said, “Now it’s a song.”

  “Actually, it’s done. And it’s not a song anymore.” As he stood up from the biobed, he handed the padd to B’Oraq.

  “Oh?” B’Oraq took the proffered padd. The words, qaStaHvIS may’ Hegh jup; qaSpa’ may’, ngeD ngoDvam qawmeH Qu’; qaSpu’DI’ may’, QatlhchoH, shone on the display.

  “ ‘In battle, friends die. It is easier to remember this before the battle than after.’ ” She smiled and handed the padd back to G’joth. “Actually, Bekk, that’s rather profound.”

  G’joth snorted. “Davok would have hated it.”

  “In that case,” Wol said, “it’s the best possible tribute to him you could write.”